#but i just can't find it in me to take that chance

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK Men React to Seeing You in Their Clothes

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader; Yuta x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: fluff over fluff, I'm pretty sure I already wrote something like this but I can't find it anymore lol, all scenarios talk about the clothes of the said jjk men being big on you so please don't read if this isn't what you vibe with (but feel free to let me know if you want a version in which their clothes actually fit reader quite well!)

Gojo Satoru

The apartment is unusually quiet as you move through the living room, your bare feet padding lightly across the cool floor. Gojo had left early this morning to deal with some “business,” leaving you alone with nothing but a mess of his belongings scattered around. You’re not one to complain though - cleaning up after him has become second nature after spending so much time together.

As you tidy up his place, you come across one of his oversized hoodies. It’s sprawled across the back of a chair, still slightly wrinkled from when he wore it the night before. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you find yourself reaching for it.

It’s soft, much softer than you expected. You hold it for a moment, staring at it thoughtfully before a mischievous grin tugs at your lips. You slip the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. The sleeves are comically long, almost covering your hands completely, and the hemline reaches down to your thighs. It’s so big that it feels like you’re wearing a blanket, and despite yourself, you giggle at the sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

You sit down on the couch, pulling your legs up under the hoodie, and let yourself relax into the comfort of wearing something that smells like him. His signature cologne that follows him around wherever he goes, that makes your heart skip a beat every time you smell it. To be honest, you really miss him. These past weeks were so busy that you didn’t really get the chance to see him more than 2 hours before passing out sleeping. What you’d do for a whole afternoon, just you and him…

Not long after, you hear the oh so accustomed sound of the door unlocking, followed by the familiar voice of Satoru calling out, “I’m home!”

You stiffen for a moment, wondering how he’ll react, but you can’t hide now. Fuck, you never wore his clothes before. After all, they belong to him and you have no right to grab his stuff as you please.

Before you can say anything to defend yourself, Gojo steps into the living room, his bright blue eyes immediately locking onto you.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teases, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

His sunglasses are perched on his head, revealing his crystalline eyes that seem to glow with delight.

“Did you raid my closet while I was gone?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

“Your place was cold. Figured I’d borrow something.”

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he walks over to you, crouching in front of the couch as he eyes you up and down. His grin widens as he takes in the way the hoodie completely engulfs you, making you look even smaller than usual.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, laced with something playful but undeniably affectionate.

He reaches out, tugging on one of the oversized sleeves gently.

“In fact, I think it suits you better than it does me.”

You scoff, though your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You think everything looks good on me.”

“That’s because it does.”

His grin is infuriatingly confident, but there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“But you, wearing my clothes? I think that might be my favorite look.”

He leans closer, his nose brushing against your temple before pressing a soft kiss there.

“You can keep it if you want,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t think I’m getting it back anyway.”

Megumi Fushiguro

It’s early morning, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a soft glow over Megumi’s small apartment. He’s still asleep, his dark hair a mess of unruly strands as he breathes softly beside you. You’ve been staying with him for the weekend, a rare break from the chaos of jujutsu sorcery.

As you quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, you feel the cool air hit your skin. Without thinking, you look around the room for something to cover yourself with. Your eyes land on one of Megumi’s plain black shirts, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. It’s oversized, much bigger than anything you’d typically wear, but you shrug and grab it anyway.

Slipping it over your head, the fabric is soft and familiar, carrying the faint scent of him. It hangs loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long and the hem falling halfway down your thighs. You glance at yourself in the mirror, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something comforting about wearing his clothes, like having a part of him with you even when he’s asleep.

As you turn back toward the bed, you freeze. Megumi’s awake. His dark eyes are half-lidded, still clouded with sleep as he watches you from the bed. You can’t quite read his expression -it’s a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up early,” he mutters, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed your shirt.”

Megumi blinks, his gaze drifting over you slowly. He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can see the way his eyes linger on the way the shirt swallows you, how it looks like you’re drowning in fabric. After a long moment, he finally speaks, his voice quieter than before.

“It looks good on you,” he finally speaks out, a little awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure how to compliment you.

“Better than it does on me.”

You can’t help but laugh at how flustered he seems, even though he’s trying to play it cool.

“Really? I think it’s a little big.”

Megumi shakes his head, sitting up in bed and running a hand through his messy hair.

“No. It’s perfect.”

He pauses for a moment before adding, almost shyly,

“You should wear my stuff more often.”

His words catch you off guard, and you raise an eyebrow at him, surprised. Even though you know all too well that Megumi Fushiguro has a soft spot for you, you never really thought about stealing or borrowing his stuff. After all, he is the guy who slaps the back of Yuji’s head each and every day over stealing his sandwich or equipment. And now…he’s telling you straightforward that he wants you to wear his shirts?

“You want me to?”

He looks away, his usual stoic mask slipping just a bit as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks.

“I mean... yeah. It suits you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. Megumi isn’t one for big, flowery declarations, but this, this small, almost hesitant compliment, is enough to make your chest warm. You walk over to him, climbing back into bed and curling up beside him like you always do after waking up.

“Well, if you insist,” you mutter teasingly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I might just steal more of your clothes.”

Megumi huffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his loose shirt.

“I don’t mind.”

Yuta Okkotsu

You’ve been staying at Yuta’s apartment for the past few days, crashing at his place while you’re both on a break from missions. It’s been nice: quiet, peaceful, just the two of you enjoying each other’s company without the usual chaos of jujutsu high looming over you.

It’s late in the evening now, and you’ve just gotten out of the shower, feeling refreshed after a long day. As you towel off your hair, you realize you forgot to grab something to wear. Your suitcase is still in the living room, and you don’t really feel like walking out there in just a towel.

Your groan in frustration over your usual absent-mindlessness, eyes landing on one of Yuta’s old sweatshirts, folded neatly on the chair by his desk. It’s a little worn, clearly well-loved, and the idea of wearing something of his brings a smile to your face. Yuta definitely wouldn’t mind you wearing one of his shirts, right? And even if he did…you’d love to see that little blush creep up his face.

Without thinking twice, you pull the sweatshirt over your head. It’s oversized, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, and the fabric is soft and cozy against your skin.

You’re adjusting the sleeves when the door creaks open slightly. You look up just as Yuta steps into the room, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you.

“Oh, hey-” he starts, but then he freezes, his gaze locking onto the sweatshirt you’re wearing.

His face flushes almost instantly, a deep red creeping up his cheeks as he stares at you.

“Uh… is that…?”, Yuta stammers, clearly flustered.

You glance down at the sweatshirt and smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I forgot to grab my clothes, and this looked comfortable.”

Yuta blinks, his face still bright red, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind at all! It’s just… you look… um…”

He trails off, his eyes flicking away as if he’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

You giggle softly, stepping closer to him, to tease the hell out of him even more. That poor innocent boy who doesn’t even dare looking your direction when you stumble in the bathroom in the morning with noting but a shirt and panties on.

Even though you’ve been together for over a year by now.

“I look… what?”

Yuta clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze.

“You look… really cute,” he mutters, barely audible.

“In my sweatshirt, I mean.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help but smile as you reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Yuta.”

He finally meets your gaze, his face still red but his expression softening as he squeezes your hand back.

“You can wear my clothes anytime you want,” he says quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You grin, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I might just take you up on that.”

Yuta chuckles, his arms wrapping around you in return as he pulls you close.

 “I wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Not at all.”

Nanami Kento

It’s late, and Nanami is still out on a mission. You’ve been waiting for him to come home, but the clock is ticking past midnight, and exhaustion is beginning to catch up with you. After all, you’ve had a long and exhausting day at work yourself.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-asleep, when the chill of the evening air prompts you to grab something warmer to wear.

Your own clothes are in the bedroom, and you don’t feel like moving that far. Instead, your eyes land on one of Nanami’s neatly folded dress shirts, sitting on the back of a chair. It’s probably not the warmest option, but the idea of wearing something of his feels comforting, like having a part of him with you while you wait for him to return.

You slip the shirt on, the crisp fabric soft against your skin. It’s too big, of course, the sleeves hanging past your wrists and the hem falling almost to your knees, but it’s cozy in its own way. You curl up on the couch again, pulling the sleeves over your hands and breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingers on the fabric.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the sound of the front door opening stirs you awake. You sit up groggily, blinking as Nanami steps inside, looking tired but unharmed. He pauses when he sees you, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the sight of you wearing his shirt.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Nanami’s lips.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he observes, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

You rub your eyes sleepily, nodding.

“It was cold, and I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Nanami walks over to you, his expression soft as he takes in the sight of you.

 “It suits you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“I didn’t expect to come home to this.”

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“If you don’t like it, I can-”

“I like it,” he cuts in, his tone firm but gentle.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand lingers at your cheek.

“I like it very much.”

You smile, leaning into his touch as you look up at him.

“I might have to borrow your clothes more often, then.”

Nanami chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You’re welcome to them,” he breathes out.

“Though I have to admit, you make my clothes look much better than I do.”

You laugh softly, your heart warming at his rare display of affection.

“I doubt that.”

Nanami shakes his head, his eyes soft and filled with affection as he looks at you.

“It’s true. But regardless, you’re welcome to them anytime” he insists.

With that, he sits down beside you on the couch, pulling you into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his shirt making you feel safe and content.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, closing your eyes as exhaustion starts to pull you back into sleep.

Nanami presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and soothing as he murmurs,

“Anytime, love.”

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[yandere-daydreams]

Hear me out hear me out on this concept idea

Southern gothic small town pastor Geto AU

tw - non/con, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, financial abuse via organized religion, and implied kidnapping.

wait that would actually be so hot of him actually.

i don't know what is about geto but he just,,, radiates scummy religious figure energy to such an atrocious degree. like, couldn't you just imagine him moving from small town to small town, posing as a country-values pastor to scam his ever-growing congregation out of their life's savings and retirement funds before smuggling himself away and moving on to fresher meat? if he works quickly, the whole operation takes a little less than six months, and he's got such a charming smile and such a soothing voice - no one's ever so much as thought twice about trusting him, not really, not unless they wanted to be the next town outcast.

well, no one aside from you, of course.

it's cute - just how suspicious you are of the man who has your chronically truant parents sitting in the front row of his chapel twenty minutes early. you'll tell anyone who's got the time to listen that you don't like his hollow expressions, that you don't find his sermon-topics appropriate, that you don't trust how quickly he showed up after your last pastor suddenly went missing. no one listens to you, of course. you burnt that bridge when you decided to move away to some big, new-age city and attend some expensive, self-aggrandizing university. like him, you'll only be in town for a few months, just until the start of your next semester, but unlike him, you actually care about what's going to happen to your neighbors after you leave. the fact that you stopped going to church entirely after he took over doesn't help. in a town like this, you might as well be signing the warrant for your own social exile.

you make an effort to keep your distance, but he just can't seem to pay you the same courtesy. in a town like yours, it's can be hard not to run into familiar faces, especially when he seems to stop in at the general store where you picked up a summer job every other day, when he mentions to your mother that they could really use an extra pair of hands at the church's monthly bake sale or tells your father that he might want to bring a helper the next time he comes to fix up a few things around the sanctuary. you're always so flustered around him, always so brooding - like you think someone's going to believe you just because you cross your arms and pout. he savors any chance he gets to touch you - whether it's his hand ghosting over the small of your back as he moves past you in a narrow hall or your body pressing into his after he forgoes your offered handshake in favor of a nice, tight, neighborly hug.

and, when you come to him, he thinks he might finally know why people try so hard to get into heaven. it goes without saying that you're irate, shouting at him from the steps of his parsonage as you demand he return the tens of thousands of dollars that your mother so generously donated early that day, but it's not hard to convince you to come inside, to get a glass of wine into your hand under the pretense that, if you really drove all this way just to yell at him, it's the least you deserve. things devolve from there - your glass looks a little empty, why doesn't he top you off while you tell him what a terrible person he is? you've already finished that bottle, but he's got a gorgeous vintage red, and you're just starting to slur - he's sure it'll be fine. and, oh, well, you're far too drunk to drive yourself home, but don't worry, his bed's big enough to share. and oh, look at that, don't you feel lucky to wake up naked and sore in an unfamiliar bed, the handsome young pastor's cock still buried inside of you? he's sure your parents will be elated when you two tell them about your new engagement (because, of course, you can't just sleep with your local pastor and expect to come out of it without a ring on your finger, can you?), even if you seem a little upset right now.

it's only as he watches you sob into his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist and his cum still dripping out of you, that he decides he might be able to stay in this particular small town for a few more months. just long enough to find a way to take you with him, when he leaves.

[robinsfilm]

OH, TAKE ME BACK (TO THE NIGHT WE MET)

PAIRING: jason todd ✗ gn!reader ;

SYNOPSIS: the promise between the two of you never broke, not on that roof as children, not even now.

ANON ASKED: " Reader meets/is with Jay after he becomes Red Hood. After finding out that he used to be Robin, she recalls an interaction she had years ago with the Boy Wonder, unaware that they would paths again years later. " ;

WORD COUNT: 0.8k ;

NOTES: i like this one, i truly do, writing angst is a whole different experience. this is angst/comfort though, because i'm not evil (because i can't handle it). cross posted on my AO3.

♯ MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION.

THE NIGHT SKY OF GOTHAM HOLDS NO STARS TO COMFORT YOU. No stars to shed the soft and guiding light on you as you sit on the steep edge of the roof. Small feet dange from the brink as a heavy feeling settles in your heart, spreading like an infection, all-consuming in your body.

The tears falling from your eyes onto your cheeks go unnoticed by you, even as they drop onto your wobbly and scarred knees. They burn.

You wish the sky did not look somber and dim tonight. The cold air bites at any exposed flesh, even crawling its way into your clothes. Any semblance of comfort had been stripped from your hands; no amount of clawing and hanging on mattered. You were alone, on an abandoned roof, overlooking Gotham in all her melancholic glory.

Only the sounds of cars passing and the distant murmur of people filled your ears until a shuffle behind you caught your attention.

Turning your head, you tried to focus your gaze on the person—the kid behind you.

He seemed to be around your age, with messy hair, cheeks red, and chests rising. The red and green of his suit standing out next to the washed-out color of our surroundings. But the golden ‘R’ engraved above where his heart should be leaves no chance for you to mistake who the boy in front of you is.

The Robin.

Robin stands here with you. He opens his mouth to speak, although hesitantly, “You’re not going to jump, are you?”

You stare at him for a moment, taking every detail of him in: his jet black hair—a mess of ink on top of his head—his slightly tan skin; he has a hand out, reaching out to you; you can feel his eyes taking in your state.

“You’re not very good at this.” You mumble as you shuffle away from the edge, “I’m not going to jump, bird boy.”

He straightens up, his spine going stiff. You think you're imagining the pink hue on his cheeks.

He pouts, “It’s Robin, actually.”

He takes a single step closer to you, as if asking if it's okay. When you don't decline, he settles down next to you, his yellow cape grazing your hand.

“You should get that cleaned,” he motions to your scarred knees.

“I will.” You answer with pensiveness in your detached voice.

He considers something for a moment before moving next to you. He takes your hand in his. He feels warm, you note.

“C’mon. I’ll help you.” He speaks as he pulls you away from the edge, away from the somber and dim sky, the biting cold air.

He glances back at you. When he sees the unconvinced look in your eyes, his jaw tightens. “I swear.”

“You’re not going to fly away somewhere else, bird boy?”

“I’m staying here.” With you.

His stare doesn't leave your gaze, just as his hand doesn't waver in its hold of yours. You don't pull away; you don't push him away.

You hold onto his hand, letting him guide you instead of the stars of the dim sky.

Strange, you note; your heart doesn't feel so heavy anymore.

*****

The mellow air spreads through the shared apartment of you and Jason as it wraps you in its warm hold. The dim night sky is lit by only the moon and a single star following the crescent moving through the coal-black sky.

Jason settles his head on your chest, bringing his ear to your chest, feeling your heartbeat. It flows through his body as a solace, bringing him comfort.

When you recall the interaction with the young Robin, he could see the bittersweet memory in your wistful eyes. Your saudade voice rings out in his mind over and over again.

He remembers an icy cold night, so unlike this one in your arms. He remembers the biting air, the starless sky, how even the moon decided to abandon Gotham City that day, how it left its people alone.

How it left you on that roof.

He remembers approaching you, seeing the way you curled into yourself, the way you hid from the word that night.

He remembers taking your freezing hand in his, clutching it in his hold as a feeble attempt to warm them.

He remembers how unsure you looked and how you were already getting ready for the chance for him to let go and leave you alone on that roof. The hesitant shaking of your hand in his leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He remembers the moment of trust appearing—the moment when you let him tend to you. Two confused children on a cold Gotham night, looking for warmth wherever they found it.

Jason wraps his arms around you tighter, tangling his lips around yours as one. You return his hold, arms wrapping around his neck, burying yourself in the safety of him, wherefore the word ceases.

“I’m not leaving, not again.” He mumbles in the crook of your neck. You're thankful he can't see you right now.

The tears you shed for him, he already knows.

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[makeyoumine69]

A little bit possessive

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x fem!Reader

CW: Smut, Daddy kink, pregnancy/breeding kink, unprotected vaginal sex, prone bone, power play, dirty talk, pet names, obsessive behavior, implied overstimulation.

A/N: Hello everyone, just wanted to drop this little drabble, seems like Daddy Kink is taking over me once again as I have been listening to too many of Lana's songs lately, especially THIS edit hits hard. Also, I want to thank everyone who still reads me, I'm struggling with several writing projects, but I hope such little drabbles can bring you some joy! Sending my love and hugs!💕

"Tell me," Bateman murmured, his voice low and commanding as he pushed just the tip inside you. "What exactly do you think you're going to do, hmm? Walk away? Find another man to play Daddy?" He thrust forward, filling you in one brutal motion, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh. "You're mine," Patrick growled through clenched teeth, his pace rough and relentless as he fucked you. "You're not going anywhere." He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips jerked forward, his cock slamming into your soaking slit. "And this baby? It's mine too. You won't find anyone else who can give you what I can." Patrick's hand moved to your throat, his grip tight as he thrust harder, pushing your body into the mattress with each movement. "You'll thank me," he sneered, diving deeper, reveling in the intoxicating sensation of your warmth. "You'll beg me to stay."

"No!" You blurted out, grabbing his hand that was painfully squeezing your neck. "It… it's not true!"

"Go ahead," he snapped darkly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me you don't need me. I dare you." Patrick's cock drove deep into you again, hard enough to make the headboard hit the wall. "Because the truth is… you can't fucking live without me." The man thrust harder, every move designed to make you understand exactly what he meant. "This is your life now, honey. With me. Only me." Bateman grinned, his breath hot against your skin. "And you're going to love every fucking second of it."

Sobbing, you tried to kick him off you and roll over, but Patrick was too strong, much stronger than you, there was not even a chance to fight him. "It hurts!" you squealed and closed your eyes, your legs already shaking. "I… I can't take it… anymore…"

Inflamed, Bateman pinned you to the mattress and then, in one swift motion, flipped you over so that you lay flat on your stomach. Whimpering and trembling, you struggled to crawl away from him, but the next thing you knew, Patrick was covering you from above, weighing you down and placing a pillow under your pubic bone before ramming into your sore, creamy cunt once more.

"Beg me to stop," the man taunted, thrusting harder, faster. "Beg me and maybe I'll think about it." His hand tightened around your shoulders as his other hand grabbed your ass, pulling you even closer as he pounded into you, ignoring your cries, your pleas for mercy.

"Enough…p-please!" You turned to look at him, but he just pushed your face into the pillow. "Mhmm…it's too deep!"

Bateman could feel his orgasm building, but he didn't stop, didn't slow down. He's not done yet. Not until you fully understood who owned you. Not until you were completely broken.

"You will never leave me," Patrick whispered, his voice raspy and full of conviction. "You belong to me now. And there's nothing you can do about it."

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[alpaca-clouds]

BG3 fans, we gotta talk CPTSD

Okay, I have spend about a week considering writing this blog, but I really gotta say, that it is something people really need to understand. See, I mostly see this issue with Astarion and his depiction in fandom. However, I would argue that it is a thing that affects literally all characters that play some sort of bigger in this entire game. Including many NPCs.

But let me start with Astarion. See, I wrote the blog two weeks ago about people being judgy on people, who do not want to have graveyard sex with him. Mostly people will argue how Astarion should be allowed to have his agency in that moment - while I argued that whoever the player is playing should have also agency in that scene. Including the agency to say "no" for whatever reason. I also included that my Tav absolutely denied Astarion, because he was not trusting that Astarion in the scene really was ready for it, for a variety of reasons. Which is very much a valid reason for someone not to want to sleep with someone else. (Literally every reason is a good reason for that, mind you.)

And obviously there came the comment, that went basically: "As someone who was raped I am very appalled by you saying that raped people cannot consent." Which is very much not what I said.

What I said was, that my Tav did not consent. Yes, he did not consent because he thought Astarion was not ready for it - but he is the one not consenting. It does not matter for this whether his assumption about Astarion is true or not. Tav does not feel comfortable in the scene, so Tav does not want sex right there.

However... If you consider the drow orgy scene, Tav is also very much right. If you do that scene after defeating Cazador, Astarion is enthusiastically consenting to that orgy, but he still ends up dissociating during the scene. (And in that scene, even if your character notices it, you cannot go "Stop!" Which I hate.)

Here is the thing. If you are in the BDSM scene, you might actually have encountered a scenario in real life where someone was enthusiastically consenting to something - only to them realize, that they were not into it at all. And people can withdraw their consent IRL at this point. Only that in this game, obviously you can't. So within the game choices I will just start out with "no" for this character.

Still, that is actually not what I mainly wanted to talk about. No.

What I wanted to talk about is the other thing. I absolutely know that for a variety of reasons a lot of SA survivors do identify with Astarion, and I do not want to take that from anyone. I think it is amazing that we got a character with whom we see this issue portrayed seriously. And let's face it. Especially in tumblr fandom circles, we will have a lot of SA survivors, because the userbase of this website is majority afab, and many are queer. And we know from statistics that queer afab people are even more likely than non-queer afab people to experience SA at some point in there life. So, yes, Astarion is going to be embraced by this community makes sense - even without his dashing looks.

But here we get to the actual meat of the issue: Astarion was not just raped. Astarion was abused in a variety of ways - some of them sexual - over the course of 200 years. He went not through a single traumatic event, but an ongoing trauma that, again, lasted for 200 years.

Or to put different: Astarion does not have PTSD. He has C-PTSD. Complex trauma. The kind of trauma that develops when the trauma lasts over a long, long time, without the survivor getting a chance to ever really properly ever relax. Something that was very true for Astarion's time under Cazador. He was under constant threat of rape, torture, and other forms of violence.

While CPTSD is a form of PTSD, it has some differing symptoms - and additional symptoms from plain old PTSD.

I found this graphic on this blog here, and found it fairly good in the depictions. (If you google CPTSD you will find several graphics like this.) It shows very well the additional symptoms, compared to normal trauma.

