Syntheticklove

28/France/woman/miwfan

[hollowbon3s]

i miss ricky doing updates and putting justin in the background for seemingly no reason

[mylittlehatefuck666]

The Club (2/2)

Pairing : Jordan Fish x female reader (as the singer's groupie)

Story content : She managed to get her hot encounter with Oli Sykes. It was short but intense, as dirty and humiliating as she had imagined many times while thinking about it in her bed at night. But as she heads to the club's bathroom to clean the marks the singer left on her, the groupie runs into Jordan Fish, the band's keyboardist and producer. He is impressed by her composure and wants to get to know her. He wants to understand what can make a girl like her want to get humiliated by his bandmate. And the man's calm and reassuring virility will eventually become very troubling for her. The evening might not be over after all...

Tags : Smut / Very graphic

⚠️ Content Warnings : 18+ / MDNI : lots of teasing and dirty talking, M/F sex, oral sex, masturbation...

Word count : 74k (30 minutes read)

Author’s note : This was made using chatGPT + my dirty mind.

The music keeps pounding, loud, dirty, hypnotic.

But you, you're somewhere else.

You slowly straightened up, still crouched in that dark corner of the club. You feel Oli's cum drying on your cheek, a warm streak near your mouth, a remnant on your neck. The towel he gave you is disgusting, rough, too rough. You rubbed yourself as best you could, half trembling, half proud. And now, you're crossing the room in search of the restroom, or just a bit of peace.

You pass in front of a wall of flashing lights when you spot him.

Jordan Fish.

Black cap, plain t-shirt, beer in hand. Leaning against a high railing. He is not like Oli. He doesn't shout. He observes.

And then, he sees you. He recognizes you.

And you immediately understand, from his look, from that little discreet smirk he knows. Maybe not the details. But enough to guess. The makeup a bit smudged. The hair in disarray. Your mouth still swollen, moist. And that slightly too stiff way of walking.

He leans slightly, calm, without breaking eye contact with you.

— Nice carnage...

Her voice is soft. Mocking, but not cruel. Just... lucid.

You stop, frozen, a few meters away from him.

— You've got cum on your forehead, princess. He takes a sip, looks you up and down. — You should go wash up. You should go wash yourself off. Before someone else figures out what you did.

He doesn't talk to you like a predator. He talks to you like a guy who's seen too much. Too lived. And who knows Oli by heart.

You shrug your shoulders, a bit cold, a bit brash.

— So what ? Does it turn you on seeing your friend's cum on girls ?

He laughs softly. A small laugh without malice.

— You've got guts. I like it. One moment. He lowers his voice a little. — You're not the first to come out of a dark corner like that. But… He looks you straight in the eyes. — You're the first one who doesn't seem to regret it.

You stare at him, silently. Not ashamed. Just... on the defensive.

He approaches with a slow step. He hands you a clean paper towel pulled from his pocket.

— Here. For your mouth. A half-smile. — It's pretty. Even with Oli's taste on it.

You take it without saying a word, your fingers slightly trembling. He watches you wipe the corner of your lips with disarming calmness.

Then, lower, more intimate:

— He talked to you like shit, didn't he?

You barely nod your head.

He sighs. He places his beer on the edge of the railing.

— He's a little jerk. He doesn't know how to handle the power he has over girls. He thinks he's invincible. Until the day one of them brings him down.

He pauses. — Do you want to see him again ?

You raise your eyebrows, hesitant.

— Why ? Are you suggesting that I pass on a message to him ?

He shakes his head. Gets even closer.

— No. I suggest you stay with me.

He watches you, tilts his head slightly, and says in a lower voice, almost whispering :

— I'm not talking about sex. Not yet at least. A slightly more tender smile. — I'm talking about easing the pressure. I'm talking about relieving the pressure. To have a smoke. A real conversation. To be treated as something other than a walking mess.

He reaches out to you, palm open.

— You want a little respect, don't you? Just a moment where someone listens to you. Where they look at you without wanting to put you on your knees.

The contrast with Oli is brutal. You feel your heart pounding differently.

And now, you have to make a choice.

You have left the pit. The music continues, but you hear it from afar, like a muffled memory. Jordan guided you to a quieter corner, on a bench near the bar. He orders a bottle of water for you while he continues sipping his beer.

You are sitting there, still a bit disheveled, your thighs bare under your jacket, your mouth freshly cleaned but still marked. He doesn't devour you with his gaze. He looks at you like you are a mystery to decipher.

— You're not like the others, he finally says. He stares into the void, the neck of the bottle between his fingers, pensive.

— Most come out with their eyes darting, ruined lipstick, the urge to disappear. You... you wear that like a damn medal.

You shrug, a bit stiffly. — It was dirty. Brutal. But I wanted this. You turn your eyes towards him. — And I got it.

He looks at you for a long time. A sad grimace at the corner of his lips.

— That's what drives me crazy.

He pauses. Inhale.

— You think you've won. And that's true, in a way. You had a blast. You got him just as you dreamed. But you don't realize what it does to him.

You furrow your brows.

— To him?

He nods slowly.

— Oli... he's not just an arrogant jerk, even though that's what he's becoming. He's a guy who, just three years ago, only wanted to scream onstage and make people mosh in the pit. Now, he fucks girls in bathrooms, spits on them, treats them like objects, and they ask for more.

He takes a sip, sighs.

— Don't you see that you're slowly killing him?

You remain silent for a moment. A bit disarmed by the sincerity of his gaze.

— It's not me who made him like that. It's him who chooses to act like a pig.

Jordan nods.

— That's true. But the groupies who let him do it, who boast about it, who smile with their mouths full, they prevent him from asking himself the right question: "Am I going too far?"

You swallow. He touches you somewhere.

He adds, further down:

— It's too easy to be a god for girls who crumble. Who lick everything he gives them, even when it's cum and contempt. It's flattering. But it distorts the brain. It makes you stupid. And cruel.

He finally looks you straight in the eyes.

— And me, I'm starting to recognize him less. He is becoming someone else. He becomes... that guy you slept with tonight.

You feel a pang. A mix of pride, clarity, and confusion.

— Do you regret that I slept with him?

He shakes his head.

— No. I don't regret that you did it. You were free. You knew what you wanted. And damn, you were tougher than most.

He smiles at you, sincerely.

— But I would just like a girl, one day, to stop him dead in his tracks. Looks him in the eyes the moment he starts to humiliate her, and says to him: "No, asshole, not with me."

You stare at him for a long time.

— You don't want to save him, Jordan. You just want him to stop destroying himself by destroying others.

He looks at you, surprised. A bit moved, even.

— Exactly.

A silence settles in. Dense. Charged.

Then he murmurs, almost in a whisper:

— You should go home. Not because you did something wrong. But because you have nothing to prove. You got him, yeah. But he didn't really have you. Not really.

You don't answer right away.

You look at Jordan. His way of standing there, composed, lucid. His beer forgotten between his fingers. His gaze that doesn't waver. You feel the sweat slowly drying between your thighs. Your lips still tingle, marked. And your heart beats less fiercely.

— I'm not going to go home right away, you sigh, almost timidly. Then, more firmly : —I don't want to be alone right now.

He nods, as if he expected it.

— Do you want to stay here for a while ? Or go out for some fresh air ?

You glance at the room. The strobe lights are still flashing. People dance, drink, kiss, scream. It's on a loop. You don't want to go back there.

— Come. I know a quiet spot behind the club. There's a fire escape, no one ever goes there. We sometimes go there to smoke a joint in peace.

You follow him without hesitation.

(Outside the club – in the shadows, on a metal staircase)

The cool night air clings to your skin like a balm. You take a deep breath, sitting on the first step, legs stretched out, head tilted back. Jordan is next to you, his back against the railing, a lit joint between his fingers.

He offers you a puff. You take it.

Silence. Soothing. Restorative.

He finally spoke.

— You know, it drives me crazy sometimes...

You turn your head towards him.

— What ?

— To see him like that. To see Oli sink. Hearing the girls moan and lie, saying it was "so good" while they cry behind the club. And even when it's true... even when you enjoyed it... there's something off. Something broken in him. And in you girls, sometimes.

He crushes the joint against the railing, sighs.

— But tonight… you look solid. Damaged, yeah. Soiled. But not destroyed. And I don't know why, but it comforts me.

You raise an eyebrow, a small smirk.

— What were you expecting ? That I cry and ask you to save me ?

He laughs softly. Looks at you with a softer gleam.

— No. But I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if someone took care of you, for once. Without fucking you. Without judging you. Just... let you exist.

He lowers his voice.

— You're beautiful. Not like a display window. Beautiful like someone who fights to be there. Who plays with fire but stands tall.

You remain silent for a moment. Touched. Hesitant.

You murmur :

— And you, you're rare. A musician who doesn't just want to slide his hand into my panties after five sentences.

He smiled.

— I'm slower. But I do it better.

You laugh softly. You don't know yet if you want to kiss him. But you know you want to stay there a little longer.

He gently places his hand on yours.

And you remain like this. Two souls in the noise, finally at rest.

(Jordan's POV)

She is here, right next to me. Sitting on that metal step, legs crossed, looking a bit lost but not broken. And damn... she's beautiful. Not smooth. Not well-behaved. Beautiful as a slap. Beautiful like the kind of girl who should scare me, but who just makes me want to stay.

She takes a puff from the joint, her lips still glistening with something I prefer not to name. And despite that — or maybe because of it — I find her fascinating.

I look at her. Too long. But she says nothing. And I want her to stay here. I want her to talk again. That she throws me another jab. Another little arrogant smile.

Damn, Oli.

He spat on her. Treated her like crap. And she stood her ground. Not a tear. Not a complaint. She didn't even adjust her dress. And here I am, playing the role of the clean guy, the good guy, the one who consoles.

But I'm not a saint.

Not tonight.

She turns me on. And not just because she's hot. Because it's her. Because she just got messed up by Oli and despite that, she looks at me with that fire in her eyes. As if I were a mystery too.

I place my hand on hers. Just a touch. Heat against heat.

She turns her head. Stares at me.

And without thinking, I let it slip:

— You know... I understand why he broke down. I think I would have had a hard time resisting you too.

A silence. Shit. That wasn't supposed to come out.

She raises an eyebrow. A smile at the corner of her lips. She heard. She understood. She finds it amusing.

I clear my throat.

— But I'm not him. I won't make you climb a wall like an animal without asking your name.

She doesn't answer me. She just looks at me. A long time. And there's this damn tension between us. Deafening. Disturbing. Delicious.

I'll start again, more slowly :

— You're the kind of girl that should be protected from guys like him. Not...

I stop. Too late.

What is it, Jordan ? Not going to fuck her yourself ? Not making her moan on that filthy staircase ?

I feel her moving. She brings her knees a little closer to mine. She's not playing. She's testing. She wants to see if I'll crack like the others.

And I'm on the verge of doing it.

But I'm holding on. For now.

So I smile, a bit mockingly. And I slip, like a splinter :

— Do you want to come to my hotel room with me just to sleep ? Or do you need a guy to take care of you... properly this time ?

She smiled. Slowly. And I know that this night is going to be long.

And that I won't be the big brother for that long.

I should stop there.

I should maintain this posture of an older brother, a good guy, a sad witness who doesn't want the cycle to repeat. But the more I look at her, the more I listen to her breathe, the more my brain twists. And now I need to know. I need her to tell me.

— Can you tell me something ? My voice is soft. She turns her eyes towards me, a bit wary, a bit intrigued.

— Did you really like what he did to you ? Oli ?

She squints. I see that she hesitates. But she nods, slowly.

— Yeah. It was filthy. Brutal. But I was turned on. I loved it.

Damn.

I hold back from growling.

My brain throws the movie at me without asking for my opinion. Her, against that wall. Her legs trembling. The mouth open, the eyes raised towards him. She who moans while he fucks her half-drunk. And that damn cum stain that was still stuck to her temple when I saw her.

I grit my teeth.

I have to ask the question. It's stronger than me.

— He... like, did he really treat you like an object ? Did he humiliate you ?

She nods her head.

— Yeah. He insulted me. Fucked me as if I was nothing. And that's what I wanted. At that moment.

I feel my throat tighten. But no sadness.

Out of envy.

— And... I pretend to search for my words, is that what you like ? Being used?

She is looking at me. A bit provocative. A little amused.

— Not always. But yeah. When the guy is worth it.

Fuck. I'm getting hard.

I can feel it. My jeans are starting to feel tight. And I'm there, nodding my head as if I still was the rational guy.

But in my mind, I'm already turning her over on those steps. Taking her properly. Showing her that a guy can humiliate her while looking in her eyes. That he can shove his cock into her with a slow, wicked smile, and whisper in her ear that she belongs to him now — and that she'll never beg Oli for a glance again.

— You know... I control myself... My voice is deeper. Slower. — But it does mean I can't fuck you like he did. It's just I would do it while looking you in the eyes. By telling you everything I'm going to do to you. And letting you ask for every detail. Every filthy word. Do you think you were taken advantage of ?

I stare at her. I want her.

— I would break you cleanly.

I see her breath change. She tightens her thighs a little. She likes it. She is waiting for me to do something.

I lean in. My mouth brushes against hers, without touching.

— Do you know what the difference is between Oli and me ?

She whispers, trembling.

— Tell me.

I smile.

— He fucks you, forgets about you and hope you forget about him. Me, I dirty you... and I make sure you feel it for days and never forget it.

Silence. Charged. Magnetic.

I have it. She is here, ready. She doesn't back down.

And me, I'm on the verge of putting my hands on her hips, forcing her to sit on my thigh, telling her to rub her cunt against my hard cock until my jeans get wet.

But I'm holding back.

For one more minute.

Because next time I touch her... it will be to ruin her. For good.

(Girl's POV)

He is staring at you. For a few seconds already. You feel that his eyes are no longer looking into yours — but at your mouth. Your lips still swollen. Wet. You moisten them deliberately, slowly, as a silent response.

— Tell me something...

His voice is soft, too soft...

— You showed up here with the idea of sleeping with him, didn't you ? Did you come here for that ?

You smile. Little insolent pout.

— And what if it was the case?

He slowly nods his head, without taking his eyes off your mouth.

— So you're just a groupie ? A slut like the others ?

You shrug your shoulders.

— If it makes me cum, I don't see the problem.

He chuckles softly, but there's nothing amusing in his eyes.

— And you got your share with him ?

You look him in the eyes, provoc.

— He really used me, yeah. He emptied himself on me like a pig. Is that what you want to know?

He leans in. His face just a few centimeters from yours. His gaze burns.

— I want to know what he did to your mouth. A silence. Then he adds, his voice deeper : — Did he like it ? Did he enjoy your beautiful mouth ?

