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thirtysomethingloser92 · 1 day

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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.

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rainbowsky · 3 hours

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Hey RBS.. Wishing you a wonderful week ahead. Do you think Globalfever fansite is being managed directly by someone from GG/DD’s team. Many a times I wonder how that site able to get tickets to all of our boys events and capture such close up candid shots of GGDD unless she is part of their inner circle?

Example today - https://weibo.com/7320958826/OydEkDN0w

not sure if it’s original or edited.. from that video it looks like XZ acknowledged her words of Jiayou and bye bye

Hi Natashayishan, thanks! I hope you're well, and that you have a wonderful week too! 😊

Here's the video for those who don't have access to Weibo.

To answer this question I'm going to start by explaining a bit of background about what I know about fansites and how they function (I'm by no means an expert, but here's what I do know).

Part 1 - Fansites in General

There has been a lot of talk about fansites over the years, and some have faced accusations, criticisms, confusion, suspicions, theories both positive and negative for a very long time. I think they're largely misunderstood by a lot of fans.

For example, it's not uncommon for people to believe fansites are stalkers, or that they shamelessly profit from the unauthorized use of a star's image or footage, or that they're organizations that exist for the purpose of exploiting stars.

This isn't really how it works at all. In general, a fansite is just one fan who follows a star's career and enjoys sharing photos and videos they take of that star. Plain and simple. Some fansites involve more than one person, but most are just made up of individuals.

Yes, they sometimes make money selling photo books and other merch, but that money tends to go back into supporting the star -buying endorsement products, arranging events and giveaways, buying or upgrading equipment needed to create fansite content (cameras, computer equipment, software), paying for tickets (many of which are overpriced reseller tickets) and travel/accommodations to attend events, etc.

It might seem glamorous - and there's undeniably a glamorous aspect to it - but to me it looks very stressful, like a huge headache. These fans generally have their own lives and careers outside of fandom, so coordinating everything, waiting in lines, standing in the rain outside appearances and events, not to mention the pressure to attend events and post regular updates, and all the haters and antis they are constantly dealing with, the amount of stress and frustration they deal with must be immense.

It's a lot of work, and for this reason, fansites don't always stay fansites. Some retire as their real life interests and obligations shift. One of my favorite GGDD fansites - Midnight Dream - retired a few years ago. 😢

Fansites are an important part of any celebrity's support system. While no - they aren't part of a celebrity's team or on their payroll, they do play a huge part in helping to bring attention to a star and build buzz around them, their projects, their appearances, events and other activities.

If you want an analogy that might help it make more sense to you, just look at some of the sports fans across the globe who will follow all the matches, follow team developments, team picks, managers and training, and share all that info on blogs, podcasts or dedicated sports fan sites.

This is very similar. They're just really dedicated fans who build a following by being where we can't be, and sharing their experiences so that we can feel like we were there, too.

And they provide the fans and the stars an immense, immeasurable service IMHO, despite what we might agree or disagree with about the way fandom culture works. The content they capture and share is almost always far more intimate (generally without being invasive), and of a far higher quality than that of the professionals hired to cover these events on behalf of media agencies and management.

Fansites do get some official support from time to time. For example, there are events where fansites can get approval - almost like a press pass or a security pass - to attend and be in certain locations within or near facilities to take photographs, video, etc., but they are not hired or compensated by the star or their team.

A lot of how everything works is also largely unknown/unknowable, so it's hard to be sure of the details. There are always going to be rumors and claims. For example, there have been claims that during SDOC Yibo was allowed to invite 4 fansites to come to the finale, and of the 4, he chose 3 BXG fansites and only one solo site. I haven't seen proof of that, but the claim was making the rounds a lot at the time.

One thing we do know - he chose a fansite photo to give to Yangkai when he was courting him to join his team in season 4. (Of course, solos made a huge stink and Youku ended up editing the footage to remove the photo, but we saw what we saw).

There are other examples of GG and DD interacting with or showing acceptance of their BXG fansites. I started looking for some references and then realized it was not something I have time for or interest in. I'm not here to give a comprehensive analysis anyway, I'm just here to give a simple-ish answer to your question. If others want to discuss that in the notes, that's fine.

So, hopefully some of that background info will have answered parts of your question, and gives you more tools to evaluate things on your own moving forward.

Part 2 - Global Fever

As for Global Fever specifically, well... Global Fever is one of the most treasured BXG in the entire fandom. This dedicated fan has been following GG and DD BOTH, since they debuted. She is more than just a CP fan, she's been a supporter of their individual careers since day 1.

Yes, since back when Yibo was still the White Peony.

She became a CP fan in the natural way - by seeing her faves work together on The Untamed, by watching them interact and by following them and their careers. No, she doesn't work for their teams (they both have dedicated teams of their own, and they don't need to pay fansites who - after all - will do this stuff for free). It's just that she's recognizable to GG and DD because she's been a fixture in their lives for so many years.

And this is something solos need to get their heads around: BXG are fans too. I think there's this conceit among solos that THEY'RE GG and DD's fans and BXG are something else, but in reality (and, no doubt, in the eyes of GG and DD) BXG are their fans too.

Never could that be more apparent than when a dedicated fan like Global Fever jiejie is calling 'Zhanzhan, jiayou!' and 'byebye!' as he's boarding an elevator on the way to the stage. Of course GG recognized her and smiled at her. Of course.

#bjyx #yizhan #bxg ggdd #fansites #bxg fansites #the mysteries of yizhan #ask #greater bay concert 2024

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thefinalwitness · 10 hours

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in general if your response to a certain type of character, especially any form of minority, is literally any variation whatsoever of "that doesn't exist/wouldn't be allowed in this setting" you're being a bigoted piece of shit. just to be super clear. and because my adderall is in full effect rn i will even do you the favor of going over some reasons why your reasoning is not only flawed and inaccurate to begin with, but extremely harmful to entire groups of people you claim to care about.

"that doesn't exist" first of all, who fucking cares if a piece of media has never depicted a lesbian or a nonbinary person or a black person in xyz region/world? just because the creators didn't do it doesn't make it Canonical Law. also, regardless of how fantastical and fictional a setting is, its audience will ALWAYS be from planet earth where lesbians and nonbinary people and black people exist, and those people's feelings and their deservingness to see and put themselves in their favorite stories IS, in fact, more important than some white-ass cishet make believe world.

"it wouldn't be allowed" subtler issue, but an issue nonetheless. just because the setting is hostile TO certain groups of people does not mean those people do not exist there. ask yourself, what is so important to you about certain kinds of people either not existing period, or having to be miserable (closet themselves, conceal certain features, etc), in a given setting. why is that so important to you. why do you think these people can only exist if they hate themselves and/or live their lives suffocated by the world around them. why is it so "lore incompliant" or "immersion breaking" to you. why are you so concerned with upholding real or perceived prejudices in a fictional society if you claim to care about the real people who these prejudices affect. "realism"? see point one.

NONE of the reasons you make up to justify your reinforcement of real world bigotry in a pretend world are even reasons that would ACTUALLY bar xyz group of people from existing in said world. ishgard only shut its gates to the rest of the world for 15 years before ARR. old sharlayan accepted people from tural into its closed society. the ancients could literally conjure up whatever the fuck they wanted inside and outside their bodies. fantasias are a canonical item in the game, as per the quest that literally talks about them and then gives you one. there are HUNDREDS of perfectly lore compliant ways any given type of person could be in any given setting. but more importantly, people shouldn't need to justify why things like sexuality or skin color CAN exist in a given setting, because if you're not harboring some very bigoted ideas about how minorities are allowed to or "supposed" to exist, you don't fucking care about shit like this. it's stupid, inaccurate, and most of all, just plain cruel to the very real people behind these characters.

racism, transphobia, etc already exist in staggering abundance in the real world; you do not need to enforce that cruelty in a random fucking video game unless you have some very fucked up feelings about those groups of people festering in your brain. if you're not a member of those groups, shame on you, do better to support your fellow human beings. if you ARE a member of those groups, i am so fucking sorry the world has rotted your sense of self so deeply as to make you believe you can only exist in misery. i really, sincerely hope you're able to work through that and know that your existence is an inherently joyful, beautiful thing, and people like you deserve to get to exist peacefully, everywhere in the real world and in any and all fictional settings. i know finding worth in ourselves is too often an extremely difficult process, so i ask instead that you start with others like you. be kind to them, support them, find things about them that you admire, and try to see yourself in them. you deserve to get to heal from the insidious, evil things this world has poisoned your heart with.

#yoshi talks

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asirensrequiem · 19 hours

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Why are Anthony and husk living with alastor and why hasn’t he killed em yet?

I’m sensing he has a soft spot for nifty, Anthony and husk

Anthony and Husk live next door in their apartment complex! Husk in this universe has simply seen too much and Alastor is aware of this. Husk, knowing that Al is a threat, obeys his requests without question and isn't afraid of getting his hands a bit dirty.

Niffty lives on the bottom floor of the building and works as a maid/room service. I imagine she found traces of Alastors nightly activities while cleaning his apartment and spoke up about it. Alastor attempted to threaten her, but she seemed unfazed and almost excited. So in turn she offered her services to assist him for... whatever Niffty's reasons are haha!

I definitely feel that over the years, Alastor has grown quite fond of the both of them and would definitely be torn if something were to happen to them.

I haven't had much of an opportunity to show the layout of the buildings, rooms, and the town in general, nor do I think I will since I want to focus more on that sweet sweet romance and lore, but I may post a map or layout picture at some point for different locations in between chapters~

I'll provide a brief description of some of the places we've visited thus far: Alastor lives on the top floor of an apartment complex. The unit itself consists of 3 rooms (4 if you count a bathroom). The first room is the combined kitchen and living room directly when you walk in the door as shown in "Meet".

Pretty everything in the unit is connected to this room. I have never been too great at backgrounds but hopefully this comic will slowly change that lol.

The next room would be the bedroom. This room is located in the attic. The ladder that Lucifer fell down can be folded up and closed like an attic. The way the ladder goes into the kitchen is similar to how it is in Miraculous Ladybug if any of y'all get me--

The roof of the bedroom is slightly slanted and there is a window above a desk that was positioned out of frame from the already shown shot of this room. There is a queen-sized bed, a bedside table, and a closet in the corner, also out of show from what has been shown thus far.