Generally speaking, CPTSD brings a lot stronger issues with self-worth, interpersonal problems, and emotional regulation. CPTSD folks are often prone to emotional outbursts (this graphic names anger, but technically it can be all other kinds of emotional outbursts - which is why at times CPTSD gets confused with BPD).

And Astarion is written like this. He shows very much all the symptoms of CPTSD. And let's be honest: That is an issue he will have to deal with for a long, long while.

But... As I said, the same is actually true for pretty much all the characters.

If you look at the companions, it is obvious.

Gale spent at least a year in constant fear of blowing up. While Mystra's abusiveness towards him within the relationship prior the orb is more fanon than canon (though the relationship was defnitely not an easy one), the "one year in constant fear of death" is very likely going to instill some form of CPTSD in him.

Karlach was a slave for 10 years, forced to fight in the hells. While she will also probably suffer from certain forms of PTSD more common in soldiers. Additionally I would argue that she also has some CPTSD from tiefling-racism. While she does not bring it up often... She does seem to have a thing there.

With Wyll it is a bit more complicated. Yes, for him I would see the kind of CPTSD I have - parental abuse related. Ulder was not openly abusive, but neither was my mother, and guess what fucked me most up in my childhood, despite experiencing some really bad violence elsewhere.

Shadowheart was abused by Viconia and midwashed and tortured and was forced to kill her fucking pet mouse. Bonus points that a lot of it happened during her childhood. She very much is gonna suffer the consequences.

Lae'zel... Do I really need to say something about her upbringing among the Gith?

Then we have Halsin. We know fairly little about his background, given that he is very coy in talking about it. But his "three years as a drow slave" definitely make it likely that he has developed some form of CPTSD.

And then we have Jaheira and Minsc. For whom just the... Well, look folks, the adventuring lifestyle would logically also leave you with CPTSD of some sort.

Even if you play a Tav who entered the game after having a very untraumatic life... They will spent what has to be at least two months with a tadpole in their head threatening to kill them - while half of Baldur's Gate is trying to do the same. They'll have PTSD after this at the very least, if not CPTSD. (Even though, let's face it, chances are we all gave our Tavs more than enough background trauma to go along with it, right?)

And same goes for so many other characters. The tiefling refugees. Our main villains (especially Gortash and Orin). Cazador. The other vampire spawn (duh). The list goes on.

So, what am I trying to say here?

Well, for once I just want to make sure folks understand that CPTSD is a thing that exists and while being similar to normal PTSD differs in some points. Including the fact that people with CPTSD have a high likelihood to make very rash decisions driven by instable emotional states, that might be harmful to them on the long run.

And mind you. In real life most people with CPTSD have it because either they were bullied for a long time, or were in an abusive relationship of some sort. (Abusive parents, abusive partners, abusive friends/roommates.) But even in those heightened scenarios the game represents for the most part - the issues are gonna be still mainly the same.

[zxoaii]

Touch

fem! reader x bodyguard Choso

Summary: After the being sent to attend an event, Y/n and Choso find themselves more caught up with each other.

SMUT

WC: 2k

Wattpad: _Bolter

[ Y/n ]

"You look good in a suit." Choso looks at me while I adjust his tie. "You are stunning. No one is going to notice me with you right next to me." He's always so sweet.

"Thank you."

The elevator door rings out and the doors open. Choso offers me his arm. I take it as we walk into the foyer of the ballroom.

"Good evening." The host draws our attention to him. My bag clicks open as I retrieve the invitation. "He's my plus one." Of course, if he knows who I am he'd know that.

Money and Jujutsu Sorcery don't usually meet but somewhere, they did. I wouldn't say my clan is completely good but we are a force to be reckoned with.

My mother is the current head of the clan and because of my apparent lack of cursed energy, I was assigned a bodyguard.

I've had several throughout my life but this one is my favorite. Choso is a gentleman. He's caring and friendly. Not to mention, he is not bad-looking at all.

He isn't even a Jujutsu Sorcerer. He's a half-curse.

We walk into the crowded ballroom together. I love parties. They're a nightmare for him. He wouldn't ever say it out loud though.

Choso instinctively takes his arm away from me and falls two paces behind me. Technically we're supposed to act like he isn't here.

Still, it saddens me to lose his touch.

"Ms. Y/l/n, you look incredible. The last time I saw you, you were only a teenager. It's been so long!" I'm thrown into a conversation before I can tell Choso he should stand with me.

The night starts to drag on with insignificant conversations one after another. Being polite is exhausting. Especially when it's spent being polite to people who can't help but be self-obsessed.

As soon as I get a chance I excuse myself to go get a drink. I take Choso's arm and lead us to the drink table. "Do you want some?"

Choso shakes his head. Oh well. I take a glass of champagne for myself. It's a shame this is all they choose to serve. Still, it's better than nothing.

"How long have we been here?"

"45 minutes."

I want to spit my drink out. Only 45 minutes? It feels like we've been here for hours. I've been talking for hours. It's impossible.

"Seriously?"

Choso nods and scans the room. "Come on, there's not actually anyone here who's going to do anything to me." He gives me an unsure glance. "How long do we have to stay for?" My feet ache already. It's freezing in here. I would rather be anywhere else and I'd rather it just be him and I.

"You're supposed to stay for an hour and a half at least."

"What if I say I'm sick?"

Choso takes my empty glass from me and returns it to the table. "We came all this way just for this." He reminds me.

He looks so good in his suit. If I could have a picture of him dressed up like this I'd keep it in a locket.

"Y/n!" A voice calls out excitedly from behind me.

I really hate parties.

.  .  .

Choso sits in the front seat of the car as we're driven to our hotel. I can't stop admiring him. My cheeks flush when he looks at me through the rearview.

We hold eye contact until I look away.

The driver eventually stops in front of our hotel and opens my door for me. "Thank you." I step out of the car. Warm humid air wraps itself around my bare skin.

Choso follows behind me as I make my way inside. I can't come up with any valid reasons as to why I'd need to go to his room.

The walk through the lobby, then the elevator ride, and finally the walk to my room are all too short. I don't have enough time to think of something.

I stop at my door to give myself a second to think.

"Are you ok?"

My hand lingers on the doorknob for a moment before falling to my side. "Choso, you should come in with me."

I turn to look at him after I ask. "What?" This is the first time I've seen him so caught off guard. Maybe that's because he usually stands behind me.

"I want you to come in with me."

"We have our own rooms." Despite his now hardened reaction, his cheeks are red with blush. "Ok." I stop pushing and unlock my door.

"Goodni-"

Choso's hand lands on the door to stop it from shutting. He looks down at me from his place in the doorway. I step out of his way and he walks into the room. The door shuts behind him, leaving us in darkness. Some of the city lights illuminate parts of the room.

Just enough so I can see him.

My heart beats heavily in my chest as I reach out to touch him. Choso steps closer to me and allows me to start undoing his tie.

It falls to the floor but my hands remain on his chest. I have to stand on my toes to reach his lips. Choso leans in and meets me in a kiss.

My hands grip his shirt in fistfuls. Our kiss becomes increasingly desperate. My back meets the wall with a thud. One of his hands lands on the wall next to my head. The other finds its way onto my back.

Choso follows my spine with his fingers. He reaches the nape of my neck and takes the zipper of my dress. The straps fall from my shoulders as the zipper is drawn lower and lower.

When the entire thing is unzipped I let it pool around my ankles. Choso lifts me and carries me across the room. He handles me so gently. I'm laid carefully onto the bed.

My heels are slipped off my feet and then tossed across the room. Choso's lips start at my ankles and trail upwards. Each kiss leaves me more and more entranced by his touch.

As his lips meet my thighs he starts to linger longer. My fingers reach out and grab his hair. He continues up to my hips and for a moment I think he might keep going until our lips meet again.

Instead, he hooks my underwear with his fingers and gives himself more access to me. His touch runs hot across my skin as he pulls my underwear down completely.

"Is this ok?"

"You don't have to ask."

My hands encourage his movements. Choso's lips meet my core in a heated kiss. The kiss feels starved like he needs me to live. He shifts my left leg over his shoulder to give himself better access.

"Oh my god..." I sit up, resting on my elbows to look at him. Choso is still completely dressed. Despite how good-looking he is in his suit, I want it off.

"Take your shirt off."

Choso doesn't falter or stop. Instead, he works his jacket off and lets it fall to the floor. He starts working on the buttons down his shirt until he can take that off too.

His back is painted with scars that remind me of where he came from. My eyes are drawn down by his. Choso watches me through lustful hooded eyes.

His tongue presses against my clit causing my legs to bend instinctively. The dim lights from the window draw harsh shadows across his body.

Choso's hair is a mess from my hands. It falls into his face and tickles the inside of my thighs. Still, he deepens his movements.

The graze of his teeth against sensitive flesh causes a gasp. My hips grind against his mouth as he presses his tongue flat against me. Choso lets out a deep moan that vibrates through my body.

Pleasure starts to build up within me overwhelmingly quickly. "Don't stop." My pleas are answered by Choso's quickened kissing.

He moans once more. My eyes fall lower, following his arm. Choso masturbates as he eats me out. "Shit." The sigh drags on with my orgasm.

Choso doesn't stop until I fall back onto the bed. He pulls away breathlessly and fully removed his pants. His toned chest is also littered with scars that only continue to turn me on.

"Can you continue?" He licks his lips and runs his hand along my thigh. "Yes." Choso nods and reaches up to remove my bra. "You're fucking beautiful." His hands run along my body as if to memorize the feeling.

I shift to the edge of the bed, sitting on my knees so I can kiss him. This kiss is soft. Choso's hand carefully holds my chin. I follow him blindly as he sits down on the bed.

We pull away for a moment. Gentle hands guide me onto his lap. Choso holds my back as I fit him inside of me. The pain turns to pleasure within a minute.

Our eyes stay locked as I roll my hips. My nails dig into his back as I move against him. "Y/n." My name comes out as a plead more than a statement.

My desperate movements become quicker at his unsaid request. Choso peppers kisses along my neck and shoulders. He finds a spot and begins to suck on it to leave a mark.

I tilt my head to the side to give him more access. "Ah- Choso!" He bites down on my neck. I don't know if he drew blood or not but his tongue traces the bite mark several times before he moves on.

Choso's hands grip my ass. He guides me vertically in addition to my horizontal movements. Our moans grow louder together as I follow his movement.

"You're so fucking perfect." Choso catches my lips after his comment, only for a moment. He watches me with such loving eyes my heart flutters in my chest.

Has he always looked at me like this?

The buildup of my second orgasm comes along with his. His grip on me tightens, I feel the twitch of his cock inside me, and his head falls forward onto my shoulder.

Choso mumbles words I can't hear over the sound of my own moans. My orgasm washes over me so intensely that my legs twitch at his side.

We hold each other for a minute before I shift off of his lap to lie down. Choso collapses down next to me. My hand finds his, intertwining our fingers.

"You're... Unbelievable."

The smile on my face feels like it might never go away again. "Do you like me, Choso?" I look over at him from my spot.

"Like you? Of course I like you." He meets my eyes for a moment before shyly looking away. "Do you have deeper feelings for me?"

If the lighting was better I think I'd be able to see that bright red blush all across his face. "I do." His eyes search the ceiling for anything to look at other than me.

"I have deeper feelings for you too." I sit up so he can't avoid looking at me. "You do?" I brush his sweaty hair from his face. "Of course." Choso doesn't return my happy grin.

Instead, he sits up and meets my lips in another passionate kiss. My arms lock around his shoulders to hold him closer. I'd stay like this forever if I had the choice.

Choso pauses for a moment then pulls away. He rubs my thigh as his eyes trail along my neck. He stops at the spot I assume he had bitten. My fingers feel across the skin for a moment before finding the mark.

"I'm sorry. You just tasted so good."

"Don't talk."

I lean back in and happily take another kiss from him. The bite mark will be hard to hide, especially since nothing I packed covers my neck.

Still, if he wanted to bite me again he could.

We could do this all over again as many times as he wants.

[mcflymemes]

ALIEN (1979) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

the other members of the crew are dead.

this is the worst shit i've ever seen.

anybody ever tell you you look dead?

alien life form. looks like it's been dead a long time.

i should reach the frontier in about six weeks.

can you hear me?

what was your special order?

you read it. i thought it was clear.

what about our lives, you son of a bitch?

how do we kill it? there's gotta be a way of killing it.

that's bullshit.

you still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you?

you admire it.

look, i've heard enough of this, and i'm asking you to pull the plug.

i can't lie to you about your chances, but... you have my sympathies.

something has attached itself to him.

we have to get him to the infirmary right away.

wait a minute. if we let it in, the ship could be infected.

you know the quarantine procedure. twenty-four hours for decontamination.

listen to me. if we break quarantine, we could all die.

look, could you open the goddamned hatch?

i can't do that, and if you were in my position, you'd do the same.

this is an order.

the ship will automatically destruct in t-minus five minutes.

you bitch!

you are my lucky star.

i find that hard to believe.

what would you like me to do?

i'll get my own answers, thank you.

some of you may have figured out we're not home yet. we're only halfway there.

what kind of transmission?

you were gonna leave us out there!

when i give an order, i expect it to be obeyed.

unless somebody has got a better idea, we'll proceed with [name]'s plan.

oh no. you're out of your mind.

i say that we abandon ship!

we take our chances and just hope somebody will pick us up.

i'm for killing that goddamn thing right now.

will you listen to me, [name]?

you don't know that.

that's the only way.

we'll go step by step and cut off every bulkhead and every vent until we have it cornered, and then we'll blow it the fuck out into space.

is that acceptable to you?

that's amazing. what is it?

please don't do that. thank you.

you let him in.

by breaking quarantine, you risk everybody's life.

maybe i should have left him outside.

maybe i've jeopardized the rest of us, but it was a risk i was willing to take.

i do take my responsibilities are seriously as you, you know.

you do your job, and let me do mine.

you remember anything about the planet?

what's the last thing you do remember?

we're on our way home!

i don't trust him.

i don't trust anybody.

it's a robot!

let's get the hell out of here.

there is an explanation for this, you know.

i'm sorry, can i say something?

we don't know if it's intelligent.

i wanna go home and party.

you don't dare kill it.

how long before the ship blows?

why don't you just fuck off?

it looks like a warning.

i can't see a goddamn thing.

get out of the room!

the first thing i am going to do when i get back is get some decent food.

open the door!

oh god, it's moving right towards you!

get out of there! behind you! move!

this place gives me the creeps.

whatever it was, it was big.

i'll get the shuttle ready.

wait a minute. there's movement.

where's earth?

something's different down here.

it's got to be around there somewhere.

[elllisaaa]

can u do bf seungkwan thoughts please <33

BF!SEUNGKWAN who's both your partner but also your best friend.

one of his favourite things about you is that he can ramble to you without feeling you being uninterested because he knows you listen closely to every one of his words. everytime seungkwan needs to vent about a situation with someone or at work, he knows he can just yap for hours to you. and he likes it when you do the same, likes it even more when you're going on and on about a topic you like. i'm actually convinced that seungkwan keeps a list of all the things you like and dislike in his phone. on the same line, there's obviously gossiping sessions every week for the two of you - you settle with a hot drink on the couch and update each other on every ongoing drama or random thing that happened to you. that leads to seungkwan knowing every little annoying or funny person in your life, and even the names of your exes. he's the type to fake gag every time they are mentioned, but it's okay because you do the same with him. it's actually endearing how you can tease each other by making references to the things you gossip about and that only you and him understand.

"i have so many things to tell you when I get home tonight baby ! you're not gonna believe it."

seungkwan loves to spend some quality time with you. he's really busy because of his job, but every free moment he has, he spends it with you. even if it's just you coming to see him practice when you have time, or him sitting by your side while you're getting some work done, he's just happy to have your presence by his side, to feel that you're here with him. one of your rituals together is doing each other's skincare and hair. it's so relaxing to have your fingers applying creams and serum on his skin after a good shower, while you softly tell him about your day. and seungkwan does the same for you whenever you're tired, brushing your hair for you or braiding them when you don't have the energy either. another activity you love to do together is go shopping, be that for clothes, decorations items for your apartment, shoes and so on, you always have a good time and it allows him to offer some things to you. it's also an occasion to take cute pictures of the both of you on any mirror you cross, his gallery filled with these photos that he spends all his time looking at when he's away.

"i keep staring at your pretty face on my phone, i can't wait to come back to you."

another one of his love languages is physical touch. every night is worth cuddling, every time you snuggle on the couch together is worth wrapping his arms around you and pulling you on his lap, every time you cook is a chance to back hug you and kiss your shoulders. in conclusion, there's a bunch of cuddles all the time, not that you complain of course. also, seungkwan often gives you random kisses throughout the day - on your cheeks, your lips, your temples or your nose, he likes to see your cute smile every time he surprises you with another loving peck. whenever you praise him, he feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest from too much adoration, his cheeks growing red. he scolds you and asks you to stop only because he's shy and you both know it. seungkwan love for you is obvious to anybody, and that shows through the way he always finds a way to mention you in every conversation, even when you are not there. everytime he repeats a fact that you taught him, he just has to let everyone know who told him that.

"yeah, actually y/n told me that last week, she's so smart."

BF!SEUNGKWAN who is literally obsessed with your body and the way you react to his touch, wanting nothing more than to please you.

seungkwan needs to give you everything you want, you just have to ask for it. be that his fingers, his mouth, or his cock, he's ready to give them all to you. he literally worships your body every chance he gets, every time you wear something a little revealing or tighter, seungkwan loses his mind. he wants to touch you all the time, to have his hands on you all the time. he often overstimulates you unknowingly, driving you insane just because he cannot get enough of the way you look and react when you cum. your moans turns him on a lot too, he's drinking every little sound you make. sex with seungkwan is very passionate and intimate - as much contact as possible between your body and his, lots of kisses and marks all over both your skins. he's often holding your hands too - when he's fucking you lazily, when he's eating you out and even when you're going down on your knees to suck him off. seungkwan wants you to know that he loves you and cares for you throughout the whole thing.

"your body's so fucking beautiful baby, i can't get enough of you."

in fact, he loves your body so much that he needs to take more spicy pictures of you with him when he's away, or he's getting withdrawal. seungkwan has a private folder in his phone filled with videos and photos of you or the two of you to help him get off when you're not there. there's videos of you sucking him off, touching him, riding him, unraveling while he's eating you out. there's pics of you in lingerie, touching yourself, completely bare in your mirror, wearing tight clothes that makes him hard just thinking about it. he also loves to take polaroid pictures in these moments. he has to hide them very well to be sure that no one except the two of you will ever see them, but it turns him on even more to have a material object reminding him of how good you feel around him. seungkwan can be a tease sometimes, so he will put these polaroïds in your bag sometimes or around the house for you to find them at such random moments, wanting nothing more than getting you turned on enough so that it would lead to the bedroom. also, he will lose his mind if you surprise him with new polaroids of you before he goes away, slipping them in his suitcase and he doesn't notice until he unpacks at the hotel.

"you're crazy, one of the guys could have seen this !" - "does this mean you don't like them ?" - "don't start, you know i'm gonna jerk off to your gorgeous body later."

again, intimacy is really important for seungkwan whenever the two of you are having a moment. and the highest form of intimacy in his eyes is when you let him cum inside of you. sure, he likes to just pull out and watch his release cover your pretty body. sure, he liked it when you deepthroat him and make him shoot his load down in your mouth. he loves it all. but he feels even better, even closer to you when you let him cum inside of your pussy. having your legs and arms wrapped around him, your moans falling directly in his ears, his hands holding your waist, and your walls milking him dry is definitely the best feeling ever. seungkwan insisted on keeping up with the condoms for a long time - he doesn't want to be a father just yet, he wanted to be sure that you were doing okay with your contraception. but the day he sank into you raw, his world was changed and he never wanted to come back in time. it felt like heaven every time, and he came embarrassingly fast the first time, even today, he's still not used to feeling your wet cunt without any barriers.

"s-shit… you feel so good, i'm not gonna last."

[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 9

A Glen Powell RPF Series

Warning: Smutttt, cursing

Glen

Glen looks down at his watch as he walks out of the gym, tilting his wrist to shield it from the glare of the Friday afternoon sun. 3.30pm. 

He pulls out his phone to text Billie knowing she finishes early on Fridays, opening his texts and looking down at their last message. She’d replied to the message he'd sent at lunchtime asking how her day was going.

He smiles as he looks down at her words, picturing her face as he reads. He's been unable to stop thinking about her since he'd left her place yesterday, certain he was becoming totally infatuated by everything that was Billie.

He goes to type a text message but then quickly deletes it, deciding to facetime her instead. He jumps into his car as his phone starts to ring out, glancing at his sweaty, post-gym reflection in the review mirror just as Billie's face appears smiling on the screen.

“Hey handsome”

Glen can't help the way he grins back at her then. She’s so fucking beautiful, her long hair pulled back into a high pony tail that's snaking down her shoulder, a pair of trendy, clear framed glasses perched on her nose. Almost instantly he feels his insides stirring in that most delectable way - he didn’t know he had a thing for girls with glasses until just now. 

Fuck.

“Hey darlin’. What you doing?”

“Just finishing up some paperwork and then I’m out of here. You?”

“Just finished the gym and thinking about you”

Billie grins teasingly, her eyes bright behind her glasses. “Oh yeah? Thinking about me and anything specific?”

Glen grins back, taking the bait. “Well originally I was just thinkin’ about how I wanted to see you again. But seeing you in glasses, now I’m thinkin’ about a whole lot of other things”

Billie laughs gorgeously, her smile taking up her whole face in that way that Glen finds insanely attractive.

“You’re bad Glen”

He winks mischievously. “I’m just gettin’ started Billie”.

They both laugh, grinning back at one another through the screen.

“Anyway” he says, taking his hat off and reaching up to run his hands through his gym-sweaty hair, “The actual reason I called was to see what you were doing tonight?”

Billie tilts her head and leans back in her chair. “Can’t say I really had any plans tonight, was just going to head home and take Nugget for a walk and then have a quiet night in with Netflix”

“Oh yeah? Any chance you want some company with your Netflix? What do the kids say, Netflix and chill?”

Billie laughs again, this time louder. “I'm not sure you’re up with the kid's lingo these days old man, Netflix and chill doesn’t mean what you think it means”

Glen laughs, shooting her a mildly offended face. “First of all, I’m not old. Second of all, I’m well aware of what Netflix and chill means. And I mean it in that sense and the literal sense” he says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Billie shakes her head and chuckles. 

“Well then, since you’re offering both, yes, I’d love some company” she replies, winking back gorgeously and making Glen feel all kinds of things, “I’m leaving here in five, so feel free to meet me at home? Usually it takes me about twenty minutes or so to get home”.

Glen nods. “I’ll head home, have a shower n’ grab Brisket, then we’ll come over?”

Billie tilts her head as if she's thinking for a moment, her lips stretching into a sly smile. “You know, I am very ok with you showering at mine if you’d like” she adds flirtatiously, Glen raising an eyebrow as he looks back at the screen.

“Oh yeah? I’m very okay with that too, but only if you’re joinin’ me”

Billie bites her lip teasingly and grins. “I think that can be arranged”

Glen flashes her his best grin.

“See you soon, peach”.