You don't answer. You stand there, mouth agape. And his eyes keep returning to it, again and again, as if it had become an obsession.

You murmur :

— You want to picture what he did to it, don't you ?

He huffs between his teeth.

— I can already see it. His gaze descends. He examines you as if he were going to devour you whole. — I see him with his fingers in your throat, you almost choking to impress him. I see him coming on your tongue and face and leaving without a thank you.

You feel a warmth rising between your legs. You spread your legs just a little, then you lower your eyes.

And there, you see him.

His jeans are tight. Obviously. And not just a little.

You can't help but smile, softly.

— Fuck... You're hard as hell... You look up at him, slowly. — And it's... quite massive, isn't it ?

He straightens up slightly, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

— Bigger than what you had earlier, yeah. He lowers his voice a bit, tilts his head. — What did you feel ? An half limp junkie's dick?

You bite your lip.

— It wasn't... huge.

— Me, I'm not high. And I don't lose rhythm after three minutes. He leans closer to your ear. — I'll make you come at least three times before even thinking about finishing myself.

You shiver.

— Is that a promise?

He looks at you with that calm, almost cruel air of confidence.

— No. It's a warning.

You stare at him. And there, it's clear. You no longer play the role of the little insolent one. You desire it. You want to know. You want to feel that huge cock inside you, you want him to dirty you methodically, with malice, with intelligence.

And him, he's already won. Without even touching you.

Not yet.

He doesn't move right away.

He is looking at you.

And that look, damn it... it has changed.

No more gentleness. No more pity. Just fire. Vice. A clear desire : to ruin you. But without haste. He has all the time in the world. He wants to savor.

Jordan slides his hand over your knee, slowly. He doesn't really touch you — he brushes against you. Like a mental caress more than a physical one. And you, you don't back down. You even open your legs a little more. Just the right amount.

His smile widened.

— You're never cold, huh ? He places his hand, this time, fully. On the top of your bare thigh. — You have fire in your belly. I can feel it from here.

You shiver, but you hold on.

He leans into your ear, his mouth very close.

— You want to feel my cock, don't you ? He straightens up. Looks at you. — Come on, let's go.

He slightly moves aside on the step, spreads his legs, and asks you to come. To climb. On him.

— Come sit down. Not to fuck it. Just to feel it under you. So you know what you'll have to take soon...

You hesitate. Two seconds. Then you move. You kneel between his legs. You can already feel the heat of his crotch against your skin. He doesn't lower his fly. He keeps everything closed. But it's pushing hard against the fabric.

You slide a thigh on either side of him. You slowly sit on him, your cunt just above his hard cock under his jeans.

And then... you moan.

Weakly. An involuntary sound. Almost a sigh.

Jordan smiles, tilts his head, his hands on your hips.

— Damn... You're already soaked ? Just from rubbing against my dick, you can't take it anymore ?

He makes you sway slightly. A slow movement. Controlled. Just enough for your clitoris to feel the rough friction of the taut jeans. You stifle another moan.

— Come on. Show me what you've got, doll. He grumbles, his gaze fixed on your face. — Rub against me like a slut in heat. You don't need a cock right now. Just enough pressure to make your panties even wetter.

He holds you firmly, but he doesn't move. It's your turn to dance. He makes you do all the work. To deserve it.

And damn, you do it.

You slowly roll your hips against him, feeling his huge cock beneath you, hard and burning through the jeans. The friction drives you crazy. You gasp. You look at him.

He is calm. Glacial. But his fingers tighten around you.

— Do you want me to whisper dirty words in your ear while you rub yourself like that ? Do you want me to tell you what I'm going to do to that sweet pussy later ?

You nod, feverish.

And he murmurs :

— I'm going to slowly open you with two fingers, twisting them until I hear you beg for my cock. And when I will shove it in you. And it won't be for a quick release. It will be to crush you with pleasure until you scream my name. Not Oli's. Not someone else's. Mine.

You keep rubbing yourself, barely able to breathe.

And he watches you lose yourself.

Just as he had planned.

You keep rubbing yourself against him.

Your soaked jeans, your clitoris on fire, his firm hands on your hips guiding you gently, just the right amount. But it is not his gestures that make you lose control. It's his voice. What he is telling you.

His promises.

Jordan watches you moan without shame, and he smiles.

— You feel that, huh ? He gently presses your hips against his. — You already have Oli inside you, somewhere. His cum still warm, his scent on your skin. And yet... you're here. Rubbing your pussy against another guy's cock. Another member of his group.

He lightly bites his lower lip, as if to hold himself back from going faster.

— Can you imagine tomorrow ? When you think back to this night ? You will have had two dicks. Two guys from the same damn band. But there will only be one you'll remember.

You are panting. You no longer dare to respond. Your hips roll, trembling, uncontrollable.

— It's me you're going to beg to ruin you again. It's my name you're going to whisper while touching yourself. Not Oli. Me.

He slides a hand over your neck, gently but firmly.

— I'm going to spread you wider than he did. Make you come harder. Dirty you, yeah... but the right way. Reset you. Cleanse you of him. To imprint myself in you.

You are trembling. You can't take it anymore. You feel it building up. That your orgasm is there. And he continues, relentless, his voice glued to your ear :

— Cum on me, doll. Squirt like a slut in heat. Just by rubbing your cunt against my cock. Show me how much you need it, how much you need me. Not that jerk who used you. Me.

And that's it, it's over.

You are cuming.

Strong. For a long time. A deep, humiliating orgasm, fully dressed, your thighs wrapped around him, your cunt pressed against his jeans soaked with your juices. You tremble. You are panting. You moan against his throat without even trying to hold anything back.

He holds you tightly, preventing you from falling.

And he is watching you. Fascinated.

Then he breathes out, almost like a prayer:

— Damn... you're magnificent when you come like that.

He keeps you on him for a few more seconds. Then his hands rise. Slowly. Very slowly.

And there, he cracks. But with method.

He looks at you like a masterpiece. Like a gift to unwrap.

— Now that you've spilled your pleasure, I'm going to take some myself.

His fingers attack your top. A button. Then another one. He is going slowly. Too slowly. He carefully parts the fabric, commenting on every inch he uncovers.

— Damn, that skin... You have skin too soft for a guy like him to treat it like trash. I'm going to adore you, you know. Savor you. Every spot. Every hollow.

He descends. Kisses your sternum. Just above the lace of your bra. He brushes it with his nose.

— Even that, I'm not going to tear it off. I'm going to slide it. I want to see your nipples begging to come out.

You breathe heavily, still numb from your orgasm, but more excited than ever.

His hands glide along your belly. He admires.

— Damn, you have a perfect belly. Flat, taut, tattooed... You have a body that would drive any guy crazy. And tonight, it's me who's going to possess it.

He goes down again. Slowly open your jeans. He looks at your crotch, the wet fabric, then he raises his eyes to you with a slow, wicked smile.

— Do you think you are wet enough for what's next? He presses his forehead against yours. — Spoiler : I'll make sure of it...

You are still straddling him. Your breathe is heavy. Your body is damp, sweaty. Your muscles are still trembling. Your jeans are soaked between your thighs. And Jordan... he is looking at you like a collector gazes upon his most prized possession.

He runs his fingers along your belly, brushing over your tattoos with an obsessive slowness. He hasn't lowered your pants yet. He's taking his time.

— This body... He murmurs it as if it was obvious. — I understand why he jumped you right away. But me, I wont be satisfied with just fucking you... I'm going to strip you bare. I want to see everything. Discover everything. Dirty everything in my own way.

His hands rest on your bra. He slides the straps off your shoulders, slowly, with precision. You let him do it. You want to see how far he can go before losing control. He lowers the lace slowly. Your nipples immediately stand up in the cool air. He stares at them. Motionless. Then, gently, he runs his thumb over one of them.

— Look at that. They're already reacting. You're there, soaked, still shaken from an orgasm, and I barely touch you... and you are shivering like a novice.

He leans in. Gently rubs his nose between your breasts, kisses them. Not to please. To make a mark. To feel them. To take them as your own.

— They are small. But perfect. I'm going to bite those fucking nipples until you beg me to stop. I want them to stay sensitive for days. Every brush of fabric will remind you what I did to them. How I tortured them.

You moan softly. Your hips roll a little more, without even meaning to.

He laughs softly.

— Damn. You just came but your body keeps asking me for more...

Then he goes down. He finally attacks your pants. He slowly unbuttons, sliding the zipper as if he was opening a precious case.

— These jeans... soaked. Literally. You've been dripping all over me and I did not have to touch you. My voice and the feeling of my hard dick were enough. And now... I'm going to undress you.

He makes you stand up slightly, helps you slide the fabric over your legs. He admires your thighs, your ass, your wet thong. He whistles softly.

— Damn. Oli didn't take the time to look at that ass. He fucked you quickly, huh ? Pressed against a wall. He emptied himself and left. He didn't even honor you. He just used you.

He runs a slow hand over the curve of your butt, then slaps it gently.

— Me, I'm going to enjoy and taste every part of it, make it mine.

You feel your thong sliding now. Very gently. Jordan lowers the fabric as if he was peeling you. He growls softly as he uncovers your wet pussy.

— Damn, look at that. You're still getting wet. That's not desire. It's an addiction. It's your body begging me.

He stays there for a moment, just a few centimeters from your naked pussy, his eyes fixed on you as if they were discovering the source of a miracle.

Then he murmurs :

— I'm not going to throw myself at you. I'm not going to take you like a horny teenager. I'll first make sure that every part of you is ready to beg for me. No pity. No tenderness. Just control. Dirty, intense. Memorable.

He looks up at you.

— Are you ready to know what it's like to get fucked by a guy who knows exactly what he's doing ? Who doesn't just want to cum... but imprint himself in your memory ?

You are almost naked now.

He left only that little wet thong, slipped halfway down your thighs, as a reminder of what you are : offered, already fucked, but not yet taken.

You are standing between his legs, and he remains seated. His eyes fixed on your body. His hands resting on your hips, he slowly turns you around. Like a work of art he wants to examine from every angle.

— Give me a full turn. Slowly. I want to see everything. I want to print everything in my mind.

You obey. Slowly. You turn around, naked, aware of every gaze he places on you. He sculpts you with his gaze. He evaluates you. And he growls softly in his throat.

— That ass... He runs a hand over it, then pinches and gently slaps it. — It's an invitation to debauchery. I'm gonna make something dirty out of this. And magnificent.

You shiver. You turn around, your breasts swollen, your nipples taut, your breath short.

He smiles.

— Open your legs a little. You look at him. He adds, softly : — Show me. You don't want to ? It's ok if you dont. I can wait.

But you want him to see. So you open them.

And his gaze falls.

He lets out a rough breath, his hand moving up to your lower abdomen.

— You still have Oli's cum dripping from you. He looks up at you. —But I don't care. Because soon... it will be mine that you'll feel running down your legs.

He finally gets up. Tall. Calm. His gaze burns, but he does nothing hasty.

He pulls up his jeans just enough to hide his taut cock, fixing you with a cold and delicious glint of determination.

— Not here. You're too precious to end up like this, on an exit staircase. That's what Oli does, not me.

He approaches. His hand comes to grasp your jaw gently, but with a chilling authority.

— You are going to come with me. To my hotel. And then, I'm going to undress you again. Slowly. I will open you. Explore you. Kiss you. Not once. Not like him. Several times. Until your body responds to no one but me.

He is staring at you. You are silent. Overwhelmed.

He slips his jacket over your shoulders. Not out of tenderness.

To take you.

He grabs his phone, dials, then whispers into his earpiece :

— Call a car. I'm not alone tonight.

Then he looks at you, without a shred of doubt.

— Are you ready ? Because I've been waiting for this moment since I saw your mouth, covered in Oli's cum, and wanted to replace it with mine. Since I've decided I wanted you to forget his name.

You breathe heavily.

And you know.

The real fuck... it starts now.

(Jordan's hotel suite – 4:27 in the morning)

The door gently slams behind you. The air is warm. Calm. Silent. Nothing to do with the chaos of the club. You only hear your breath. The click of the lock. The muffled sound of his footsteps on the carpet.

He doesn't say anything at first.

He takes off his jacket. Puts down his phone. Turn off the main light. Leave only the dimmed lamps. Amber. Heat.

Then, slowly, he turns towards you.

And looks at you.

You, still standing in your big coat. Naked underneath.

He moves towards you. Slowly. Let his eyes sweep over you as if you were already tied to his bed. He stands in front of you. He brushes your cheek.

— Take it off.

You slide the jacket off your shoulders. It falls at your feet.

Naked.

Facing him. In this warm light.

He growls softly. Like a feline that gets excited without warning.

— You'll feel it, the difference, doll.

He approaches. His fingers slide under your chin. Force you to look at him.

— With him, you were a whore in a dark corner. He murmurs, right near your mouth : — With me... you will be worshiped before getting ruined.

He finally kisses you. Slowly. Deeply. Nothing to do with Oli. It's a catch. Not a theft. It's sweet, but not kind. It's tense, charged, controlled.

He makes you back up, step by step, until you reach the edge of the bed.

— Get in. Lie down. I'm going to take my time.

You climb. You lie down. And he stands there, at the edge. He looks at you as if he was going to open you up with his eyes. Then, he leans in. His hands on your ankles. He spreads them apart. Slowly. He gazes at your naked, still wet, swollen, offered pussy.

He kneels on the bed. Leans over. His mouth brushes against your belly. Gently moves up to your breasts. He nibbles them, licks them. Then he goes back down.

And there, between your thighs, he settles in.

He is looking at you. The tongue just out.

— Do you want me to wash him off of you ? To lick every inch he neglected ? To taste what he couldn't honor ?

You nod, trembling.

He smiled.

— So spread them wider. Let me take you with my mouth like no one ever has. I'll make you squirt on my tongue. Again. And again. And when I'll fuck you for real... your body will already know it's mine.

And without warning, he starts diving in.

His tongue glides against your slit, slow, powerful, sure. He licks you as if he was writing you a poem, letter by letter. He moans against your skin. He delves in, he sucks your clitoris, he explores. And all the while, he talks to you between two licks :

— You're perfect... I want you to come while screaming my name... I want you to wet my face until I have trouble breathing...

And you feel it rising. Again. You are going to come. And he knows it. He takes you there. Methodically. With dedication.

His mouth is working between your legs with a precision that makes your head spin.

He sucks on your clitoris like a rare treat, licking you gently then violently, diving lower with his tongue, slipping in one finger, then two—spreading you, opening you, analyzing you. He's listening to your moans, feeding on it. And he's talking to you while he's taking you.

— You're going to get splashed again... I can feel it. Your belly is tightening. You're on the verge of exploding on me. Are you going to do it, doll ? Are you going to paint my chin with you juices ?