The rest of the apartment has not shown up yet, but it will be where a lot of scenes take place so that will be shown more and more throughout the chapters~ The remaining rooms are the obligatory bathroom and Alastor's radio studio. I will not share too much about said studio since it will be making an appearance next chapter ;) I WILL however share that there is a step-out balcony attached to the apartment as well.

More information about Husk and Anthony will pop up here and there and I do want to do a few Huskerdust mini-episodes ;) The town layout will be a project and a half if I am to solidify it, but I am more concerned about the fluff, angst, and ROMANCE!! I think the most solidified part of the town layout is that it is slightly elevated above the ocean shore with rock walls around the beach so you take stairs to get on and off of the beach. This gives me a bit more freedom in some plot points is all :))

ANYWAY thank you for the questions, I kinda went on a rant, but hopefully, this answers some unspoken questions as well. It's hard to convey EVERYTHING I want to in each panel and chapter so I am always open to clarification post releases! This is the kind of stuff that keeps motivating me and I frikkin love you guys for that! TvT

<3<3<3

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #radioapple #alastor #appleradio #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #huskerdust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #loser baby #a sirens requiem #radioapple au #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor

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rhetoricalrogue · 2 years

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I probably should have paid more attention to the militia hierarchy in the last half of Days Gone so I can properly daydream potential story scenarios instead of getting sad that they took what normally looks like a Bob Ross painting and burned 90% of the landscape, like yes, I know this is part of the theme of the story but there are no happy little trees anywhere. Just sad little burnt stumps that did very little to keep the infected hordes away.

The Crater Lake area made me miss Lost Lake and the Cascade maps so much.

#dr. elena martinez #like I’m not even going to write anything but I got attached to Doc Jimenez #and Elena’s going to come back from a run just in time to save her co-worker/crush from getting stabbed #but oh no there’s defensive wounds that need bandaging up #and maybe a non-life threatening wound that needs more attention #which leads to the ‘you saved my life’ conversion and subsequent confessions of mutual pining #and also jokes about waking her patient up in the middle of the night to take vitals and tell him to go back to sleep #Elena was going to specialize in emergency surgery before all this went down #so she tries to lighten the mood afterwards by telling him it reminded her of a regular Friday night in the ER #I have such a need to write conversations about ‘what if none of this happened and we met at a conference or while doing rounds’#and ‘what are the weird mundane things you miss?’ type questions #which are mostly whispered at night from the shared living quarters behind the main infirmary tent #it makes sense for them to live close to where they work #both of them speak fluent Spanish and often have entire conversations in their shared language #she had a tiny studio apartment near the hospital she was going to do her residency in #they have plenty of ‘what if’ conversations that circle around domestic stuff because it’s a way to escape from their everyday #‘I had central air and heat’ ‘you had me at running water and hot showers.’

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todayisafridaynight · 3 months

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THIS IS GONNA SOUND SO MEAN BUT WHY DO U LIKE RYO AOKI/MASATO

masato hot

#snap chats #just like me... heh ... my ac has been broken all month im melting for the love of god send an iceberg im begging you #him turning into aoki is incredibly funny to me like jesus christ. what a lack of self love does to a mfer #but anyway 1.) please do not yell i scare easy 2.) meaner has been said its ok 3.) very reasonable to ask why anyone would like aoki #and 4.) to be Cereal he's inch resting to me. also his speech to ichi at the end hit a lil close and i was reminded of high school #5.) i really like his eng dub voice sorry im american. BUT HIS JP VOICE IS EXCELLENT TOO IM JUST SAYIN #rgg doesnt give an Exact on his disability so looking into lung diseases/conditions has also been interesting #esp post-lung surgery cases and care too so i thank rgg for the opportunity to do some reading #i also do In General just like cases of someone wanting to be loved and changing drastically to get it only to still be unhappy #granted. he sucks so LMAO can only have so much sympathy but it's still interesting to watch #the arakawas is also a part of why i like him because they all work as a big machine. if that makes sense #like the arakawas in general are such an interesting bundle i love all of them a lot because of what they mean to each other #in the case of aoki none of them mean anything to him at most resenting arakawa and despising ichi #meanwhile sawashiro's just. There LOL im so sorry king thats the truth of it all ... i love you tho ...#oh but back to aoki. i also really like politican characters- or at least characters who can have a 'public' persona #its fun thinking about what they have to do mentally to present themselves in public versus when they can 'be themselves'#like aoki's 'intro' scene where he's pleasant to his secretary and then a second later is conniving with ogasawara... peak i fear #OR THEEEE CAR PARK ONE i love that scene so much ...#very fun.. aoki being a politician just makes it infinitely funnier like guys we gotta bully the governor #plus i live and breathe by a glass analysis/comparison a twitter mutual of mine did ... i love glass imagery .......#uhhhh is that all ... idk prob im literally sweating my skin off i cant think right. my clothes are sticking to my skin i hate summer #i dont hate summer im so sorry i didnt mean it .... summer is beautiful .. i just wish this heat wasnt murdering me

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themyscirah · 5 months

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This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

#blah #the 45 years is a guesstimation of julias age w her being in her late 40s #bc she has a middle school aged daughter which would make you lean a bit younger but shes also highly respected prof at harvard (is she the #dept head? i think so. and has a career that would suggest older. and shes also drawn middle aged so 🤷‍♀️#i would say late 40s early 50s for her honestly. but i moved it down a lil bit bc of vanessas age #wait shit i may have contradicted logic here bc wasnt the diana trevor stuff supposed to have happened before dianas birth. and that was #wwii. which would be btwn 42 and 45 years. BC PÉREZ!TREVOR IS OLD I FORGOT THAT #okay so actually there still could be a question of what happened first the timeline would just be much shorter #but then wouldnt julias family be boating during wwii? that makes no sense #im definitely thinkimg too hard about this probably. logically it would make the most sense if diana was like 20smth in reality. but thats #its own basket of worms honestly. like what do you mean hippolyta only had like 20 yrs w her daughter out of a lifespan of thousands of #years. what do you MEAN she became champion and ambassador so young like #like also thats the point though. she had to wear a mask in the challenge for a reason. her inexperience with men is what makes her the kind #of ambassador they need. and her youth and relation to hippolyta and role as the baby of the amazons is one of the things that makes her #ambassadorship SO important is bc she fulfills that role in an ancient sense. where it would be a sign of great trust and respect to send #someone close to the crown as an envoy bc it shows you mean business and arent going to reneg on whatever the deal is. bc if you do they #shoot the messenger #god anyways i very much answered my own question here in the tags like 100%. esp in regards to the pérez canon bc he very much laid this out #and i was trying to weasel my way out of it. only that didnt work and the decisions he made he made for a reason and they have huge #narrative importance. damn. okay then #i always write the shittiest posts and the best tags and then have to keep the post to keep the tags #i rlly need to make these tags posts ugh. anyways keeping this up bc of my tags abt diana and ambassadorship #also sidenote I LOVE HIPPOLYTA #just though id mention that. i love how much shes motivated by love and i also love when she makes fucked up decisions bc of that and has to #live with them. woman of all time FOR REALS #god this is making me want to reread historia again lol bc its the one ww comic i own. also its fire. and hippolyta gets to make shitty #decisions motivated by emotion and live w the consequences. and the comic is actually good unlike when that happened in the messner-loebs #run. which was the other instance of that ive read rlly. 10000% sure there are others but i havent fully gotten there yet.#i mean ive read other comics where she makes painful decisions thats like her whole deal but there are different vibes to those than the two #i mentioned. like the exile thing in ww year 1 or rlly anytime she has to send diana away

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deerest-me · 2 months

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is my solitude romantic or pathetic? who knows

#musings driving home from the pub after hanging with coworkers from the lab #it's just interesting. i work with all these science nerds. so you expect them to be weird and nerdy. and yet. everyone feels so normal #and i still feel so strange among them. so different. is that obnoxious of me? special snowflake? there are so many #conversations where i just shut up / redirect to the others since when i answer honestly it makes everyone uncomfortable #(e.g. i havent dated in 10 years. live alone. no pets. only close to my parents and siblings. a few internet friends)#like theyre kind to me im kind to them. they dont give me a hard time / make me feel bad. i can just sense the pity #and i guess. i impress myself with how strong my creep vibes are because of this.#which makes me wonder if it crosses over into being cool or something idk. no one at work hates me yet i dont think.

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autisticlee · 1 year

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I want to be rich enough to afford my own business, then live off that so I don't have to work for anyone else and can make my job meet my own needs/comfort that other jobs cannot. getting and keeping a job as an neurodivergent and/or disabled person in a neurotypical and ableist society is so frustrating and overwhelming. they refuse to meet your needs, accommodate you, blame you for your struggles, and are hardly ever accepting, because you're a "burden" to them and don't meet their ridiculous expectations so you get rejected or fired! the only choice is to do it yourself!!!!! but even starting/running businesses seems to be greatly gatekept by them too 😭

one problem is that it seems only people who are already rich can start their own physical business, in this world today. only people who don't really need to work because they're born into money can make money off their own work. then they call it hard work and pulling their boot straps or whatever 🙄 so they just hire others to do all the work for them and take most the profits. then tah-dah, they have a successful business and only had to tell some people what to do and let them all do the rest for them. I can't afford anything that goes into my own business, especially the physical shop and hired help. my living situation makes it difficult to work from home because I live in a walk-in closet sized room with the entirety of my belongings squished into the small space. i'm trying my best to make things to cell (currently stickers, art prints, 3d anime/video game figures, etc) but it's so difficult and stressful.

or alternatively, get lucky, or have social skills and spoons, to get popular enough online so you can start online first or even full time. you usually have to be super social and interesting online to gain a following who supports you and becomes your fan. not everyone is lucky to have an enticing personality (I barely have one at all 😔) and the spoons to consistently keep up with the demand to keep people interested and continuously supportive. most people online treat it all as a competition and won't help others. they refuse to share your stuff or give advice or work together. they just care about themselves and their business.