---

Glen hears Nugget barking before he’s even at the door, Brisket instantly bouncing excitedly at the sound of his friend behind the front door. Glen lifts his hand to knock but is beaten by the sound of Billie’s voice from somewhere inside telling him the door is open, wrangling Brisket on the lead as he walks them both inside.

Nugget is all over Brisket the moment they step inside, Glen unable to help his smile at the two boys sniffing furiously and wagging their tails happily. He bends to unclip Brisket and watches when they immediately sprint off into the house, pausing to look at his reflection in the hallway mirror and quickly readjusting his hat.

He lets out a breath and makes his way down the hallway, stepping into the living room to find Billie standing with her hands on her hips in front of a huge, half opened box. It takes him a second to realise that it’s her new couch that’s been delivered, too distracted by how damn gorgeous she looks standing there in her work uniform. His eyes run over her fitted black polo shirt and tight black bike shorts that show off her perfect ass, and for a moment he can’t help but wonder how any of her clients possibly focus when she’s treating them.

“Hey you” Billie says turning to face him, her smile growing bigger when Glen steps towards her and wraps his arm around her waist.

“Hey gorgeous” he replies with his own grin, pulling her into him and kissing her deeply. 

She’s still wearing her glasses from before, her beautiful hazel eyes looking even more so behind the lenses. 

“How was your day?”

Billie shrugs, smiling adorably. “Really busy actually! But definitely better when I came home to the Ikea truck pulling into my driveway”.

Glen nods, looking over at the box that’s taking up the majority of the living room. “I'm surprised it got delivered so quickly”

“Me too” Billie replies, looking back up at Glen from behind her glasses, “And I guess it's good timing that you came over tonight”.

“To help you set it up?”

Billie looks up and around as if she’s thinking for a second, shrugging her shoulders innocently when she looks back at Glen. “Well that, and also, because I'll need to christen the couch, obviously”

Glen can’t help his laugh, grabbing her waist again and this time dipping her before he kisses her.

“And you say I’m bad”

Billie grins wickedly, reaching up to cup his jaw. “What can I say, you're rubbing off on me”

“Oh yeah? Anything else of yours need rubbing?”

Billie immediately snorts and throws her head back in laughter, Glen instantly deciding that her laugh is his new favourite sound and he’d listen to it all day if he could.

“Wow Glen, that was terrible”

“But it made you laugh though” he replies matter-of-factly and flashing his best smile, bending to kiss Billie again. Her mouth tastes like mint chewing gum and he just can’t get enough.

“You know, if you keep distracting me like this, we’ll never get this couch put together” Billie comments when they part, resting her hands on his chest and looking up at him.

Glen shoots her a mildly offended look. 

“Me distracting you? Darlin’, I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror today but I am most definitely not the one being distracting. Look at you” he remarks, stepping back for a moment and gesturing to her in front of him.

Billie shakes her head in confused amusement, looking down at her outfit and back up at Glen again. “In my work uniform?”

“Yes, your work uniform. Your fuckin’ ass Billie, my God it’s just perfect. It’s round and peachy and just--- fuck” he explains, his voice almost pained, stepping back towards her and snaking his hands down until he’s cupping her ass, squeezing her cheeks for emphasis, “It’s perfect. Seriously, how do your clients not just stare at you all day?”

Billie rolls her eyes and laughs, “I work with high school and college athletes, Glen”

Glen nods his head enthusiastically in response. “Exactly my point. God, I’d be fakin’ all kinds of injuries if it meant I got to look at this” he adds, squeezing her cheeks again and making Billie giggle.

“I’m pretty sure they’re all aware that I’m at least ten years older than most of them”

Glen shakes his head definitively. “And you think that matters?”.

Billie pulls a face and Glen can’t help but laugh. 

“Trust me darlin’, I was once a college aged boy. A perfect ass is a perfect ass”.

Billie chuckles.

“So am I correct in assuming by those words that you’re an ass man then?”

This time it’s Glen’s turn to chuckle.. 

“You would be, yes. There’s just nothing fuckin’ better” he says gripping her ass and suddenly lifting her from the floor, Glen loving the way her legs reflexively wrap around his waist. She folds her arms around his neck but doesn’t say anything, looking down at him expectantly like she’s waiting for him to continue.

Glen’s grin grows wider.

“Like, having a handful of this in each hand?” he explains, squeezing her ass again and feeling his deep muscles contract deliciously at the feeling of holding her, “Or you know, seeing it bent over and bouncin’? Just mmm---”

His words trail off into a near-pained groan that rumbles in his throat, Glen instantly aware of his suddenly hardening erection that’s pressing into Billie’s groin. 

Billie looks down at him with bright eyes, clearly amused by his words, and he can tell from her expression that she can more than feel his growing excitement.

“Well, how about instead of just talking about my ass” Billie whispers, cupping Glen’s jaw and bending to kiss him in a way that teases more, “You put me down and help me put this couch together, then maybe I’ll let you bend me over it” 

Her words have an instant response in Glen and he immediately drops her to her feet, Billie laughing at his reaction as he bends and kisses her quickly. She grins up at him, Glen doing his best to ignore his now very restrictive shorts, reaching up to readjust his hat and looking down at her in front of him. 

He smiles wickedly.  “Give me those fuckin’ instructions”

---

Billie

“Screw bracket three into hole two on the base using a ‘C’ screw” Billie reads from the instruction pamphlet, looking up as Glen tightens the screw into the base of the couch. 

Her eyes run over his bulging biceps as he holds the electric drill, and for a second Billie has to remind herself how to breathe. 

He’s wearing a tight black Texas Longhorn’s t-shirt that hugs his muscles perfectly, a black sports cap sitting backwards on his gorgeous head. He looks casual and all-American and sexy as hell, and Billie finds herself seriously struggling to pay attention to her task at hand. Watching him screw the couch together has her thinking all kinds of things, most notably, how badly she wants him to screw her.

“Billie, darlin?” Glen asks suddenly, waving his big hand in front of her face and instantly shaking her from her thoughts, “I said can you pass me another of those big C screws?”

“Huh? Oh yeah sorry” she replies, immediately flustered, leaning back on her knees and grabbing the plastic bag of screws marked ‘C’ from the floor behind her.

“Daydreaming?” he asks when she passes him a screw, looking at her curiously with one raised eyebrow.

She shakes her head and smiles. 

“Just got caught up in my thoughts for a moment” she explains, smiling innocently as she readjusts her glasses and looks back down at the instructions in her hand.

Her cheeks heat when she feels Glen’s gaze on her for a moment longer, knowing she’s been caught and that Glen definitely knows what was on her mind just a moment ago. 

She hears him chuckle before the sound of the electric drill starts again, Billie pressing her lips together and glancing out of the living room window to see Nugget and Brisket chasing each other around the backyard.

Billie turns back when she hears her phone buzzing on the floor, picking it up to find a message in her girl’s group chat. It’s Sloane, asking what she's planning on wearing tomorrow to Chelsea’s bachelorette party, along with several pictures of her own outfit options. The party was going to be an all day event - complete with a full body spa experience, a pole dancing class, cocktails at a rooftop lounge and dancing at some Beverly Hills club to finish off the night. 

“The girls?” Glen asks when Billie’s typing back, Billie looking up to find him gazing at her expectantly.

Billie nods. “It’s Sloane. Asking what I’m wearing tomorrow”.

“What’s tomorrow?”

“A bachelorette party. A very full on bachelorette party to be exact”.

Glen doesn’t say anything, but his expression wills her to explain.

Billie ticks off the itinerary for the party tomorrow, chuckling when Glen’s eyebrows raise at the mention of pole dancing.

“Wow. I don't think I've heard of a bachelorette like that before. Where do you know Chelsea from?”

“She’s actually Bec’s little sister. She’s a few years younger than me, getting married next month” Billie explains, looking down at her phone and back up at Glen, “Her husband Patrick, his family owns olive vineyards or something so they’re really well off. Hence the crazy bachelorette party”.

“I assume the wedding's going to be just as big and crazy?”

Billie laughs. “You assume correct. It's on Catalina Island and I'm pretty sure they've hired an entire resort”.

Glen turns back and finishes screwing another one of the legs onto the couch base, wriggling it to make sure its fixed tight.

“What about you, what are you doing tomorrow? Any plans?” Billie asks, handing Glen another screw when he picks up the final leg.

“Yeah actually, I’ve got a friends birthday somewhere in West Hollywood”

“Close friend?” Billie inquires, typing another response to Sloane before putting her phone back down.

“Yeah, my boy Chord. Used to be my roommate back when I first moved to LA” Glen explains, repeating the process with the last couch leg and fixing it to the base, “We’re still super close”.

Billie tilts her head curiously. “Like, Chord, as in Chord Overstreet?”

Glen turns to face Billie and laughs. “Yes that’s him”

Bille chuckles and shakes her head, suddenly wondering if she'll ever get used to hearing Glen talk casually about his famous friends on a first name basis.

“Alright help me lift this?” Glen says suddenly, Billie getting to her feet and stabilising the back of the couch as Glen lifts it the right way up. 

Glen connects the chaise lounge section as Billie peels the protective film from the leather, the two standing back to admire the finished product in front of them.

“So where are you going to put it?” Glen asks, standing back with hands on his hips beside Billie, looking over their handiwork. “I take it we’re moving this one?” he adds, gesturing to her existing grey three-seater with his foot.

Billie nods, “Yep. And then the new one is going to go this way” she explains, motioning with her hands, gesturing along the wall to the left.

Twenty minutes later they’ve rearranged the living room, taken apart the old couch, and replaced it with the new one, Billie turning to grin at Glen happily when he walks back in from taking the last of the packaging rubbish to her bin outside.

“Happy with it?”

Billie smiles happily. “More than happy. I love it” she remarks, stepping forward to adjust one of the new fluffy throw cushions she’s put on it, before flopping down onto it.

“What are you going to do with the old one?”

“I'm gonna try and sell it. Put it on Facebook marketplace or something” she says, smoothing her hand over the caramel coloured leather.

“Thank you for helping” Billie adds when Glen sits down beside her, smiling gratefully when he reaches over and squeezes her bare thigh, “This probably would have taken me all night if you weren’t here”.

“You’re more than welcome darlin’, it was no trouble at all” he replies with a gentle smile, his fingers rubbing small circles into her skin.

She stares at his hand, loving the way his touch feels, feeling the muscles deep in her belly squeeze the longer she watches it. She hasn’t forgotten about her shower comment earlier today, her imagination suddenly conjuring thoughts of her bent over in the shower with him, Glen standing behind her and matching each push of her hips with his own.

She’s just about to open her mouth to suggest as much, Glen’s phone ringing suddenly and breaking the silence. He squeezes her thigh gently, using the other to fish his phone from his pocket and looking down at the number on the screen, offering an apologetic smile to Billie before he accepts the call.

Her thoughts elsewhere, and a slow-burning fire simmering in the pit of her insides, an idea slowly forms in her brain. She stands up from the couch, pausing mid-stand to bend and quickly kiss Glen, making her way to the bedroom and leaving him alone on her new living room couch.

She pulls the tie from her hair and runs her fingers through her long waves, stripping off her work uniform until she’s naked. She leaves her clothes in a strategic trail from her bedroom to her ensuite bathroom, looking back at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She can feel her heart start to race, butterflies unfurling in her stomach, a mix of excitement and nervousness suddenly coursing through her veins.

Billie leans into the shower and turns the water on hot, steam starting to fill the bathroom after a few seconds. She picks up her phone and lets out a shaky, excited breath, opening the camera and pointing it at the mirror until her reflection fills the screen. She turns and tosses her hair back, looking over her shoulder at the mirror, crossing her legs so that her ass curves in just the right way and she teases just a hint of side boob. Covering her face with her phone, she snaps her best sexy selfie, looking down at the screen and grinning excitedly. Deciding it’s her best work yet and feeling the adrenaline shooting down her spine, she inhales deeply, closing her eyes for a moment to calm herself, before tapping at the screen and sending it to Glen.

Waiting for you to join me for that shower, handsome 😉

Billie grins and tosses her phone onto the bathroom counter, stepping into the shower and under the spray of the hot water. She closes her eyes as she tips her head back beneath the water, sighing when she feels her muscles instantly relax. She takes a second to enjoy it - the feel of the hot water soothing her muscles and washing away the day, and the delicious feeling of anticipation from her devious text. She smiles to herself knowing she has maybe a minute before Glen sees her message, her mind filling with thoughts of one thing only.

Forty-seven seconds later she hears footsteps entering the bathroom, unable to help the way her lips part when she hears Glen curse out loud, followed by a near-pained groan that makes her feel all kinds of things deep in her stomach. She doesn’t turn around, instead hearing the shuffling sound of clothes being removed, a cool breeze from the shower door soon being opened making goosebumps rise on her skin. 

She feels Glen’s arms snaking around her waist and joining her under the spray only a second later, his arousal pressing into her ass, already thick, hard and tantalisingly perfect. A heavy breath falls from her when his hand flattens against her belly, her body being pulled back until she’s flush against his chest. She feels his other hand glide up her arm, fingers collecting her wet hair and sliding it over her shoulder, before his fingers dance along her throat and pull her head back against his chest.

The action has Billie reeling, every fibre of her body suddenly on fire, her eyes closing when Glen leans in and presses his mouth to her now exposed neck. She can’t help the sigh that escapes her then, letting herself melt into Glen as he kisses and sucks at her skin in the most sensual way.

She’s in heaven, she’s sure of it, feeling her whole body turn to liquid from the feel of the steamy hot water and Glen’s mouth. She nearly whimpers when the hand on her belly glides lower, teasing her for just a moment before he’s cupping her sex. They both groan then - her at the feeling of his fingers slipping through her slippery folds, him at finding her already deliciously wet and wanting.

Her breathing heavy, she musters a sliver of focus from somewhere unknown and reaches one hand behind to find his arousal, wrapping her fingers around and gliding her fist up and down his thick length. The sound Glen makes in her ear reaches the deepest pit of her stomach, his grip on her neck tightening in the best way and only spurring her on more.

She increases her pace but momentarily stalls when Glen slips his fingers inside her, two and then a third only a moment later, the sudden decadent fullness making Billie cry out his name in the most sinful way.

“I love hearin’ you say my name darlin’’” Glen breathes in her ear, his voice only just audible over the spray of the shower, his words like silky velvet wrapping around Billie’s spine and sending carnal shivers throughout her entire body. 

He’s still holding her throat, holding her pressed against his shoulder as he continues his assault on her neck, finger fucking her with a steady rhythm and making the edges of her vision start to blur.

Billie does her best to focus on her own rhythm as Glen curls his fingers inside her, the sounds of wet and skin getting obscenely louder as they both increase their pace. Billie can feel herself quickly unravelling, slipping further into the heady cloud of erotic bliss, her heart thumping so loud she can feel it in her ears. She squeezes her eyes shut, no longer able to focus on her coordination, reluctantly letting go of Glen and instead reaching for the wall to brace herself. 

She doesn’t quite find the wall though, suddenly feeling herself being flipped around, Glen pressing her back against the tiles, caging her in and kissing her lips again hungrily. His lips are feverish, his tongue licking into her mouth, one of his hands sliding down her thigh before hooking it up and over his arm. 

His free hand snakes back to her sex and within moments he’s buried back inside her, curling his fingers once again in a way that makes Billie moan desperately into their kiss. Glen has a better angle like this, his fingers stretching and fucking her in a way that makes her toes curl, Billie knowing she’s done for the moment he finds that perfect spot inside her.

At some point she has to force herself away from Glen’s lips, dropping her head back against the tiled wall as she cries out into the shower. His lips suddenly abandoned, Glen moves down to her throat and sucks at Billie’s skin, pressing his palm against her clit and making her cry out a second time. Billie’s leg wobbles at the new contact and she grabs for his arm, gripping at his thick biceps to stabilise herself as she feels herself start to tremble.

She knows Glen can feel it too then, knowing she’s right there on the edge, his voice deep and silky in her ear as he tells her to come for him.

“Come on peach, that’s it” Glen breathes, his voice like smooth velvet, “Let me feel it baby, let me hear you come”.

His encouragement is her undoing and all of a sudden she’s coming all over his fingers, gripping onto his arms with everything she has as she spasms around his hand. She can feel Glen kissing her as she rides out her high - aware but unable to focus on the feel of his lips on her neck, her jaw, her shoulder, too caught up in her orgasm flooding through her. 

Eventually she stills, Glen still peppering her with kisses, finally pulling his fingers from her and lowering her leg to the floor. He makes sure she’s stable, still holding her waist with one hand, Billie’s eyes fluttering open to find his pale green eyes looking down at her in awe.

“You okay?”

Billie answers with an emphatic nod, the action making Glen chuckle, Billie smiling when he bends to kiss her gently and tuck strands of stray, wet hair behind her ear.

She squeezes his arm, finally recovered from her release, all of a sudden very aware of Glen’s raging arousal that’s pressing against his belly just inches from her own. She inhales deeply, her next decision forming in her brain, Glen noting the change in her expression and looking down at her curiously.

She licks her lips and pushes herself off the wall, using her grip on Glen’s arms to turn him around and swap their positions so that he’s the one now pressed against the tiles. She leans in and kisses him fleetingly, teasing his lips with her tongue, her hands moving to his chest and suddenly sliding down lower.

Glen’s eyes are on her, his lips parted in anticipation as his chest rises and falls, watching Billie’s every move as she slowly, teasingly, sinks down to her knees in front of him to return the favour.

---

Glen

They’re sitting on the new couch after their shower, Glen with a beer and Billie with a glass of rose, Glen glancing over at Billie beside him. Her damp hair is freshly washed and pulled back into a braid that’s snaking down her shoulder, her clear-framed glasses from earlier perched on her nose. She’s wearing a loose pair of soft, grey sweat shorts and a white cropped t-shirt that teases a slice of her toned abdomen whenever she moves a certain way. Even fresh from the shower and with what he’s pretty sure is a face completely free of makeup, he still can’t help but think how fucking gorgeous she is.

Glen lets out a breath and takes a sip of his beer, relaxing back into the couch. Some part of him is still reeling from the shower earlier, unsure if he’d ever get over the sight of Billie on her knees in front of him. The way she’d worked his cock over and over, teasing him and stroking him in the best way until he was coming down her throat. Her bright hazel eyes when she’d gorgeously grinned up at him, the way she’d winked at him after she’d swallowed. The thought was enough to make him hard all over again.

She was a fucking goddess and my God he’d never seen anything more sexy.

The sound of the doorbell ringing breaks him from his thoughts, Billie moving to put down her glass before Glen stops her with a hand on her knee.

“You stay, I’ll get it”

He puts down his beer and makes his way down the hallway, both Nugget and Brisket already standing at the door and wagging their tails expectantly. Glen bends to ruffle Nugget’s fur with a smile, before opening the door and frowning when he doesn’t find the Chinese takeout he and Billie had ordered earlier.

Instead he’s met with a hand directly in his face, a thick, shiny gold ring adorning the fourth finger.

“Billie we’re engaged!”

Glen’s frown grows even deeper, confusion taking over his face, the hand suddenly yanking away and allowing Glen a full view of the owner.

“Oh…you’re not Billie”

Glen stares blankly at two men standing in front of him, the expressions on their faces just as confused as his own, the three of them seemingly lost for words as they stare at one another. Glen watches as the taller one stands back and looks up over the house, as if checking that they’re at the right house, the other still looking back at Glen in bewilderment. 

“But that’s Nugget…” the taller one confirms out loud when he spies the happily panting golden dog at Glen’s feet, the first man with the ring tilting his head and blatantly looking Glen up and down. 

“Where’s Billie?” the taller guy asks.

“Wait, are you---” the man with the ring asks at the same time, the two looking at each other for a second before turning back to Glen when he clears his throat.

“She’s inside” he offers, stepping back and calling Billie’s name into the house behind him.

Glen hears his name whispered by one of the men, turning in time to see them whispering to one another, the taller one’s eyes widening in absolute surprise as he realises who’s standing in front of him.

“Oh my fucking God it is!” the taller one remarks loudly, “You’re Glen Powell!”.

Glen only nods at them, looking over his shoulder when Billie suddenly comes jogging up behind him, her face splitting into a smile when she spies the two men.

“Hey guys!” Billie exclaims, opening the door wider and standing beside Glen, “Everything okay?”

“Oh my God Billie!” the one with the ring shouts, clapping his hands happily, “Look! We’re engaged!”.

He thrusts his hand towards Billie and Glen watches as she immediately erupts into excited cheers of congratulations, rushing forward and wrapping both men in a happy hug. Glen shuffles his feet, still having zero idea who the two men are, looking down at Billie as she takes the man’s hand in hers and closely inspects the golden ring.

“Ryan I love it, it’s gorgeous” she gushes, smiling affectionately up at the two, her eyes suddenly widening as if she all of a sudden remembers that Glen’s standing there.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Billie stutters, looking back and flashing Glen an apologetic smile, reaching out to squeeze his arm before turning back to the two guys.

“Glen, this is Ryan and Lachlan, my neighbours” she explains, gesturing from him to the men and back again, “Ryan and Lach, this is Glen”.

“You mean Glen Powell” Ryan emphasises as Glen shakes Lachlan’s hand, Billie laughing and shaking her head when Ryan says something under his breath that Glen doesn’t quite catch. 

Glen grins and steps forward to shake Ryan’s hand next, telling them that it’s nice to meet them both and offering his congratulations on their engagement.

“You both have to come in and have a drink to celebrate” Glen proposes, a soft smile on his face as he gestures to the two to come inside.

“Oh no no, we couldn’t impose like that” Lachlan replies immediately, shaking his head in polite decline.

“Absolutely. We couldn’t possibly interrupt your… date night” Ryan adds, accentuating the words ‘date night’ and shooting a questioning look at Billie that she dismisses with a wink and a knowing grin.

“Guys you just got engaged. Please come in and celebrate” Billie insists, gesturing again for them to come in, “I’m certain I have a bottle of champagne somewhere”.

The sound of the word champagne has them both immediately changing tact, Glen stepping aside and holding the door open for them both to pass by. Billie smiles up at him as she turns to follow them, Glen instead catching her arm and stopping her, bending and quickly kissing her. He doesn’t say anything when they part, only winking back at her and loving the way her lips part into her gorgeous smile, Billie tightening her hold on his hand and tugging him towards the living room.

---

Previous Chapter

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[rosyrosethings]

KIng Harry and The Nanny p2

this is part 2 of Harry and the nanny. you don't have to read part 1. This is just another part of the story.

Warning: smut, fluff, blow job,

Harry's heart raced like a teenage boy's when he was near her. Every afternoon, as the children drifted off to sleep, his desire for her became overwhelming and irresistible. He would quietly slip away from his duties as king and pull her into any vacant space they could find - a closet, an unoccupied room - just to indulge in her sweet taste. Even just a simple kiss from her was enough to satisfy his longing. It had been so long since he had felt genuine affection from anyone, and he craved her attention more than anything else. When they were alone, she would always tenderly kiss his head before returning to their daily routines. Harry lived for those moments, cherishing every kiss on his forehead from her. Y/n was well aware of the nature of their relationship; after all, he was the married king and she was only the nanny. But she couldn't deny the intense craving she felt for his touch, his love, anything that came from him.