You are panting. You nod your head. You can't take it anymore.

He presses a finger at the entrance of your anus, gently. Without entering. Just there, like a warning. A promise.

— I want you whole. I'll fill this hole too. And when I've taken you everywhere, there will be no more room for him. Just for me.

And then, your back arches. You scream.

Your orgasm courses through you like a jolt. Your pussy contracts against his mouth, your entire body trembles. And him ? He stays there. His tongue still sucking you, as if he wanted to steal your pleasure down to the last drop. He growls at you. You feel his wet chin.

When you fall back down, your thighs flabby, your arms trembling, he straightens up. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Looks at you. Out of breath. Ferocious.

— Damn. You've never come like that, have you ?

You murmur a "no" barely audible.

He smiles. He straightens up. Finally opens his pants.

And you see it.

Long. Thick. Swollen. Pulsating.

Bigger than anything you've taken so far in your life. It's beautiful. And it's about to destroy you.

He approaches you, calm.

— You had the rock star. Now you're going to have the man. Not the guy who pushes you against a wall. The one who makes you beg for his cock.

He grabs a pillow. Slides it under your pelvis. Raises you up. He places you. Perfectly.

He settles between your legs. His cock against your still trembling pussy.

He rubs it gently against your slit.

— Are you ready to take it all ? You nod your head. He smiles. — Good. I hope you really are 'cause I'm not planing on being gentle.

And he enters.

Slowly. In force.

You cry. Not from pain but from the intense feeling of being full with him.

He penetrates you completely, to the hilt. He's growling, his mouth open against your throat.

— Damn... you're so tight. So hot. I could stay there forever.

He fucks you slowly. But intensely. He wants you to feel every inch. He wants to imprint himself. Wants you to feel it long after he's gone. He's gradually speeding up, his pelvis pounding against you.

— That's the second dick from the same band you're taking tonight.

He leans into your ear.

— But it's the only one you're going to beg to feel again...

He is penetrating you. Slowly. Deeply.

And damn, you're feeling it. Every inch. He is there to make you feel your worth. And his. He is sinking into you with that calm, methodical firmness. His hand steadying your hips against his, his hips rolling slowly. He doesn't need to go fast. He is in control.

— Do you feel it good ?

He is looking into your eyes, breathless, but still lucid.

— That's not a backroom hook-up. It's not a wasted guy who empties himself. It's me correcting the mistake you did with him by taking what's mine.

He grabs you by the hips, lifts you slightly to align you better. He sinks in again. A harder blow. You scream.

He grumbles.

— That's what I want to hear. Your voice. Your sighs. Your tremors. Not an embarrassed silence after a stolen orgasm. I want you to feel me in every damn nerve of your body.

His hands wander. He pinches, caresses, marks.

Then he makes you turn. With a firm but gentle gesture, he makes you get on all fours on the sheets, your legs spread apart. He positions himself behind you, his cock still hard, heavy, burning.

He enters again. Slowly. To the bottom.

You cry again. He grumbles.

— Damn, that pussy has been waiting for me all night, huh ? It knew the real deal would come later.

He grabs you by the hair, forces you to lift your head.

— Look ahead. Look at your reflection in the glass.

You do it.

You see your tense face, the sweat, the wild strands of hair, your breasts swaying, and him, behind you, muscular, tense, animalistic, but focused.

— Do you see that ? That's what he missed. This show. This possession. The real fuck.

He grabs you by the throat.

— And now say it.

You moan, unable to speak.

He gently slaps your butt, then does it again, harder.

— Say that you prefer me.

You are panting.

— I-I love you... I feel you... better...

He smiled.

— No. Not enough.

He pushes you harder. You scream. He leans into your ear, holding you by the throat and the lower back.

— Say that you belong to me now.

— J… Jordan… I belong to you...

— Say that you never want Oli's dick again.

— I want yours... just yours...

— There you go. Good girl.

And then, he shoves two fingers in your mouth while he keeps fucking you.

— Suck on them like its my big dick. Keep in mind how it tastes.

He wears you out. For a long time. Each blow deeper. More precise. Until you start trembling.

And he whispers to you :

— You will come for me again. A second time. Then its going to be my turn. And when I empty myself, it won't be on your face. It will be inside you. Deep inside. I want you to feel my warm juice and dream about it for weeks.

He is still fucking you from behind. His hands gripping your waist, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust, heavy, precise, deep.

You feel his cock sliding into you like a burning blade. He is growling, his breath short, his voice deeper, more animalistic with each word.

— You can't take it anymore, huh ? Your pussy is griping me as if it doesn't want to let me out. It is swallowing me, damn it. You've never had that.

He grabs your hair, pulls you up against him. You scream, your head thrown back, your back pressed against his sweaty chest. You smell his scent. Her power. His grip.

— You're mine now. It's my cum you want to keep inside you, not his. It's my rhythm that your body will memorize.

He slips a hand between your legs, finds your swollen, wet, throbbing clitoris. And there, with his deep thrusts and quick fingers, he makes you come again.

— Here. Come for me. Shout my name while you empty yourself on my cock.

And you explode, screaming his name, telling him how much you feel like his now.

Your entire body twists, your scream echoes in the room, your hands grip the sheets. You come like a girl taken, possessed, turned inside out, completely.

And he, right after, he comes himself.

With a deep, powerful growl, he thrusts into you one last time. You feel his juice pulsing deep inside you. Strong. Hot. Deep.

He growls in your neck :

— Damn... I filled you up. Taken. Engraved.

He stays there for a moment. In you. Breathless.

Then he gently lays you on your side. His dick slowly slides out of you, soaked with your wetness and his cum. He looks at you. Watching you.

And he murmurs, his breath still burning :

— You were supposed to be a groupie of my singer. But you ended up dirty, filled, marked by me. You might have others... but you will always remember that night.

You then throw him an intense look and say :

— You heard me say it Jordan. And I meant it. I think I alreay have feelings for you. What we have means more to me, made me feel more than the moments I had with the guy I've alway wanted to fuck. My ultimate fantasy. You were better than that. That says a lot about what you are to me.

He leans in. Kisses the inside of your thigh. Then your belly. Then your breast.

Then he murmurs against your mouth :

— You belong to me now, and not only tonight.

You smile at him and reply :

— We will make it last forever.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[mylittlehatefuck666]

The Club - Part 1/2 (Oli Sykes x female reader)

Pairing : a 2012 mean and nasty Oli Sykes x female reader (as a groupie)

Story content : The story takes place in 2012 in an underground London club. Oli Sykes and Skrillex are doing a DJ set in front of a crowd of excited young women. The BMTH frontman is particularly drunk and high that night but still notices one of them, who is dancing seductively... for him. Caught up in the party and the haze of chemicals, he quickly forgets about her, until he runs into her again in front of the VIP toilets...

Tags : Smut / Very graphic

⚠️ Content Warnings : 18+ / MDNI : dirty talk, M/F sex, oral sex, masturbation, humiliation, power play, messy ending, mentions of drug use and alcohol drinking...

Word count : 3180 (12 minutes read)

Author’s note : This was made using chatGPT + my dirty mind. And also... I know the DJ set with Skrillex took place in 2011 but I needed to be 2012 for the rest of the story... You will get it.

London, 2012 – 3:12 AM. Underground club, Shoreditch.

The sweat clings to your neck, the air is thick with cheap alcohol and ambitions. The crowd undulates under the strobe lights, amidst screams, bursts of laughter, and dirty basslines that pierce the eardrums.

On the mezzanine, a small crowd gathered around an improvised DJ booth. You didn't need to ask who was mixing : it's him.

Oliver Sykes. Damn, that name electrifies you just thinking about it. He is wearing a torn tank top and is so skinny its almost frightening. His fully tattoed arms are shining under the black light. He is screaming into the mic like if it was his own show, leaning against Skrillex, completely wasted. He laughs, sweats, raises his cup in the air, and splashes it on the turntables without paying attention. He sways a bit, forced to hold onto his friend's shoulder to stay upright.

You start dancing, just below. A little for you, a little for him. Not vulgar — but suggestive. Languorous. You feel his eyes fall on you for a moment. A sexy grimace. Half a smile. Maybe. Then he turns away, pours himself another drink. Like nothing hapened.

You keep having fun, drinking, feeling the rhythm take over until you don't care who's watching or not.

You end up running into him later, half slumped against the wall near the VIP toilets, a poorly rolled cigarette at the corner of his mouth, a bottle of water in one hand, a bottle of vodka in the other.

He is staring at you.

A long time. Before speaking, the voice a bit broken, deep, almost unpleasant, but captivating.

— You're a groupie of mine, right ?, he spits out, squinting his eyes, a mocking smile on the edge of his lips. He lets the silence settle, then says, pointing his finger at you, as if he has just had a revelation: — I think I saw you trying to flirt with me during the DJ set...

He sneers, takes a drag on his cigarette, raises an eyebrow, insolent.

— You danced for me, didn't you ? Was I that sexy up there or you were just drunk ?

He approaches with a somewhat unsteady but determined step. The smell of sweat, alcohol, weed, everything mingles. His eyes are wild. Shiny. Dug.

— You have to wait in line, you know... You are not the only horny groupie that wants a sweaty hug from me...

But his gaze descends on your body. Slowly. He bites his lip, then runs his tongue on it and blows smoke towards your neck.

— But you're hot, I won't lie.

He sizes you up like a predator, without any shame.

— So... what do you have to offer that's more than the others ? Go ahead, impress me. Maybe I'll remember you tomorrow morning.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk on your lips, as you approach slowly, like a cat that knows exactly when to pounce.

— Don't you feel like you're taking yourself a bit too seriously Oli ? You let your voice linger, a bit hoarse, a bit languorous, deliberately. — I might have danced. But it wasn't for you.

Obvious lie. He knows it. You know it. And it makes him smile — that twisted kind of smile, half mocking, half excited. A very sexy one.

He moistens his lips and openly stares at you, without shame.

— Yeah ? That little horny dance was for Skrillex I presume... He sneers, his voice drawn out, almost disdainful. — You danced like a slut in heat, and it was for me, your favorite singer. I fucking know it. And now that I'm talking to you, you're acting like you don't care ? That's cute...

He takes another step forward. His hand moves over your cheek without touching you, just brushing the air between you, as if he were already imagining closing his fingers around your jaw.

— What do you actually want ? A blurry photo in the bathroom ? A stolen cigarette and a sweaty hug in the VIP corner ? He laughs to himself, rolls his eyes, and shakes his bottle. — Or did you perhaps expect me to remember your name for more than two minutes ? He looks at you as if you were an amusing distraction. A lost toy.

But beneath his jabs, his eyes devour you.

You stay there, straight. The smile wider. A glint of defiance in your eyes.

— You talk to me like you don't already want to slam me against that wall. You're a bad actor, Oli. You let your finger trace the seam of your jeans, slowly, then move up along your side.

— And just so you know... I don't want anything you talked about. You get very close, your breath brushing against his damp collarbone. — I just want you to regret treating me like a groupie... after I made you come like a horny teenager...

Bam.

He remains momentarily speechless. The smile faded. Then he laughed—a brief, hoarse laugh that betrayed his excitement. He stares at you with sudden intensity. Less creepy than brutish. — Do you think you can play this game with me? I fuck girls like you every weekend, you're nothing special... But I like how bold you are. It makes me hard in my pants.

His hand rises. He gently grabs your chin, without forcing. Just to guide your face, to make you look up at him.

— And I have to admit... you have a damn look. You look like you want to eat me alive. I'm tempted to let you try... He approaches, his breath burning against your ear : — What do you plan to do with me, princess ? Suck me off in a corner trying to take it deeper than the others so maybe I will remember you ?

He almost crushes you with his confidence. He knows you want it. He feeds on it.

But he waits. He wants to see if you stand your ground. Or if you're going to crack.

He doesn't move. He holds your chin with the tips of his fingers, and his eyes, wild and bright, pierce into yours like blades.

— Come on... He sighs. Your lips are too perfect not to be dirty. He moistens his own, visibly high, but completely focused. — I bet you will open them for me before I even have to beg for it...

You burst out laughing. A real one, dry and almost mocking.

— Do you think you're irresistible, Oli ? You're just a guy who's too skinny, too full of himself, with vodka breath and dark circles under his eyes.

You step back slightly, just enough to deprive him of your contact. Then you look down at him.

— But I admit... you do have something. You tilt your head, languidly. — This little air of an unmanageable guy who reeks of sex and self-destruction.

He smiles, a bit twisted, almost amused by your response. He clearly loves it.

— Damn... you're a really provocative slut. He laughs. — You want me to ruin you in a corner, is that it ? You want to be the one I grab by the hair to empty myself down the throat tonight ?

His tone is raw, disgusting, and yet every word gives you a thrill of excitement.

— I'm not romantic, you know. I don't give hugs or promises. No kiss on the forehead. Just my fingers in your panties and my cock deep in your mouth. And you, you're going to beg for that, aren't you ?

You stare at him without blinking. Your gaze is dark, proud, defiant.

— I won't beg. But I'll let you do it. A moment. Then you murmur, venomously: — And I'll watch you come like a dog in heat. You will remember me every time you close your eyes. Every fucking time.

He squints his eyes. He seems to hesitate for a second, as if he was searching for one last sarcasm.

But no.

He grabs your wrist. Firmly.

— Come on. Let's see if you have as much guts with your mouth full.

Steamy scene — in a dark hallway, near the emergency exit. He slams you violently against a wall, just behind a torn velvet curtain, where the noise of the room becomes muffled and no one pays attention. A red light flickers on the ceiling. The humidity clings to your skin.

Oli crushes his mouth against yours, without gentleness. His lips are hot, wet, brutal. He tastes your tongue like a drug. His hand immediately slides to your hip, grabs your butt, squeezing it with uncontrolled violence.

— You've got a great ass, damn it...

He lowers his hand without hesitation, slips under your jeans, without warning, without permission, his fingers probing between your thighs with raw impatience.

— Fuck, you are already soaked... You came in your panties just by listening to me talk dirty to you, didn't you ?

He makes you spread your legs with a knee and presses his fingers against your slit, directly, without gentleness. Two fingers plunge in at once, deep, brutal.

— There you go... like that. You like it, huh ? To be taken like a whore in a sleazy club ?

He bites your collarbone. Hard. Enough to leave a mark. You moan despite yourself, your body twisted against his.

He tears your jeans off without any gentleness, slides your panties down, lifts a leg onto his hip. You don't have time to speak before he has already unzipped his fly.

His rubs his hard cock against you. He looks at you, with a hungry look.