the only real advice I got is "be consistent," which i'm sure any chronically ill, disabled, or ND person knows that's basically impossible. some days are good, some weeks are horrible and you can't do anything. that's why i'd work better with a team of others so we can fill each others gaps and stay seemingly consistent, if that makes sense. if there's multiple of us, at least one of us should have the spoons to keep things going! right???? but most online businesses are single-person run and they don't want to share and split anything, even if it's just a small collab for fun (I experienced first hand how gross fellow creaters can be to each other because they treat it as a competition instead of a collab and opportunity to enjoy working together and boost each other up. I will never forgive the bts fanart community for how snobby, childish, and bullying many of the "bigger" were behind closed doors! and smaller ones that licked their boots! ive also heard similar stories about other communities and places, like twitch, youtube, etc.)

then there's the whole business managing thing and promoting and all that. i'm a nobody on the internet, so even if I did online business only to start, no one will notice me or help! (I've actually tried before multiple times in the last almost decade and sold nothing but still struggled to keep up 😅) i barely have the executive functioning spoons to take a shower more than once a week 😭 running a business all alone with all the factors pitted against me? how! i can't hire help if no one pays me lmao

when i've asked for help before, even just asking friends to share my stuff, I get slapped with the whole "stop caring what people think about your work/numbers aren't important/do it because you want to and enjoy it/etc" and that's so insulting because it makes me feel like they're trying to say my work is horrible and worthless and I don't deserve to live off my hard work!!!!! (I'm no longer friends with these people)

what it comes down to is, I always feel like my only choice to actually work and possibly afford to survive is to start my own business????? I can't live off my parents forever and part time minimum wage jobs that I could *maybe* get (even if I was rejected from 200 of them in 2 months...) including the one I fo now are so painful, boring, unfulfilling, and/or stressful and not worth it! but no one will hire me for anything better because no experience and you need experience to get experience. or you need a degree and need money to get a degree but need degree to make money. and it's a whole paradox that is impossible for someone like me to get through. I get rejected at every interview for being autistic. i'm burnt out trying. I feel like i'm at a dead end and don't know what i'm supposed to do?

do any other autistic/ND/disabled people feel the same way?

I usually get told to "wait and it will happen one day" but this is life we are talking about!!! life doesnt wait!!!!! i'm not a teen/20s with ~my whole life ahead of me~ i'm getting older fast and have zero openings or paths that I can take alone. I know my disabled limits and it means I can't just make things happen like other people. I can't live independently or get a normal job, etc. I cant wait around forever and hope I get lucky. i've never experienced any luck so I don't believe it will help me. so I put in what work i'm capable off all the time instead of waiting, but see no useful results. I do my best despite what people on the outside see and tell me (I'm so fucking tired of hearing i'm Not Trying, Giving Up Too Easily, Being Too Negative, Refusing To Leave My Confort Zone, Not Believing In Myself and etc. it's NOT true. I don't care if that's how it looks. being disabled is NOT those things!!!! just because normal daily things takes more spoons and energy and effort for me than you, I need more help, and I dont have the ability to physically or mentally do certain things, (which means doing things beyond that is nearly impossible in most cases,) doesn't mean Those Things. no one understands how hard I try, how much I struggle, and how frustrating it is for it to all crash down, never work, and not matter. only very few people in similar situations understand and don't try to push me. I NEED SUPPORT not someone to remind me of how much I fail because I can't meet NT and abled expectations and do things THEIR way!

anyway, I fell into huge rant....is it possible for us to come together and make a ND/disabled-led business and only hire others like us? that would be cool and helpful. if I could start my own business, I want it to be mostly friendly/inclusive/accommodating to ND/disabled people. NTs/ableds have to follow our "rules" for once. a safe business/work space made for us, by us. it would be hard, but so beneficial to those involved 😭

#lee rambles #autistic #actually autistic #autism #adhd #neurodivergent #disabled #i want to move to canada with my closest friends who ACTUALLY WANT ME after visiting this month #theyre trying ti help figure it out but it's so hard when canada wants immigrant workers who can work skilled jobs and have degrees #and a ton of experience already. i am unskilled level 5 (lowest level) worker that does useless shit they dont seem to want 😭#my dream job there is to open a physical (and online) shop in a tourist mountain town and get tourists to buy all my shit lmao #they open pockets easily so it seems like the best place to open shop and its where my freiends live. in a tourist town.#but how to open and run business and afford it???? 😭#my biggest dream goal besides living with close comfortable found family is open a autistic/adhd friendly shop #where autistic/adhd and even ither ND and marginalized peoples can come and relax and be in a safe space #also ND friendly work!!! it will be owned and operated mostly by the found family but hire some other NDs/disabled people too!#and try our best to meet their needs and accommodate them and make it a great and fun place to work! its a family instead of a job!#why cant it be that simple tho 😭#writing this was exhausting and took a cpuple hours so not proofreading and hope it makes sense and not too many typos

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inkskinned · 3 months

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somewhere out there someone has probably used AI to write their wedding vows. someone out there is probably loading their hinge profile with AI quippy responses. when i close my eyes i picture a man hunting through chatGPT prompts, trying to get someone else to love him. maybe she sends him back chatGPT too, and two robots fall in love.

is this our new lives, then? is love scripted? i have a dandelion heart and some part of me wants to believe that AI will not obtain self-reliance by evil but instead by discovering the single perfect shape of love - the one thing humanity (in all our time and force) could never quite nail down. maybe it will be a string of numbers. the imprint of static, the universe's thumbprint. maybe it will just be a single long mirror, and jam dripping down your hands.

i know there are "good" reasons. i was nervous! or i was unsure how to say it! but - i want your nervous words. i want your unsure words. i want you to strike entire pages of work for me. i want you to gesture vaguely, to ransack your mind for ways to instead-of-saying just show me. i want to find where your words fail you and where the summer of your longing blazes out of you, infinite, resisting the capture of definition.

and i want to do the same for you. isn't any love worth a little bit of struggle? i want to shiver with the movie-ripe sense my friends are lovely and i am so tender towards them - i want to never quite be able to explain what it means to spend my life with them. i want to draw shapes on your skin that exit the geometric and fade into the same, wordless pattern. it is still love if silent. you know - i rarely, if ever, actually tell my siblings i love them? i just show up often, and hope the action does the talking.

i know AI is "easier". of course. buttoned up and seamlessly corporate. but i do not want to love you through a film. i do not want to love you with your edges sanded down. i cannot recognize myself in you if you are unmarred and glistening. something about how, with the crystal-clear mp3 files of the present, we ache for the scratch of vinyl. the flaws are what make love worth it. i want the raw and the windbeaten and the unkempt.

something tender, then. i love you because you're real, which means that you cannot be perfect.

#spilled ink #warm up #writeblr

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britneyshakespeare · 10 months

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re: my last post rambling about my siblings: i also realize of course that not everyone who has siblings has as good a relationship to them as i do, and that can be for any number of reasons, can have any number of resolutions, including just begrudgingly accepting that your sibling(s) are never gonna be the closest people in your life. i talked about how the bond i have with mine is akin to a commitment, because all of us prioritize each other, but i don't mean to make it sound idyllic or like it should be the universal standard. i am lucky but i am not naive. not everyone gets the siblings they would most wish to have, or some people just aren't that close to them and i don't particularly have a blanket judgment to make of that in all cases. however...

that guy i made a bunch of personal posts over the summer about because he was an emotionally abusive friend that i had to cut off, who asserted way too much control over my life, who was guilt-tripping and manipulative and sought to silence me etc etc etc he really was just never very accepting of me for who i was, never expressed interest in anything about me that didn't have to do with him, etc etc etc just that JERK guy who i still have nightmares about a few times a month. it took me a long time to accept that he wasn't just "depressed" and "anxious" but that he was actively using people; he wasn't accepting of harmony but always wanted control over others and their narratives, etc etc etc. there were certain sides of him i didn't see much because i got to know him in a rather isolated way. we had mutual contacts but i never worked with him or had a class with him or really even met him a few times before he started spilling his heart and soul to me privately and said i'm his best friend and i'm the only one who understands and supports him and basically pressured me to make him my project 24/7 and was incredibly disrespectful towards me whenever i asserted my own independence from him or just. wanted to see someone other than him or even just wanted to be by MYSELF. jesus. what a nightmare that guy was. IS, because i know he can't have changed and he probably never will.

THAT guy has a sibling. he has a little brother four years younger than him, and that guy was about two years younger than me. so his brother turned 18 this year. he graduated from high school. his brother is YOUNG, all things considered. and as much as he would constantly pour his heart out and gripe about every person he ever came into contact with (and as much as i now distrust a lot of the information he told me because i know he'll only ever say flattering things about himself and never speak forgivingly or with any nuance towards someone he labels now as "bad", including me)... the only time that i didn't really know how to listen with as open a heart was when he would start talking about how awful his little brother is. i'd be like, ok, so you had terrible friends in high school. all the people in your classes are shitty to you. this person has done you wrong and this person is awful and your parents and your family suck and this and that and this. no one has ever been good to you in your entire life except me? ok.

the ONLY time i was like "i don't know if i can take this at face value, i think you're being too harsh..." is when he would talk about his little brother. because i was like, well, from everything you're telling me, his problems sound like something he can very well grow out of. he'd be like oh he's PRETENTIOUS. lol ok. he's a senior in high school, of course he sometimes acts like he knows everything. why do you act like he's a lost cause? i could also tell that there must've been some personal jealousy in there bc his brother was kind of the "more accomplished" sibling, did better in school, that sort of thing. i don't know what it's like to be an older sibling or to feel like you're living in the shadow of a sibling, especially a younger one, because i've always kind of been on a different path than any of my siblings/there hasn't really been a sense of competition between us. i would try to give him the benefit of the doubt and be like "well i guess i really don't know what that's like" because you CAN'T assume. i give EVERYONE the benefit of the doubt and i try to take people, especially when they're being vulnerable with me, at their word, which is exactly how i got so involved with this guy and ended up being so used by him and under his thumb. horrible. he's a monster. anyway.