On this particular Saturday night, Y/n relished in having the day off from her duties and lounged at home with her roommate Bri, unable to shake off thoughts of Harry. Her and Bri set there enjoying there second bottle of wine and each other company.

"Bri its all he doess, doesn't do anything else. He won't even let me touch him." She said, resting on the couch looking at her roomate Bri.

"Maybe he’s like really into pleasing you." She said looking up at her offering her comfort.

"Yea he is but He wants more I could tell. Maybe he just doesn't want me in that way." She said sadly.

"No he wants you. Everyone who sees you wants you in that way." She said looking at her up and down. Y/n laughed

"I am serious bri.." she said laughing

"Maybe hes gay." Bri said, Y/n laughed harder

"Oh please, Bri. He's definitely not gay," Y/n said, rolling her eyes. "You should see the way he looks at me sometimes. It's like he wants to devour me whole."

Bri waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Ooh, sounds steamy. So why don't you make a move then? Take control for once?"

Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's not that simple. He's the king, remember? And married. I can't just throw myself at him."

"Why not? Sounds like he's already throwing himself at you every chance he gets," Bri pointed out.

Y/n bit her lip, considering. "I don't know... What if I'm reading too much into it? What if he rejects me?"

Just then, Y/n's phone buzzed with a text.

‘I know it’s your day off but I need to see you.’ -Harry

‘Is everything okay?’ -Y/n

‘I’m just missing you. I’m coming over now.’- Harry

The text threw her for a loop. Y/n immediately shot up and started straightening up the apartment

“Are you okay?” Bri asked watching her jump from place to place erratic cleaning.

“He’s coming over! Bri go to your room. I didn’t tell him i told you. I was supposed to keep the affair a secret.” She said,

Bri's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth forming a perfect O shape. "Wait, what? He's coming here? Now?" She jumped up from the plush couch, scattering scattered items as she grabbed her phone and hastily stuffed them into her bag. "Okay, okay, I'm going." Her voice was strained with excitement and urgency. "But you better tell me everything later!"

As Bri hurried off into her room, Y/n's heart raced with anticipation and nerves. She quickly smoothed down her hair, checking herself in the mirror and straightening her clothes. The doorbell rang just moments later, startling her.

As Y/n's heart raced with anticipation, she reached for the door handle and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She swung the door open to reveal Harry standing there, his tall frame shrouded in an all-black ensemble. A dark hoodie was pulled up over his head, casting shadows over his face, while large, opaque sunglasses shielded his eyes from view. Despite the darkness surrounding him, Y/n could still feel the intensity of his gaze on her as she stood before him,

"Y/n," he breathed out, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. As soon as he entered, he shed his hood and shades, revealing his mesmerizing green eyes that seemed to intensify upon locking onto hers. In an instant, he had her pressed against the wall, his body flush against hers. His lips crashed onto hers in a passionate kiss that took her breath away. "I couldn't wait to do that," he whispered huskily as he pulled away, leaving Y/n feeling weak at the knees.

"Maybe we should go to my room, don't want to wake my roommate." She said looking up at him. He smiled

"Lead the way love." She smiled at him grabbing his hand leading him to her bedroom.  She opened the door to her room quickly closing the door behind him. She immediately started to kiss him again. Softly leading him to her bed. She pushed him down on the mattress. Her standing over him.

"Hoodie off." She demanded, he smiled at her attitude. She wanted to please him for once. He obliged taking off his hoodie. Revealing his bare chest. Y/n sat on his lap straddling him.

"I can't wait to have you in my mouth." He said looking up at her. She kissed his lips.

"Not today I will have you in mines." She said kissing his lips again. She felt him stiffening up at her response. Harry was scared. She pushed him down on her mattress as she kissed his neck.

"What wrong? You don't want me to please you." She asked looking at him propped up on both of her hands. Ge saw the disappointment in her eyes.

"No baby, I just haven't had sex in a long time. I don't want to cum to fast. Just looking at you makes me dick hard. I bust just eating you out. I could imagine how it would be inside you." He said, looking up at her. She pressed down her hips to his. Grinding against his dick which was hard already.

"I don't care if you cum quick. I want you inside me I want to see your face while you're deep in my pussy." She said leaning down to kiss him. His dick twitched at her words. There lips moved against one another her hands made her way down his chest. She sat up taking off her shirt.

She slowly slid off of him, her fingers hooking around the waistband of his black joggers as she helped him remove them. Her hands moved effortlessly, unfastening his pants and revealing a pair of gray briefs underneath. In the dim light, she could see the outline of his strong hips and toned muscles, causing a wave of desire to wash over her. She couldn't resist running her hands along his defined abdomen, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. It was as if she couldn't get enough of him, wanting to explore every inch of his body with her touch.

“Gotta get these off.” A mischievous smile played on her lips as she reached for the waistband of his gray briefs. With a teasing tug, she pulled them down, revealing his eager arousal that pressed against his stomach. She gazed at it with a lust in her eyes, knowing that she was in full control of his pleasure. Her hand went him. Harry sighed in relief. Its been so long since he's been pleasured. Especially like this. Her hands went up and down his shaft.

“I’m gonna put you in my mouth now.” Her words dripped seductively from her lips as she looked up at Harry, her hand wrapped tightly around him. A feeling of pure ecstasy coursed through his body at the mere touch of her fingers. She placed a soft kiss on the tip before swirling her tongue around it, sending shivers down his spine. He struggled to hold back, determined not to reach his peak too soon in this blissful moment. But every sensation she created was like fire, filling him with an overwhelming desire for more. Every part of him wanted to surrender to her and fully give into this pleasure that she so expertly provided.

Y/n continued to pleasure Harry with expertise, her lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to bring him to the edge of ecstasy. She could feel his body tensing beneath her touch, his breath hitching with each movement she made. As she continued to take him deeper into her mouth, she could hear Harry's ragged breathing turning into soft moans of pleasure.

"Oh god, Y/n," Harry groaned, his voice husky with desire. "You're so good at this."

She hummed in response, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. Encouraged by his praise, she increased the intensity of her movements, determined to make him lose control.

Harry's fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her rhythm as he whispered, "Faster, baby. I need more of you."

Y/n complied eagerly, taking him as deep as she could as she quickened her pace. The sounds of their passion filled the room, mingling with the creak of the bed and Harry's increasingly urgent pleas for more.

"I can't hold back much longer," Harry gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily.

Y/n pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with his before she teased, "Do you want to cum in my mouth, Harry?" Her hand still moving up and down his dick.

His eyes darkened with desire as he nodded eagerly. "Yes, please, Y/n.”

“Do it then.” She said, With a sultry smile before she took him back in fully, using every trick and movement she knew to push him closer to the edge. His dick fully down her throat.

As their connection intensified, Harry's moans grew louder and more desperate, echoing off the walls of the room. Y/n eagerly took him in her mouth, feeling his fingers tightly gripping her hair. With one final deep thrust into her mouth and a guttural groan of euphoria, Harry reached his peak. Y/n greedily swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of him on her tongue. He came with such force that it almost overwhelmed her, but she eagerly lapped up every last bit of his pleasure.

As he came down from his high, Harry gazed up at Y/n with a mix of awe and gratitude. "That was… incredible," he panted, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Y/n grinned triumphantly before leaning in to press a lingering kiss on his lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," she whispered softly against his skin.

Harry wrapped his arms around her. Pulling her close to him. He placed a kiss on her forehead. She looked up him as his hand traced her back

“When was the last time someone pleased you?” Y/n asked, looking up at him.

“Well charlotte is the only woman i have been with and I haven’t did anything with her since…”he said trailing off.

“Wait you’ve only been with charlotte?” She asked a bit shock. Feeling a bit like she took something away from him.

"And you." He said with nonchalant ease, his gaze steady and unwavering. Y/n sat up, her heart racing as she looked down at him. His face was a mixture of vulnerability and strength, making her heart ache for him. "But Charlottes more of a just a duty to my kingdom," he continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "My parents died when I was young, and Charlotte was one of the women they had approved of before their tragic accident. I had to marry quickly because of my impending kingship. But Charlotte was never my true love."

He reached out and gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. Y/n felt her cheeks flush with warmth at his touch and words.

"But then I saw you," he said softly, his eyes shining with fondness. "You took my breath away. You were wearing a black turtleneck sweater with white trousers and black boots, and a black hat to top it off. It was snowing but you were determined to get a picture of the palace for our social media. I happened to look out the window and saw you, and I couldn't help but ask William who the crazy lady outside was."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he remembered that day. "William told me you were American and that you worked on the royal social media team. And then I came downstairs shortly after, and there you were - standing in front of the fireplace in Buckingham Palace. Your hands were clasped in front of you, trying to warm them by the fire. Snowflakes were melting off your coat, but I could see your fingers were freezing cold."

His eyes softened as he recalled his actions that day. "I couldn't resist approaching you with a blanket to wrap around your shoulders. And then you turned and looked at me for the first time - our eyes met and I felt something I had never felt for anyone else.” He said, his green eyes meeting hers.

Y/n felt her heart swell with emotion at Harry's words. She remembered that day vividly - how nervous she had been on her first day working at the palace, how cold she had been after taking photos outside in the snow. And then how her breath had caught in her throat when she turned to see the handsome king offering her a blanket, his green eyes warm with concern.

"I remember," she said softly. "I was so flustered I could barely speak. You were so kind to me."

Harry's thumb stroked her hand gently. "From that moment on, I found myself looking for excuses to be near you. I'd walk through rooms I knew you'd be working in, hoping to catch a glimpse. When the nanny position opened up, I immediately thought of you - selfishly wanting you to be around more often."

Y/n's mind whirled with this newfound knowledge. The pieces of the puzzle were finally starting to come together. "So you're the one who recommended me for the job," she exclaimed, a playful giggle escaping her lips.

A warm smile spread across his face as he replied, "Yes, the best decision I ever made."

[evansboyfriend]

there's just so much here and i can't find the original post and anyway i don't want to go off at OP so i'm making my own post:

FIRST THINGS FIRST, doctors and medical professional are sworn in by The Hippocratic Oath - this is from an article dated in 2001, and under normal circumstances I'd look for something more recent but for the sake of this post, since Evan Buckley was born in 1992, it'll suffice. (and i'm not going to sit here and examine the limitations and criticisms okay. you can read the article if you're interested.)

the point is no medical professional would approve of a procedure that puts an infant child through immense pain in order to harvest bone marrow and treat another child, no matter how sick that older child would be. i'm not sure why I even need to back up my claims for this because it's just a logical fact that no doctor would inflict pain of that level, even if the parents of said infant brought him to the doctor and said they want to put their child through this procedure. quite frankly, they'd have social services called because doctors are mandatory reporters.

which brings me to the second point: to think that the buckley parents would inflict pain of that level on their infant child is fucking bizarre, or that they would not tend to their fussy baby. there's literally nothing in canon to suggest that buck wasn't taken care of as a baby. even if his parents were emotionally absent and neglectful and let maddie step up to provide the comfort a child needs. i mean. it's a fucking reach.

so how is the procedure done? -> link from the NHS website which very plainly explains stem cells are harvested from the placenta and umbilical cord to treat cancers, immune deficiencies, and genetic disorders.

Baby bred to provide stem cells for sister (2000)

Placental blood as a source of hematopoietic stem cells for transplantation into unrelated recipients (1996)

i can't find anything earlier than 1996 but quite frankly i don't think i have to. that's only 4 years before buck was born. i think it'll suffice.

tl;dr this is the dumbest take i have seen and i think a very quick 5-minute google search disproves OP's "headcanon" so i'm gonna go ahead and take that bet for 0 dollars. there's 0 % chance that happened.

y'all gotta stop coming up with scenarios that put buck through worse things that canon already has because it's giving woobification. because it's not bad enough that his first experience that pain = love was at 5 years old which is very transparently depicted in canon. what the fuck is wrong with y'all.

and i'm not even gonna touch upon the reblogger's tags about how buck is "predisposed" to "subbing" for.. this.. reason.. of all things... because i see bad BDSM takes every day on this godforsaken website anyway.

[clairedaring]

Compilation post of my favorite Nadao actors (Nonkul Chanon, JJ Krissanapoom, Tor Thanapob) & Bright Rapheephong giving some interview answers on why they decided to star in queer/LGBTQ+ coded series/roles, some of their takes on being in BL (Y)/Queer series.

note: if you find this post familiar, it's because i've posted this on Reddit before. reposting here for archival purposes

TOR THANAPOB

Tor Thanapob interview in April 2023 when being asked about starring in Midnight Museum (a queer-coded GMMTV series) - (translation by infinitygraph_)

Tor: I think nowadays we should stop talking about gender. It doesn't mean that I have to act with women all the time or I can't act with men at all. I feel that I have proved to everyone that, work is work, and everything is about art. Even my team who are staying with me all the time has all kind of sexualities. It's not strange if someday we want to try telling story of other sexualities that we feel that we might be able to help them telling. If you ask me if today I am like that, today I might not, but I have a chance to understand them more, so I want to do it. Q: Is it because of the spoiler that [Midnight Museum] might be a series Y (BL)? Tor: Nothing to do with it. I tell you, sincerely, it has nothing to do with the spoiler. I just want to say that you don't have to overthink about it because nothing is fixed. Actors are actors. These days there are some award shows don't divide genders into categories anymore. I think this is a great step. Actresses also don't have to act with men all the time, they can act with women. And they both being the main characters Right. Because not all the main characters from every project have to come with the word 'love'. Even if there's 'love', there're many kinds of love. It's up to the audience what kind of feeling they have. Do they feel the same as me or they even feel more than I do? Q: So that means these days you can accept the work without any limit about what you are, which genders... Everything is about the story/script-writing? Tor: Right. I admit that I was afraid before. I wasn't afraid about my image, I was afraid that I would tell the story without understanding it, because I didn't have any experience at all. But at some point I found the chance to be more open-minded, brave to act it out all the way, such as Midnight Museum...

Tor's Vogue Interview in February 2024 on Spare Me Your Mercy as another important milestone as an actor (all translation by saltymarbles on twitter)

Tor: As for Euthanasia, I’ve been interested in it just from its name. If we were to go back in time to the period of the Prime Ministerial elections last year, there was some talk regarding the laws about euthanasia. As such, I know the meaning of it but if I had to explain it, I wouldn’t dare to because I don’t know that deeply about it. Tor: Up to the day that this drama happens, the owner of this project told me he wanted to set this question before anything changed in society: ‘Actually, are humans capable of choosing their death?’. Tor: This question shot through the core of my brain and immediately, i was like: ‘I need to tell this story’. And the role that he hoped to give me also served that function too. It’s a character which sets up the question of ‘what is right?’.(t/n: "this question" likely refers to a more philosophical kind of question regarding morality which asks what does being ‘correct’ mean — what is ‘objective morality’ (if it exists)) Tor: Do the people who are really suffering have the right to ask to leave? (t/n: "leave" is just a polite way of saying die (Thai people usually don’t use directly use the word die when talking about humans, usually use a more polite way like how we say ‘passed away’ or ‘xyz has left us’) Tor: Thus I decided to play along with knowing that the timeline of Euthanasia will remain with one in a hundred (people), so I like shades of the polar opposite. If the first story is navy blue, the other will be red — not close at all.

NONKUL CHANON

Nonkul's response to the question “If you have a chance, would you consider playing in a BL series? If accepted, who do you to co-act with?” in a Facebook Q&A video in 2021

Nonkul: If that series is an interesting storyline for me, I am always open to any kind of genre. I never categorized BL series as an BL series, I just think of it as a series with another plot as part of my work. It is a normal series that can have any of the plots which I will categorize as Romantic Comedy, Drama or whatever. Thus, when I choose the BL series I want to work with, the love preference of the character does not affect my decision. If the plot of the series is interesting, of course I’m gonna do it for sure. Every work that I chose, I personally think it at least enjoyable for me. Of course, if in the future, there are BL series with plots that I find interesting, that I enjoyed the script. “Like, wow, that’s my type!”, I will definitely selected it to be my future project. A good written series is a good series. This is what I believe as an actor. For BL Series, I think I can work with everyone. I don’t think I have anyone in particular. One thing! I desire the character of that person/actor? to be close to the character in the series. At that point I will be satisfied. Sometimes, I as an actor have a chance to work with people who don't have a lot of acting experience. I will still discover something new from him as well. And there is a BL novel which I really like! [Nonkul explains the plot of his favorite BL Novel ‘Peremo’] I would prefer to choose the “heroine” role because it will be a new experience for me as an actor because it will be a new experience for me as an actor. Because basically I only play as a hero role for the main character or support character in my work, but a “heroine” role in a BL series is the only chance for me to play a character more feminine. So it is a new experience for me. [Nonkul continues raving about 'Peremo’]. But if you think that you can make [an adaptation of Peremo], please do not forget me, Nonkul! Pleaseeeeeeee, I will do my best, I promise!!! However, I’m not only fixated on this novel. I’m also open for many more BL series if there is an interesting plot.

Nonkul's response to being ask if he's worried about filming NC scenes in IFYLITA (translation by saltymarbles)

Nonkul: I have to say when I had finished reading [the novel] and it’s made me want to act (in this series). I am probably worried more about the CG because if it’s a fantasy story with time travel, if the CG isn’t good, people will feel that it’s ‘off’. Because CG is something we don’t know anything about until we see the final product. One of the reasons that I accepted this role is because for some series, when I’ve read (the script/novel) for homework, I don’t accept them because there are some scenes that are forced in just for the sake of fan service. And I’m not really into that. If it’s a natural NC scene, then I’m not bothered. I’m a person who places a lot of importance on the story in series making sense. So to me, if an NC scene is reasonable, I won’t be bothered by it. But if it seems forced, I’m not into it. It’s important to show human-ness.

Two clips of Nonkul being asked what he thinks about doing NC scenes in IFYLITA (Clip 1 and Clip 2). Nonkul said that he places great importance on the character's actions. If an NC scene is reasonable he wouldn't mind but would if it's not reasonable. For Nonkul, understanding character is very important, especially for himself as an actor. Nonkul also said previously he had rejected some BL series offers because he can feel when NC scenes are put in just for fan service, which is also a reason why Nonkul accepted to play Jom in IFYLITA is because the love scenes are natural and make sense.

JJ KRISSANAPOOM aka JAYLERR

JJ's interview in February 2024 on Spare Me Your Mercy and his chemistry with Tor (translation by saltymarbles)

JJ: The pilot of ‘Euthanasia’ has been received well since the novel has many fans already who are excited about it. JJ & Tor are similarly excited and are committed to doing their best. The chemistry between Tor & JJ need not be questioned according to JJ since they are already close with each other. The series is in the phase of pre-production currently.

One of my favorite fictional characters of ALL TIME (not just in Thai or BL series) has got to be Tangmo from Great Men Academy (2019) (the series that a lot of BL audience refused to admit it's a queer series). The character Tangmo (played by Jaylerr) was questioned by the press about his gay crush on the protagonist: "Do you think being gay affect your chance of winning the competition?" to which his reply was a stellar "Well then let me ask you something, Does being gay make my good deeds meaningless?"

This isn't the first time JJ has played a queer role, JJ has played a gay character in TWO seasons of the LGBTQ+ series Diary of Tootsies (2016 and 2017). JJ plays Gus, the love interest of the main character.

So even though many BL fans consider Spare Me Your Mercy to be JJ's "first" BL series (which I don't agree with this strict interpretation of BL series), it is definitely not his first QL (Queer Love) series nor queer-adjacent roles as shown through out his filmography.

It is also noteworthy that even during the airing of these series, JJ was already in a public relationship with his fellow actress girlfriend Thanaerng (who has also played sapphic roles). You can see that the real life relationship of JJ or Thanaerng do not influence how/what projects they take on because work is just work :D

BRIGHT RAPHEEPHONG (all translation by saltymarbles on twitter)

Bright at Mono29 Lineup event

Bright: I think that, as I’ve previously said, BL series are just like other ordinary series or movies. Like IFYLITA can be changed to be said to be more like a period drama. I feel that BL is just about two people loving each other, not about whether it’s about male-male or female-male. This series is a period drama and it’s a romantic comedy and the other series is an action drama.

Bright's Interview with LIPS Magazine

Q: What if one day, we’re sucked in by the ship? Bright: I think fans in this day and age don’t need actors to do fan service to that extent. For myself, I’ve never intended for it to be the foundation (of his work). I think it’s a matter of being partners and working together. As such, it’s somewhat good in every aspect because it’s not forcing it. But in some moments, there may some actions that may just be the result of being friends. So even if fans ship, it’s cute to me. (smiles) Q: Do you feel a sense of “newness” stepping into a full-fledged BL? Bright: I feel that BL series are another branch of acting. I don’t think of it as being a specific form of male to male communication. It’s just another type of series just like action dramas, comedy etc, it’s just another kind of role that we can play.

Bright's Interview with Praew Magazine

Q: How is it working with Nonkul? Bright: Nonkul is a person who already does a good job at his work. He does his homework and he is also good at delivering and receiving emotions when on set. It isn’t just Nonkul who is great but the other characters in this series too, this includes P’Tee, the director. We can always talk about ideas which made the work even better. If asked whether entering the scenes with Nonkul made me shy, I would say that BL series are just another branch (of acting), it is just another role. I don't think that when acting with another man, that there’s a need to feel anything. I feel that it’s just another form of work. Another thing is that our workshops were very complete. When we work together I know what level and extent I can go to, what I should do and also trying my best in how I should feel. Thus, I felt at ease working together.

Bright’s Interview with NineEntertain

Q: Are you happy to do “ship” activities like this? Bright: I feel that if there’s an opportunity with regards to being an actor, I don’t want to be stuck in ships like this. I accepted this role with the status of an actor and I want to accept various roles too. It doesn’t always need to be BL or a specific kind of series. I will have another series next year which is ordinary boy-girl relationship and not a BL series. I feel that BL series are just another category of series — not like BL series are just BL series. It’s another category like action, romcom, or drama. It’s just another category. Q: There is still the possibility of coming to act as per usual. (unclear of what the interviewer said) Bright: I feel that with every work opportunity, it’s more about the script and storyline of the work that I were to accept. For example, I accepted the role of Khun Yai in IFYLITA as i felt that it was a script that was suitable for me. I didn’t think of it as “oh it’s a BL series, I need to accept it” because to be honest, I have been contacted for various BL series but because [IFYLITA] storyline is really good, I wanted to try acting in it. Q: What is the difficulty of acting in BL as an actor? Bright: I feel like there isn’t any difference compared to regular series. I feel that when two men love each other or kiss, I don’t think of it as (me and) a man, I think of it more as each of the characters or persons. Q: Does that affect the trend of being a ship? Bright: Hmm… Actually I am not able to answer that because I feel like it depends on people’s perspectives. Because some people may prefer that (an actor) has a (onscreen) gf/bf but some people may be upset about it. I feel like the trend depends on the people’s perspectives as people have different ways of thinking (about it). I think that I am open to listening to all different opinions on this. I feel that working (in this industry), you should be able to explore different things and you should not be fixed in one thing. We need to continue moving onto the next thing. I feel that Non has his own work and I also have my own work, and other actors too have their own upcoming work. It doesn’t mean that coming to act in IFYLITA means that you stay in IFYLITA forever. Q: Some may feel that it’s sad their their ship is coming to an end and that they are gonna work with different people. Bright: Actually, there are still some upcoming pair events but as I’ve said earlier, everyone needs to continue to do their own duties as an actor. Q: What if people change their minds about shipping your ship in the future? Bright: I think it’s a normal thing. I feel that when someone (likes us), they also like our work. I feel like our fanclub likes both Yai and Jom, and they also like Bright and Non. They like the characters and that Bright and Non play these characters and they so they like us at this point. I feel like people who came to like us are also fans of other people. I feel that they are a source of encouragement for me when they like me but I am also glad if they meet someone new or support another person. I feel happy when they come to meet me and if they’re happy when they meet other (celebs), it’s a good thing for them. If there’s a new person, an older person, a regular person or a person they just met that they are happy to meet, I feel that it’s nothing to be stressed about. Let’s say a fan comes and likes me and is following my work and there’s someone new who enters and they like their work, I am glad for them to go support that other person because that person can bring happiness to the fan.