— Do you want it ? Look at it. Do you think you can take it, slut ? He holds it in his hand, long and wet, sliding it against your clitoris. — Say it. Say that you cant wait to be destroyed by me.

He looks down at you, his fingers still buried inside you, his other hand on your throat, resting just firmly enough for you to feel his power without squeezing. He is panting, his eyes dilated, his forehead damp. He is horny. He is hard. He is jubilant.

— Damn... You've got such a nice pussy. He talks to you as if he had found a new toy. As if he couldn't believe he had a girl like you, there, pressed against a dirty wall. — You love getting smashed by your favorite singer, don't you ? Admit it. It makes you wet to be just another slut for me.

He suddenly pulls out his fingers and slips them into your mouth.

— Here. Suck on this. Clean yourself, princess.

He makes you keep them there, deeply embedded, while he completely lowers his pants and presses your leg against his hip. He guides his sex between your wet lips and penetrates you with a sharp, almost furious thrust.

— Damn tight... You were ready, huh ? You've been waiting for this for years...

He takes you without a precise rhythm, just as it comes, with nervous thrusts, sometimes too deep, sometimes disordered, but damn, it makes you vibrate everywhere. He holds you by the waist, slams you against the wall, bites your shoulder.

— Are you already about to cum, seriously ? Is my cock that good?

He pulls your hair roughly, forcing you to tilt your head back.

— Look at me. Yeah. That's it. He gently slaps your cheek, not hard but enough to humiliate you. — Are you going to beg me not to leave you hanging after this ? Are you going to send me DMs for six months ?

He spits on your breasts, tilts his head to lick one, brutally, without finesse, then looks at you again with that disgusting and excited grin.

— You can't even imagine how many girls like you I've slept with... And I don't remember any of them. They all want the same thing : to get ruined by their piece of shit rock star. He speeds up, pounding you harder, his balls slapping against you.

Then suddenly, he slows down. Stares at you.

— Damn... Did you get your lips done ? He holds you by the jaw, his thumb forcing your lips to part. — I knew you were a little slut. They all do that, the bitches who dream of sucking off rockers.

He pulls out suddenly, panting, his sex glistening and hard. He pins you to your knees without even warning you, his hand on your neck.

— Open it. I want to feel it. He guides his swollen tip against your mouth, rubs it on your lips, groans. — You did that for me, huh ? So that it fits perfectly around my cock.

He penetrates you slowly, groaning. He bites his lip, his eyes rolling back.

— Yeah... yeah... like that. You're just a little rock star whore. A mouth to remember. You want some in your throat, huh ?

He starts fucking your mouth with irregular thrusts, sometimes slow and deep, sometimes quick, chaotic. He holds your hair like a handle, chokes you a bit with his cock, moaning between his teeth.

— Damn, I won't last long if you keep this up... He steps back just enough to look at you, his eyes wild. — Where do you want me to finish ? On your tongue or on your face, princess ?

Your mouth is full of him. He chokes you a little, moans, his fingers gripping your neck as if he could push you even deeper. He looks at you, grunting, his hips jerking in fits and starts.

But he grumbles, annoyed.

— Damn... I'm not going to make it like this... I'm too high...

He pushes you away with a swift gesture, his sex glistening, hard, frustrated. He makes you get up by holding you by the arm, presses you against the wall, then leads you with him to a small alcove a little further away, just behind an iron railing, near an ajar emergency exit.

He turns you around, lifts your t-shirt, almost tears the rest of your panties off, and presses his hip against the edge.

— Hold on there. Show them what it's like to get fucked by me.

You look up. Right in front of you, through the semi-darkness, you see the dance floor. Bodies swaying, strobe lights flashing, laughter echoing. And there — you recognize them. The guys from his band. Matt, Jordan, Lee. A small group around a table. None of them are looking at you. But they could. The possibility makes you tremble.

Oli doesn't care. He spreads your buttocks brutally, spits between, penetrates you with a single dry thrust.

— Damn... You're as tight as a slut who has been waiting for this her whole life... Who has been finger fucking herself a lot thinking of me...

He takes you from behind, his hands gripping your waist, his hips slamming hard against your ass, the rhythm irregular but powerful. His breath is short, hoarse, saturated with smoke, alcohol, and sweat.

— You want more, huh ? You don't give a damn that my friends are two meters away ? You're just a fucking hole to fill. A toy.

He violently pulls your hair back, makes you arch your back. You moan. You enjoy. The dirt, the brutality, the contempt : everything ignites within you.

— Oh yeah... cum, slut. I can feel it. Your pussy grips me as if it wants to steal my cock. You like that, huh ? Getting destroyed by your idol ?

You are panting, your hands gripping the railing tightly. You feel his frustration rising. He can't reach climax, he grumbles, he complains, his sex throbs without exploding.

— Damn, I'm on the edge, I can't... You're going to have to do better than that, doll. Show me that you deserve my cum.

So you move. You regain a bit of control.

You pull your hips back sharply, making him grunt in surprise. You roll your hips against him, deliberately, slowly, wickedly, moaning loudly to excite him even more. You steal his rhythm.

— Whats going on, rock star ?, You spit as you turn halfway. You don't know how to fuck anymore ? Do you need me to show you how to do it ?

He slaps your ass, a loud crack, his chest trembling against your back.

— Shut up...

But he loves it.

He pins you down again, pounds you with rage, teeth clenched.

— Go on, damn it... you're going to make me come...

He bites your shoulder, pushes you against the wall until you crush. But you keep arching your back, wrapping around him, driving him crazy with your voice, your body, your ass against him.

You hear him panting, fighting against his own orgasm.

— Damn... I'm going to... I'm going to come...

You feel his hand gripping your face, forcing your mouth open blindly, as he hastily withdraws, his burning, trembling cock.

— Stick out your tongue... now. Don't move.

He growls like a beast. His hand clenched in your hair, the other gripping his cock, he forces you to look at him, panting, eyes half-closed, chest heaving from the effort.

— Yeah... yeah, that's it. Open your filthy mouth wide. I'm going to repaint you like a nasty groupie slut...

You obey. For fun. For a challenge. Out of desire.

He groans violently, his legs stretched, his hips shaking with spasms. And there, in a torn groan, he comes on your face — hot, dirty, sticky. He covers you everywhere with it. On your cheeks, your nose, your lips. White streaks on your sweat-drenched skin.

— Damn... Your face like that... could make a corpse get hard...

He holds you for a moment longer, his glans still erect, his breath ragged.

Then he laughed. Really. A nervous laugh. Mocking. Crushing.

— Look at yourself…

He finally lets you go, quickly wipes himself with his pulled-up t-shirt, looks down on you, like a self-satisfied jerk.

— How many times have you dreamed of this, huh ? He taps your cheek with the tips of his fingers, as if you were nothing but a soiled object. — And there you go. You got what you wanted. Your idol's cock in your mouth, and his juice on your face. Bravo, princess. You're officially one more in the collection.

He throws that at you with an insolent and tired tone before taking a step back. He puts his jeans back on, grabs his bottle of vodka, takes a direct swig without looking at you.

But he stays there.

A little too long.

You can see it in his eyes. Something is collapsing. A remnant of lucidity.

He gives you a quick glance. The arrogance trembles slightly in his features.

— You shouldn't have let me do that.

A whisper, like a confession. Too late.

He turns to walk away, but comes back for a second, pulls on a piece of fabric caught on a corner of the railing — an old, forgotten towel, a shabby thing. He hands it over, without a word. You feel his gaze slide over you one last time, over your soiled face, your parted lips, your still short breath.

He looks at you as if he feels a bit guilty. But not enough to apologize.

Just enough to keep it between you.

— You were fucking hot, so good to fuck. It's not your fault if I'm an asshole.

And he walks away. With a slow step. Leaves behind his scent, his cum, his shame. And you... shaken, trembling, but strangely alive.

(part 2 is coming soon)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[rageisinourveins]

Trinity of Terror Part 1

[miwnet]

Motionless in White - BUS INVADERS Ep. 305

[mylittlehatefuck666]

Masterlist

I write fanfic for BMTH and MIW. All of them are nsfw / 18+ / mdni.

Some are written with my corrupted mind only, some others got help from ChatGPT. I know its not the best but it allows me to feed you more since my first langage is not english and it takes me ages to write a full fic by myself. They are still good, trust me.

Feel free to ask me to tag you.

Requests are open (miw and bmth only).

Bring me the Horizon

Oli Sykes x Female reader

"Worship Me"

The New Chef

"You taste like danger"

Motionless In White

Ricky Olson x Vinny Mauro

"I'll make you my Valentine"

[rageisinourveins]

x

[syntheticklove]

Motionless in White,

Lille 26/06/2025, Aéronef

🎥 by me, after the show

So nice 👌🏻 ( and beautiful of course)

[miwnet]

we unite to write our code

[halflivingthings]

I’m obsessed with Justin (📸 ichabod)

[miwnet]

RICKY OLSON Break The Cycle MV

[miwtual]

RICKY OLSON Our Dreams Were HACKED

[syntheticklove]

There's so much beauty when your eyes lay lost in all the city lights

Pairing : Ricky Olson x Reader (Cécile)

Tags : M/F, romance, Ricky Olson

Warning : adult content , smut, alcohol

Note : english is not my first language so i tried to translate in english, maybe it's not perfect but I hope you'll like it ! It's a long story, 11000 words, good luck ! The chapters titles don't mean anything, they are just songs I like.

Chapter 1 : Break the cycle

The hotel room in Lille was bathed in soft light, filtered through the off-white curtains. Cécile stood in front of the wall mirror, observing her reflection with a mix of excitement and focus. To her right, Anna, rummaged through her makeup bag, which lay open and scattered on the bed.

— “Okay, are you going for dream-girl vibes or straight-up cardiac arrest?” she teased with a wink.

Cécile gave a slight smile.

— “I just... want to feel good, be myself for this big day.”

She was already wearing her favorite black dress. Lace, above the knee, low-cut, with her silver chain belt. Over it, she was still hesitating between her leather jacket or a simple cardigan.

Her fishnet tights rose high on her thighs, interwoven like a second skin. On her feet, her shiny black Jadon boots—chunky, but elegant. She adjusted her chunky chain necklace and grabbed her favorite handbag.

Her makeup was coming together slowly. First, a light matte foundation, then a sharp black eyeliner stroke, extending her gaze like a blade. She chose a subtle smoky eye to highlight her green eyes, and finally, her deep red lipstick she never went without. It was her signature look—100 percent her.

— “You look like a gothic goddess,” Anna said seriously.

— “Thanks. You know I’m nervous, right?”

— “Of course. But it’s good nerves. Honestly, you look stunning. If Ricky sees you, he’s going to lose his mind.”

Cécile rolled her eyes, a mixture of uncontrollable excitement and euphoria.

They headed downtown afterward, enjoying a few hours of freedom before the doors opened. Lille’s city center was lively and vibrant without being overwhelming. Flemish facades, uneven cobblestones, noisy cafés… everything pulsed with a unique energy. The air was cool despite the June day, the sky overcast, but the light was beautiful—silver-toned.

They stopped at a small brasserie on the corner of a quiet street. Cécile ordered a warm goat cheese and walnut salad, Anna a vegetarian burger. One sipped white wine, the other a Coke, chatting about the upcoming concert, their dream setlist, the adrenaline already rising in their veins.

— “Did you see the latest tour photos? They look in great shape. Ricky, seriously, that guy is a living god.”

— “You’re saying that? I thought your god was Oli,” said Cécile, laughing.

— “Yeah, but Ricky has that way of looking… like he’s reading right through you. I get why you’re obsessed. And that nose…”

They burst into laughter.

After the meal, they decided to walk a bit more. For digestion, for the fresh air, and to prolong that little bubble between them before the coming sonic storm.

They took a quieter alley, lined with indie shops, bookstores, and galleries. Cécile slowed down, drawn to a shop window where a rare illustrated gothic collection was displayed. She stepped closer, fascinated… and that’s when it happened.

Voices behind them. Footsteps. A deep laugh.

She turned, almost by reflex.

They were there. In real life. Just a few meters away.

Chris, imposing, sunglasses on, leather jacket. Vinny, joking, filming with his phone. Justin and Ryan, deep in conversation, laid-back. And Ricky.

Cécile felt her heart skip a beat. He was wearing a simple black T-shirt with a perfect fit, his signature key necklace around his tattooed neck. His black hair, a mix of long strands and shorter sections, was slicked back, the nape shaved. His piercing blue gaze swept the street… then stopped.

On her.

Cécile felt the world slow down. As if the whole city had stopped breathing for a moment. He was looking at her. Really looking. Not a glance, not a casual scan. A deep, focused gaze.

He didn’t move. He didn’t frown. But something flickered in his eyes. A subtle smile appeared. Like a spark. A wordless recognition.

Then Chris whispered something in his ear. Ricky slowly turned his head away, as if trying to hold onto the connection as long as possible, and resumed walking with the group.

They disappeared around the corner, but at the very last moment, he looked back. One last glance at her.

Cécile didn’t move. She wasn’t breathing either, for that matter.

— “Cécile?” whispered Anna, still by her side, speechless with surprise.

— “I think he saw me.”

— “He looked at you like you’d just fallen out of another world.”

— “I know. I… I’m not sure I even breathed. I feel all shaken up.”

A silence. Then Anna exploded.

— “That was INCREDIBLE! That look! It was like a movie scene—you know, when the music stops and it’s just the two of them in the room. It was INTENSE!!!”

Cécile, still trembling, almost whispered to herself:

— “Was it real, do you think? I didn’t imagine it, right? Pinch me!”

— “It was absolutely real. And I’m telling you now: tonight, you stay near the stage. And you don’t look away.”

Chapter 2 : Devil’s night

The entrance into the venue happened almost in silence.

Only those blue eyes remained—those that had pierced her in an alley just a few hours earlier.

She followed Anna with quick steps, guided more by instinct than consciousness. In her stomach, a blend of gentle anxiety and fluttering euphoria stirred.

The Aéronef venue was already packed, but they managed to slip all the way to the front, slightly to the left—exactly where Cécile had hoped to be. Directly facing the stage. Directly facing him.

— “We’re good here,” Anna whispered in her ear, all smiles. “Holding up? Because even I’m buzzing—it’s so exciting!”

Cécile nodded without speaking. Her gaze swept across the empty stage, the instruments already in place. The cables, the microphones, the drum kit. She spotted the marks on the floor, the ready guitars. He was going to be there, right there, just a few meters away. It wasn’t a dream anymore, or a YouTube video on repeat, or a photo saved on her phone. It was real.

The crowd thickened. The air turned heavy, feverish. Screams grew more frequent, nervous whispers signaling their imminent arrival.

Then, the lights went out.

A scream rose from the room like a crashing wave.