and whenever i'd be like "well he's just a kid" to every negative thing he'd say about his little brother, that's when he'd dismiss the subject and stop talking about it. and this isn't something that came up a couple of times but came up a LOT. he'd shit talk his brother to me at least several times a week, always unprompted, because why would i wanna hear someone badmouth a teenager? and it'd always be the pettiest shit. one time he even told me that he noticed his brother didn't come home last night and he didn't know where he was and i was like "oh my god is he ok? that's terrifying" and it's like he did that just so he could tell me "no i don't really care honestly. the two of us aren't close." it's like he wasn't just not-close with this kid but he was obsessed with hating him.

not only did his reasons never seem to satisfy me, but he never seemed to acknowledge that his little brother shared all of the traumas and adverse experiences he grew up with, the discrimination he faced and the familial trauma and the structures of abuse he would tell me about from his parents. he would mention how these are all the problems and the reasons he can't trust people and why he's so fucked up but he didn't seem to have any patience or empathy for someone younger than him brought up in the same exact environment. it's like he wanted his brother to always just fuck off and die.

none of this made any sense to me, it was if anything the BIGGEST sense of confusion i had with him for a long time because i dismissed all the ways he was cruel to *just me* until i started picking up all his patterns and realizing this all WASN'T just how he treats me. HE is the problem; HE is this entitled and controlling and nasty and manipulative towards everyone; HE has no self-awareness or regard for other people. it's not just ME not having the guts to stand up for myself when he made me feel uncomfortable or when i'd feel disrespected by something he said to/about me. he would know when he was saying something unacceptable or losing his temper; he did it with other people all the time. but he isolated and then lovebombed me so hard that i didn't see that this WAS how he treated everyone, but he made me in particular his prey because i was a trusting and trustworthy stranger, rather than someone who had seen him behave in such a way towards other people and could make the informed choice to stay away from him. it was never JUST ME but how could i have known that?? how?? i didnt know anything about his life except what he'd tell me, and he was actively sucking me away from all parts of my life he wasn't involved in, and/or forcing his way into them. there was no space between him and me; my life became his because he hijacked it and then forced me to do all his emotional labor and solve all his problems so i'd hardly have any energy to face my own.

anyway. yeah. it all made MUCH more sense when i realized HE is the problem between him and his brother. that didn't stick out as a red flag because again i'm trusting and i accept all these hypothetically broken or damaged familial relationships people have. HE really wanted me to hate this teenager for no good reason, like he wanted me to hate everyone else in his life that he'd ever decide to cast as a villain. i never understood why the teenage boy. never understood it. i'm like he's just a boy. OH but you're an awful horrible jerk who can't get along with anyone for longer than 2 minutes before you try and take control of everything about them and then lash out if they try to assert their independence. OOOHHH ok i get it now that makes sense. because that's what you've been doing to me all this time ohhh i get it.

#wow this is such a long post lol #long post #tales from diana #im not proofreading this so if this makes no sense well whatever #sorry if you... missed my... constant crises about this situation over the summer?#i do still have nightmares about him lol #i have otherwise been moving on... pretty ok #you know it's just such a relief to not talk to him anymore ever. love that #i have him blocked too 🖤🖤🖤#and he isn't a school/work acquaintance and we don't live suuuper close where i'd worry about seeing him in public randomly #i have had some friends that i explained our falling out to that have randomly ran into him. and he glared at them. lol #he really tried to involve all my friends in the messiest ways after he realized he was losing his control over me.#he was acting so entitled and imposing and overly-familiar and spilling all his 'problems' hes having with me #to ppl that i had introduced him to a couple of times and he would never be emotionally close with #but now he wants to pour his heart out about how he's been victimized by my callousness towards him (read: my individual identity/needs)#like what a fucking trainwreck that was.#in fact i encouraged him to be vulnerable with some of these friends like he was ALWAYS being vulnerable to me #making me support him 24/7 and literally never giving me time to do or think about anything else #never reciprocating interest or concern when it comes to my own life in any way. even if he KNEW about problems i had going on #just no sympathy from him whatsoever. he was just a sympathy vampire. he took and took and took and never gave back.#like i said he's the most self-centered person i've ever met.#yeah. i need to drop this now #but i do feel bad for his little brother. bc everything i ever felt sympathy for him for also applies to his brother #but his BROTHER has never shown any signs to me of being nearly as disgusting as he is.#he's brother's just a kid. but imagine having such a nightmare of a brother for the rest of your life. im sorry to him

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months

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Hey I liked your writing on reader having to get in between Wolverine and Deadpool all the time 😆 it made me think what it would be like if they were crushing on you and there is a rivalry between them. If you could write what they’d do to win your favor or what shenanigans that would come with it 😂 subtle or not

These two weren’t fond of sharing.

So when the other finds that they have similar feelings towards you, the outcome is never good.

They’re childish in a way where if either Logan or Wade was coincidentally standing too close to you, the other was bound to notice and make a scene out of it, all the while you wished you were anywhere else in that moment.

The pair couldn’t get along even if they bothered to try as sooner or later they’d end up stabbing each other just because the other one was breathing too loudly or just merely existing.

And yet their feelings towards you ends up causing Logan and Wade to butt heads more often, especially if you were constantly teaming up together, with you often being their meditator in all their conflicts.

Wade was more vocal and borderline flirty when it came to interacting with you, he would crack jokes, boop you on the nose or even playfully smack you on the ass just to hear your yelp in surprise and become all flustered.

‘Plush ass you’ve got there, babe! wouldn’t mind laying my head on it sometime and use it as a beautiful fluffy pillow.’ - Wade, skipping away.

Wade could be quite clingy at times so there would be moments where you can barely escape the guy as he hanging on your side like a koala bear.

You: Wade can you let go.

Wade: and let go of my emotional support person? *gasp* Do you want me to die?

You: well considering how fast you regenerate, you technically can’t die-

Wade: do you hate me? Do you think I’m clingy?

You: no- well yes but-

Wade: you hate me!

Wade can be dramatic and the only way to shut him up is to just let him be in close proximity of you and allow him to talk your ear off about how good a dog parents you’d be to Dogpool.

Dogpool is your weakness, you could never say no to Dogpool and Wade knows this like the back of his hand and will use this as leverage over wolverine.

After all It’s not like he has a version of himself that was an actual wolverine or maybe even a honey badger in yellow spandex. So Wade counts this as a win on his end.

Logan on the other hand would be more subtle with his approach, even though to Wade, Logan’s subtly was as an dopey cow standing in a field of grass with how the scruffier man tended to keep by your side protectively; so much so that he might as well start growling at every person who ever laid eyes on you in general.

He’s a guard dog of a man in every sense of the word but how that came to be was from a whole lot of trauma and loosing people he’s ever cared about, so needless to say he won’t act like he’s interested in you at first, his heart had been wounded about as much as his body has and even had the mental scars to prove it.

He’s lived a long life of pain, fighting, suffering and heartache. He’s not going to falter so easily until you did something that made him feel safe enough to fall for you.

Once he has however it was impossible to go about the mission without him always wanting to stand guard by your side when he sees someone he doesn’t fully trust, always using his body as a shield for your own as Logan knew he could handle much more punishment then you could. So he’d rather avoid you being grievously hurt by any means possible.

He’d probably scold you if you ever were hurt as he was afraid that he might loose you, yet his hands were gentle but firm as they worked to patch your wound so it’d heal properly.

Wolverine: you’re an idiot you know.

You: wow I really feel the love over here.

Wolverine: *huffs* you expect me to kiss your ass when what you did was reckless and could’ve killed you? *his hands linger on your own even long after he’s done patching you up as though committing your warmth to memory*

Logan is a secret softy who wouldn’t push you away if you were to ever fall asleep on him, he’d grumble but that’s about it.

He’d even toss you his jacket if you were to ever complain about being too cold or leave it somewhere for you to take yourself, again he’d act like he didn’t want you to but he actually did with how he almost smiled upon seeing you looking comfortable in his jacket.

Logan is evidently more subtle about his crush on you then Wade is, or so he’d likes to think but Wade can messily tell he’s smitten when he sees how Logan’s eyes were quick to follow you in a crowded room with protectiveness and adoration.

Wade: aww has our dear friend taken the stick out of your ass and you fell in love?

Logan: *growls* fuck off Wade.

Wade: *holds his hands to his lips and gasps* oh my gosh! You have! Me too!

Logan: *looks at him* you what?!

Wade: yeah cats out of the bag, I like them too wolvie. you’re not the only one to find them cute, how close minded of you seriously.

They can’t share to save their lives, I’ve mentioned this before but they genuinely can’t even if they tried because one is them was bound to get jealous and try to take you away from the other.

Wade: do you really want to be near me grumpy all the time? Yawn fest much.

You: stop riling him up, you’re making Logan mad. Why are you like this?

Wade: maybe because you deserve to be in the company of someone who isn’t still unhealthily hung up on his previous red headed lover.

Logan: you shut your fucking mouth.

Wade: see! He’s not denying it!

You: I’m going to go now. *leaves*

Logan: you should make full time fuck head your job.

Wade: and you should make full time teenage brooder in a full grown man’s body who still isn’t over his first breakup yours.

The shenanigans that would occur between these two would be headache inducing to say the least.

The constant fights that would break out between them that you’d have to break up.

The bickering over who gets to act like a couple with you on missions. They might even play rock, paper, scissors multiple times behind your back.

Wade probably tried to trip Logan up in front of you once but it backfired when Logan made Wade trip up instead as he puts a hand on your lower back and guided you away from the poor Merc with a mouthful of dirt.

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soft4gguk · 1 month

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yearning | jjk one shot

the one that finds you in Jungkook's doorstep after a night out...

Description: idol!jungkook x reader, fwb

Content: porn with loads of plot!

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: oc smokes 1 cigarette lol, they’re so flirty ouch, so much kissing, cutest little dynamic, dry humping (a personal fave in this house), fingering, protected sex (they’re so smart!!), loads of spanking, jaykay ass man forever.

Author’s Note: i once sworn to never write idol aus because… i know nothing about this man ok? i do not claim to know what he’s like in a relationship or a situationship or in his personal life!! so please thread carefully when reading <3333 that being said, his lives last year and these first couple of episodes of “are you sure?” have me feeling very delulu so here u go!! hope you enjoy xo

★ masterlist ★

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

The moment you exit the club, a gust of summer breeze engulfs you. It makes you wrap your arms around your body, but it amounts to nothing, the little black dress that you’d made the executive decision to wear, in the name of fashion, betraying you. The tequila shots you'd downed before leaving the house sure had deceived your senses, too.