Wow, I really got carried away with this compilation but as a fan who's followed Nonkul, JJ and Tor since their Nadao days, watching them star in queer-coded series/roles like Bangrak Soi 9/1, Hormones, Diary of Tootsies, Great Men Academy... (or in Bright's case a gay character in lakorn Rivalry), I'm just so proud that they have been able to receive "BL" series script offers that they would like to take on.

I've never sat well with the difference in the treatment of the press to "BL actors" and "non-BL actors". I wish there weren't such a distinction because it feels like the notion itself holds a lot of prejudices baggage with it, to both "BL" and "non-BL" actors. To quote a friend on Reddit, "I believe most actors would feel more fulfilled if they knew their fans loved/respected them as individual artists, instead of only seeing them as one part of a unit whose value is lower when 'separated' from their official partner."

[jetii]

hello lovely!!! if you have the time for it with your follower celebration, i’d looooove #21 with hunter 🤭 or if you get too many reqs for him with howzer or wolffe! tysm, and congrats on this big milestone!!!! 💗💗💗💗

okay so i got a lot of requests for #21 so i'm trying to do something different for each! also a slightly different style than i'm used to with some slightly more unhinged smut. @a-cryptid-called-magetha come get your man

A Game

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 5,049

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, smut, friends with benefits to lovers, Frat Batch era Hunter, semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, underwear kink?, the most dominant Hunter I'll ever write, he's still a simp tho

Prompt: 21. “Moan a little louder, cyare. Let all of 79s know who’s fucking you.”

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You’ve played this game a hundred times, so you know that when Hunter meets your eyes across the bar, you have a choice. You can walk over and talk to him, or you can ignore him. 

The first will take you on the route of the seducer. He’ll buy you a drink, and you’ll let him. You’ll let him slide his hands up your skirt, and you know where it ends.

You can already feel him behind you, his breath in your ear, his lips on your skin. You can hear him say the things he always says, the words that’ll make you feel like there’s no one else who has ever made you feel the way that he does. He won't be wrong.

Or, you can look away, and let him come to you. The seduced. It isn't like he won't find his way over. It isn't like he isn't always there. You'll pretend that you don't see him until you feel the heat of him right behind you, his presence filling the room, his hands on the back of your chair.

You'll pretend you're not thinking about him and what you could do with him. You'll pretend not to want it, because you know the game, and you know how to play it well.

You can tell yourself that you aren't going to give in. You're not going to let him kiss you, and touch you, and fuck you. But it's a lie. You are going to. And it infuriates you that you're still doing this. It makes you angry, and you can't quite figure out why.

You don't look at him again, because if you look at him, you'll be done for. It's not that you haven't had this conversation a thousand times. It's just that sometimes it feels like it's not a game anymore. It feels like something real, and you hate the part of you that wants to believe that. You hate the part of you that still lets you think that there's a chance.

So you don't look. And, even though he's the hunter, it's you who waits. It's you who watches. You don't have to turn your head to see him. You don't have to watch. You already know how it will play out. You're only here for the ending.

Hunter doesn't come to you right away. He takes his time, talking to his squad, pretending that he isn't watching you, pretending that he doesn't know exactly where you are. You know he can see the tension in your body. You can see it too, because you can't stop the way your hands clench, the way your thighs shift, the way your back straightens. You can't keep from turning your head to look at him.

It's then that he makes his move. He crosses the room to stand beside you, and the rest of the bar fades into the background. He doesn't touch you, doesn't even come close. Instead, he leans in and speaks, and his words are the ones that make you weak. "Let me get you a drink."

The thing is, you shouldn't let him. This isn't supposed to be happening. You aren't supposed to be here. Not with him.

"No." You shake your head. It's the first time you've ever said it, and you aren't sure how it feels. "I'm not interested."

He gives you a look, like maybe he doesn't understand what's happening, like he didn't expect to have to try this hard. Then, he looks down, and when his eyes meet yours again, you feel something shift. He knows.

His voice is different when he speaks, and he's so much closer now. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You nod, and it's not the first lie you've told tonight, but this one feels better, and so does the next one, the one where you tell him, "I have to go."

You leave the bar, and he doesn't follow. Not this time.

It's a good start.

The second time, you're not going to give in.

You don't know if you can say no again, but you have to try. Because there are things that matter. Things like love, and trust, and respect. There's a future.

You want that future. You want it more than anything, and that's what you have to remember.

Hunter walks in, and you think maybe he's going to ignore you. He’s talking with one of his brothers, the one that joined the Batch a few months back, and they seem engrossed in whatever they're talking about. You feel a flood of relief, and maybe a little disappointment.

But then, Hunter meets your eyes, and you realize that he hasn't forgotten. Across the floor, you're frozen in place, and all the things you should say, all the things you should do, have left your head. His eyes are dark, and the room is crowded, but somehow, it's like there's no one else here.

When he looks at you, it's like the whole world is falling away.

You're the first to break the contact, looking down and away, pretending you didn't see him. You feel a flush creeping up your neck, and you hope no one notices.

You can't do this.

You shouldn't do this.

It's the only thing on your mind as the music pounds through the speakers, and the crowd surges around you. It's all you can think about, and it's distracting, because you keep seeing him in your peripheral vision. It's like he's everywhere, and you can't escape.

You know that if you turn your head, he'll be there, and if he's there, then this will all be over. He'll come to you, and you'll let him. It will be like every other time, and you'll wonder why you tried, why you thought you could say no, why you thought it was worth a try.

He'll be there. You know he will.

You keep your head down, and your eyes averted. You focus on the lights and the music and the crowd. You focus on your feet, and your hands, and the glass in front of you. You don't think about Hunter.

Someone else approaches you. Not Hunter. Someone you don't know, and it's nice. This is the kind of thing you came here for. This is the distraction you needed.

You aren't sure why it makes you feel worse.

You go home alone.

The third time, Hunter comes to you, and it's over.

He doesn't wait. He doesn't ask. He's already got his arm around your waist, and his lips are pressed to your throat, and you've got no choice. There's no way to stop this, and no way to walk away.

"I missed you." He breathes the words into your ear, and there's no one else, not for a single moment, who could ever matter the way he does. You can't even remember what your life was like before him.

"You saw me a few days ago."

"It's not enough." His hands are in your hair, his hips pressed against yours. "Not anymore."

You have no answer to that. There's no reply.

Hunter pulls away, and he's still holding you, and when he speaks again, the words are low and urgent. "Don't make me beg. Please."

Your hand is on his chest, and you're not sure if you're trying to push him away or hold him closer. You've never heard him sound like this before, and it's something new. Something terrifying.

Something hopeful.

"Okay," you tell him.

Hunter exhales, and his arms tighten around you. He rests his forehead against yours, and there are a million things you want to say. You could say them. He might listen.

"Come on." He doesn't kiss you. He doesn't even let go. He just takes a step back, and you can't stop yourself from following. You know what's going to happen.

This is the part of the game you can't stop playing.

You aren't surprised when Hunter pulls you into the nearest darkened corner. He isn't gentle, and he doesn't stop moving. When you're alone, it's like he can't get close enough, can't touch you enough.

It's like this time, he wants to prove that he's still got a hold on you. That this hasn't changed.

It hasn't.

His lips are against your neck, and his fingers are digging into your hips. He's everywhere, and all you can think about is how this was a mistake. You knew it would be.

It's just that it's so hard to remember why.

“Hunter...” Your voice sounds strange, and Hunter lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are so dark, and the light from the main room glints off his tattoo.

When he meets your gaze, he stops. You see the realization cross his face, and it's not what you expected. You thought he'd keep going. You thought he'd push. You didn't think he'd care.

He doesn't speak, and neither do you. You're not sure how long you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

You don't say anything. There are no words. There's just him, and you, and the fact that, after all these months, the rules have changed.

For a moment, he almost looks scared, and you don't know what to say.

"I don't..." He looks away, and you can tell that he's struggling, trying to figure out what's happening, and what he's supposed to do. It's the first time you've seen him this unsure, and it's your fault.

"Hunter." This time, when you say his name, his eyes meet yours. He's not hiding anymore, and he's still touching you. You can still feel his breath on your face.

You've played this game a hundred times, but the stakes have never been higher.

"I can't."

Hunter frowns, and the confusion on his face is obvious. He doesn't understand. You're not sure if it's because he never believed that you could stop, or because he never expected that you would.

"You said—"

"I know what I said."

He takes a step back, and the space between the two of you is wide, and empty, and cold. The air is different without his hands on your skin.

"Did I do something?"

"No,” you say. You shake your head, and then, because there are some things you can't deny, you add, "Yes."

"Tell me." He's still standing so close, and when his voice drops, your breath catches. He puts his hand on your arm, and when he slides it up to your shoulder, his thumb grazes your collarbone. "Whatever it is, I can fix it. Tell me."

He's not listening, and he doesn't hear you. If he did, then this wouldn't be a problem.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

His hand freezes. "You don't want..."

"This," you say. You gesture to the space between the two of you. "This thing where we pretend that nothing's happening. It's not just sex anymore, Hunter. I'm not some random stranger. This means something."

He's still frowning, and you're not sure he gets it. "Of course it means something."

"No," you say. You're getting frustrated, and he still isn't letting go of you. "You don't get it. You need to take a step back, and we have to figure out what we're doing here. Because I can't do this, and—"

"What?"

"I can't have a casual relationship." The words are rushed, and quiet, and everything comes spilling out at once. "I can't have a sex-only, friends with benefits, no strings attached relationship. Not with you. I want more. I've wanted more since the day I met you."

Hunter opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He looks like you've hit him, and you want him to say something, to say anything. But he doesn't, so you speak for him.

"I can't keep pretending that it doesn't matter. I can't keep lying. It's too much." You take a deep breath. "So, no. I can't. Not anymore. We can't."

Hunter doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. He’s preternaturally still, and there are so many things you wish he would do, but this is not one of them.

It hurts more than you could have imagined, and it's more than you can bear. You feel like you can't breathe, and like the only thing holding you together is his hand on your arm. He's staring at you like he doesn't recognize you, and you have to look away.

It's only a moment, and then Hunter moves. His fingers drag up to your chin, tilting your head up so you're forced to meet his eyes. You're caught. Held in place by the intensity of his gaze.

"You really don't know, do you?"

You blink. You aren't sure what to say, so you don't say anything.

"This isn't casual. Not for me,” he says, his voice rough, and his eyes search your face, like he's trying to make sure that you're understanding what he's saying.

You're not sure you are.

"I haven't touched anyone since the day we met." He pauses, and the words are like a blow, knocking the wind from your lungs. "Not anyone. Not ever."

He keeps talking, and you're not sure what's happening.

"I didn't lie. Not ever. I never told you how I felt, but that's not because I didn't care."

"Hunter..."

"You're not the only one who feels something," he says, and his voice is low, and desperate, and full of all the things you've never allowed yourself to believe. "There is no one else. There never was. Just you."

He's not playing the game anymore.

"I'm not pretending," he says. "This matters."

You can't speak. Your throat is tight, and your heart is pounding. You want to believe him, and it's almost too much.

"You—"

"Yes," Hunter says. He nods, and then he smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

He leans in, and you're frozen. You can't move. It's like the world has stopped.

"Do you understand now?" he asks, and he's close. So close.

"Yeah," you breathe.

Hunter's eyes close, and he exhales. "Good."

Then, his lips are on yours, and this isn't like any other kiss you've shared. This isn't a game. It's different. Everything is. It's like the first time, but better, because this time, you both know where you stand. This is a beginning, not an ending.

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs, and his lips trail down your neck. "I thought... I didn't know."

"Me too," you whisper. "I didn't want to hope."

"I know." Hunter's hands slide under the hem of your shirt, and his fingers dig into your hips. His mouth is against your ear. "But, now, I want to know what else I've been missing."

"Me too," you say. "Stars, me too."

"Yeah?" He's still smiling, and he's not stopping, and you've never been more turned on. "You gonna show me, then?" 

"Oh, yes," you say. You guide him back with a gentle shove of his shoulders, but you don't let him go far. The door to the women’s restroom is right behind you, and without thinking, you grab the lip of his chest plate and drag him inside. He laughs as he follows you in, and the sound makes you smile, but then, he's not laughing anymore.

Hunter slams the door shut behind him, throwing the lock into place. You don't waste any time, pushing him back against the door, and he groans. He's already reaching for the hem of your shirt, but you've got other plans.

It's easy to slide to your knees, and when you reach for the buckle of his belt, Hunter's eyes are wide, and dark. His breath catches as you unlatch his codpiece, and toss it to the floor. You don't wait, pulling his cock free, and Hunter's head thunks back against the door.

"You don't have to—"

You take him into your mouth, and his words dissolve into a moan. It's been too long since the last time, and the weight of him on your tongue, the taste of him, is better than you remember. The thick vein that runs along the underside is throbbing, and you press your tongue against it, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

He's already breathing hard, his hands on the door behind him, as though he's not sure what to do with them. He's got one foot braced against the tile, his hips shifting restlessly, and when you glance up, his eyes are closed, his mouth open, his face slack.

He's beautiful.

You don't have time to think about that, not with him filling your mouth, the head of his cock bumping the back of your throat, his fingers threading through your hair. His hands are gentle, guiding, not pushing. You can feel his restraint, the way he's trying to hold himself still, the tension in his thighs as he rocks against you.

You hum, and Hunter gasps, his hips bucking, his cock thrusting deep. He hits the back of your throat, and you moan, and it's the first time that he tightens his grip, the first time that his voice breaks. "Oh, fuck."

His hand is cupping the back of your head, holding you close, and when he pulls back, the drag of your lips over his cock is obscene.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

You cut him off with a lick along the slit at the tip, and Hunter moans. He doesn't seem to be able to look away, his eyes glued to the sight of you on your knees, and the way his cock disappears into your mouth.

"Fuck, I've missed you."

You laugh, and the vibration of it makes Hunter shudder. He's shaking, and when he meets your eyes, his own are burning. "I mean it. You don't know what it was like. Watching you walk away."

You take him deeper, and his words come faster, like he's finally getting it out. "It's always like this. Every time I'm close to you, I can't think. The way you look, the way you feel, fuck, the way you smell."

His cock slips from your mouth, and you suck a line down the length, and then back up. He's leaking, and you lap at the salty tang of his release, swirling your tongue over the sensitive head. 

"All I can think about is burying myself inside of you, and fucking you until you're screaming. I don't know what you do to me, but it's too much."

He's rambling, and his fingers are tugging your hair. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's shaking. "It's too much. It's always too much, and it's never enough."

You know exactly what he means. You can feel it every time he's near. It's a pull, a draw, and a need. There's a part of you that is always searching for him, that needs him closer, and closer still.

It's maddening.

"I can't stop wanting you."

You've never heard Hunter talk like this, and it makes you moan. The sound is muffled around his cock, and it's like the last of his self-control evaporates.

"Get up here."

He tugs your hair, and you can hear the urgency in his voice. He's not waiting. Not anymore.

His cock slides from your mouth, and his hand wraps around the back of your neck, hauling you to your feet. His lips are on yours, and the kiss is rough and biting, his tongue thrusting deep. You can taste him, and you can feel the way he's shaking.

You've never seen him like this, and it makes you want more. It's intoxicating, and addictive, and all you can think about is how much more he's going to give.

He doesn't give you time to catch your breath. He's spinning you, and you're facing the sink, your hands gripping the edge. He doesn't ask as he rips his gloves off and tosses them into the sink, but you can see the question in his eyes. He doesn't have to.

You nod, and it's all he needs. Hunter's hands are on your waist, and then he's yanking your skirt up, and his fingers are sliding between your legs. He curses, and when he pulls his hand away, his fingers are glistening with your wetness.

“All this from my cock in your mouth, and I've barely touched you." His words are a low rumble, his breath warm against your ear. "Is this what you wanted? Me to take you hard and fast, so that anyone who walks in can hear how good I make you feel?"

Your thighs clench, and Hunter groans, his voice cracking. "Do you have any idea what it does to me, knowing that I'm the only one who can make you come like this?"

"You're the only one I want." Your voice is breathy, and uneven. You can't seem to get a full breath, not when he's looking at you the way he is, his fingers sliding between your folds.

He brings his hand to his lips, and licks his fingers clean, his eyes closed. He looks like he's savoring it, and you're transfixed. It's not until his hands are back on you, hooking into your panties and pulling them down, that you take in a gasp of air.

You watch as he kneels behind you, dragging your underwear down to your ankles. He lifts one foot, and then the other, pulling the soaked garment off. You don’t see where it goes, but you don’t hear it hit the ground. He doesn't drop it. Instead, he stands, and shoves it in one of his pockets, and when he looks at you, he smirks.

You aren’t sure what to say. It shouldn't turn you on. It does.

Hunter leans forward, and his cock slides along the cleft of your ass, and then lower. His lips are on your neck, and when his cock brushes against your clit, you gasp. You can't take much more of this.

You try to turn, but his hands are on your hips, and he's not letting you. His mouth is hot against your neck, and his lips are pressed to your ear.

"No." His voice is a rough growl, and you can hear the smile in his tone. "Stay."

It's not a request.

You freeze, and his teeth sink into your neck, making you cry out. He doesn't speak, and the only sound in the room is your breathing, and the soft, wet sounds of his cock sliding between your folds. He's rubbing the head against your clit, and it's almost too much. You can't stop moving, but the pressure on your hips keeps you still.

"Hunter,” you whimper, and the word is half plea, and half command.

He doesn't answer, and his breath is coming fast and shallow. His fingers are digging into your hips, and he's pressing his cock lower, and lower. You can feel him notch against your entrance, and he pauses, the both of you held in limbo.

"Please."

The moment stretches out, and then Hunter's hand is on the back of your neck, pressing you down. Your forehead hits the cool porcelain of the sink, and you can feel his fingers flex, and then his cock is pressing forward, and stretching you open.

You moan, and it's all you can do not to move. He takes his time, easing inside, and the feeling of him filling you, the sensation of being stretched and filled and claimed is exquisite.

It's not until he's seated inside you that he lets go of your neck. His hand is on your shoulder, holding you in place, and his hips snap, driving him deep. You gasp, his name a strangled cry that tears from your throat, and you can feel his lips brush against your skin.

"That’s it,” he grunts, his breath hot against your ear. He's barely pulling out, fucking you with quick, sharp thrusts. “Moan a little louder, cyare. Let all of 79s know who’s fucking you.”

You don't know what he's doing to you. All you know is that you want more, and you're desperate to obey. You can't help the noises spilling from your mouth, and if you weren't so focused on him, on the way his cock felt inside of you, you might have been embarrassed.

But all you can think about is the way his fingers are gripping your hips, and the way his body is pressed against yours, armor cold and unyielding against your back. You can hear him breathing, and the quiet grunts and moans that fall from his lips are driving you mad.

“Hunter—”

He's not waiting for you to finish, not even bothering to let you catch your breath. You feel the way he responds to the sound of his name, the way his hips jerk, and the way his cock thickens inside of you. His arm slides under your body, wrapping around your stomach, and his hips are moving faster, his thrusts rougher. Hunter fucks you like he's trying to claim you, and in a way, he is.

His mouth is at your ear, and when he speaks, the words are a rough whisper. "Tell me you're mine."

You're shaking, and it's not from the force of his thrusts. It's from the way he says the words, the way he breathes them into your ear, like a plea and a prayer.

"Tell me, and I'll let you come."

You don't know how he can keep talking. You can't form the words, and he's relentless. The way his cock fills you, the way his hips snap, the way his mouth is pressed against your neck, his lips leaving kisses and marks that will linger, and remind you that you're his.

"Please," you manage, the closest your fogged mind can get.

"Say it."

"I'm yours," you whisper, and the way his hips jerk is telling.

He doesn't speak, his hips shifting, and when he drives into you again, it's all you can do to hang on. He's hitting the perfect spot, and when he fucks into you, he stays there, the head of his cock grinding against the most sensitive parts of you. His hand finds your clit, his thumb circling, and it's only moments before you're coming undone.

The force of it hits you, and the noise that escapes is not quite a scream, and not quite a moan. You're shaking, your vision going white, and your entire body is clenching, tightening around him. It's only then that he lets go, the sound that spills from his lips making you shudder.

You can feel him coming, the heat of his release flooding your core. It's a sensation that will never get old, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the way his hand tightens on your hip, the way his mouth opens against your neck. The way he gasps, and sighs, and whispers your name, like you're the only thing that matters.

It's always like this.

He holds you close, and neither of you speaks. It's just the sound of your breathing, the quiet rustle of his armor, the gentle hum of the music from the club outside the door.

There's a knock on the door, and Hunter curses, his hands tightening. His voice is rough, but quiet, and there's no mistaking the warning in his tone. "Go away."

You're frozen, and there's no reply, just the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway.

"Fuck," he groans. The sound vibrates through your body, making you shudder.

"You're gonna get us thrown out,” you tell him, and Hunter laughs.

"It wouldn't be the first time." He pulls away, and it's an unpleasant sensation, the drag of his cock leaving your body. You can feel him leaking from between your legs, and you shift, trying to find something to clean yourself up with.

"Here." Hunter pulls a towel from the rack, and he's gentle as he runs it over the inside of your thighs, and between your legs. He cleans himself and tucks his cock back into his blacks, and the whole time, he's got a hand on your waist, like he's not ready to let go.

You adjust your clothes, and when you turn to look at him, Hunter smiles.

"I've been thinking," he says, and he's reaching for you, pulling you close.

"That sounds dangerous."

"Maybe." Hunter dips his head, and he kisses you, his hands cupping your face. His mouth is warm and soft, and it feels like an apology. When he breaks the kiss, he's still holding you, and the next words out of his mouth are the last ones you expect.

"Do you want to go to dinner with me?"

You blink. Hunter's eyes are serious, and his hands are on your shoulders like he's bracing himself.

"Like, on a date?"

He nods, and he looks so nervous, it's hard not to laugh. The two of you have been having sex for months, have done things that would make most people blush, and he's nervous because he wants to take you to dinner.