Total darkness. Then a deep, low beat vibrated through the floor. A slow, tribal rhythm—almost organic. Their entrance, as always, came with the sound of bells and a blaring alarm.

And finally… the lights. Red. Pulsing.

Motionless in White stormed the stage in a frenzy of shadows and decibels to Meltdown. Chris, towering in a black trench and leather gloves, wielded the mic like a scepter. Vinny took his place behind the drums, raising his sticks like a mad priest. Justin and Ryan stepped into position, their silhouettes already swallowed by the spotlights.

And Ricky.

He appeared in a halo of icy blue. Dressed in black from head to toe. Black T-shirt, sleeveless denim vest adorned with picks and his heart-shaped logo, black skinny jeans, gleaming combat boots. The tattoos on his arms and the veins bulging beneath his skin stood out under the lights. His key-shaped pendant swung against his chest. His hair, still just as dark, was slicked perfectly back, with a few longer strands falling toward his temples. He planted a foot on the stage riser—in a glorious, devastatingly sexy stance.

And his eyes.

Even from here, Cécile saw them.

He barely scanned the crowd. That wasn’t his style. Focused. Silent. He adjusted his guitar, played a few warm-up notes… and then his gaze drifted slowly toward the audience, short glances, until—just for a moment—it landed in their direction.

He stopped. Still. Just for a few seconds.

She didn’t know if he really saw her. But she—she couldn’t move. Frozen. Magnetized.

And then, he gave the faintest smile. Almost imperceptible. Barely half a second. But she saw it.

The concert exploded.

The sound was monumental. The bass shook the floor, Chris’s voice cracked like a storm over a black sea. Guitars slashed the air. But Cécile… could barely hear any of it. Or rather, it all coursed through her like an electric current. Anna beside her was completely immersed, screaming along to the lyrics.

During the songs, Ricky moved constantly—he always had that habit of running across the stage, whipping his head frantically, lost in his own world. But always, without fail, he returned to his side of the stage. And each time, his eyes landed on her again. She realized it now: it wasn’t a coincidence. He had seen her. He was looking at her. Again.

Anna grabbed her by the arm:

— “He’s looking at you. Holy shit, Cécile. HE’S LOOKING AT YOU.”

She didn’t answer. Her body wasn’t responding. She was nailed to the floor, completely still, absorbed. Her heart pounded, her breath short, her lower belly in turmoil.

The concert went on like a dream. Reincarnate, Voices, Disguise, Scoring the End of the World.

The setlist delivered hit after hit, each song unleashing screams, mosh pits, raised arms. But for Cécile, the world had narrowed to the space between the stage and herself.

Then came Another Life.

The first notes—soft, almost tender—silenced the crowd for a second. The lights turned cold, pearly. Chris sang with a sincerity that hurt. And Ricky… he was still watching her. Fleeting moments, but real ones.

The crowd erupted in applause.

The encore—Eternally Yours—came too fast.

And then, it was over.

Darkness. Shallow breaths. The lights slowly returned.

Cécile stayed there. Frozen. As if refusing to let go of the moment.

Anna turned to her, dumbfounded:

— “I think I just witnessed a miracle.”

Cécile finally blinked. She still couldn’t speak—breathless.

Chapter 3 : sinematic

The lights had just come back on in the venue. A huge collective breath escaped from the crowd, as if the entire Aéronef were finally releasing the tension that had built up over the last hour and a half.

Her hands were clammy, her heart was pounding in her chest. Her legs still trembled, ears ringing—but it wasn’t just the concert adrenaline anymore.

It was something else.

— “Cécile… can you hear me?”

Anna was waving her hand in front of her, laughing.

— “Hello! Are you fainting or what?”

Cécile blinked and gave a weak smile, eyes dazed.

— “I don’t know. It’s… I’ve never felt this before. I’m in a total trance, I swear I can’t believe it.”

And she burst out in a nervous laugh.

She turned toward the now-empty stage. The word END seemed to hang in the air. She didn’t want to believe it was over like that—too sudden, too abrupt.

They slowly began to make their way out with the crowd, reluctantly. It was hot inside, the atmosphere still dense, saturated with screams and smiles.

Cécile let herself be swept along, still somewhere else entirely.

Then, a man passed by them—a badge around his neck, an earpiece clipped to his ear.

He stopped right in front of them.

— “Hi.”

They stopped, eyes wide.

— “Good evening…?”

He pointed to the back of the venue.

— “The band’s meeting a few people backstage tonight. Just a small group of fans. And you’ve been asked for. Are you coming?”

Anna nodded frantically.

— “Of course we’re coming!”

Cécile stood frozen. She wanted to… and yet, a strange fear twisted in her gut. Or maybe it was an excitement she could barely contain.

The hallway was narrow and quiet—the complete opposite of the chaos they’d just left behind.

Their footsteps echoed on the floor, along with those of other fans. Then, a door opened into a small lounge area: a couch, armchairs, dim lights, bottles of water, sodas, beer.

They were there.

The five members of Motionless in White.

Chris—imposing, always charismatic even drenched in sweat—his coat open over his black shirt, was chatting with two overexcited girls. Justin laughed with a fan in a cap, leaning on an amp. Ryan and Vinny, relaxed, were munching on chips while talking to a couple of German goths.

And him—Ricky—stood slightly apart, leaning against the wall near an unlit spotlight, a water bottle in hand, scrolling on his phone.

He looked up at the door—maybe by reflex, or maybe because he felt her.

He froze. As if surprised. But not really. His eyes locked onto Cécile’s with silent intensity.

He straightened slowly, ran a hand through his black hair— the strands falling back over his forehead. He didn’t smile, but his blue eyes sparkled.

Anna was already off chatting with Ryan. Cécile stayed near the entrance, unable to move, a bit awkward, not sure how to act. She could feel her heart slamming against her ribs.

Ricky hesitated. Then turned away. Pretended to sip from his bottle. But just seconds later, he glanced back— a furtive look in her direction. Cécile saw it. And a chill slipped down her spine.

He remembered.

He remembered the street in Lille. That suspended moment, that afternoon. She was sure of it now.

He took a step forward, as if about to speak. But halfway there, a fan tapped him on the shoulder to talk. He smiled politely, said a few words, but his gaze kept drifting back to her. He wasn’t talking to the fans. He was watching her.

She finally walked over to Anna and Ryan, still deep in conversation.

Minutes passed. Conversations overlapped, bursts of laughter echoed, tension faded. Except between them. There, the string was still taut— on the verge of snapping.

Then, finally, he stepped forward. And he came to her.

He stood in front of her. His eyes were even bluer up close. He spoke softly— with that accent so familiar to her. Slow, precise, a little shy— and with a deep, sensual, hypnotic tone.

— “It was you in front of the bookstore earlier today, wasn’t it?”

She looked up, surprised that he’d made the first move.

— “Yes, that was me.”

He gave a small, quiet laugh, his eyes still locked on hers.

— “I didn’t imagine it. I remember you.”

He pressed his lips together, nodded slowly.

— “I watched you during the show. You didn’t move. You were completely still. I… I noticed you.”

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t awkwardness. It was tension.

It was like the rest of the world had blurred. The other fans, the rest of the band—they all faded away.

— “I’m Ricky,” he said.

— “I know. I’m Cécile,” she said with a bright smile, her eyes glittering with sparks.

He smiled back— a warm, sincere smile.

Chapter 4 : City lights

The group moved through the remaining fans, smiles on their faces, voices quieter now that the euphoria was slowly fading.

Cécile had not left Ricky's side. And he seemed to have no intention of leaving hers.

He stayed facing her, their conversation developing slowly, with delicacy.

— "So, you came all the way from Paris just for the concert?" he asked, leaning slightly against the wall, his eternal water bottle in hand, the keychain on his key glinting softly under the yellow lights.

—"Yes, and next year I’ve already booked my tickets for the Barcelona concert. I like to travel and experience interesting things…" she replied, a bit teasing.

He smiled, eyes half-closed, intrigued.

—"And was today one of those experiences?"

She hesitated. Then held his gaze.

—"I think so."

—"I'm glad."

A few meters away, Anna was talking to Vinny, laughing. He was showing her silly videos on his phone, shaking his head with childlike energy. Ryan was drinking a beer with Justin, telling a tour story about a mic that exploded in the middle of a set.

Chris, majestic even without effort, Daddy Chris as he was nicknamed, glanced at Ricky, then at Cécile. A small smile stretched across his lips before he returned to his conversation with two Dutch fans who were leaving soon.

—"Do you always talk like that?" Ricky asked, suddenly more playful.

—"Talk like what?"

—"Like you’re not afraid to say what you think and feel."

Cécile smiled, slightly. She shrugged.

—"I’m 35, I don’t really have time to pretend anymore."

He burst out laughing briefly, honestly.

—"It’s refreshing. Most people pretend these days."

—"And you, do you pretend?"

He shook his head, serious this time.

—"No, I prefer to stay silent, maybe too much, but that’s my way of not pretending to be someone else."

—"You seemed alone tonight when I walked into the room, even with the crowd around."

He stared at her, surprised by her accuracy. Then whispered:

—"You’re right."

Little by little, the fans were leaving. Selfies, hugs, thanks. The production crew began to pack up bottles and cables. Anna had sat in a corner, slowly sipping a soda, her phone in hand. She looked up at Cécile and gave her a knowing glance.

She understood.

Cécile, on the other hand, was still there, less than a meter from Ricky. Their bodies didn’t touch, but their presences were connected, discreetly, like two magnets getting acquainted.

—"You know, I almost never come to these backstage meet-and-greets, I’m not comfortable with it. But tonight, I wanted to come, and for you to be here. And I’m glad I did," he said.

She nodded slowly.

—"Me too, actually, I feel like I’m dreaming, and I’m going to wake up suddenly."

He gave a softer smile this time, almost shy.

—"Let’s test it to see if it’s a dream or not."

—"What do you mean?"

He looked her in the eyes, very seriously.

—"Ask me anything, and if my answer feels real, then you’re not dreaming."

She laughed, caught off guard

—"That’s original, but okay… What’s your favorite drink?"

He gave a little laugh and answered without hesitation:

—"Cabernet Sauvignon. California. 2014 if I’m not mistaken."

—"That’s very specific."

—"I’m very specific."

—"I like that."

There were almost no more people left.

The lights had softened even more. Vinny waved goodbye to Anna, giving her a little black bracelet from the merch as a souvenir. Ryan and Justin followed, and soon there were no more fans in the room

Only five people remained.

Ricky.

Cécile.

Anna.

Chris.

And an assistant cleaning up the cans.

Ricky leaned toward Anna and Cécile.

—"Do you want to go for a walk to get some fresh air? Or go grab a drink somewhere?"

She looked at him. Then glanced at Anna, who, without them needing to speak, gave her a discreet nod of approval.

—"I’d love for us to go have a glass of wine."

He nodded, as if relieved.

—"Perfect, I don’t want this night to end just yet. Let’s go!"

And they left together—Cécile, Ricky, Anna, and Chris—quietly, as if all of this was just a natural extension of what had already started long before.

Chapter 5 : porcelain

The little wine bar was tucked away on a quiet, almost hidden street, like a well-kept secret. The dim lighting bathed the room in a soft warmth, with exposed brick walls and candles scattered like drops of light on the tables. The hushed atmosphere contrasted with the excitement of the concert, but it was perfect for letting their still-thumping hearts come down from the adrenaline rush.

Cécile raised her glass of red wine — a deep, full-bodied wine with violet reflections — and gently clinked it against Ricky’s, their fingers brushing slightly.

— “To this evening,” he said with a calm, almost tender smile.

— “To this evening,” she replied softly, her eyes seeking his.

Next to them, Anna and Chris were laughing about an overly enthusiastic fan in the pit. The chemistry between them was obvious, and even if words were sometimes limited by language, the language of looks and laughter did the rest. Ricky watched the scene out of the corner of his eye, but his attention kept returning to Cécile.

— “So tell me, are you more of a Cabernet or a Pinot woman?” he asked teasingly.

— “Definitely Cabernet,” she answered with a crooked smile. “The darker, the better.”

— “Same,” he nodded, amused. “Mysterious, deep, intense. Like you.”

She raised an eyebrow, pretending to be skeptical.

— “You don’t even know me.”

— “Not yet…” He tilted his head slightly, looking at her as if trying to read between the lines. “But I feel like I already know a little.”

Cécile felt her throat tighten. There was something in his tone — that calm and gentle certainty, without ever pushing — that made her melt a little more, without even trying to resist.

Some time later, Anna stood up, grabbing her bag.

— “Okay, I’m going to head out before I fall asleep right here on the table.” She looked at Chris. “Walk me back?”

— “With pleasure,” he said with a big smile. “I’m a gentleman.”

Cécile exchanged a quick look with Anna — one of those knowing, questioning glances — then smiled sideways at her.

— “See you back at the hotel then,” said Cécile.

— “Or not…” Anna replied with a discreet wink before following Chris out.

Silence slowly settled in. Ricky and Cécile were left alone, their glasses still half-full, their bodies slightly turned toward each other.

— “Just the two of us now,” he said, idly playing with the rim of his glass.

— “Looks like it,” she replied, slightly flirtatious.

— “Want to go for a walk?” he finally asked. “Everything’s quiet, and I’m not quite ready to call it a night.”

Cécile stared at him for a moment, caught in the hypnotic blue of his eyes. She slowly nodded.

— “Me neither.”

They stood up, leaving the little bar and stepping into the night air — cool but pleasant. The streets of Lille were almost empty now, their footsteps echoing softly on the cobblestones. The mood had shifted — it wasn’t just casual conversation anymore, but the beginning of a slowly building flame.

Ricky walked beside her, hands in his pockets, glancing at her now and then with intensity.

— “You’re… different,” he said after a few steps. “I mean, there you were in the crowd, totally absorbed, eyes locked on me like… nothing else existed. It shook me.”

She smiled shyly.

— “I didn’t think you’d notice, with all the people there.”

— “How could I not?” He stopped for a moment, turning to face her. “You’re impossible to miss.”

— “You should know… I’ve always thought you were cute, since I started listening to the band,” she said in a breath, almost without meaning to. “But everything happening tonight — I never could’ve imagined any of this.”

He gave a soft smile, his eyes shining under the golden glow of a streetlamp.

— “Same here. I wasn’t looking for anything, but then I saw you. And I couldn’t look away. And I never look at the crowd! It freaks me out too much, I try to protect myself. Maybe it’s fate.”

They began walking again, slower now. With every glance, every movement, the tension grew — that delicious tension made of restrained desire, anticipation, the unknown, and hope.

Ricky gently let his hand drift near hers, their fingers brushing but not quite intertwining. He leaned slightly toward her.