Needless to say, you regret said decision, a shiver running down your spine all the way to your legs, making you jump a little in place as you tipsily look around you. You’d cut the night short. Your friends had found another lonely pair they’d quickly gotten cozy with, leaving you to drink one too many gin & tonics all by yourself. You hadn’t minded it for the first two hours, enjoying the music, sparking conversation with the bartender from time to time and entertaining the occasional stranger. Eventually though, it became boring, predictable, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel a little shitty about yourself.

It was all getting repetitive. Friday nights, the same faces, small talk, ice breakers. Even the strangers you met had a similar M.O., making it all seem predictable. It made it feel like a waste of self, more than a waste of time, and it ate at you in moments like these, where it was strange to feel lonely amongst a sea of people, unable to shake the feeling.

The bright city lights illuminate the night, lacing it with something livelier than your mood and you smile. At least the scenery is always pretty. Pretty places. You hear the laughter of a group of people that stand a couple of feet away from you, they seem happy in that genuine way that reflects in pure, unadulterated beauty. Pretty people.

You think of him.

It’s rather instant. Or perhaps instinctive. The very own butterfly effect of your thoughts because to you, he’s the prettiest of them all. He’d been since the very first day, and as you lose focus of the pretty sights the more you stare into the city lights with him on your mind, you can’t help but think nothing will ever stand close.

A girl stands next to you, audibly shivering as she exits the club and the air greets her with the same fate it did you. She holds a cigarette between her red lips, the fire from her pink lighter shining on her red hair. It makes you crave one, too, rummaging through your bag for your own. You smile when you remember how he would tease you for smoking “the skinny kind” as he would call them. Calling you a bit of a snob, but all in lighthearted nature. After all, he could. He knew you enough to let your closeness turn into inside jokes, banter.

Perhaps giving into a vice could prevent you from falling into another.

“Can I borrow your lighter?” she smiles at you before she’s handing it over. Her nails are pink, too.

The fire feels pleasant for all of five seconds, warm against your face as you take the first drag. You give into one instinct so as to distract yourself from the one that’s tugging at your heart and senses, begging you to make a reckless call.

You check the time.

2:32 A.M.

Jungkook scrolls through the endless list of channels aimlessly. Small snippets from whatever’s playing that he cuts short, not really giving it much thought. He settles on one, solely so he can stop putting exertion on his thumb and go back to leaning against his couch – fully relaxed. He sighs. On the screen, some drama he hasn’t gotten around to watching plays, and the story seems to be developing quickly. He doesn’t care for it, if he’s honest, simply content with the white noise it fills the room with.

Bam leaves his dog house, standing right in front of him and they seem to start an unspoken staring contest. He smiles, patting the spot right next to him on the couch and the pup rushes to take the place excitedly. He gets cuddles and kisses simply for existing. For keeping him company – his presence giving Jungkook more peace than he’ll ever know.

“Hey, Bam, should we, like, meet up in our next life as well? Perhaps I’ll be the dog in that one and you’ll be my owner.”

Bam simply stares and Jungkook swears if he could, he’d let out a deep sigh right now. This makes him laugh.

“Hey, don’t be jumping of excitement at the idea, man.”

At this, he attacks. With kisses, that is – wet, sloppy kisses that have Jungkook giggling and pushing back, though it is no use, his dog is that determined to give him love.

“Alright, you win. Let’s go get a beer. For me, not for you. You’re still too young. One day, son.” His voice takes on a lower tone, imitating his father. Or maybe Yoongi’s, he can’t tell anymore.

He retrieves a cold beer mug from his freezer and cracks the can open, nodding his head at the sound it makes, the fizziness bubbling up before he pours it in the cold glass. He takes a sip as he walks back to the couch, blissed out in leisure.

He doesn’t mind being alone, specially not on nights like this when sleep leaves him and everything but seems more tempting. He likes the way everything slows down at this time of day, the ease of it all. No one to see, no texts to reply to. As for what the world is concerned for, he’s asleep. It’s peaceful, just being.

Plopping down on the couch, he rests against the pillows, making himself comfortable. He must’ve spoken too soon, he thinks, because it’s not thirty seconds after this that his phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of him. He ponders on the possibility of simply ignoring it, let it sit there, facing down. But something tells him he should check the message. It could be important, or not. The pull isn’t necessarily violent, just a quiet voice that tells him so, like a little nudge. He leans forward, setting his beer on the table before he’s taking a hold of his phone.

He gets it now – the pull.

From ___: jungkookie, u awake?

To ___: no

From ___: can I call?

He smiles – so fucking big he almost hates that he does, slightly flustered and embarrassed you have this quick of an effect on him. And before he can talk himself out of it, he calls you.

Seeing his name flash on your phone screen does more to you than anything you’ve deemed exhilarating tonight. The simple prospect of hearing his voice rushes more excitement through your body than any of the mindless conversations you had this evening. Than any of the conversations you’ve had all week perhaps. You smile and there’s no doubt that he can hear it in your voice when you say,

“Hey.”

There’s a moment of silence and you can hear the smile on his face, too. It’s warmth – he’s warmth, even far. How far is he, you wonder. Did you happen to demand of him at a bad time? Will the end of this call find you disappointed?

You cut to the chase.

“What are you up to?”

There’s a pause and you can hear the way he sinks into his couch. “Can’t sleep so I’m having a beer and watching some TV with Bamie.”

He’s home and a giddy giggle escapes you. “Ahh,” you say.

“You? It sounds busy in there.”

“Yeah, I’m outside the club.”

“Fun night?”

“No.” You don’t lie, you never lie to him. Don’t have the need to, or the want to. Everything about Jungkook is comfort – the kind that welcomes.

“Yeah, had a feeling. It’s not really your scene, is it?”

Your head leans to the side, eyes closing for a moment. He knows you in ways most people don’t, and it’s a simple remark but it gets to you. The fact that he doesn’t see you for the parts of you that feel the emptiest settles on your heart. It’s good, you think, to be seen by someone who observes.

“I want to see you.” There’s all the point in the world to be honest right now.

“Come over. I’ll make you ramen.”

“Will you show me your cat?”

There’s a pause. You picture him smiling, biting his lip, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, that too.”

You sway from side to side, a little drunkenly and a whole lot excited, as you stand in front of his door. It’s brief, but as you wait you make a little reflection on your emotions. What exactly do you feel right now? It’s been so long – probably not that long – but long enough to make you happier than usual to be seeing his face. Anyone else would make you nervous, and perhaps he does, too, if only a little. But it’s a different kind of nervous. It’s laced with sweetness, as opposed to anxiety. And the minute he opens his front door, it’s replaced by something sweeter.

Yearning.

He stands there, glasses and black sweatpants on, signature oversized shirt – something so very home about him. Your eyes widen as you take in his hair, it’s grown significantly, giving you a rough idea of when it was you last saw him. Two, three months ago. He looks good; rested, fresh, beautiful. You can smell him before you even touch him and it makes you smile. He returns it.

Yeah – yearning.

“I like your hair,” you say, because anything else would give you away.

“Yeah?” he runs a hand through it. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” Let it give you away, you think. Who cares?

“Alright, well- it was nice seeing you.” He says, closing the door in a too casual, yet dramatic manner and you laugh, simply standing there – a little flustered because, oh does it feel good when Jeon Jungkook flirts with you in that boyish, teasing way only he knows how.

He doesn’t close the door all the way. Instead, he leaves it open far enough for you to see the way he peeks his head out, nose scrunch and toothy smile to signal just how proud he is of himself right now.

“Come here,” he tells you, reaching his hand out from the little gap and pulling you closer as you yelp, squeezing through the nearly closed door. “I missed you.”

You’re in his arms again, and the moment he closes the door behind you, his lips are on yours. It’s a soft kiss, one that says I missed you because you know him well enough by now to understand the things he says with his lips, and his eyes. With his hands, too.

“Mm,-“ you don’t want to pull back to get your words out, so you don’t. “Me more.”

Jungkook was always a happy coincidence – or at least that’s what you told yourself in a futile attempt to tame the feelings down. But the truth was that being back in his arms felt like fate, in that gentle way that doesn’t come in a movie-like encounter or in some sort of catastrophe bringing you together. Just being here. Anywhere, with him, felt fateful. You opt to believe in angels right this second just to thank them.

“How are you,” his hand cups your cheek, pecking your lips before you can answer.

“Good- better now.” His kisses muffle your words and you think you could live with this interruption for the rest of your life.

“Yeah, me too.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as he circles his around your middle. You take him in, not one for big displays of affection yet this one you could never deny, could never not welcome.

It’s a sweet moment but the pull turns hasty soon enough the more your lips become familiar with one another yet again. You run your fingers through his long hair, rejoicing in its softness and length. His hand travels down, slowly but a bit desperately, squeezing when they meet your ass.

What has a promising ending is cut short by none other than your rumbling stomach. It’s rather loudly and you both hear it, laughing in the middle of the kiss you two seem to refuse parting from.

“You hungry, baby?”

“You promised ramen. And something about a cat.” Your lips part and you look at him, a pretty smile on his equally pretty face.

“Mm, yeah. I did. I’m all stocked up on ramen but the cat…,”

“I prefer Bamie anyways.”

You leave his arms, a smile on your face as you walk towards his beloved child’s crate. The moment he sees you, he hesitates for a moment, not yet having Jungkook’s command to leave his space but he’s excited – you can even make up his little tail wagging from side to side.

“Come here, baby.”

He runs to you and nearly tackles you, settling into the floor to give him the proper cuddles he deserves. He steps on you the way he did when he was a puppy, sitting down on your knees as you scratch under his ears.

“No one’s allowed to tell him he’s grown up. He’s little forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “He’s Jiminie’s height.”

You sneer at him, shaking your head at his joke. He stands there, staring at you with a fondness he reserves for certain things that bring him that kind of comfort that’s gotten rarer over the years. He’s grown up, matured and gotten real about a lot of things but not you.

Never you.