"Just the two of us?"

Hunter nods again, and when you smile, his own lips curl up.

"Yes." You wrap your arms around his waist, and he looks relieved, like he didn't think you were going to say yes. "I'd love to."

Hunter smiles, and it's brilliant. It makes his eyes shine, and you can't help but grin.

"Good," he says. "That's good."

“But you’re going to have to give me my panties back."

Hunter raises an eyebrow and dips his hand between your legs, the touch light, but firm. His fingers glide through your folds, and the sound you make is high and strangled. He's still wearing a smirk when he pulls his hand away, and when he licks his fingers clean, there's no mistaking the way his gaze darkens.

"I think I'm going to keep them," he says without a hint of remorse.

"But—"

"Consider it a promise." His smile is wicked, and his voice is low and rough. "For later."

Your eyes widen, and Hunter chuckles.

"Now," he says, his hands sliding down your arms. He interlaces your fingers with his, and pulls you toward the door. "Let's get out of here."

This time, you follow him without question.

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[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 3. You Showed Me Colours You Know I Can't See With Anyone Else.

Prequel to The Last Great American Dynasty.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Swearing, 18+.

Summary: In the shadowy underworld of New Orleans, where power is currency and loyalty is a fragile thread, you find yourself entangled with Remy LeBeau, a charismatic and dangerous mob boss. What begins as a chance encounter soon evolves into a complex, intense relationship that neither of you saw coming. Taglist: @cannibalcoyote

The club beneath the bar wasn’t the kind of place you found by accident. It was hidden deep in the building’s underbelly, far removed from the more polished scene upstairs. To get there, you had to know where you were going—there were no signs, no obvious entrances, just a series of unmarked doors and shadowy hallways that seemed to twist and turn with a kind of deliberate confusion. It was as if the building itself was trying to keep the club a secret.

The journey down felt like a descent into another realm. You’d wind your way through back corridors, past storage rooms stacked with crates of liquor and supplies, the air growing cooler and more still the deeper you went. The lights along the hallway dimmed, casting long shadows that flickered against the narrow walls. Then there were the stairs—two flights of them, narrow and steep, their steps worn from years of use, the kind of stairs that made you feel like you were heading someplace forbidden, someplace you weren’t entirely sure you were supposed to be.

The bar above was already sunken below street level, but the club? The club was buried deeper still—subterranean. As you descended, the air grew colder and damp, the walls closing in, and the hum of life from the world above faded away. All that was left was the growing thrum of the music below, a bass-heavy pulse that throbbed through the walls like a heartbeat. It was faint at first, a distant vibration that seemed to come from the earth itself, but with each step downward, it grew louder, more insistent, until it was all you could hear.

And then you reached the door.

Pushing through the heavy, unmarked entrance, you were met with a rush of sensation—a wall of sound, light, and heat all at once. The club opened up before you, cavernous and alive, a world unto itself. It was like stepping into a hidden city where the rules of the world above no longer applied.

The room was vast, yet somehow intimate, the ceiling low enough to feel oppressive but crisscrossed with massive iron beams that gave the space a raw, industrial edge. Neon lights flickered and danced across the walls, bathing everything in electric shades of violet, crimson, and cobalt blue. The lights pulsed in time with the music, casting shifting shadows that played tricks on your eyes, making the space feel as if it were constantly moving, breathing.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and something more primal—something heavy and intoxicating, like the scent of expensive whiskey and the faint burn of smoke. The ceiling, low and crisscrossed with metal beams, added to the sense of being enclosed, like you were in a bunker or a vault, sealed off from the rest of the world. It felt dangerous, exhilarating.

The crowd was a living, writhing thing, a sea of bodies moving in rhythm with the music. They pressed together, fluid and chaotic, lost in the throb of the bass and the flashing lights that turned everything into a blur of color and motion. People danced in a way that wasn’t quite dancing—more like they were surrendering themselves to the music, letting it take control. It was wild, frenetic, and completely uninhibited. There was no pretense here, no performance—just pure, unfiltered energy. This was a place where you could lose yourself, where the rules of the outside world didn’t apply. Here, names didn’t matter, and neither did the time.

The music was relentless, a deep, throbbing beat that worked its way into your bones, vibrating through your chest and making your heart beat in time with it. The DJ was hidden in the shadows, barely visible behind a fortress of equipment, but their presence was felt in every pulse of sound that reverberated through the room. The bass was so deep, it was like the walls themselves were breathing, the whole room thrumming with an almost primal energy.

The bar at the far end of the room gleamed under the neon lights, its surface dark wood polished to a high shine, a stark contrast to the raw industrial feel of the rest of the space. Behind it, shelves lined with bottles of top-shelf liquor glowed gold, the amber liquid catching the light and shimmering like treasure in a vault. The bartenders moved with precision, pouring drinks with practiced ease, their expressions unreadable beneath the flashing lights. Every drink was an act of indulgence, each cocktail a small luxury in a place that felt like it was on the edge of ruin.

Plush velvet couches were scattered along the walls in small, intimate alcoves, offering a place to retreat from the chaos of the dance floor. The contrast was jarring—the softness of the velvet against the hard, industrial edges of the club, the sense of privacy these spaces offered in a room that otherwise felt so exposed. Here, deals were made, secrets were whispered, and connections formed that would never see the light of day.

But even in these alcoves, the energy of the room was impossible to escape. You could feel it in the air—the tension, the heat, the way the music seemed to crawl under your skin and take over, making everything else fade away. The club had a way of stripping away the outside world, pulling you deeper into its orbit until nothing else mattered. Time blurred, and the boundaries between people, between reality and whatever this place was, seemed to disintegrate.

There was a kind of freedom in it. A dangerous, seductive freedom.

Here, in the depths of the underground, you could be anyone. Or no one at all. You remember the night everything truly changed between you and Remy LeBeau—the moment when the line you’d been walking for weeks finally shifted, and you understood exactly where you slid into his complex, enigmatic life. It wasn’t a grand gesture or an explosive confrontation; no, it was something quieter, something subtle but undeniable, like the way the tide changes direction without anyone noticing until it’s too late.

It had been weeks since you’d last really spoken to him. Weeks of tense silences, of stolen glances across the bar. You weren’t sure what was worse—feeling like he was purposefully avoiding you, or the gnawing suspicion that maybe you’d done something to deserve it. Either way, it was hard to shake the feeling that you were being punished for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and that uncertainty gnawed at you in the quiet moments when the bar was empty, or when you caught sight of him from across the room.

And of course, you still saw him. Every Wednesday and Friday, like clockwork, Remy was there. Wednesdays, he’d show up with the brunette—a woman who sometimes had a laptop open in front of her, typing away in a focused silence, other times just sitting quietly across from him as they shared a meal. They looked comfortable together, like they had an understanding that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. There was something almost intimate about the way they interacted that made your chest tighten, though you couldn’t quite figure out why. She wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying to draw attention, but there was a quiet importance in her presence that you couldn’t ignore.

Fridays were different. Fridays, he showed up with his crew. The VIP area upstairs would be cordoned off, laughter and the hum of low conversation drifting down to the main bar. There was always a low, rowdy energy that followed wherever Remy and his group went. A magnetism that demanded attention, even from the far corners of the room. People would glance up at them, curious, drawn to the easy confidence that bled from their table, the way they seemed to own the space without even trying.

And every now and then, James would catch your eye with a grin, sending you on some small errand—usually something pointless, like delivering a fresh bottle to Kate or running a message up to the VIP section. “You take it,” you’d huff, catching on to the game, but no matter how many times you protested, you always ended up climbing those stairs. Always ended up delivering whatever it was they needed.

And each time, without fail, you felt his eyes on you. Remy’s gaze was like a physical presence, following your every move with a quiet intensity that was impossible to ignore. It was like he was studying you, reading every step, every gesture, every word you exchanged with the black-haired woman or Kate. You could almost feel the weight of his attention, heavy and deliberate, and it left you feeling both exposed and strangely aware of yourself in ways you didn’t want to admit.

Kate, of course, didn’t miss a beat. She always greeted you with that mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling with humor that felt just a little too knowing. “Getting your steps in today?” she’d quip, her voice light but laced with something that made you feel like she knew exactly what was going on, even if you didn’t.

“At this rate, my ass better look amazing by summer,” you’d reply, rolling your eyes and nodding toward the stairs you’d already climbed a dozen times that night. But underneath the banter, there was always that unspoken tension, that sense of something simmering just beneath the surface, something neither of you had the words for yet.

And then there were Saturdays.

Saturdays were for the club—Remy’s domain. The rules changed on Saturdays. The bar upstairs was one thing, but the club? That was something else entirely. It was a place where business could be done in the shadows, where deals were struck under the cover of strobe lights and pounding bass, where no one really knew what was happening because the music was too loud and the lights too disorienting.

On some Saturdays, Remy would show up with a beautiful woman on his arm, making it clear she was his for the night. He’d walk in with that casual swagger, the woman clinging to him, her eyes bright with the promise of a wild night. Other times, he’d arrive with his crew, accompanied by a red-haired woman who was as striking as she was dangerous. You could tell she was a force of nature—enigmatic, sharp, and always composed in a way that made you feel like she knew something you didn’t. Together, they’d settle into the plush couches in the VIP area, bottles of the most expensive liquor in the club lining the table, and you’d find yourself watching them from behind the bar, even when you didn’t mean to.

You had a love-hate relationship with the club. On one hand, you thrived on the energy—the music that pulsed through your veins, the rhythm that had you dancing behind the bar as you mixed drinks, the way you could lose yourself in the beat even as you worked. You loved working with Carol, the older blonde woman who had taken you under her wing when you first started. Carol had taught you everything you knew, from how to handle a rowdy customer to how to make the perfect cocktail, and over the years, she’d become like a sister to you.

But the patrons were... another story. They were rowdier, more demanding, and far more likely to get handsy after a few too many drinks. You’d learned to handle them, of course; you had to, working in a place like this. But some nights, like tonight, the crowd was just a little too much. The air felt thick with something you couldn’t quite name, and the staff were worn down, moving slower than usual, weighed down by the constant demands.

Through it all, though, Remy was always watching. You could feel it, even when you couldn’t see him. He never intervened directly—he knew you could handle yourself—but there was a quiet, unspoken understanding between the two of you. He never let things get too out of hand. His eyes would track the room, making sure the chaos didn’t cross a line. It was comforting, in a way, knowing he was there, but it was also maddening. You didn’t need his protection, and yet, there was a part of you that found it hard to shake the feeling of being watched, of being... taken care of in ways you didn’t ask for.

The first strange thing that night happened in the bathroom. The moment when everything began to stretch, like an elastic band pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping.

You had ducked into the bathroom for a quick break, promising yourself it’d only take a minute. But once inside, the noise of the club muffled behind the heavy door, you found yourself staring into the mirror. You took a deep breath, letting the tension ease from your shoulders, and began to fix your hair. A few strands had fallen out of place during the rush of the night, and you tried to recreate the style you’d left the house with. It was a small, quiet moment—a chance to catch your breath before heading back into the chaos.

The door creaked open behind you, and when you glanced up in the mirror, you saw her—the red-haired woman who had arrived with Remy earlier in the night. She stepped inside with the same effortless grace she always seemed to carry, her presence filling the small space instantly. For a brief moment, the two of you locked eyes in the mirror, and then she offered you a soft, knowing smile.

You nodded in acknowledgment, pressing the soap dispenser a few times, trying to act as though the sudden intrusion of your solitude didn’t rattle you. But it did. She had a way of unsettling people, and in the quiet of the bathroom, away from the flashing lights and thumping bass, her presence seemed even more intense.

“You looked like you needed a minute,” she said, her voice low and smooth, not quite a whisper but just loud enough to carry in the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard by the casual intimacy of the statement. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just shrugged, offering a half-smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Long night,” you replied, your voice sounding smaller than you intended as you rinsed your hands under the cold water.

Jean leaned against the counter, her gaze lingering on you for a beat too long before she turned toward the mirror, inspecting her own reflection with the kind of detached interest that only someone like her could pull off.

Jean’s eyes lingered on you longer than you expected, her gaze sharp and curious, but not in an unkind way. There was something about the way she looked at you, as though she already knew more than she was letting on. Still, you offered her a polite smile, masking the discomfort stirring inside you. You weren’t used to being scrutinized like this, especially not by someone like her—someone who radiated a kind of effortless poise that made you feel both intrigued and defensive at the same time

“I’m Jean, by the way,” she said casually, as if you didn’t already know. She reached into her purse and pulled out a sleek tube of lipstick, applying it with a practiced precision that made the simple act seem like a performance. Then, without missing a beat, she held the tube out to you, her eyes gleaming with a quiet challenge.

You shook your head, offering a small smile in return. “No, thanks,” you said, your voice steady but polite. You weren’t sure what game she was playing, but you weren’t interested in becoming an unwilling participant. Jean just smiled to herself, tucking the lipstick back into her purse with a graceful, almost dismissive motion. The way she moved was calculated, like everything she did had a purpose—even this seemingly casual encounter.

"So, busy night, huh?" she asked, leaning back against the counter, her posture relaxed but her eyes still on you. She was studying you, you realized, and that realization sent a flicker of unease through you. You could feel her sizing you up, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. What did she see when she looked at you? What was she trying to figure out?

You rolled down a few sheets of paper towel, drying your hands with more focus than necessary, using the small task to ground yourself. “Yeah,” you replied, your tone noncommittal, not wanting to reveal too much. “You could say that.”

Jean nodded, but the silence that followed wasn’t an empty one. It was thick, heavy, as if there was something unspoken hanging between the two of you. Her gaze hadn’t softened; if anything, it had deepened, like she was peeling back layers without your permission. It was unnerving, and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a casual bathroom conversation.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to read her, trying to figure out why she’d suddenly decided to engage with you. She had never spoken to you before, and now, here she was, leaning against the sink as if she had all the time in the world. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of test, like she was probing for something specific, some reaction. But what?

“You seem... distracted,” she said, her voice softer now, almost thoughtful. Her words made your stomach flip, but you kept your expression neutral, refusing to give anything away.

“I’m fine,” you replied a bit too quickly, the words coming out sharper than you intended. You immediately regretted it, but Jean didn’t seem fazed. If anything, her smile widened, just a fraction, as if she could see right through your attempt to brush her off.

“I get it,” she murmured after a beat, her voice lower, more intimate now. There was something in the way she said it, something that made your pulse quicken. She wasn’t just making small talk anymore; there was a weight to her words, a knowingness that unsettled you.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly feeling dry. “Get what?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the tension in your voice betrayed you.

Jean met your gaze, her eyes unflinching. “I get what it’s like to be... watched,” she said simply, her words hanging in the air between you. It was an innocent enough statement, but there was an edge to it, a deeper meaning that made your chest tighten. She wasn’t just talking about the club, or the way patrons sometimes eyed the staff. No, she was talking about something more personal—something that had to do with him.

Your heart raced a little faster. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that her words had hit their mark, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted. You could feel your pulse in your throat, a subtle thrum that echoed the tension threading between you and Jean in that tiny bathroom.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes still locked on yours, reading every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. “Remy,” she said, as if the name alone was enough to explain everything. And maybe it was. “He watches you... a lot.”

The air seemed to thicken around you, and you felt your stomach drop at the sound of his name on her lips. You weren’t sure if she was trying to unsettle you, or if she was genuinely offering some kind of insight, but either way, her words left you feeling exposed, like she had peeled back a layer of your carefully constructed armor.

“What are you getting at?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with frustration, but also something else—something you weren’t quite ready to admit. You didn’t like the way this conversation was making you feel. You didn’t like the way it was forcing you to confront things you’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

Jean’s smile softened, but it didn’t lose that knowing edge. “I’m just saying... he’s not as hard to read as he thinks he is,” she said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. She leaned in just a little closer, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite name. “When Remy watches someone like that, it’s not out of boredom. It’s because he’s paying attention.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. A part of you wanted to brush her off, to laugh it away and pretend like this conversation wasn’t affecting you. But you couldn’t. The truth of her words settled in your chest like a weight, heavy and undeniable. You had felt his eyes on you for weeks, always watching, always present, even when he wasn’t close. And now, here was Jean, confirming what you had been trying to push aside—what you had been too afraid to admit to yourself.

“And that bothers you?” you asked, half-expecting her to confirm the jealousy you thought must be lurking beneath her cool exterior.

But Jean surprised you. She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Bother me? No, not really.” She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you again. “But it might bother you.”

Your pulse quickened, and suddenly, you felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, like Jean had just opened a door you weren’t ready to step through. “Why would it bother me?” you asked, though the answer was already sitting heavy in your chest.

Jean’s smile turned almost sympathetic, and for a brief moment, you saw something softer in her eyes. “Because you’re not just some girl behind the bar to him. And I think you know that.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to argue, to deny it, to say that you were just doing your job, that whatever attention Remy gave you was meaningless. But you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew Jean was right.

You had felt it for weeks—the way his gaze always found you, the way he watched you with that quiet intensity that made your skin prickle and your heart race. You had tried to dismiss it, tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything, but now, standing in this tiny bathroom with Jean staring right through you, the truth was impossible to ignore.

You weren’t just another face in the crowd to Remy LeBeau, and that realization sent a jolt of fear and excitement through you in equal measure.

Jean pushed herself off the counter, straightening her posture as she adjusted the strap of her purse. “Just... be careful,” she said, her voice softer now, almost a warning. “With Remy, things get complicated fast.”

And with that, she turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts, the air still heavy with the weight of everything she had just said.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your heart pounding in your chest, and for the first time, you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

Something had changed. And there was no going back. From your spot behind the bar, you had a perfect view of the VIP area. It was a vantage point you rarely paid much attention to—usually too busy mixing drinks or handling a rowdy crowd—but tonight, you found yourself watching. Watching them.

Jean moved with that same quiet confidence you’d witnessed in the bathroom, her drink held delicately in one hand as she reentered the secluded section. She slid effortlessly back into the scene, her presence commanding attention without asking for it. The dim lighting of the VIP area cast a soft glow over her red hair, making her look almost ethereal as she approached Remy.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you watched her place a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to murmur something in his ear. It was an intimate gesture, the kind that sent an unexpected ripple of something—jealousy? anxiety?—through you. You couldn’t hear what she said, but you could see the way her hand lingered, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his jacket. It was subtle enough not to draw too much attention, but there was a familiarity in the motion that made your stomach twist.

Remy didn’t react much. His face remained impassive, his expression unreadable as he listened to whatever Jean was saying. But then, in the middle of it, something happened that caused your breath to catch in your throat.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours.

It was so quick, so subtle, you almost didn’t believe it had happened. But it did. In that split second, his gaze found yours across the room, cutting through the smoke and the low lighting like a thread pulling you into his orbit. He didn’t give anything away—no smile, no smirk, no hint of what might be going through his head. Just a look. A brief glance. But it was enough to send a jolt through you, like you had been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Your heart skipped a beat, though you couldn’t say why. It wasn’t like he hadn’t looked at you before—Remy was always watching, always tracking your movements with that quiet intensity—but tonight felt different. Tonight, there was something in the air, something unspoken hanging between the three of you. Jean’s words from the bathroom echoed in your mind, the weight of them pressing down on you now more than ever.

“He watches you... a lot.”

You tore your eyes away, focusing on the task at hand—pouring drinks, handling orders, acting like everything was normal. But it wasn’t. You could feel it. The air felt heavier, the weight of their attention lingering on you even when you weren’t looking. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight, like the ground beneath you had subtly shifted, and you were the last one to notice.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter. You didn’t have time to get wrapped up in whatever was going on between Remy and Jean. You had a job to do. And yet, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the drinks in front of you, your mind kept drifting back to that brief exchange.

Did Jean see something you hadn’t? Did Remy?

Your hands moved on autopilot as you mixed another order, but your mind was elsewhere—trapped in the space between Jean’s knowing gaze and Remy’s watchful glance. You couldn’t help but wonder what Jean had said to him, what had passed between them in that quiet moment. Was she telling him about your conversation in the bathroom? Was she warning him? Or maybe she wasn’t talking about you at all. Maybe this was all in your head, a product of too many long nights working in this place, too much time spent wondering what, exactly, was simmering beneath the surface of Remy’s attention.

But deep down, you knew better.

Something had changed tonight. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You could feel it in the way your skin prickled whenever you caught sight of Remy’s figure in your peripheral vision. You could feel it in the way Jean’s words kept replaying in your mind, over and over, like a warning you couldn’t quite decipher.

You set the drink on the counter with a little too much force, the glass clinking loudly against the wood. Carol shot you a glance from the other end of the bar, her brow furrowing in concern. “You okay?” she asked, her voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

You forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah, just... long night,” you muttered, wiping down the counter with a rag as if that could somehow scrub away the unease bubbling inside you.

Carol didn’t press further, but you could feel her eyes on you for a moment longer before she turned back to her own set of customers.

You glanced back up at the VIP section, half-expecting to see Remy still watching you, but he wasn’t. Jean was sitting beside him, her posture relaxed, her hand no longer on his shoulder. They were talking now, but whatever conversation they were having seemed far removed from you. Remy’s attention was back on his crew, his body language easy, casual, as if nothing had changed at all.

But you had changed. Something in you had shifted, and now you were acutely aware of the weight of his gaze, even when it wasn’t on you. You could feel it, lingering in the back of your mind, a constant hum of awareness that refused to be ignored.

You busied yourself with another round of drinks, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. But the truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about that glance. That brief, fleeting moment when your eyes met his across the room.

Because in that moment, you realized something you had been trying to ignore for weeks.

You weren’t just another face in the crowd to Remy LeBeau.

And now, you weren’t sure what to do with that realization. <><><><> The thin thread of the night finally snapped at 1:51 AM.

You knew this because you had glanced at your watch, mentally counting down the hours until your shift ended at 3 AM. It was a ritual at this point—checking the time, calculating how much longer you had to endure the chaos of the club. The energy had been simmering all night, stretched taut like a rubber band, and you could feel it was close to breaking. But you hadn’t expected this.

It didn’t take much, if you were being honest. You’d seen worse over the years—much worse. You’d heard more vulgar words, dealt with more aggressive patrons, and usually, you handled it without a second thought. But tonight, something felt different. The tension was thicker, the air charged with an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. And then there was him.

The man at the center of it all had been pushing buttons from the moment he stepped through the door. Handsy. Mouthy. You knew the type all too well—arrogant, cocky, the kind of guy who believed the world revolved around him. But what stood out, what made your stomach twist just a little tighter, was the way he seemed to be performing. He wasn’t just harassing you for the sake of it. No, he wanted an audience. He wanted to be seen, wanted to be noticed—by you, by the crowd, but most of all, by Remy LeBeau.

And notice, Remy did.

It started off small—a few offhand comments that you and Carol had brushed off. Carol, with her blonde mohawk and sharp brown eyes, had been working the other end of the bar, serving drinks while keeping a wary eye on the man. Every time he got a little too loud, a little too suggestive, she’d shoot him a glare and say, “Okay, that’s enough.” But her warnings fell on deaf ears. He kept pushing, kept drinking, kept testing the limits of what he could get away with.