— “Can I ask you something?”

— “Of course.”

— “Do you want this to be just a walk… or something we don’t name but want to fully enjoy — for real?”

Cécile looked him straight in the eyes, her heart pounding wildly.

— “I don’t want to put a label on this, but I don’t want to miss it either.”

He nodded, visibly relieved.

— “In that case… let’s keep enjoying it.”

Chapter 6 : Abigail

The city had gradually emptied. No more noise. Just the whisper of the wind in the branches, the soft crackling of their steps on the damp cobblestones. Lille, usually so full of life, felt suspended. Asleep.

They had stopped in front of a small park, bordered by old wrought-iron gates, barely lit by a few faded street lamps. The gate wasn’t locked. They had only to push it open.

At the back, a wooden bench, slightly worn. They sat down. First at a distance. Then a little closer. Without a word.

Cécile clasped her hands lightly on her knees, hyper-aware of every movement she made—and his. Ricky had tilted his head back for a moment, staring at the branches above them.

Then he turned to her.

— “Cécile…” He said her name as if discovering a familiar song in an unexpected place. “Can I say something stupid?”

She slowly turned her head, her eyes shining with emotion.

— “You can say whatever you want.”

He pressed his lips together, as if still trying to censor himself, then smiled faintly.

— “I didn’t expect any of this. You. I didn’t think I needed it, but now… I don’t want it to end.”

She felt a soft wave rise in her belly.

— “Me neither,” she whispered. “I never thought something like this was real… that it could happen to me. With you.”

He raised a hand, hesitated a second, then gently placed it on her cheek, his warm skin against hers.

— “You’re trembling,” he said softly.

— “I know.” She looked straight into his eyes. “I’m scared, I’m cold, but I’m happy.”

They gazed at each other for a moment more. The tension had turned into pure electricity. No more holding back. No more doubt.

Their faces slowly drew closer.

And their lips met.

A first kiss. Deep, soft, trembling. A kiss that said everything they hadn’t yet dared to say. The way his fingers slid into her hair, the way her hands clung to his black jacket. The slowness. The warmth.

Then a second kiss. More intense. More real. Longer.

They had pulled each other close without even realizing it. He held her tightly, almost protectively, while she nestled against his chest, her hands shyly exploring the line of his shoulders, his tattooed arms, his neck.

They stayed there for a long time, on that slightly cold wooden bench, in the silent park, kissing, brushing against each other, staring into each other’s eyes.

The world no longer existed. Only the two of them mattered.

Chapter 7 : slaughterhouse

They had left the park reluctantly, their hands intertwined, hearts in disarray. The night air had cooled, but neither of them seemed to notice. Each step brought them closer to the end of this night… or perhaps to its beginning.

At the corner of a quiet street, Ricky stopped, turning slightly toward her.

— “My hotel is just here,” he said, pointing to a building with an elegant stone façade. “They have a little bar that stays open for guests. Would you like… if you want, one last drink?”

Cécile looked at him with a tender, slightly amused half-smile.

— “One last?”

— “Maybe the start of a new kind,” he murmured, half playful, half nervous.

She nodded without replying. There was nothing more to say.

They stepped into the hotel, discreet and hushed. The reception was empty. The silence was only broken by soft music drifting in from the small bar tucked away off the lobby. A warm, golden light caressed the old woodwork and velvet armchairs.

They sat at the back of the room, in a secluded alcove, out of sight. It was just the two of them.

— “The same as earlier?” Ricky asked, glancing at the menu absentmindedly.

— “Cabernet,” she replied with a knowing wink.

He placed the order, then leaned toward her, his tattooed forearms resting on the table, the veins standing out in a way that was impossibly sexy.

— “You know what I like most about this evening?”

— “Tell me.”

— “It’s that you never tried to impress me, never played a part.”

She lowered her gaze, moved, before murmuring:

— “Like I told you earlier, I don’t have time to pretend to be someone I’m not, or do things I don’t want to do. And I never would’ve thought I’d find myself in a hotel bar with Ricky Olson.”

He smiled softly, his gaze suddenly more intense.

— “I see you, Cécile. Every detail. The way you stood during the first song. The way your eyes followed every note, every sound. And even earlier in the street. That look. I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards. I never imagined you’d be sitting here in front of me.”

The waiter brought two glasses of deep red wine. Ricky raised his glass, never taking his eyes off her.

— “To unexpected nights,” he said.

— “To what happens when we least expect it,” she replied, clinking her glass gently against his.

They drank slowly. The wine was full-bodied, powerful, almost warm. Or maybe it was their hands brushing as they picked up their glasses. Their knees brushing under the table.

Their gazes had grown heavier. The air between them seemed to vibrate, as if the slightest breath might tip everything over.

Ricky was staring at her, intensely.

— “Are you always this beautiful when you drink wine by candlelight?”

— “Only when I’m with someone who looks at me the way you do.”

He slowly set down his glass.

— “I don’t want to be a mistake for you, something you’ll regret, something that leaves a bitter taste.”

— “It could never be. Even if everything stopped right now… it would still be unforgettable.”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, as if trying to contain the fire rising within him. Then he leaned in, closer.

— “If I kiss you again now…” His voice was low. “I won’t be able to stop.”

She looked straight at him, unflinching.

— “I know.”

He rose slowly and held out his hand to her, his eyes tender, burning, and infinitely respectful.

— “Come with me.”

She slipped her hand into his without hesitation.

Chapter 8 : synthetic love

They climbed the stairs without a word, their hands still joined, their steps silent, as if every movement had to preserve the fragile magic of the moment. The hallway was calm, wrapped in a muted semi-darkness. Ricky stopped in front of a door, slid the key card into the slot. A soft click. He opened it.

—"After you," he said softly.

The room was simple, elegant. A large bed with pristine white sheets. Heavy curtains in dark tones. A dim light filtered from the sconce near the desk. Cécile entered slowly, her Dr. Martens echoing softly on the wooden floor. When she turned back toward him, he closed the door behind them.

The look they exchanged left no room for retreat. He walked toward her slowly, as if savoring every second.

—"I’ve been trying to calm down ever since we kissed in the park."

—"I don’t want you to stay calm," she replied with a teasing smile.

He was right in front of her now. His hand brushed hers, slid up along her arm, caressed her shoulder with a slowness that was almost painful. She shivered.

—"I don’t want to rush you..."

—"You’re not," she whispered.

And suddenly, no more words. His mouth met hers with an intensity that made the whole room tremble. It wasn’t a hesitant kiss. It was a hungry, burning kiss.

His hands framed her face, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling lightly. She moaned at the sensation. She clung to his leather jacket. Her skin against his. His tattoos under her palms. His scent—a blend of leather, santal, wine, and thunderstorm.

They were backing up toward the bed without even noticing. He laid her down with infinite gentleness, all while kissing her neck, her shoulders, every bit of skin he uncovered. Ricky breathed in her scent while nibbling the spot just behind her ear.

— “Fuck, you’re beautiful…” he murmured between kisses, his voice hoarse with restraint.

She answered with her body. With her short breaths, with her nails sliding down his back. He paid attention to everything—her reactions, her shivers, her gaze that never left his.

They discovered each other slowly, yet with urgency. They weren’t undressing—they were devouring.

He took his time to look at her, to savor every inch of her. His lips wandered endlessly.

When he finally entered her, it was a release. A sweet burn. A total surrender. No rush, just a deep, powerful, sensual fusion.

They murmured words only they understood. “Oh god, yes,” “You’re consuming me,” “Don’t stop, harder,” like mantras. He watched her constantly, as if to make sure she was really there, that it wasn’t a dream. She moaned his name, they kissed deeply, he devoured her body with his tongue, his lips, his strong hands gripping her hips.

And when they reached the peak, it was together, their sweaty bodies trembling in unison.

Then silence.

Only their entwined bodies, their breaths mingled, the synchronized beating of two hearts.

He held her tightly, his hand on her neck, his forehead against hers.

—"That was… something. No kidding." She smiled, her eyelids half closed. "It wasn’t just sex."

He looked up at her, serious and tender all at once.

—"No, it was you and me."

They stayed there, in the wrinkled sheets, warm-skinned and light-hearted.

Chapter 9 : Sign of life

Their bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, the heat of their union lingered in the air like a soft and electrifying mist. Ricky had his cheek resting against her shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing slow circles on the skin of her stomach and gently brushing her breasts.

— “So… Paris, huh?” he murmured, his voice still hoarse from the intensity of their lovemaking.

— “Yeah, it’s not exactly like what you see on TV, you know? We’re far from the clichés.”

— “You’ve already shattered every cliché I had in mind,” he said, looking up at her with a crooked smile.

She chuckled softly. Her hand slid through his hair, still damp with sweat. He shivered under her touch.

— “I never imagined you’d be like this,” she whispered.

— “Like what?”

— “Kind, funny, gentle, simple.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, his bare chest cut by the soft shadow of the lamp.

— “You thought I’d be the rockstar cliché?”

— “A little,” she teased. “At least, untouchable. I mean… I’ve been watching you on stage for years. You’re always… distant, magnetic.”

He let out a deep, genuine laugh.

— “God, if you only knew how nervous and stressed I get before every show… I’ve just learned to hide it the best I can.”

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

— “But tonight… you saw me as I really am. Not the musician. Just… me.”

A tender silence settled between them. Then she leaned in slightly, her lips just a breath away from his.

— “You know…” she said, kissing him gently, “I’m not sure I’ve seen it all just yet.”

He smiled against her mouth, and this time, he took the lead.

They kissed again, but slower, with a different intensity — a sensual curiosity, a need to dive even deeper into this connection.

The sheets slid away. His hands rediscovered the curves he had already explored, but this time with more slowness, more precision. When he reached her ribs, she squirmed.

— “Ticklish?”

— “A bit… And you seem to enjoy that way too much,” she laughed, twisting away playfully.

— “Guilty as charged,” he whispered, before continuing to explore her like sacred ground.

Eventually, his long fingers slid between her thighs and began to caress her, her intimacy already wet and ready to welcome him again.

He spoke to her between kisses:

— “You’re like velvet… warm, soft, comforting… but hypnotic.”

They lost themselves in a slow, humid, deep dance. And when the wave took them again, it was in a moan full of meaning.

Later, naked under the sheets, she nestled against him, her head resting on the tattoos across his chest. He played gently with a strand of her hair.

— “You’re dangerous, Cécile,” he said with a tired smile.

Sleep came slowly, like a soft cloud. But neither of them wanted to close their eyes.

— “Stay with me for the rest of the night, please,” he whispered into the dark.

And they fell asleep like that, entwined, their bodies exhausted but their hearts still beating too fast to believe it had all been just a dream.

Chapter 10 : Rats

A pale light filtered through the drawn curtains. Cécile slowly opened her eyes, still nestled against Ricky. He was half-asleep, his arms wrapped around her like he was afraid she might vanish. His chest rose and fell gently beneath her cheek.

She stayed like that for a few seconds, her heart tight with tenderness.

He murmured, eyes still closed:

— "Still here?"

— "Still here," she whispered back.

He stretched out an arm and pulled her closer to him.

— "Perfect..."

They lay in silence, their breaths mingling. Then Ricky opened his eyes—an intense pale blue that sent a shiver down her spine even in the quiet of the morning.

— "That was unexpected," he said finally.

— "In the best possible way."

He smiled, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. His dark hair fell in tousled strands across his forehead.

— "I really don’t feel like leaving..."

— "No choice..."

He nodded, looking regretful.

— "Yeah. The bus leaves in two hours. Strasbourg tonight."

A silence fell between them. That word sounded like a tear in the fabric—Strasbourg.

— "Okay," she said softly.

He looked at her with a troubled expression.

— "Give me your phone."

She handed it to him without a word. He added his private Instagram, then opened his own profile and added hers.

— "So you can reach me. And I can reach you. Always."

She smiled, touched.

— "Thank you for not disappearing like a ghost."

He lowered his gaze for a second, then looked back up at her.

— "Actually..." he said, a hesitant smile on his lips, "what if it didn’t have to end right now?"

— "What?"

— "What if you came with me. Just... one more day. You and me. On the road."

She stared at him, surprised. Emotion surged like a wave.

— "To Strasbourg? I have to work, I can’t just leave!"

He nodded.

— "Just one day. One more night. I’ll bring you back tomorrow, I promise. But I don’t want this—whatever this is—to end just like that."

She froze for a few seconds, torn between reason and the beating of her heart.

— "I don’t have any clothes with me, you know."

— "I’ll lend you mine."

They burst into laughter, but deep down she already knew she was going to say yes. It was crazy, impulsive—but incredibly alive.

— "I have to tell Anna, and my job—I need to come up with some stupid excuse."

— "Tell them you made a terrible life choice and got kidnapped by a mysterious guitarist."

— "That’ll go over just fine," she murmured with a smile.

He kissed her gently on the forehead, then on the lips.

— "Cécile, I mean it. Come with me."

She looked into his eyes. There was a promise there—trembling, but sincere.

— "Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

He smiled at her like he had just won a battle against the entire world.

— "Perfect. Come on, let’s get ready, grab a coffee, and hit the road!"

She laughed, grabbing the dress she had worn the night before.

— "I can’t believe I’m doing something this crazy."

— "It’s amazing. I’m so happy!"

And in that room in Lille, her heart pounding, she felt like she was stepping out of the ordinary and into something rare. An adventure. Maybe more.

Chapter 11 : Voices

The Lille sun filtered timidly through the windows of the black van that had taken them to the outskirts of the city. It was barely noon, but the tour bus was already waiting in a discreet parking lot, its engine purring. Cécile held an improvised bag, hastily packed in Ricky’s room: one of his T-shirts, a new toothbrush she’d found at the reception, and one of his black hoodies that she was wearing now—soft and comforting.

Her hair was only vaguely arranged, her eyes still rimmed with a trace of eyeliner. And yet, she had never felt such light inside her.

Ricky hadn’t let go of her hand or taken his eyes off her.

They boarded. Inside, it felt like a rolling house: two couches, a narrow kitchen, a table for work, and at the back, the infamous “bunks,” those tiny sleeping pods lined up like in a submarine.

Chris, already half-slouched on the bench, raised an eyebrow when he saw them come in.

— “Hey Cécile, you coming with us?”

— “I am”

Ricky smiled as he walked behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

—“I’m keeping her with me.”

— “Good luck, girl,” Vinny added, pulling a can of Red Bull from the fridge. “Hope you like bad jokes and loud snoring.”

— “I’ve survived worse, and trust me, I can laugh at plenty of weird jokes,” Cécile replied with a calm smile.

— “Hands off, she’s mine,” Ricky whispered to Vinny in a possessive gesture.