You’re still the innocence he kissed you with that very first time and the little bit of fear it wouldn’t go further than that. You’re the excitement he had when it did. You’re the flirty teasing and the falling in trust, opening himself little by little. You’re still something he once dreamt about – he still does. You’re the thing he has and doesn’t at the same time. You’re you.

Your loud giggles as Bam licks your cheek wake him up from his little daydream and he winces at the sloppy kisses he’s leaving. You don’t seem to mind though and he knows that if it were up to you, you’d stay there til dawn. No ramen, no cat.

“Alright, alright. Daddy’s getting jealous now. You can’t have her all to yourself.”

Your cheeky smile tells him you’re up to no good. “Daddy, huh? Have we ever tried that?”

“What haven’t we tried?” He genuinely ponders on his own question.

“Pegging!” You say, a little too quickly and excitedly for his liking.

“Absolutely not.”

“Mean.”

“Come on, let’s feed you.”

You smile. “Okay, daddy.”

It’s a chaos in the kitchen in between distracting kisses and your tipsy antics, munching on Jungkook’s leftover fried chicken as you scavenger hunt his cupboards for anything that could satisfy your alcohol induced need for sweets and carbs. You’d begged for pancakes, but he didn’t have any honey, and what’s pancakes without honey, really?

“Ramen. Enoki and spring onions.” He says, convincing himself more than he convinces you.

“Okayyyyy. Ramen, enoki- what else did you say?”

His thumb and pointer finger rest at his temples in mock exasperation, making you giggle. “Hey, why don’t you go shower? This’ll be ready when you’re done.”

“Will you be able to work a knife with the thought of me all wet and naked in your shower?”

“I’ll get you wet and naked later. Go sober up. Quick, quick!”

You laugh, kissing his cheek loudly and ruffling his hair before you leave the kitchen, making your way to his bedroom with familiarity - like you’ve done it hundreds of times and perhaps you have if you were to count.

You know where he keeps the towels, that it’s the left tap that opens the hot water, the way his soap smells and what brand of shampoo he uses. His face wash and moisturizer are familiar to you because it’s the same brand you use. You’d left them here once and never got the bottles back. He began purchasing them after they ran out.

You put on the same black Carhartt shirt you always do. It feels and smells the same. It makes you yearn and when you miss him, you smile in the comfort of knowing he’s in the kitchen, probably eating ramen from the pot as you take your sweet time in the bathroom.

All clean and cozy, his house always being the perfect temperature with the add on warmth that swarms your insides at knowing you’re with him, you make your way back to the kitchen. He’s reaching for bowls, back to you and your voice startles him when you say,

“Don’t get dishes dirty, let’s eat from the pot.”

He turns to you, a boyish smile forming on his lips at the sight of you in his comfy, oversized shirt. He’s seen you in it more times than he can count but it still makes his insides tingle. Butterflies, dare he say, is what the sight gives him.

“You sure?”

“Aren’t you? Afraid of exchanging saliva?” You poke your tongue at him and he grabs your wrist, pulling you swiftly towards him.

“Not the funnest way we’ve exchanged juices, but it’ll do for now.”

“Juices.” Your nose scrunches at his words.

“Mm.”

He kisses you, ramen getting cold in the pot as your lips make him forget all about his hunger in the first place. Your stomach doesn’t, though. Interrupting your heated little moment yet again.

“Feed me.”

“On your knees, then.” He teases, lips still on yours.

“That sounds more like a treat than a threat.”

He smiles, passing you the chopsticks. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“With me. Yes. Just me.”

His words are selfish, of this much he’s aware. He knows exclusivity is too much to ask for. He knows the baggage he comes with and the hesitation that shines through your eyes whenever you find yourselves slipping into comfort and familiarity a little too much. How he can almost tell he’s about to go a season without you, just by this comfort alone. But he can’t help but want you, all to himself. He can’t help but say you’re his even if he’s just saying it. And when the smile on your lips meet your eyes in an almost nostalgic way, he knows you feel the same.

“Yeah. I am.”

“I am with you, too.”

“I’d say I tried to talk myself out of texting you tonight, but I’d be lying.” Your chopsticks play with the noodles, eyes not meeting his.

“Why would you talk yourself out of texting me?”

You shrug.

“Don’t.” His voice is firm and your eyes finally look at his. “I’m always- I always want to see you, ___.”

“I know, it’s just- you know.” You say, and he does. He knows what you mean and he’s glad you don’t voice it because he doesn’t think he can bear the words that would only add insult to injury to the way your gaze falls, that spark threatening to dim its light.

“Yeah,” he gets closer, but it’s almost careful. His thumb caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. “But you’re here now. I want you here now. Come back to me.”

You stare into his big eyes, smiling at him not because your heart isn’t breaking but because you wouldn’t dare break his with the reality of the situation. So you lie, but it holds truth. “I’m always with you.”

As you two eat, in bursts of comfortable silences and mindless yet meaningful conversations, you start to get used to him again. You’re too tired to fight it, and when you welcome it, it’s sweet.

The pot is empty, your bellies full. You lean against the counter as he puts you to date, catches you up on what his life has looked like for the past two months or so. Trips to L.A., New York, photoshoots, late nights in the recording studio, music videos, long flights and a Calvin Klein campaign you shamelessly admit to swoon over every time you pass by it. He asks about you and you keep your updates mostly work related. Long flights, long meetings, long days. Short bursts of inspiration and even shorter waves of motivation. You omit to tell him about the things you’re maybe not so proud of. The partying, the drinking on a wednesday night, the way your friends don’t feel like your friends anymore, more like acquaintances that keep you around when they deem convenient. You think his words could help, provide comfort and advice, but at the same time you fear the reality of the situation could burst the bubble of bliss you find yourself in right this moment.

So you talk. You catch up. You play friends for a while, feel real mature when he shares snippets of his life that involve other people, other girls. People in his radar, his line of work, the love interest in his music video. Jungkook does, too. Feels like perhaps he’s come a long way when you tell him about trips you’ve taken with friends, new restaurants you’ve tried, galas he knows you haven’t attended alone. It’s all fine, it’s good. Total control of your feelings as you take each other in.

Bam interrupts him mid-sentence, a sleepy whine in half protest he lets out as he walks inside the kitchen.

“Aw, Jungkook,” you coo, “he’s sleepy.”

“Time for bed, Bamie?” He smiles, reaching down to scratch under his ears. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

You smile, well aware that he keeps his dog bed in a cozy room in his house, quite literally puts him to bed every night. It makes you think about how good of a dad he’ll make one day, how much love is stored inside of him, how he likes to be needed and shows affection through acts of service. Your smile drops a bit, a feeling taking over you that you don’t like but have grown used to over the years.

You snap out of it, busying yourself as you begin to tidy up the kitchen, sliding his pink rubber gloves over your hands before you start washing the single pot, knife and chopsticks he’d used to make you dinner. It doesn’t take him long to be back, though, walking back inside the kitchen and smiling at the sight before him. You hum a song he can’t make up, hips shimmying to the beat as you scrub the pot. Your shirt rides up a little and he cocks his head to the side, smiling at the way your underwear peeks from underneath the fabric. A black and lacy thong that has him nodding his head in boyish satisfaction.

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells you, making you jump in place a bit at the sound of his voice.

You turn around, bringing a gloved finger to your lips as you shush him before you’re pointing it at the couch and shooing him away. “I’ll only be a second. Wait for me there.”

“‘Kay, boss.” He army salutes you, turning around and walking back to the couch, sitting down and sinking further into the cushions, legs spreading as he scrolls through his phone, a bit impatiently, missing you even though you’re so close.

And to Jungkook’s great fortune, he doesn’t have to wait for much longer. Wrapping it up in the kitchen, you give it one last glance to make sure it’s back to its pristine state before you’re making your way towards him. He looks up at you, throwing his phone to the side and following you with his eyes, smiling when you’re in front of him.

“Thank you for dinner,” you say, voice sweet and low, eyes a bit hazy.

“Come here.” He takes your hand in his, pulling you closer to him, bottom lip getting caught between his teeth as you throw your legs at either side of him, straddling him.

“I needed this,” you admit.

“Me too,” he breathes. “I’m glad you called.”

You pout, eyes looking up for a second as you ponder. “You called me.”

He chuckles, not a single ounce of desire to deny you. “I’m glad I called.”

You giggle, arms wrapping around his neck and fingers getting lost in his long hair. His head draws back as your nails massage his scalp gently and he relaxes at your touch, goosebumps adorning his skin. His hands travel under your shirt, promptly finding your hips, waist, and then threatening to go higher but Jungkook wants to take his time tonight. He wants to stay in the sweet state of wanting you for a bit longer. When his eyes are back on yours, you kiss him. He sighs against your lips, bringing you closer to him by the waist, letting his tongue taste your bottom lip before he’s tasting your mouth. It’s slow, a bit sloppy and lazy, holds the quality of anything that happens in the middle of the night, when no one’s watching and time stills for the two of you.

“Your skin is so soft,” he says, lips still on yours.

“It’s your body lotion.” You roll your hips over his, smiling when you pull a low groan straight out of him.

“Yeah,” he says, hands traveling down before he’s squeezing your ass, guiding your hips into his. “You smell like me. I like it.”

“I like it, too.” Your words get caught up in a moan as the outline of his cock parts your slit perfectly.

You pull away a bit hesitantly, hands coming to rest at his shoulders as your hips pick up the pace. You go slow but sink deeper into him with every roll of your lips, eyes never parting from his as you take in the way his face starts to contort in pleasure, mouth parting slightly as his breathing grows heavier, little grunts leaving his lips with every push and pull. His hands travel back down to your hips, squeezing a little at the soft flesh, guiding them as you move over his cock. He’s so hard, can feel you through the layers, can bet on the fact that you’re wet and pulsing for him right now.

“That feels good,” he sighs, gaze dropping as he rides your shirt up a bit at the front. His eyes fixate on the way the thin, lacy fabric of your panties bunches up every time you throw your hips back.

“Brings back memories,” you say, voice a bit shaky when a particular roll of your hips has the tip of his cock hitting right against your clit.