By the time he turned his attention to you, several hours and several drinks later, his inhibitions had melted away, leaving only the worst parts of him on display. You felt his eyes on you, that leering gaze that made your skin crawl. You’d been through this a hundred times before, and you’d learned how to handle it. Abigail had a strict rule: When you work the club, you don’t leave behind the bar unless absolutely necessary. Part of it was logistics—there was always a demand for drinks—but it was also for your safety. If anything kicked off, you had radios, and security was always nearby. It was a system that worked. Usually.

But tonight, the man didn’t care about rules. He didn’t care about the bar or the space between you. He wanted a reaction, and when you told him he’d had enough to drink, that he was cut off, you saw the shift in his eyes. The thin veneer of control he’d been holding onto dissolved in an instant, and suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt in a tight fist.

The force of it yanked you forward, your body slamming against the counter as he tried to drag you over the bar. The shock of it hit you first—how could this have escalated so quickly? You weren’t afraid, not yet, but your adrenaline spiked as you tried to pull back, your hands scrambling for purchase on the slick surface of the bar. Your eyes darted toward the security on the floor, hoping someone saw what was happening, but the crowd was thick, and the noise of the club swallowed your silent plea for help.

But before you could even call out, Remy was there.

It was like he had materialized out of the shadows, moving faster than you’d ever seen him move before. One moment, the man had his hands on you, his grip painfully tight, and the next, he was being ripped away, spun around so fast that his head snapped back in shock. Every muscle in your body tensed as Remy’s hand shot out, catching the man by the collar and slamming him against the bar with a force that made the glasses rattle.

And then, in one smooth, terrifying motion, Remy pressed the barrel of a gun inside the man’s mouth.

The cold metal glinted under the dim lights of the club, and the entire room seemed to freeze. The music still throbbed in the background, but it was as if the dancers, the patrons, the staff—all of them—had forgotten how to move, how to breathe. The pure, unfiltered rage on Remy’s face was something you had never seen before, and the sight of it sent a jolt of fear through your chest. For a split second, you thought he might actually pull the trigger.

The man who had grabbed you—so arrogant and full of bravado just moments ago—was trembling now, his eyes wide as the cold steel pressed harder against his lips. He had wanted Remy’s attention, and now he had it.

All of it.

Remy’s voice was low, almost a growl, as he spoke. “Ya ever touch her again, and I’ll end y’.” His finger hovered over the trigger, the click of the safety flicking off loud enough to cut through the music. The threat wasn’t just words—it was a promise, and everyone in the room knew it.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You wanted to say something, to stop this from spiraling further out of control, but you couldn’t move. You were frozen, trapped in the intensity of the moment, your mind racing to process what was happening.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jean. She moved quickly but gracefully, her red hair catching the light as she crossed the room. She didn’t speak at first, just placed a gentle hand on Remy’s arm, her fingers brushing the gun with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place in the chaos of the moment. Her expression was calm, but her eyes—those eyes that always seemed to know more than anyone else—spoke volumes. It was a silent plea: Not like this. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of her.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if Remy would listen. The tension between him and Jean was palpable, the fury still radiating off him in waves. His grip on the gun never wavered, his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the weight of his anger, the way it filled the room, suffocating everything in its path.

But after what felt like an eternity, Remy flicked the safety back on, the sound almost as loud as a gunshot in the stillness of the club. He lowered the gun, slipping it back into the waistband of his pants with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

When he finally let go, the man crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath as if he had been holding it the entire time. Remy took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, and you realized then that this wasn’t just about the man who had grabbed you. This was about everyone in the room. This was a message, loud and clear.

Remy LeBeau was reminding them all who he was—and who you were.

You were under his protection. Not just that, but in some unspoken way, you were his. His to protect, his to defend. And anyone who disrespected that, who crossed that line, would be dealt with swiftly and without mercy.

The weight of it settled over you as you watched Remy, your pulse still racing, your mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. He wasn’t just a man who controlled the underground world of New Orleans; he was a man who commanded respect, who held power in his hands like it was second nature. And tonight, he had made it clear that you were part of that world now. Whether you wanted to be or not.

You caught his eye then, the heat of his gaze locking onto yours from across the bar. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there—something dark and possessive that made your stomach twist. For a moment, you just stood there, the noise of the club slowly returning around you, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Jean lingered beside him, her hand still resting lightly on his arm, her presence grounding him in a way that both comforted and unnerved you. She gave you a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of what had just transpired, and you found yourself nodding back, though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to.

And as the crowd slowly began to move again, the music picking up where it had left off, you realized with a sinking feeling that nothing would be the same after this.

You weren’t just another face in the crowd anymore.

You were something more. Something dangerous.

And as you stood there, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for a glass, you couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for you—what that meant for the future.

Because now, you weren’t just working in Remy LeBeau’s world.

You were part of it. <><><><<><><><><> From where he sat in the VIP section, Remy had a perfect view of you behind the bar. It wasn’t something he had planned or even consciously acknowledged; it had just become a habit—a quiet, unspoken one that he hadn’t let himself fully unpack. His eyes kept drifting back to you throughout the night, watching the way you moved, the way you handled the chaos of the club with a quiet efficiency that never failed to impress him. There was something about the way you navigated the room, how you blended into the pulse of the place yet stood out to him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

The night had been relatively calm, at least by his standards. Business as usual. Drinks flowed, deals were whispered over tables, and the music throbbed like a heartbeat through the dim, smoky air. But even in the haze of the club, Remy could sense when something was off—when the subtle rhythm of the night began to shift.

And tonight, he felt it happen the moment that man walked through the door.

Remy had clocked him from the start, a loud, obnoxious guest who had already downed more drinks than half the room combined. He wasn’t the first or the last of his kind to come through the club, but there was something about him that rubbed Remy the wrong way from the very beginning. The man’s energy was chaotic, unfocused, like he was looking for trouble, daring the night to push back against him. Remy didn’t like him. Didn’t like the way he moved, the way he talked, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on you.

Remy’s gaze narrowed as he watched the guy lean over the bar, his posture aggressive, his voice just loud enough to cut through the music. You were behind the bar, trying to keep things moving smoothly, but Remy noticed the subtle shift in your expression—the way your smile tightened around the edges, the way your shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. No one else would have noticed, but Remy did. He was always watching, always paying attention when it came to you, though he wasn’t sure why.

Or maybe he was.

The man was getting louder. His gestures became wilder, his movements more erratic with each drink. His words were slurred, but the intent behind them was unmistakable. Remy couldn’t hear every word from where he sat, but he didn’t need to. He knew the type all too well—handsy, cocky, convinced the world owed him something. The kind of guy who thought he could say or do whatever he wanted because no one had ever taught him otherwise.

Carol, working the other end of the bar, had already shot the man a warning or two, her sharp eyes narrowing in irritation. But he wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. His focus had shifted entirely to you, and that’s when Remy felt the first stirrings of anger coil in his gut.

He leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as he watched the scene unfold. Jean, sitting next to him, said something—something inconsequential that barely registered in his mind. His attention was locked on the bar, on you, and on the man who was clearly getting too comfortable, too bold. Jean, always observant, noticed the shift in Remy’s demeanor, the silent tension in his body that told her something was bothering him. She followed his gaze, her eyes landing on you and the man who had caught Remy’s attention.

Remy’s eyes darkened as the man leaned in closer, his body language crossing a line that should never have been crossed. You were doing what you always did—keeping things professional, trying to diffuse the situation without making a scene. But Remy could see the tension building, could feel it in the air like the crackle of a coming storm. His jaw clenched as he watched the man’s hand graze too close to yours as you slid him his drink. He saw the way your smile faltered for just a moment before you caught yourself, how you stepped back to create more space between the two of you.

But space wasn’t enough. Not for this guy.

And then it happened.

The man’s hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt before you had time to react. It was sudden, violent, and Remy felt something cold and vicious flare inside him. Your body jerked forward, slamming against the counter as the man tried to drag you over the bar, his grip on your shirt tightening with a force that made Remy’s blood boil. The shock on your face was instant—your eyes wide, your mouth slightly open as you struggled to pull back, your hands pushing against the bar in a desperate attempt to steady yourself.

In that moment, something in Remy snapped.

He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he shoved it back. The club was still loud, the music pounding in the background, but in Remy’s mind, everything had gone silent. His focus had narrowed to one singular point—the man who dared lay his hands on you.

Remy’s movements were swift, fluid, like a predator stalking its prey. His pulse thrummed with barely contained fury as he reached into the back of his waistband, pulling out the gun he always kept hidden there. People instinctively parted to make way for him, sensing the danger radiating off him in waves. His expression was calm—too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm—but there was a cold, lethal fury in his eyes that made anyone who caught a glimpse of him take a step back.

He wasn’t thinking about the crowd anymore. Wasn’t thinking about the consequences. He could feel the knot in his stomach, a blind rage that he hadn’t felt in a long time. But underneath that rage, there was something else, something more dangerous. Something that had to do with you.

He had always protected his own, always made sure the people under his roof were safe. But this was different. This was personal. The thought of anyone laying a hand on you—of this man thinking he could do what he wanted without facing the consequences—made something dark and possessive rise up inside him, something he didn’t want to name.

He reached the bar in seconds, and before the man even had time to register what was happening, Remy’s hand shot out, gripping his arm with a force that would undoubtedly leave a bruise. The man’s grip on your shirt loosened as Remy yanked him back, spinning him around so quickly that his head snapped back in shock.

The club seemed to hold its breath as Remy shoved the man against the bar, his forearm pressed hard against the guy’s chest, pinning him in place. And then, in one smooth, terrifying motion, Remy pressed the barrel of his gun inside the man’s mouth.

The cold metal glinted under the dim lights of the club, and the entire room seemed to freeze. The music still throbbed in the background, but it was distant now, muffled by the weight of the moment. The rage that had been simmering beneath Remy’s calm exterior finally boiled over, but it wasn’t wild or uncontrolled. It was cold. Precise.

Remy’s grip on the man tightened, his knuckles white with the effort it took to restrain himself from pulling the trigger. He could feel the man shaking beneath his hold, could hear the muffled sounds of panic as the cold steel pressed harder against his lips.

He felt the rush of power, the satisfaction of knowing that he could end this man’s life in an instant. But more than that, he felt the burning need to make sure the man knew who he had messed with. That this wasn’t just about some random bartender. This was about you.

The man had wanted attention after all.

Remy’s voice was low, barely more than a growl as he leaned in closer, his dark eyes locked onto the man’s trembling face. “Ya ever touch her again, and I’ll bury y’.” His finger hovered over the trigger, the click of the safety being turned off loud enough to echo through the silence. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

He felt the weight of his own emotions swirling inside him—rage, protectiveness, something much deeper and darker that he didn’t want to name. He hadn’t let himself admit how much he cared, how much he watched you, how much you’d quietly slipped under his skin. But seeing you in danger, seeing someone touch you like that—it had torn something open inside him that he couldn’t ignore anymore.

The man nodded frantically, tears welling in his eyes as he choked around the barrel of the gun. Remy held him there for a moment longer, his eyes flicking up to you, just for a second. And in that second, you saw the storm raging behind his calm façade. You saw the way his gaze softened slightly when it landed on you, even as his grip on the man remained unyielding.

He was doing this for you.

Jean stepped forward beside him, her presence a quiet anchor in the chaos. She didn’t say anything, just placed a gentle hand on Remy’s arm, her touch pulling him back from the brink. Her eyes met his in silent understanding, a reminder of where they were, of the eyes on them. Not here. Not like this.

Slowly, with a control that spoke volumes about the fury still simmering beneath his skin, Remy flicked the safety back on and lowered the gun. He didn’t look at the man again as he stepped back, his gaze fixed on you, making sure you were okay.

And in that moment, you realized something that left your heart pounding in your chest.

This wasn’t just about protection. It wasn’t just about the club.

This was about you. And Remy LeBeau wasn’t going to let anyone touch what was his.

Not now.

Not ever. <><><><><><><><><>><><>

As the night slowly resumed around you, the music picking back up, the patrons cautiously returning to their drinks and conversations, you continued your work, though everything felt different now. Your hands moved on autopilot, pouring drinks, taking orders, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. The scene that had unfolded moments ago kept replaying in your head—the way Remy had stormed across the club, the fury in his eyes, the cold precision with which he had handled the situation.

And the way he had looked at you afterward.

That look left a mark, something unspoken but deeply felt, and you couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t just that he had protected you—it was the way he had done it. Remy wasn’t just any man stepping in to diffuse a situation. No, he had made it personal. The intensity in his gaze, the possessiveness, the raw, quiet anger—it had all been directed at the man who had touched you, but in some twisted way, it had also been for you. It wasn’t just about keeping the peace. He didn’t care what anyone else thought, how it looked, or even the consequences.

He cared about you.

And that realization had left a knot in your stomach, one you couldn’t untangle. You’d always known Remy was dangerous, always felt the weight of his power in the club, but this was different. Tonight, he had crossed an invisible line, drawing you with him into something deeper, something heavier.

You were part of his world now, whether you liked it or not.

As the moments ticked by, you couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. Every time you caught a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, that knot tightened a little more. You tried to focus on your work, tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you, wrapping around your mind like vines you couldn’t cut loose.

Carol noticed. Of course, she did. She had an eye for this kind of thing, sharp and intuitive. She sidled over to you as you were wiping down the bar, her presence a quiet comfort in the midst of your internal chaos.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, barely audible over the music. “You should go home.”

You blinked, looking up at her in surprise. “What?”

“You’ve had enough for one night.” Her tone was firm but kind, and you could see the concern in her sharp brown eyes. “I can handle the rest with Clint. We’re almost done anyway.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words faltered. Carol wasn’t asking. She was telling you. And in truth, you wanted to leave. You needed to. Your hands were still trembling, your heart still racing with the echo of everything that had happened.

“You sure?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d meant for it to be.

She gave you a tight smile, her mohawk catching the dim light as she nodded. “Trust me. We’ve got it. Go clear your head.”

You didn’t need any more convincing. With a nod of thanks, you untied your apron and slipped it off, hanging it behind the bar. Clint, who had been watching from the other side, gave you a small wave, his usual grin tempered by the weight of the night’s events.

As you stepped out from behind the bar, you felt the weight of the club fall away from you, but the knot in your chest remained. The noise, the lights, the people—it all seemed distant, like you were walking through a fog. You moved toward the exit, your steps slower than usual, as if your body was still processing what had happened.

When you finally pushed through the heavy doors and stepped out into the night, the cool air hit your face like a slap of reality. It was startling at first, the sudden contrast between the warmth of the club and the crisp bite of the night air. You inhaled deeply, the cold filling your lungs, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like you could breathe again.

But that feeling didn’t last.

The sounds of the city buzzed around you—distant car horns, the low hum of conversations, the occasional whoosh of a passing car—but you barely registered any of it. Your back was pressed against the hard, rough wall of the club, the gritty texture grounding you in the moment when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

You needed to breathe. You needed time. You needed everything you didn’t have right now.

Your mind was still reeling from the confrontation inside, from the way Remy had looked at you, the way he had spoken, the way he had handled that man like it was nothing. You’d known Remy was capable of violence—everyone in the club knew that—but seeing it up close, seeing it for you, was different.

And it terrified you.

But it wasn’t just fear twisting inside you. That was the worst part. Beneath the fear, beneath the shock, there was something else. Something deeper. Something you weren’t ready to face.

Slowly, you crouched down, sliding along the wall until you were sitting on the cold ground, your back pressed against the rough brick. You rested your head against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Each breath felt deliberate, controlled, as you fought to keep yourself grounded, to push back the confusion that threatened to overwhelm you.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to be far away from here, from the noise, from the confusion, from the weight of everything that had just shifted in your world.

But most of all, you wanted to escape him—the intensity of his gaze, the way he had looked at you like you were more than just another bartender, like you were his. That thought alone made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Because as much as you wanted to run, as much as you wanted to pretend that nothing had changed, you knew deep down that something had. That look in Remy’s eyes, the way he had stepped in without hesitation, the way he had protected you—it had stirred something inside you, something you weren’t ready to admit.

You couldn’t deny it anymore.

You’d always felt something for Remy LeBeau. It was impossible not to. He was magnetic, dangerous, and every time his eyes found yours, there was a spark, a pull. You’d ignored it for as long as you could, kept things professional, kept your distance. But tonight… tonight had changed everything.

He had crossed a line. And maybe, just maybe, so had you.

The city hummed around you, but all you could hear was the echo of his voice in your mind, the low growl of his threat, the way his eyes had softened when they landed on you. Your heart pounded in your chest, not from fear, but from something else—something you weren’t ready to name.

But as you sat there, the cold seeping into your skin, you couldn’t escape the truth anymore.

Nothing would ever be the same again. The door to the club swung open behind you with a soft creak, and the approaching footsteps echoed lightly against the pavement. You didn’t turn around—you didn’t need to. That steady, familiar presence was unmistakable, grounding you before you even saw him.

Steve Rogers.

He crouched beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch cut through the coldness that had settled deep inside you, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone in this mess. Steve had always been like that—solid, dependable, always knowing when to step in without needing to say much.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

You nodded, even though the motion felt more automatic than truthful. The storm of emotions swirling inside you was too tangled to unravel right then, but you offered what you could. “Yeah,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips. “Just... needed a breather.”

Steve’s brow furrowed, his gaze flicking back toward the club, as if the memory of what had happened inside still hung heavily in the air between you. You could see him trying to process it—trying to make sense of Remy’s actions, of the chaos that had just unfolded. His instincts were to protect you, but even Steve couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had just happened.

“What’s goin' on between you and LeBeau?” he asked, his voice carefully measured. There was no accusation in it, just a genuine curiosity. “For him to do that… it’s gotta be something.”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head. What was going on between you and Remy? You didn’t know. There was no explanation for the way he affected you, no logical reason for the strange, magnetic pull you felt every time he was near.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice raw with confusion. “We’ve had, like, three actual conversations. That’s it. But…” You trailed off, searching for the words to describe the indescribable. The way Remy’s presence seemed to shift the air around you, the way he saw something in you that no one else did. But nothing you could say would make sense—not to Steve, not even to yourself. So you just shrugged, feeling more lost than ever. “I don’t know,” you repeated, quieter this time.

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his concern deepening. He wasn’t just asking out of curiosity; he was worried. Steve had always been protective of you, always looking out for you like a brother, and the fact that someone like Remy LeBeau had inserted himself into your life—it clearly didn’t sit well with him.

Before Steve could say anything else, though, the sound of footsteps approaching made both of you tense. Another presence stepped into view, and in an instant, the air around you thickened with something unspoken.

Steve straightened up, his body tensing as he rose to his full height. You looked up slowly, your heart skipping a beat when you saw who was standing there.

Remy LeBeau.

He stood casually, leaning against the wall with the easy confidence that always seemed to follow him, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette. The familiar flick of his lighter broke the silence, followed by the crackle of burning tobacco. He took a long drag, his eyes fixed on you, before exhaling a slow plume of smoke into the night air.

Steve was the first to break the silence, his voice calm but edged with tension. “You shouldn’t have brought a gun in there,” he said, his gaze steady, locked on Remy. “You should be kicked out for it.”

Remy didn’t flinch. His expression remained cool, unreadable, as he took another drag of his cigarette. His dark eyes flicked briefly to Steve, and when he spoke, his voice was low, smooth, that thick Cajun drawl rolling off his tongue like molasses.

“Then kick me out,” Remy said, his tone laced with an almost lazy defiance. “Ain’t stoppin’ you, mon ami.”

The tension between Steve and Remy was palpable, a thick, invisible cord stretched taut between them, threatening to snap. It was in the way Steve’s broad shoulders squared, his jaw clenched tightly with the effort of holding back words he wanted to say but chose not to. And it was in the way Remy stood, deceptively casual, his posture loose, but his eyes—those dangerous, dark eyes—were locked onto Steve’s with an intensity that spoke volumes.

There was a quiet kind of violence in the air between them, not the kind that exploded into fists or fury, but the kind that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to boil over. You could feel it pressing in on all sides, filling the space until it seemed almost unbearable, the weight of it settling deep in your chest.

Steve’s restraint was admirable, but you could see the conflict churning behind his eyes. His sense of duty, his unwavering belief in doing what was right, was at war with the growing frustration he felt toward Remy. To Steve, rules were not just guidelines—they were the foundations on which he built his entire life. And Remy? He was everything Steve wasn’t: unpredictable, wild, a man who didn’t give a damn about rules or boundaries if they got in the way of what he wanted.

But beneath that frustration, there was something else—a deeper concern. Steve wasn’t just angry because Remy had broken the rules by pulling a gun in the club. He was worried about you. Worried about what Remy’s presence in your life meant, about the kind of danger and chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Steve had always been the protector, the one who kept you safe, and now it was clear that he wasn’t sure if he could protect you from this—from Remy, from the feelings you were starting to develop, from whatever this strange, magnetic force between you and Remy was turning into.

Remy, on the other hand, was a man who lived by his own rules. He didn’t play by anyone else’s game, and he certainly wasn’t about to start just because Steve Rogers told him to. There was a defiance in the way he stood, in the way he held Steve’s gaze without blinking, as if to say, You don’t scare me. You’re not in control here. But there was more to it than that. Beneath the surface, beneath the cocky arrogance and smooth indifference, Remy knew exactly what was at stake. He wasn’t oblivious to the way you and Steve were connected, to the unspoken bond between you two. And for all his bravado, he respected it, even if he would never admit it out loud.

The silence between them stretched on, thick and heavy, until it was almost suffocating. You could feel your own breath catch in your throat, your heart pounding harder with each passing second. Part of you wanted to step in, to say something, to diffuse the tension before it spiraled out of control. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. This wasn’t just about you. This was about them—about the unspoken battle between two men who, in their own ways, cared about you more than they would ever be able to say.

Steve’s hand twitched at his side, his fingers curling into a fist for just a moment before he forced them to relax. It was a small gesture, but you saw it, and you knew what it meant. He was holding himself back, forcing himself to stay calm when every instinct inside him was telling him to step in, to do something. But Steve was nothing if not disciplined, and he knew that this wasn’t a battle he could win with force. Not tonight.

Remy’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk, just enough to needle at Steve without outright provoking him. It wasn’t a challenge exactly, but it was close enough. He took one last drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling into the night air like a ghostly reminder of the tension still lingering between them. His eyes never left Steve’s, and for a brief moment, something passed between them—something that felt almost like an understanding.

It was subtle, barely noticeable, but you saw the way Steve’s posture shifted. The rigid tension in his shoulders softened, just a fraction, and his stance became less defensive. He wasn’t letting go of his frustration, not entirely, but he was stepping back. He knew this wasn’t a fight he could have right now. Not with you in the middle of it. Not when there were bigger things at play.

For his part, Remy seemed to sense the shift, and the intensity in his gaze eased, just slightly. The smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, something that almost resembled respect. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The challenge was still there, but it had softened into something less volatile. The two of them had reached an unspoken agreement, a temporary ceasefire. They both knew they weren’t done, that this tension would come back, but not tonight.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, the tightness in your chest easing as the tension between them finally began to recede. Steve’s eyes showed what he needed to say to Remy but couldn’t. Keep her safe.