The road began, and slowly, the chatter faded into a relaxed hum. Ricky led her toward the back of the bus, where the bunks were lined up. He opened one, pulled aside a black curtain, and motioned to her.

— “Nap time. Come hide with me.”

They squeezed into the narrow space, just wide enough for two. She found herself pressed against his chest, her forehead resting on his collarbone, their legs tangled.

— “Feels like a coffin,” she said with a soft laugh.

— “Best place to sleep, trust me.”

— “Aren’t you afraid I’ll snore?”

— “No, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you won’t be there anymore.”

She looked up at him. There was no humor in his voice, just disarming tenderness. She ran a hand through his dark strands and placed a gentle kiss beneath his jawline.

— “I won’t disappear.”

They spoke in hushed voices, surrounded by the reassuring darkness of their little rolling cocoon. He told her about the nights writing Gloom, those moments of lucid intoxication on stage. She told him about her life in Paris, her job, her dreams and passions.

— “You’re different,” he whispered.

— “Like that’s rare?”

— “It is. You’re calm but intense, honest and funny. You’re unforgettable. Like an incredible wine you want to savor.”

She laughed quietly, then closed her eyes, forehead pressed to his tattooed neck, breathing in his scent of sandalwood. They fell asleep like that, slow and peaceful breaths.

A few hours later, the bus pulled up in front of a slightly larger venue: La Laiterie, in Strasbourg.

Cécile stepped out behind Ricky, still drowsy but happy. He had spent the whole trip gently stroking her hand, brushing kisses against her temple as if to reassure himself it was all real.

The other band members greeted her warmly. Chris handed her a bottle of water.

— “Ready for another round?”

— “I think so.”

She spent the afternoon backstage, sitting on a flight case, watching the soundcheck. Ricky kept throwing glances her way, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. At one point, guitar still in hand, he leaned in and murmured:

— “I’m glad you’re here.”

But she already felt a shadow looming. Tomorrow. Normal life.

He seemed to read the thought on her face and whispered:

— “Don’t think about that. Not now.”

She nodded. She was just one more day.

But sometimes, one day is enough to change everything.

Chapter 12 – Nothing ever after

After the show, they left the venue through a discreet door, escaping the commotion of the crowd still spilling into the streets. The air was cool, a soft mist covering the sidewalks, and the glow from the streetlights cast a pale aura around them. Ricky walked slowly, his hand in Cécile’s, still remarkably attentive, as if he feared she might vanish.

He turned to her, wearing that half-smile that always made her melt.

— “You know I’m seriously thinking about kidnapping you for real.”

— “Too late.” She looked at him gently. “You already have.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the hotel, as if silence between them had become its own language. Once in the room, they slipped off their jackets. She was still wearing Ricky’s hoodie and a simple pair of black panties. He walked toward her slowly, his gaze sweeping over her with a calm, almost aching intensity.

— “You are... beautiful, even tired and messy. Especially when you’re tired and messy.”

— “I’m not tired when you’re here.”

Their bodies found each other again, as if every touch was essential. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a slow, contained hunger. She felt his hands slide into her hair, his mouth slowly tracing down her neck. She moaned when he grabbed her hair—he’d already noticed that gesture drove her wild.

— “Stop me if it’s too much,” he whispered against her collarbone.

— “Don’t even think about it.”

The night stretched out, a mix of gentle sensuality and more intense embraces. He explored her like one would discover a treasured landscape, lingering on her skin, the shivers, the sighs he drew from her. They spoke between kisses, between breaths, sometimes laughing at the ease of their connection.

He smiled when he kissed her neck, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

When they finally curled up together under the sheets, skin against skin, legs tangled, hands still eager for closeness, Cécile had lost all sense of time. She was there. Completely there. With him. And nothing else existed.

— “So… what happens tomorrow?” she asked in a breath.

He lifted his head, looking resolute.

— “I’m coming with you. To Paris.”

— “What?”

— “You heard me.” He traced an invisible line along her hip with his finger. “I don’t want to leave you alone on the way back. And I don’t want to lose a single second away from you.”

— “But… your concerts?”

— “We don’t play tomorrow.” His eyes locked with hers. “I need this. I need you.”

In the early morning, she pulled on her jeans from the day before, her black boots, and quickly reapplied a bit of mascara. Ricky, already dressed, handed her a takeaway coffee and kissed her forehead.

— “You’re still wearing my hoodie?”

— “You’re not getting it back today. I’ll return it when we get there.”

— “I don’t mind. It looks better on you anyway. I love seeing you in it.”

They got into a taxi, hand in hand, heading to the airport.

At boarding, no panic, no tension. Just that precious bubble of intimacy between them. On the plane, she fell asleep on his shoulder. He stared out the window, but his fingers gently stroked hers, never stopping.

When the plane landed in Paris, real life began again.

But he was still there. He hadn’t left her.

Not yet.

He would walk her home before it all ended.

Chapter 13 – Masterpieces

They arrived at Cécile’s apartment. It was just like her. Intimate, full of contrast. Cream-colored walls softened by time, framed in black and deep burgundy, with posters of tortured faces frozen inside baroque frames. The furniture had an elegant simplicity—clean lines, matte textures. A warm light filtered through the lampshades, casting soft halos over the dark curtains. The air was filled with the scent of clean laundry and sweet candles.

Ricky set his bag down in the entryway, silently taking in the space around him, as if discovering an essential part of her.

— “Wow…” he whispered. “This place is… exactly how I imagined it. Dark, soft. Comforting. Mysterious.”

— “You imagined my apartment?” she asked with a smirk, kicking off her boots.

— “Yeah. Maybe more than once.” He walked slowly toward her, his blue eyes locked onto hers. “You’re really one of a kind.”

— “So are you,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair.

They kissed in the hallway, hot, hungry. She pressed up against him, already feeling his breath quicken. He pinned her against the wall, his hands slipping under her sweatshirt. She could feel him hardening through his jeans.

— “I don’t think I’ll manage to leave tomorrow,” he growled against her lips.

— “Don’t go.”

But they both knew that wasn’t an option.

Clothes fell in the hallway, then in the living room. Their bodies found each other again on the couch, in the flickering light of a floor lamp. This time, he devoured her. No restraint. No gentleness.

He lifted her, pressed her against him, his fingers marking her skin, his mouth greedy. She moaned against his shoulder, clawed at his back. He loved that. She could feel it in the way he growled, in the tension of his arms wrapped around her.

— “Fuck… Cécile…” he groaned, biting her collarbone, eyes half-lidded. “You drive me insane.”

— “It feels so good.”

He loved making her scream with pleasure, loved hearing her call his name when she came, clinging to him. He loved dominating her, pinning her wrists, playing with her—and she loved it, too. Their darker sides fit together perfectly during sex.

They gave in completely, body against body, their moans echoing through the room like a feral melody. They made love over and over, in feverish bursts of laughter and heat, their breath breaking into ragged phrases.

— “Don’t stop—”

— “I’m not planning to.”

— “Harder—”

— “Yes.”

— “Fuck, Ricky…”

And later, when the night had quieted, they fell asleep tangled on the bed, exhausted, slick with sweat, drunk on pleasure and presence. Ricky played gently with a strand of her hair, his breathing still uneven.

— “You poison me,” he whispered. “And I love it.”

The wake-up was blurry. It was almost 8 a.m. She opened her eyes to his bare chest, pale skin marked with ink. He was still half-asleep, an arm draped over her. She looked at him, unable to move, paralyzed by the thought of it ending. Eventually, he blinked slowly. She traced the roses tattooed on his chest and pressed light kisses to them.

— “Hey,” he said in a husky voice.

— “Hey.”

He checked the time. Sighed.

— “I hate this part.”

She curled against him, as if touch could slow down time.

They drank a coffee in silence. He put on his wrinkled black shirt, and she wore his sweatshirt—this time with nothing underneath. He looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to burn the image into memory.

— “You’re beautiful… even when you’re sad.”

— “I’m not beautiful. And I’m really sad. And I feel empty…”

He nodded silently. Outside, the taxi was waiting, engine running.

He kissed her gently, several times. Not a goodbye kiss. A promise.

— “I’ll text you as soon as I’m in the cab.”

— “Okay.”

— “And from the plane.”

— “Okay.”

He looked at her one last time, kissed her fiercely, then got into the taxi.

She closed the front door with reluctance. Her phone vibrated almost immediately.

“I don’t want to leave. This isn’t over, trust me. – R.”

“I miss you so much already. I can still feel you against me—your lips, your scent, your voice, your presence. It’s eating me alive. –C.”

 “If I could touch you now, I wouldn’t be gentle. I miss you, Cécile. Don’t forget me. –R.”

“Never. –C.”

Cécile sat on her couch, and started to cry, still naked beneath the sweatshirt he had left her. And for the first time in a long time, she felt full of a bittersweet hope—soft, burning, tangled with sadness and solitude.

Chapter 14 : Reincarnate

He kept his promise and sent her several messages during his flight, which warmed her heart.

Life had returned to its usual rhythm since Ricky’s departure. After those few days suspended in time, reality tasted bland. Cécile had clutched her heart tightly when he got into the taxi.

The following weeks unfolded through their screens. Their messages punctuated their days. She woke up to his words, fell asleep to his voice. They exchanged selfies, candid everyday photos, short videos, silly jokes. He spoke to her from dark dressing rooms, she wrote to him from her desk or a bench in the city.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, her phone would vibrate, and she’d discover a recording: a piano melody, a guitar line he had just imagined, a whisper of unfinished lyrics.

“I wrote this thinking about your eyes. And your body. –R. ”

She told him everything. Her dull days, her plans, her moments of loneliness. She talked to him about her reading, her failed recipes, the rain on the windows. And sometimes, when night fell, their conversations grew hotter, more intimate. They made love over the phone passionately, guiding each other, without shame.

— "Touch yourself like it’s me touching you, please, let me hear you."

— "I’m almost there, Ricky, I can feel your lips and your tongue on me, devouring me."

— "When you moan it drives me fucking crazy, tell me what you want now."

— "I want you to grab my hair while I suck you."

— "I wish I could see your face while I fuck your mouth."

The words became raw, the moans shameless, and their voices, on the other end of the line, reached for each other through desire. Sometimes it was by message, sometimes video, sometimes phone. But the longing remained cruel.

And then, it was an evening like any other.

Cécile was alone in her apartment. She had lit a few candles, poured herself a glass of white wine, and put on an old horror movie to fill the silence. Her pajamas were loose and comfortable — faded shorts and a tank top — her black hair undone, her thoughts drifting. She wasn’t expecting anything.

So, when someone knocked at the door, she jumped.

Her heart immediately raced. It was late. Who could it be? She set down her glass, crossed the room in silence. A slight anxiety in her stomach.

She opened the door… and her breath caught.

Ricky.

He was there.

Fitted black T-shirt, leather jacket slightly open, his hair slicked back, his piercing blue eyes locked on hers… and a massive bouquet of flowers in his hands, dark flowers like she loved them, majestic and fragrant.

A lopsided smile, tender, almost shy.

— “Surprise.”

She froze for a few seconds, unable to believe what she was seeing. Then, in an instinctive movement, she literally threw herself into his arms, wrapping him tight, her head in his neck. She burst out laughing as a few tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks.

— “You’re here… Ricky— I don’t— oh my god, you’re really here.”

He held her tightly against him, pressing his forehead to hers, breathless with emotion.

— “I couldn’t wait anymore, Cécile. I just… I needed to see you. I missed you so fucking much.”

They stood there in the entryway, holding each other like it was their only anchor. Then he slid his fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his.

— “Can I come in?”

She laughed through her tears. “Of course you can. Don’t ever ask me that.”

He stepped inside, set the flowers on the table, and as soon as the door closed behind him, their bodies found each other.

The kiss was wild. Powerful. Uncontrollable.

He pinned her against the wall, his hands on her hips, his mouth devouring hers. Cécile moaned into his lips, her arms clinging to his neck. She could feel he was already hard, and that contact drove her crazy. All the frustration, all the pent-up desire exploded in that touch. She began to rub herself shamelessly against him.

They stumbled into the living room, kissing like they were starving for air. His hands slid under her pajamas, caressing her hips, her lower back, her thighs, her bare breasts under her tank top.

— “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, you drive me insane… Your smell, your taste…” he growled against her skin. “I’ve dreamed about this moment every single fucking night.”

She threw her head back, panting.

— “I missed you so much too, Ricky. God, I need you so bad—”

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the couch. He dropped her almost carelessly onto the spread-out blankets and pushed her thighs apart roughly.

— “I’m going to lick you until you can’t hold back your moans, until you scream my name when you come.”

When his mouth touched her, his expert tongue exploring her, she lost control. The orgasm hit her like lightning, unexpected and intense, her hips writhing frantically against Ricky’s face, who looked at her with devilish eyes.

Still dazed by the sudden orgasm, she barely had time to realize Ricky was already naked. He grabbed her chin firmly, his gaze severe but full of admiration, and said:

— “On all fours. Now.”

And without warning, he thrust into her with one sharp, deep stroke that made her lose her mind.

She screamed his name, her hands gripping the carpet. He held her tightly by the hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, his hand sometimes on her throat, sometimes in her hair, his breath ragged, his murmurs gritted through his teeth.

— “You’re mine. Say it.”

— “I’m yours, Ricky, fuck, only yours.”

The heat, the sweat, the moans… Their love was no longer tender at that moment. It was fire, need, a consuming explosion.

When their bodies collapsed, wrecked with pleasure, he held her close, still panting, kissing her temple.

— “Cécile,” he whispered, one hand in her hair. “The tour is over. I’m free.”

She opened her eyes, still trembling.

— “What?”

He turned her face to look her in the eyes.

— “Can I stay here? I mean, only if you want me to. But I never want to miss out on this again, please, at least for a while, I don’t know, I don’t want to impose myself in your life but… But it was killing me.”

She stared at him, mouth slightly open, then smiled, eyes glistening with happiness, still wrapped in the adrenaline of their reunion and his confession.

— “Of course you can stay. Stay as long as you want, stay forever if you want to.”

He smiled, burying his face in her neck.

— “I want to. I really do.”

Chapter 15 : Eternally yours

The weeks stretched into a gentle routine, like a melody that had never been dared to be dreamed. Ricky had settled in with Cécile as if that was where he had always been destined to be.

He discovered the sounds of her apartment, the habits of her daily life, the little things she loved or hated. He spent his days composing, writing, scribbling lyrics in a crumpled notebook, or playing guitar on the couch, sometimes shirtless, his hair falling across his forehead.

And above all, he took care of her.

He waited for her every evening with a prepared dinner. Sometimes simple—pasta, an omelet, a salad—sometimes more elaborate, but always made with care. He set the table, lit a few candles, and opened a bottle.