Jungkook smiles, mind hazy but perfectly able to picture the memories you refer to. “Mhm,” he sighs, so entrapped by the feeling he swears he can feel you pulse against him. He likes the way you consume his senses. The way everything around him stills and all he can think about is you. His hands squeeze at the flesh on your hips before he says, “turn around, baby.”

“‘Kay.”

Jungkook feels the loss of your warmth as you stand up before him once again, smiling at him before you’re turning around and sitting on his lap. You press your back to his chest, letting your head fall to his shoulder, your lips meeting his cheek in an open mouth kiss. His hands travel up your body, palms closing around your tits, thumbs playing with your nipples over the thick fabric of your shirt. You circle your hips, chasing the same friction from before but it’s not enough in this position. You bring your body forward, hands resting on his thighs as you throw your ass back at him, your pussy perfectly aligned on top of his cock, making you both moan at the same time. Jungkook’s gaze drops to your ass, enthralled by the way he feels, by the way you look. He rides your shirt up your back, exposes you to him and it only eggs you on, moving against his cock at the perfect rhythm.

He hooks a finger down the side of your panties, letting it travel down, smiling lazily at the way you trap his knuckles between your pussy and his cock, moaning as you grind on them. He can feel how wet you are, dripping for him already even though he hasn’t touched you yet. “Want my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, please,” you plead, voice shaky as you look back at him.

He’d usually tease you, make you beg for it a little longer, but tonight Jungkook obliges. It’s been long – too long – and all he can think about is being inside you, feeling you around him, making you feel good. He takes his time simply so he can savor the moment. So he can memorize it well enough to store it somewhere inside of him, just in case it’s another three months until he sees you again.

He pushes his middle and ring finger inside of you, hissing at your warmth, cock jumping inside his sweatpants in anticipation and a little big of neglect. You close your eyes, pleasure taking over you as he begins to thrust his fingers inside of you slowly, arching expertly every time they hit your g-spot. His free hand squeezes around your ass cheek, groaning when the hand that fucks into you pushes down on his cock, aiding at giving him some much needed friction. You feel lightheaded already, all-consumed in his hold as he takes over your every sense. Your body relaxes and you can feel the way your tummy tenses right away.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna cum,” your voice is faint but he hears you well enough.

“Already? That was fast, baby.” You don’t miss the cocky tone his words hint at.

“Shut up and don’t stop,” you say, looking back at him playfully.

You see the way he smiles at you before his gaze is dropping back down, fingers moving expertly inside of you at the same pace, applying a bit more force as he pushes in, massaging that spot with the tip of his fingers. The added pressure has you mewling in no time, nails digging into his thighs, teeth biting at your bottom lip to ground you back into the moment as you let go.

“Fuck,” he says as he feels you cum around his fingers, sweet moans filling the space around you and he so badly wishes he could look at your face right now. “Yeah, baby, that’s it.” He feels the way you contract around him, hips circling over his hand as you ride the waves of pleasure.

You come down after a minute, mind still hazy as you fall back into him, lips finding his the moment he turns his head to the side. You kiss him, breathing into his mouth, smiling in your fucked out bliss. “That was so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. “I need you to fuck me now.”

“Want it?” he asks, and you nod your head. “You can have it.”

“Yeah, want it so bad, Jungkook.” Your voice is needy, holds a dreaminess to it that Jungkook doesn’t miss – one that makes him melt into your words, your touch, your lips as you kiss him again.

Jungkook presses his hips into you, raising them a bit as he pushes his sweatpants down. You help him take them off, hand reaching back before you’re wrapping it around his cock. He’s hard and pulsing for you and if you weren’t pulsing for him, too, you’d probably want him in your mouth right this second. He feels heavy, big and thick in your hold, a grunt leaving his lips when your thumb circles around the head. You love how sensitive he is, how receptive.

“Condom,” he says, before he runs out of blood in his brain and it all falls down to his cock.

“In my bag,” you say, reaching to the side and pulling it towards you. You rummage around it for a second too long – a second that has Jungkook’s mind betraying him. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But nonetheless he can’t help but wonder where you’d be right now if he’d been asleep and hadn’t seen your text. Perhaps in the same position but with a stranger. Or maybe a stranger only to Jungkook. Perhaps he hadn’t been the only person you texted tonight. “Here you go, baby.”

Your voice dismantles his worries and he’s warm again, all thoughts vanishing and it’s back to you and him. He leans forward, kissing your lips as he takes the condom from your hand. It makes you blush slightly, biting your lip in anticipation as you watch as he rips the foil of the packaging with his teeth. You watch the way he smirks as he rolls the condom on.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Just thinking,” he says, smile growing wider, cheek dimples making him look cute but something about his voice begs to differ.

You hum. “Thinking about what?”

He smiles. “July 14th, 2021.”

You both crack up, laughter filling the air the moment the words leave his mouth because of course you know what July 14th, 2021 meant. You’d been in a position very similar to this one, perhaps a bit more hazy minded, the true meaning of the heat of the moment finding you the minute you’d realized neither of you had a condom. You’d looked into each other’s eyes and made the silent agreement to be a little reckless and put a whole lot of trust on birth control and Jungkook’s pull out game.

He said he’d never forget that day.

“Long live, July 14th, 2021,” you say.

“Shhh,” he says, squinting his eyes and bringing a finger to his mouth. “Don’t remind me.”

“You reminded yourself,” you bite back. “Now, can you fuck me? Pretty please.”

“Yeah, baby, come here.”

You push your ass back at him, looking at him from over your shoulder, biting your lip in anticipation as he strokes his cock once, twice, before he’s lining himself against your entrance. His hand comes to your hip, pulling you down towards him as you push him inside of you. You both sigh, moaning as he bottoms out, so deep and warm it has Jungkook throwing his head back against the couch, sinking further into it and pushing impossibly deeper into you.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you whimper, nails digging into his flesh.

“Fuck me, baby,” he says, running a hand through his long hair. You nod, circling your hips a couple of times as you adjust to his size before you start moving your hips into him, ass bouncing with every push and pull. He hisses at the sight alone, bringing his hand down as he delivers a hard slap against your cheek, making you moan. “Shit, just like that. You’re so hot, ___.”

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

“Yeah, baby?” His eyes are back on yours, threatening to close in pleasure at the way your pussy feels around him.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, baby. So much.”

You fall into his chest, kissing him as he wraps his hand around your throat, not applying any pressure, just simply holding you. You gasp into his mouth when his other hand travels down and finds your clit, drawing lazy circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. You whine and he moans when you move your hips to the rhythm of his touch.

“I don’t wanna be on top anymore,” you say, pouting into his lips, frowning when you feel his chest shake in laughter.

“Of course you don’t.”

“I’m an awful top.”

“You’re not a top.”

“Hey, I was a good top that one time,” you protest.

“Mm, yeah, that was hot. You got all bossy on me.”

“Oh, but that’s regardless,” you tell him, pushing your lips into his once more and straightening your back, smiling as you look back at him. He wipes said smile off your face in a second, hand meeting your ass in another hard slap.

“Stay there,” he says, holding firmly onto your hips.

“Okay, daddy.” That earns you another slap, though you can’t say it wasn’t exactly the goal in mind.

“Behave.”

Your face grows pliant as you nod at him and Jungkook has to fight to keep up the front because if he’s being honest, the sight alone drives him crazy, threatens to break him down completely and leave him a needy, whiny mess. He holds you in place, legs raising you up a bit before he starts pistoling his hips against you, fucking you hard and fast and even though you saw it coming, it still takes you by surprise. The force of his thrusts, how good he feels as the pain translates into pleasure, the noises he makes – it’s all too much but fuck, you don’t want him to ever stop. Your mouth parts in a silent moan, eyes closing as your face contorts in pleasure before the sensation ripples through you and you’re crying out. Your hand holds onto his arm and the firm grasp you have on it let’s him know.

“Fuck, I’m cummin,” you breathe out.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

“Oh my God,” you say, voice shaky and faint as you throw your body back into his.

“Fuck, I love your pussy.”

“I love your cock,” you say, fucked out giggles escaping your lips.

It takes you both a minute to steady your breathing and regain your strength. Jungkook kisses your neck, snaking a hand inside your shirt and squeezing your boob as you arch your back at the feel. “Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

“Music to my ears,” you say, giddy and excited.

Your knees buckle a bit when your feet touch the floor, the both of you laughing at your loss of balance, Jungkook a bit more cockily than you. He slaps your ass softly once, then twice as you begin to walk towards his bedroom. Once inside he takes his shirt off and when you turn around, your eyes scan over his body, metaphorically and possibly physically drooling over him. Your hands find the hem of your t-shirt before you’re pulling it off your body and tossing it aside until it’s landing on top of his. Your tits bounce as you do, and he nods his head at you, a satisfied pout adorning his lips. The pout turns sour the moment you turn around but is soon enough replaced with a smile when you start to crawl on top of his big mattress, finding the perfect spot over his pillows and laying down comfortably.

“You’re so perfect.” Jungkook says, because anything else would downplay it and he’s not in the mood to run away from the truth. You giggle, soft and sweet and he feels the way his heart aches for you inside his chest.

“Come to me,” you say, arms outstretched towards him. He makes his way to you, letting himself hover over you for a minute as he takes you in before he’s falling perfectly between your legs. You kiss him, letting your fingers get lost in his hair, breathing into the kiss and you swear this moment is laced in pure, unadulterated bliss. “Want to feel you inside me.”

“I’ll give it to you, baby. I’ll give you anything you want.”

There it is, yet again, and without a fail. It’s so common you nearly miss it – the way the moment turns tender. It’s mostly soft, this unspoken agreement you’ve fallen into with Jungkook. It’s friendship and attraction, good sex and years of exploring each other. It’s trust and communication. It’s understanding. It’s soft at the beginning and tender halfway through. It’s so tender it feels tangible, like the moment itself could fit inside the palm of your hand and feel ripe to the touch as you hold onto it. It’s tender when he looks into your eyes, it’s tender when his voice says your name, when you kiss his lips. It’s tender when the lust borders on something else. It’s tender when it lingers, when it threatens to fall.

He fucks you, hips moving against yours slowly, pulling moans out of your lips that get caught between his own when he kisses you.

“You feel so good,” you whisper into his mouth, words that only he could hear even if it weren’t just the two of you.