“I’ll see you later,” Steve said quietly, his voice softening as he spoke to you, not Remy. The words were laden with meaning, with the weight of everything that had just transpired, and with everything that still needed to be said. But he didn’t press. He was giving you the space to make your own choices, even if every fiber of his being wanted to protect you.

You nodded, feeling the gravity of the moment settle over you. You knew what his unspoken words meant. He was leaving you with Remy, and that meant more than either of them would ever admit out loud. Steve trusted you, even if he didn’t trust Remy. And that trust… it was everything.

With one last look at Remy, Steve turned and walked away, his footsteps steady and sure as the club door closed behind him with a soft click. The night felt suddenly quieter, colder, without the weight of his presence, but there was also a strange sense of relief. The storm had passed, for now.

Remy watched him go, his expression unreadable, though you could sense the tension still lingering in his frame. As the smoke from his cigarette dissipated into the night air, he finally turned his attention fully to you, his eyes softening in a way that belied the sharpness he had shown only moments before.

“Didn’t mean t’cause trouble for you, chère,” he said, his voice low, the Cajun lilt softer now, almost apologetic. “But I ain’t gonna stand by when someone’s messin’ wit’ you.”

You exhaled slowly, your heart still racing from the quiet intensity of the standoff. “I know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. And you did. You knew that as wild and unpredictable as Remy was, he had acted out of something deeper—something that had nothing to do with rules or consequences and everything to do with you.

The silence between you and Remy felt suffocating, thick with tension, charged not just with the weight of what had happened—but with everything that was still unsaid. The night air was cool against your skin, but all the heat of what had transpired inside the club still clung to you, making it hard to breathe. You stood up slowly, brushing off your legs more out of habit than necessity, trying to collect yourself, trying to focus on anything but the confusing storm of emotions swirling inside you.

When you turned to face him, Remy stood there, casually leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. But beneath his easy posture, you could see the coiled tension in his frame, the way his eyes followed your every movement with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. He had always been like that—watching you with a sharpness that made you feel like he could see right through you, see all the things you tried to hide.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. You weren’t sure if it was from the lingering adrenaline or something else entirely. “What happened in there… it didn’t have to go that far.”

Remy’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something in them that wasn’t anger or defiance. Beneath the layers of cool confidence and the cocky smirk that usually adorned his face, there was something softer, something almost vulnerable. It was rare to catch him like this, his guard down, his emotions barely concealed behind that mask he wore so well. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out before speaking.

“He put his hands on you,” Remy said simply, his voice low and even, as if that explained everything. “That’s all I needed to know.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you like a wave you couldn’t hold back. “Yeah, but pulling a gun? In the middle of the club? That’s not…” You trailed off, searching for words that could express the storm of emotions you were feeling. “That’s not how you handle things, Remy!”

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. For a brief moment, you thought he might snap back, lash out with a sharp retort like he so often did when he felt cornered. But instead, he sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to carry with it more weight than just the events of the evening. His shoulders dropped, just slightly, his posture softening in a way that caught you off guard.

“Maybe not,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost a whisper now. “But I don’t handle people touchin’ you well. I don’t handle people hurtin’ you well.”

There it was again—that intensity, that possessiveness that sent your heart racing and made your head spin. You didn’t belong to him. Not really. But the way he had acted tonight, the way he had stormed into that club and made it clear to everyone that you were his to protect—it was undeniable. It was written in every action, in every word. And that terrified you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to regain some semblance of control, some sense of yourself that wasn’t tangled up in the complicated mess that was Remy LeBeau. “I can take care of myself,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended, as if by saying it aloud, you could make it true.

Remy’s eyes softened at your words, but his gaze didn’t waver. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to that low, almost dangerous tone that always seemed to reach deep into your chest and twist something inside you. “I know ya can, chère,” he said gently. “But tha’ don’t mean ya have t’.”

His words hung in the air between you, and you found yourself at a loss. How could you argue with that? How could you argue with someone who had just put everything on the line for you, someone who had stepped into chaos without a second thought because the idea of you being hurt was something he simply couldn’t allow?

The silence between you stretched on, heavy and full of all the things neither of you were saying. You wanted to be angry. You should be angry. But the truth was, you weren’t. Not really. Because despite everything—despite the recklessness, the chaos, and the fact that Remy had just complicated your life in ways you hadn’t even begun to process—you couldn’t deny the way your heart responded to him. Something had changed tonight, something that couldn’t be undone, and the weight of that realization pressed down on you like a tidal wave.

Remy took one last drag of his cigarette, the orange ember glowing brightly for a moment before he flicked it to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot with a deliberate motion. His eyes never left yours, dark and intense, but there was something different now. The sharp edges were softened, replaced with something that made your heart ache in a way that scared you more than anything that had happened tonight.

“Let me take y’ home,” he said quietly, his voice so soft you might have missed it if you weren’t standing so close. There was no demand in his tone, no arrogance or bravado. Just a simple offer, laced with a sincerity that made your chest tighten.

You stood there for a moment, frozen, the weight of everything pressing in on you. You could feel the conflict warring inside you—the part of you that wanted to push him away, to tell him you didn’t need him, that you could handle your life just fine on your own. But then there was the other part, the part that couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in his presence, the safety you had come to associate with him, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Your throat felt tight, and when you finally nodded, it was almost imperceptible, a small movement that spoke volumes. Because the truth was, despite everything, despite the chaos and the confusion, you wanted to go home. And more than that, you wanted him to take you there.

Remy’s eyes softened even further as he saw your silent agreement. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t need to. The small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corner of his lips was enough to convey the relief he felt. He reached out then, his hand brushing lightly against your arm—just a soft, fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through you that you couldn’t ignore.

He gestured toward the street, where his car was parked, and you followed him silently, your heart still racing, your mind still spinning. The walk was short, but every step felt heavy with the weight of what had just happened—what had been set into motion between you.

When you reached his car, Remy opened the passenger door for you, a simple gesture, but one that felt intimate in a way that made your chest ache. You slid into the seat, the smell of leather and cigarette smoke filling your senses as he closed the door behind you. Remy climbed in beside you, the door shutting with a quiet thud that seemed to echo in the stillness of the night. The familiar scent of leather and tobacco filled the small space of the car, wrapping around you like a reminder of him—of all the things he was, all the things he never said out loud. He didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he just sat there, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly you could see the tension in the way his knuckles turned white against the black leather.

The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was more like the calm before a storm, the moment when everything hangs in the balance and you’re not sure if you should brace yourself or let yourself breathe. You could feel the tension radiating off him, a tangible thing that seemed to fill the car, pressing in on you from all sides. His jaw was clenched, the muscles ticking beneath his skin as if he were holding back something he couldn’t quite put into words.

He had been reckless tonight—more reckless than usual—even for him. And it wasn’t just the gun he’d pulled, or the way he’d stared down Steve without flinching, without backing down. It was something more than that, something deeper. You could feel it in the way he looked at you now, like there was a storm raging inside him that he was barely holding back. Something had shifted between the two of you, and whatever it was, it scared him as much as it scared you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his heart doing a slow, painful roll in his chest. You were sitting there, quiet, waiting. Maybe waiting for him to say something, or maybe just waiting for him to start the damn car. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Because if he started the car, if he took you home, it would mean the night was over, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

Remy had never been a man who thought much about the future. He lived in the moment, took what he wanted when he wanted it, and never let himself get too attached. Attachments were dangerous. They made you vulnerable. And vulnerability was something he couldn’t afford. Not in his line of work. Not with his past. But with you… Damn it, with you, it was different.

He hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t planned for the way you’d slip into his life, a little bit at a time, until you were everywhere. In his thoughts. In his dreams. In the way his heart seemed to kick up a little faster whenever you walked into a room. He hadn’t planned for how much it would matter to him when you smiled at him, or how much it would tear him apart when you looked at him the way you were lookin’ at him now—like you were tryin’ to figure him out, tryin’ to understand why he was so damn complicated.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creakin’ under his grip. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t just walk away. Not now. Not after tonight. He had made that clear the second he’d seen that guy put his hands on you in the club. The second he felt that flash of possessiveness burn through him like wildfire.

He’d seen red. He hadn’t thought. He’d just acted. Because no one—absolutely no one—was gonna touch you like that. Not while he was breathing.

But it wasn’t just about protecting you. It wasn’t just about making sure you were safe. It was more than that, and he knew it. Hell, he’d known it for a while now, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it. You weren’t just some girl he was looking after. You weren’t just some fling, some distraction to pass the time.

You were something else. Something more. Something that scared the shit out of him.

Finally, Remy turned the key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life beneath you. He glanced over at you one last time, his eyes dark and serious, like he was trying to tell you something without speaking. And maybe he was. Maybe you didn’t need words to understand what was happening between the two of you.

As he pulled away from the curb, the city lights flickering through the windows, he couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he could hold onto—wasn’t sure he deserved to hold onto—but he was damn sure gonna try.

Because for the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau had something worth fightin’ for. <><><><><><><> When Remy finally pulled up in front of your building, the soft hum of the engine faded into silence, leaving only the quiet of the night and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. The car came to a stop, but neither of you moved. The street outside was still, the occasional flicker of a streetlamp the only sign of life. Inside the car, the air felt thick, heavy with everything that had happened and everything that had yet to be said.

You stole a glance at him from the corner of your eye. His hands still rested on the steering wheel, though his grip had loosened. For a moment, you thought he might say something—something that would break the tension, the uncertainty that hung between you like a fragile thread. But Remy remained silent, his gaze fixed ahead, his face unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice softer than usual but firm in its resolve. “I’ll walk ya’ up,” he said, the Cajun lilt in his words gentle, almost hesitant.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Part of you wanted to tell him no—that you didn’t need him hovering, that you could make it up to your apartment just fine on your own. You’d done it countless times before. You were independent. You were strong. But tonight, after everything that had happened—the fight, the gun, the raw intensity in Remy’s eyes when he had stepped between you and danger—well, tonight was different. There was a part of you, a part you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, that wanted him there. That needed him there.

Without another word, the two of you stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the car. The quiet of the street seemed to mirror the silence between you as Remy fell into step beside you, his presence solid and reassuring, like an anchor in a world that suddenly felt too unsteady. The narrow staircase that led to your apartment loomed ahead, but it felt longer than usual, each step charged with an unspoken tension.

He didn’t say a word, but you could feel him beside you—his quiet strength, the subtle protectiveness in the way he moved. It was like he was always aware of you, always making sure you were okay, even if he didn’t say it out loud. His hand hovered near your back, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. The air between you buzzed with something electric, something neither of you seemed ready to confront.

When you finally reached your door, you paused, fumbling with your keys. Your fingers felt clumsy, as if the weight of the night had finally caught up with you. The lock clicked open, but you hesitated, turning to face him, searching for the right words. But they didn’t come. Your mind raced, your heart pounded, but your mouth remained silent.

For a long moment, you just stared up at him. There was something in his eyes as he looked back at you—something deep and complicated, like he was wrestling with feelings he didn’t quite know how to express. You had seen Remy in all kinds of situations—cocky, charming, dangerous—but this was different. There was a vulnerability there, hidden beneath the surface, something he tried to mask with that same hard-edged exterior he always wore.

Finally, you managed to speak, though your voice was barely above a whisper. “Thank you,” you said, the words simple but heavy with meaning.

Remy’s expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing just for a moment. His eyes, usually so full of playful mischief, now held something else—something quieter, more raw. He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you, and in that silence, you could feel the weight of everything that had gone unsaid between the two of you. The tension that had been simmering for so long, now bubbling just beneath the surface.

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, as if he understood what you were really saying. And maybe he did. Maybe he understood better than you gave him credit for. His hand brushed against your arm lightly, his touch warm and fleeting, like he was allowing himself that one last moment of contact before pulling away.

For a second, you thought he might say something more—something that would explain what was happening between you, something that would put words to the emotions swirling inside his chest. But instead, he simply nodded again, his lips pressed into a thin line. He turned, his hand already on the railing, ready to descend the stairs and disappear into the night.

But as his foot hovered over the first step, something inside you twisted, a sharp, aching pull that you couldn’t ignore. You weren’t ready for him to go. Not like this. Not with so much left open, unresolved. The thought of him walking away, of the night ending with him just… leaving, stirred something deep within you—a fear, a longing, an ache that felt too big to name.

Before you could think better of it, your voice broke through the stillness, stopping him in his tracks. “Remy,” you called, your heart hammering in your chest, your voice quieter than you intended but still louder than anything you’d said all night. “What… what happens now?”

He froze, his back still turned to you, his body caught in that space between staying and leaving. The streetlamp above cast his silhouette in shadow, and you could see the way his hand clenched briefly at his side, as if he were wrestling with something inside himself. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, the distance between you suddenly feeling like miles rather than inches.

Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned to face you again. His eyes—those red-on-black eyes that had always been so hard to read—were darker than usual, shadowed with something deep, something conflicted. The playful charm that usually danced behind his gaze was gone, replaced by something heavier, more serious.

“Wha’ happens now?” he repeated, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping against stone. The question lingered in the air, thick with the weight of everything neither of you were saying. He let it hang there for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer, as if he was testing the words, feeling them out before he spoke again.

Finally, he took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’ know, chère,” he said, his voice quieter now, more measured. “I don’ know what happens next.”

There was a vulnerability in his words, an admission that he didn’t have all the answers, that maybe he was just as lost in all of this as you were. It wasn’t like Remy to admit uncertainty, to let anyone see the cracks in his armor. But here, in the quiet of the night, with just the two of you standing on that doorstep, he didn’t try to hide it.

“I’ll see ya’ ‘round,” he finally added, his tone carefully neutral, the words almost too casual for what they carried. But there was something in the way he said it that made you feel like it wasn’t just a throwaway line. It was a promise, but one laced with uncertainty, with the tension of things left unresolved.

He took a step back, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. And then, without another word, he turned and started down the stairs, his figure slowly disappearing into the shadows of the street below.

You stood there, frozen, your heart still pounding in your chest as you watched him go. And even though he had promised he’d see you again, the sight of him walking away left you with an ache—a deep, hollow longing that settled in your chest, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t ready to let him go.

Not yet.

Not like this.

[malopascal]

One shot: we found our way back to each other

"Can we please just talk..." Pedro begged, his eyes looking so tired and his composure exposing nothing but defeat and heartbreak.

A sigh left your painted lips as you avoided his begging gaze, looking through the room of his sister's home, silently missing the hours the two of you had spent in here, laughing, talking and making love.

"Talk about what? You told me two months ago that you weren't ready for a relationship, that I should find someone else who could settle down", you purposely threw Pedro's words back to him in hopes that they would also cause him the same pain it caused you eight weeks ago.

You finally focused your eyes on the Chilean actor and saw how he closed his eyes in shame and shook his head. "You're trying to kill me, mi amor" he whispered before opening his eyes.

"No, you killed me with those words. I thought that I had meant something to you, we had spend four months together, making all these beautiful memories that I can never forget", you spat as tears started to brim your eyes.

"I know, I know (Y/N)...".

"No, you don't. You don't know that I've been faking a smile for weeks, pretending that my life is so fucking awesome and continuing to work like you didn't rip my heart out of my chest, Pedro".

The actor took a step closer to you and quickly took your soft hand in his, his eyes were begging you to take him back. "Words can't describe how foolish I was. I thought that I had made the right decision, allow you to go and be free before my crazy and hectic life would get in between us, and we'd be forced to break up anyway...".

His words made you frown as you slowly shook your head in disbelief.

"Bullshit, Pedro. I accompanied you while you worked and traveled, still made time for my own life and friends and family and not once did I ever voice or think that your celebrity life would become too much for me...How could you make this decision for yourself and then punish me for it?", the tears were now streaming down your face, the aching pain in your chest making it hard for you to focus as you stared at your love. The betrayal still sat deep in your soul and you wondered if you could ever get past this.

"You tossed me aside for nothing, based on assumptions...And then you moved on like we never happened, like I didn't give all my love to you!" you couldn't help but increase the volume of your voice as you finally had the chance to speak about your heartbreak.

After Pedro had suddenly broken up with you through a quick phone call, he had blocked you and went on a promotional tour of his upcoming projects, making you feel lost and abandoned while he continued to live his life in front of the cameras.

Since the two of you were able to keep your relationship private, due to the fact that you were an actress as well, barely anyone noticed how you were crumbling and pretending like you hadn't lost the greatest love of all time.

"My love, I-" Pedro chocked back on a sob before clearing his throat and wrapping his strong arms around your waist, still looking at you like you were the only, most precious thing walking the earth.

"I just wanna know why. Why did you get rid of me like that?" you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, hating how your heart skipped a beat and a delicate sensation of adoration rushed through your body. You knew that touching him alone would have you weak, but in that moment, you didn't care at all.

"I'm almost fifty, it's been years since I had a serious relationship (Y/N), I have anxiety and assumed that it would take a few more weeks before you would get sick and tired of me and my job and leave me..." the actor confessed with a heavy heart.

"But I can't describe the agony I have been in ever since we parted ways. All I can do is think and yearn for you", his beautiful brown eyes gazed deeply into yours while he leaned in closer, his breath dancing along your lips as you let out a soft sigh. God, that man still had you so crazy in love and a part of you thought that he'd try to make up sappy excuses and then leave you alone.

"I am so sorry for what I did, and I know you're just as heartbroken as I am. It's my duty to earn your trust back and show you the blessing that you are to me. Please...." Pedro leaned in and pressed his soft lips against yours, frowning at the pure sensation of your soft lips against his. You pulled away, your head spinning from the passion while you stared deeply into his eyes, your breath coming out in short puffs as you were overwhelmed.

"Please what?" you exhaled as the tension in the room shifted from sad to something else.

He leaned in again, stealing another passionate kiss while his arms pulled your body closer to his. That's when you noticed something throbbing against your lower stomach. You couldn't help but let out a weak moan as your body was succumbing to this man.

"Allow me to win your trust back and show you that I am your man. Yours." Pedro whispered, his breathing increasing by the second as the two of you stared longingly into each other's eyes.

The wetness already had gathered in between your thighs as all you could now think about was feeling him move deep inside you, have him fill you up all the way and talk you through the sensual acts of love.

"I-" Pedro didn't even let you finish your sentence before he had stolen another kiss from your lips, his tongue tracing your lower lip and silently asking for permission. Which you instantly granted.

His big hands immediately started to roam your body, caressing your breasts and shoulders while he moved the two of you towards the bed.

He kissed your neck after having placed you gently onto the mattress, your silky black cocktail dress already being torn from your body. "I need to taste you", he begged.

You instantly opened your legs and quickly got rid of your thong before your love had his head position in between your thighs. "You're so wet" he praised while giving you a soft smile, leaning in closer to where you needed him the most before darting his tongue out and flicking your sensitive clit.

"Yes", you mewled while throwing your head back, your wetness sliding down your inner thighs while your love instantly got to work and devoured you right then and there. His eyes didn't dare to move away from your face as he needed to look at you. He needed the assurance that he was pleasing you, giving himself to you.

He licked and lapped at your swollen clit and drenched folds, dipping his tongue into your hot and wet cunt, loving the way you weakly moaned his name and grind your hips in sync of his movements. Behind your clenched eyelids, you saw stars as the pleasure took over your mind, body and soul.

"You taste divine" Pedro whispered, moaning your name over and over again while his eyes still didn't look elsewhere. He had always been in awe of your beauty and knowing that no other had seen you like this was making his heart swell in his chest with pride.

Before you knew it, your love was kissing his way up your body, positioning himself in between your thighs while he quickly got rid of his dress shirt and freeing his hard cock from its tight pants.

Your eyes fluttered open and you couldn't help but moan at the sight of Pedro staring down at your face, his eyes drinking in the beautiful sight of you. It took him a few seconds to let his hard cock slide up and down your folds, gathering the slick wetness before whispering how much he loved you.

You couldn't even answer as the sensation of his cock slowly sinking deep inside you overwhelmed you. Your inner walls welcomed the hardness as they stretched and took him deeper. A weak moan left your lips.

"I missed you so much" you chocked out before the first stroke hit you. Pedro closed his eyes and immediately started to snap his hips against yours, hitting your sweet spot over and over again while having leaned down and now gently kissing and sucking on your sensitive neck.

The pure pleasure raging over your body was too much.

The feeling of him buried deep inside you...

His weak moans of your name...

The quick motions of your body desperately wanting to reach that beautiful high together.

It was all too much.

Your toes curled as you felt the delicious knot form in the pit of your stomach, your inner walls were clenching onto your love's cock for dear life while the delicate shivers running up and down your back made it hard for you to focus on anything.

"I am right here, my love. Come on, take all of me and show me you love it. Take it all, it's all yours" Pedro groaned, his hips snapping faster against yours while his hand was now circling your sensitive clit, making the knot tighter and tighter by the second.

You clung onto his broad shoulders as the next deep thrust threw you into the wild, gushing and overwhelming peak. Your orgasm rippled through your body and you couldn't control it. Your inner walls clenched tightly around Pedro's cock as his warm spurts filled you all the way up. That man was almost screaming your name as he continued thrusting his hips in a sloppy manner, wanting this intense and beautiful sensation to never stop.

The weak moans leaving your lips grew softer by the second while the tremors of your high tingled through your body. Your eyes slowly opened and Pedro's adoring smile made your heart swell in your chest.

"I love you'" he confessed.

"I love you too" you responded in a soft huff, still trying to catch your breath.

[toomuchracket]

EARLY POLITICIAN UNI DAYS SHIBARI SEND TWEET SEND TWEET

the fwb (well, academic rivals with benefits) days and you're between rounds on a lazy sunday, just done sharing a joint at the window in his bedroom, and matty's a little bit high and touching you up and holding your wrists behind your back - you bite your lip when he does, knowing you'll be fucking again soon, and his eyes light up and he says "wait... would you want me to do that? because actually i read about this thing" before tripping over himself to load up his laptop and giggling when you follow and kiss his neck, deterring you like "no, gorgeous, i need you to see this". the website he ends up on looks so sketchy, but you can't deny the eroticism of the images displayed, full of people wrapped in rope and bent into interesting positions, and the more matty scrolls the wetter you find yourself; you kiss his neck again and murmur "yes" into the skin, and after a "i don't have rope" "no, but i know you have enough neckties for this" moment, you find yourself looking at matty while he painstakingly wraps several tied-together ties across your arms and bare chest like a harness. even at twenty-one, he's steely-focused in the sexiest way, and you barely allow him a chance to look at you all tied and exhale "fuck, this was a great idea" before you're whining for him to get inside you already - of course he obliges, pushing you onto your knees and fucking you as hard as he can, and even though you can barely move you've never felt so floaty in your entire life. it's the best sex you've ever had, and you both KNOW there's nobody else you'd dare to try that with, but it still takes some time for the relationship to turn romantic; every time matty gets the ties/rope out until then, though, some part in the back of his brain can't help going "yeah, you love her" when it registers the total trust and adoration you look at him with, but of course he disregards it until the last possible moment, idiot boy. but yeah - this is how it starts <3