—"Welcome home, baby."

She came home from work, dropping her keys and bag, her shoulders heavy with fatigue, but as soon as she met his gaze, everything dissolved. He kissed her cheeks, the back of her neck, her hand, as if he had never stopped waiting for her.

They laughed a lot. They touched each other often. They sometimes argue, their nights were long, between rumpled sheets and whispered confessions in the dark.

Then one evening, everything changed.

Cécile pushed open the door to her apartment and was immediately enveloped in a warm ambiance. The lighting was dim. Candles glowed everywhere, casting a golden hue on the dark walls. Music played softly in the living room—a powerful metal ballad, full of melancholy and passion. She didn’t recognize it.

She walked slowly, moved. He had set the table for two, a carefully presented dinner, an open bottle.

He came out of the kitchen at the same time, wearing an unbuttoned black shirt over his skin, his hair slicked back, his tattooed arms bare, his eyes shining with nervousness.

—"Here you are," he said softly.

She nodded, her heart racing.

—"What’s all this?"

He smiled, a little shy.

—"Just... something special. Because you’re special."

She approached, brushing his cheek.

—"You did all this for me?"

—"Of course, you deserve it. Please, sit."

They sat down, dining in a suspended bubble. He looked at her the whole time, with that intensity she had learned to recognize—something between admiration and the fear of losing what he held. At one point, he stood up, turned off the music, and returned to sit in front of her.

He placed his hand on hers, gently.

—"Cécile... I didn’t know I would feel all this one day. Honestly, I didn’t even think I was capable of it. But you came into my life, like a thunderclap, and now I can’t imagine waking up any morning without being beside you. I love you. Madly. I’ve been in love with you since that first look in that street in Lille. Completely. Irreversibly. I don’t care where I’m going, as long as you’re by my side. You are my storm and my peace at the same time. You’ve shown me love, joy, happiness, and I want to keep discovering a thousand and one more things."

She looked at him, tears in her eyes, her heart ready to burst.

—"Ricky... I love you so much. I didn’t think this would ever happen to me. You brought light into my life when it was dark and dull."

He smiled, relieved, moved, and stood up to kneel in front of her, taking her in his arms, burying his face against her thighs.

—"Stay with me," he whispered. "As long as you want me. Forever, I hope."

She burst into laughter through her tears, running her fingers through his hair.

—"I will never let you leave without me, never."

They remained entwined, laughing, kissing, their foreheads touching. The night continued in infinite tenderness mixed with raw passion.

Chapter 16 : Contemptress

A few months later, autumn had cast its copper veil over the city. It was Cécile’s favorite season, and Ricky knew it very well. The old park near her place was quiet, the trees half-naked, the paths scattered with dead leaves. Cécile had been walking there often lately, alone or with Ricky when he was around, her heart calm, as if life had finally aligned with her rhythm.

Ricky’s lifestyle wasn’t easy to reconcile with the time zone difference, and his regular back-and-forth trips to Pennsylvania for recording sessions, shoots, and interviews. But they had found their balance, complicity and freedom, passion and tenderness, darkness and light.

That day, she had dressed as she liked: dark, elegant, a long black coat with a fur collar, a flowing dress, platform boots. Her hair floated gently in the cool air despite the beanie covering her head. She stopped in front of the rusty kiosk she loved so much. It had that old-fashioned charm, abandoned but solid. She was supposed to meet Ricky there before they went to a concert that evening.

Ricky was already there, black coat, black hoodie pulled up over his head, combat boots, stunning.

— “You’re already here? I thought I was early.” she said, surprised but happy.

He shrugged.

— “I was waiting for you, baby.”

He slowly climbed onto the kiosk platform and suddenly kneeled in front of her. Cécile didn’t immediately understand what was happening.

— “Cécile. You are my everything, even more than that, beyond all my dreams. I want to grow old with you, laugh with you, fall asleep next to you, argue with you, and kiss you right after. You are my light, my dream, my love, my darkness, my pain, and my life. Will you marry me?”

He opened the box: a white gold ring with a setting resembling a twisted branch, set with a deep burgundy stone. Unique.

She didn’t say anything. She threw herself into his arms and started crying in his neck, inhaling his sandalwood scent and shaking her head frantically when she looked into his eyes.

— “Yes! Of course, yes, Ricky, my god I love you so much.”

Their embrace lasted for long minutes, each of them realizing their happiness and the power of their feelings.

The wedding took place the following year, in an old manor that had been restored in the heart of the countryside, between forests and mist.

The outside, overrun with ivy, gave an impression of a Gothic castle. Inside, tall windows filtered golden light onto cream-colored tablecloths, wrought iron chandeliers, and floral arrangements made of dark dahlias, black roses, feathers, and eucalyptus.

Cécile wore an antique lace cream dress, long-sleeved, cinched at the waist with a light train. Her dark lips and eyes outlined with kohl contrasted with the softness of her dress. She was magnificent, unique, royal.

Ricky was waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Perfect black suit, black shirt, hair slicked back. By his side, his groomsmen: Vinny, Chris, Justin, and Ryan, all in black suits, smiling, impressed to see him so nervous.

The ceremony was simple, intense, musical. There were some laughs, discreet tears.

Then Ricky spoke. In French.

—” Cécile, ce n’est pas ma langue mais c’est désormais celle de mon cœur parce qu’il t’appartient. Tu es la lumière dans ma nuit, mes ténèbres, ma tempête et ma paix. Je veux tout de toi. Tes mots, tes silences, tes regards, ta haine, tes rêves. Je t’aime comme un homme fou, comme un homme libre, comme un homme à genoux devant toi. Et je veux passer ma vie à te le prouver. »

Cécile cried in silence. She stepped forward to kiss him, carried by emotion.

The celebration was a reflection of them: dark and vibrant, laughing and elegant. The band played an acoustic ballad, rearranged for the occasion. The dances followed one after another. Chris, however, was captivated by Anna. As soon as he saw her descend the manor steps in her burgundy dress with a daring neckline, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And at the reception, they didn’t leave each other, dancing together, laughing, slowly but surely drawing closer. Their looks were unmistakable. They disappeared at one point, and no one dared to ask questions.

And later, in their suite at the top floor of the manor, decorated with candles, dark flowers, and cream sheets, Ricky and Cécile made love like never before.

With everything: the sighs, the hands gripping, the promises between two breaths. Their bodies in perfect harmony, the familiar gestures, the burning looks. Every moan was an offering, every kiss, a vow.

He had loved undoing the lacing of her back, removing one by one the pins from her hair, seeing her kneeling before him, her burgundy lips around his swollen member. He wanted it to last forever.

They fell asleep naked, tangled in each other, Ricky whispering to her:

— “Eternity starts tonight.”

And Cécile, her heart drunk with happiness, knew he was right.

Epilogue

Five years.

Five years of hysterical laughter, stolen kisses in taxis, sexts sent from backstage dressing rooms, and breakfasts shared naked on the couch because “too lazy to make it to the table.”

Five years of unbroken passion, of ridiculous arguments (always about who finished the last jar of jam or put black clothes in with the whites), followed by burning apologies in bed.

They still lived together, but now between two places: a converted loft in Berlin and a cozier, older flat in Paris, with dark walls, and a massive bathtub where they’d sometimes spend hours remaking the world (or doing other things).

Ricky still play in Motionless in white and wrote : music, lyrics, scripts for music videos. He had also — of course — launched his own wine label in California. It was called Obsidian Hearts. Naturally.

And Cécile? She was thriving. Half-witch, half-queen, still sharp, still funny, still devastating in black dresses.

They didn’t have kids. They had something better: Projects, travels, a curated collection of sex toys neatly arranged in a drawer they called “the make-up box”, a tight-knit circle of loyal friends, and one golden rule:

Never go to sleep without having laughed or come.

That night, they were in Paris. It was raining. Cécile, in a black slip, a glass of wine in hand, was dancing barefoot in the living room, singing off-key to an old metal ballad. Ricky, hair tied back, shirtless, in black boxers, was watching her from the couch, laughing his ass off.

— “You’re ridiculous. And fucking hot.”

— “You’re not supposed to laugh at me, rockstar.”

— “I’m not laughing, babe. I’m worshipping.”

She threw herself on him, glass still in hand, splashing him in the process. He grabbed her without hesitation, toppling with her onto the rug.

— “You spilled wine on me. Now you’ll have to pay.”

— “Fine. Strip me and punish me then.”

— “Don’t tempt me.”

— “I’m literally begging you.”

In the morning, she emerged with messy hair, slipping on the first black shirt of Ricky’s she could find. In the kitchen, he was making banana pancakes, softly humming, spatula in hand, barefoot and nonchalant.

He saw her come in, smirked.

— “Good morning, madame.”

— “If you keep being this perfect, I’m going to marry you again.”

— “You say that every week.”

— “Then marry me every week.”

— “Done.”

They kissed like the very first day. A little crazier. A lot happier.

And when Cécile looked at her phone that morning, she found a new notification.

A message from Ricky. Even though he was two meters away.

 "Still obsessed with you. Every second. Every mood. Every breath. Forever. -R."

[syntheticklove]

On your knees, babygirl

Pairing : Ricky Olson x Reader ( babygirl)

Tags : One shot, smut, M/F, Ricky!dom, sub

Warnings : 18+ (MDNI), dirty talk, masturbation, dom and submissive, P in V, unprotect,

The echo of the last riff still resonates in your chest as you step through the dressing room door. The dim lighting stands in stark contrast to the commotion of the venue. Here, everything is slower, warmer, saturated with silence and tension. Ricky is there, alone, leaning back against an old couch, arms spread wide, eyes locked on you.

His black shirt is half unbuttoned, clinging with sweat to the tattooed lines of his chest. A damp strand of his black hair sticks to his temple. He doesn’t speak. He undresses you with his eyes.

You don’t move. You feel your breath quicken, your thighs clench with anticipation. You want him. And he knows it.

He rises slowly, like a predator. His presence dominates. He steps closer, stops barely a pace away. His scent—a mix of leather, heat, and the stage—surrounds you.

— On your knees, babygirl.

His voice is deep, hoarse. It’s a command, not a request. You obey without a word, heart pounding painfully. The floor is hard under your knees, but you don’t care. All you feel is his burning gaze sliding over you, possessive.

He circles you slowly, one hand in his hair, the other finishing unbuttoning his shirt, which he lets fall on the couch. He returns in front of you, slips two fingers under your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

— Do you want to be mine tonight? he asks, his voice low like smoldering fire.

— Yes, I want to be yours, you whisper.

— No. Say it clearly.

— I want to be yours, Ricky. Completely.

A faint smile. He trails his fingers along your throat, up to your lips, brushing them with his thumb.

— Open.

You obey. He slowly slides his finger between your lips, then withdraws it, just as slowly, eyes fixed on you.

— Perfect.

He straightens up, slowly undoes his belt. The leather slips free with a sharp, dry sound. He wraps it around his hand, letting it hang like a promise. Then he moves behind you. His fingers linger on the zipper of your dress.

— Don’t move.

He lowers the zipper slowly, revealing your skin inch by inch. The cool air of the dressing room gives you goosebumps. He slides the dress down past your waist, then your knees. You’re there, offered, vulnerable, in black lingerie. You feel his breath against your ear.

— You have no idea what you’re doing to me, babygirl.

He gently bites your neck, then pulls away. You hear a zipper, a rustle. He’s behind you, shirtless, pants unzipped. He slides two fingers along your panties, then under the soaked fabric. He growls against your neck.

— Already so wet for me… Do you want me to make you come?

— Yes… please…

— Not yet.

He withdraws his hand, slaps your butt softly with the flat of the belt. Not hard, just enough to make you shiver.

— You’ll come when I order you to. Not before.

He gently pushes you forward until your palms touch the floor, hips raised. You hear his zipper come down. He pulls your panties aside with a swift motion.

— Get ready to feel me. Deeply.

And he takes you. Without warning. Slowly at first, filling you completely. A moan escapes you, raw, uncontrollable. He chuckles softly—a low, cruel sound.

— You’re perfect. Mine.

He starts a slow, powerful rhythm. Each thrust makes your body slap against his. You’ve lost all control. He pulls your hair to raise you slightly, whispers in your ear between ragged breaths:

— Not yet. Hold it. Be good.

And you obey, on the edge, at his mercy.

Ricky grips your hips tightly, buried deep inside you, each motion deeper, more deliberate. He’s methodical, dominant, and you feel it in the tension of his muscles—he’s taking his time to break you—slowly, deliciously.

His fingers tighten on your hip, then trail down your back, gently scratching your bare skin.

— You’re trembling, he murmurs. Do you want to come?

— Yes… Ricky, please…

You’re at your limit. Your belly twists, your thighs burn. But he slows down. He almost pulls out completely, leaving you empty for a second, and you whimper in frustration. He slaps your butt again, a bit harder this time. The leather belt still hangs from his wrist, swaying between your legs, brushing your skin like a threat.

— You’re going to wait a bit longer. You’ll learn to earn me.

He grabs your panties still clinging to your thighs and rips them off in one sharp motion. Then he kneels behind you again, his wet fingers reaching around to circle your clit—fast, precise. Your body reacts violently, a tremor shakes you head to toe.

— You’ll stay nice and open for me. And you’ll only come when I say so.

He thrusts back into you—harder this time. His movements push you forward, but his fingers stay on your clit. Your body begins to betray you, to beg, to vibrate.

— Tell me who you belong to.

— To you, Ricky. I’m yours.

— Say it again.

— I’m yours. Completely. I want you to take me, control me, make me come… please…

— Now.

The word explodes in your ear like thunder, and your body obeys without delay. The orgasm tears through you, uncontrollable. You scream his name, nails digging into the carpet, legs giving out, thighs trembling. He doesn’t stop. He keeps pounding into you, riding you like a crashing wave until his own breath breaks with a deep growl.

He tenses inside you, a rough moan at your neck. He comes, groaning your name, fingers clenched on your hips.

A few seconds pass. He stays there, against you, his hot chest pressed to your back, your breaths tangled together.

Then, gently, he withdraws. He helps you lie on your side on the carpet, your body exhausted but still vibrating from what he just made you feel. He leans over you, brushes a strand of hair away, kisses your temple.

— You’re beautiful when you obey me, he whispers.

He drapes the leather jacket from the couch over your naked body and lies beside you. You close your eyes, lulled by his scent, his warmth, still panting.

And you know the night is just beginning.

[i-apologize-in-advance]

WHY CAN’T I LOOK THIS COOL 😭😭😭😭

[mylittlehatefuck666]

Sexy new selfies posted by Oli on his insta story 🥵

[vvandelo]

Start a cult with me?🖤