“Fuck, baby, so do you,” he whines, supple and yours, even if for that moment. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You smile, hand running through his hair before your fingers are pushing a strand behind his hear. “Cum for me, Kookie. Wanna feel you cum for me.”

Your words throw him over the edge, falling blissfully into you. It feels so fucking good. Your fingers running through his hair, down his neck and then back up again. The way your pussy clenches around him, cock throbbing for you at the wake of his release. Your lips are soft and the rise and fall of your chest falls into perfect sync with his. His hand squeezes at your breast before it’s traveling down your body, squeezing at your thigh before you’re wrapping your legs around his waist, flushed to him. Every little thing you do heightens his senses until all he can breathe, think and feel is you. His face falls down the crook of your neck and you breathe out a moan into his ear, unraveling him completely.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby.” His hips slow down before they still completely, a moan passing his lips as he releases into the condom, your nails softly running down his spine. His body feels spent but he doesn’t miss the way it relaxes on top of you, blissful and peaceful, growing sleepy right away.

“Feel good?” you ask, your fingertips running down his back in what feels like a feathery whisper.

“So fucking good,” he mumbles against the skin of your shoulder before his eyes are finding yours again. He kisses you. He kisses you because in moments like this he wants to say something else, something that makes more sense to his heart than anything his brain could say.

You kiss him back, afraid your heart will betray you, too.

You stare at him as you make your way back to his bed. He lays on his tummy, cheek pressed against the soft pillow, his pretty hair framing his face in a way that makes him look dreamlike. He doesn’t move an inch when you pull back the covers, if only for a second, to get back in bed with him. You lay on your side, eyes still fixed on him and your heart grows a new kind of tender at the sight of his sleeping form. He’s pouty and soft and so, so peaceful. Something sinks in your tummy, but it’s not in a way that signals bad news. Perhaps it’s the butterflies settling, perhaps the heat of the moment has began to cool down.

Your hand comes to his face, fingers gently pushing his hair out of his eyes before you let them wander down his face. His cheeks are soft, his ears cold and when it tickles, he frowns. Your thumb travels up again, smoothing his brow bone and he relaxes. Your eyes follow your touch as you trace the bridge of his nose, slowly, softly, as if you were being quizzed on it later. Wanting to take everything in, afraid that even blinking could take away from the moment. And when your finger lands on his lips, you trace that too the way your own did only minutes prior.

His eyes begin to flutter, a failed attempt to open them but you know he’s partially awake from the smile that pulls at his lips. You feel it on your finger before your eyes meet his gesture and when they do, you close them instinctively, leaning over and kissing him. His body can’t respond to his brain right now, exhausted and more asleep than he is awake, but he hums in satisfaction, lips puckering as he tries to give into his instincts.

“Let’s have breakfast together tomorrow,” he mumbles against your lips. “I’ll go buy honey and make you pancakes.”

You smile, though he can’t see, and perhaps it’s for the best. Your voice is a whisper when you say, “deal.”

His smile is the last thing you see before you fall asleep.

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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year

Text

Decoy [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 6.9k

summary: when you go after an unsub who catches students making out, the unit is called upon to resort to desperate measures. Or in other words, where you and Spencer become the decoy to catch a voyeur.

warnings: +16. Making out, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence, insinuation of smut, sexual tension

Do yourself a favor and imagine Spencer in these clothes during the case

You sighed, completely frustrated, while you looked for the thousandth time at the blackboard with some information from the profile that you had made for the criminal in this case.

You believed that the unsub was a Caucasian man between 30 and 35 years old, whose motive was to spy on and photograph university students who were escaping in their cars to make out at night, then force them to have sex in front of him and finally kill them cold-blooded. You imagined that he was a person with a mediocre job, that he felt insufficient, and that his voyeuristic behavior probably came from sexual frustration, something that could be corroborated by the violence that he inflicted on the genital area of the students whom he stalked using a knife, his mark on all homicides. You also believed that perhaps the rejection or abandonment of his last partner (preceded by a bad streak from his youth) due to his impotence had been the triggering event for all his repressed impulses to come to light.

All the psychological analysis was fine, it wasn't something you hadn't seen before, but the hard part of all this? Because he only threatened and killed people, he didn't rape them, at first it was almost impossible to tell who it was. He already had 20 victims in total and you weren't even close to catching him. In the last scene he had made the mistake of leaving a fingerprint and Garcia had been able to trace his true identity: Oliver Davis, a guy who fits the description perfectly. Unfortunately, this turned out to be useless because beyond the accusations of being a pervert, the man didn’t have much information that would give a clue to his whereabouts, you had even called the job that he had registered and all you had obtained was that he had several months without working there, which coincided with the beginning of the murders. After that Rossi suggested that he probably lived in a trailer (old, due to his lack of employment) where he developed the photographs and kept his trophies. That only made more sense when you thought that it would make it easier to transport or escape in case things got messy.

But words on paper and intelligent conclusions were of absolutely no use to you. You needed a plan to catch him.

"Do you have something, Reid?" Hotch had asked. You had already interviewed some students, you had set up guard duty to look for any suspicious behavior and you had even shared the photograph of the suspect in the media, but nothing had worked; The only thing left was to carry out the geographical profile to know the area in which he was attacking and thus be able to search for possible targets.

“I triangulated the locations we have of his previous homicides and I'm guessing he hits in this specific area,” he muttered, pointing to a space on the map he had on his blackboard with his middle finger. “Considering it's an area frequented by the age group due to its proximity to the universities and that it has several parks that the students told us they use to drink or go out as a couple”

"So what?" Morgan said from his spot. "We just wait until he kills someone else and hopefully we're near the scene to hear the screams?"

“Maybe we can ask the cops to patrol the area for the unsub's car,” JJ suggested.

“He's smart, there's a trailer park right here. It wouldn't be strange to find one on the streets as well.” Reid was visibly frustrated like everyone else and he ran a hand through his hair with some despair.

Your options were running out and frankly you couldn't think of anything else.

“And if we give him a target?” Emily murmured. Noticing that none of you said anything, she went on to explain her plan, “We ask police officers to send any young people they see around to home so we force our unsub to get close to who we want”

"And what are we going to do? Hire a couple of college kids to stalk them?”

“We can use our own team”

"Not to offend you, Prentiss, but we are no longer in the prime of youth"

"We don't, but Y/L/N and Reid do" when you heard your last name you were surprised, but when you heard your friend's you practically froze. First you looked at her and then at the doctor, whose gaze reflected the same stupefaction as you "You two are young, you might look like students"

"Are you saying you want to send us straight into the hands of a sexual predator?" you couldn't be offended, after all, those risks were part of the job, but you did feel somewhat reluctant about the idea.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“It doesn't sound so bad” Rossi murmured “It's a smart move”

“Besides, we would be watching around and we would intervene before that madman got close to you. Once we catch him, the photographs and personal items that he probably has in his trailer will be enough evidence, in addition to the fingerprint from the last crime scene” to your surprise, Derek was also pretty convinced of the plan that Emily had just devised.

"Reid, Y/L/N, would you guys be up for it?" Hotch exclaimed with his usual serious tone, looking at you and then at your partner.

Thinking objectively, the suggestion was very good. But thinking about it personally, you felt worried about the danger you two would be running into… oh, God. It wasn't until then that you realized that the plan to catch the suspect involved the two of you making out like a couple of hormonal college kids.

You knew that the options that remained wouldn’t be as opportune as that and taking into account the temporary nature with which Oliver operated, in addition to the fact that he was already deteriorating as a murderer, it was most likely that he was already looking for new victims, so if you did that same night the chances of success were quite high. You were between a rock and a hard place and all you could do was look at him while the gazes of the rest of the room were divided between the two of you.

“I… I'll only do it if you say yes” you exclaimed in his direction, with a cautious voice and a fearful look. You knew your friend and you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable in any way, even though you knew that both you and he knew that your personal interests would take precedence against the possibility that another couple of victims would lose their lives if you refused. It was your job, you had to do it.

"Are you sure you guys are going to catch him before something happens?" Spencer asked your boss. You thought that with his background the last thing he wanted was to end up kidnapped or seriously injured again, even though the truth was that he was caring just as much about himself as he was about you. He had seen the photographs and knew that women were the most affected by the murder weapon… he didn't even want to imagine something like this happening to you.

"Of course. You will have communication with us and if something goes wrong we will get you out of there immediately" Aaron answered and your friend sighed nervously and then looked for your approval. You nodded slightly and he delivered the verdict, to which everyone agreed.

He was still standing, but after that he slumped into the nearest chair as he listened to everyone brainstorming ideas for setting up the scene, distributing the crew, and what they would tell the local police to do to make the decoy effective.

At some point you lost the whole point of the conversation, to start thinking about what was implied by what you were about to do.

The feeling of attraction for your co-worker had been latent in you for a couple of years, but you had never confessed it to anyone to avoid creating tension in the team or suffering the humiliation of certain rejection. Also, you knew that a crush meant distractions from what was truly important and you had tried, in vain, to eliminate it completely. But even if it hadn't completely gone, you had known how to control it, only allowing yourself to look at him with loving eyes from time to time and avoiding being too confident with him during group drinking outings. You even limited physical contact, not because you didn't like it but because you knew your greed would demand more and more of you until it became inevitable to beg for his touch. But now all that good work holding you back was screwed because in a few hours you would have to be passionately making out with him.

Still with the internal crisis, you raised your head to look at him and realized that he too had been submerged in his own tide of thoughts, which you hoped would be more positive than yours. At some point Spencer felt you watching him and when his eyes met yours he gave you that tight-lipped smile that was strangely comforting, to which you responded with the same gesture. After that it didn't take long for everyone to leave the room to fulfill their respective tasks, but you stayed seated because you honestly didn't feel enough energy to move. Besides, you had nothing entrusted to you, you were the bait.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay with this?" Spencer asked you, once everyone else had left. He looked so tired of everything, but at the same time there was a kind tone in his voice about him that made you smile.

“It's just kissing, Spence. I think we'll be fine" you assured him, trying to swallow all your embarrassment and nerves "And you?"

"I agree. I just hope we get lucky today or we'll just have to keep trying”

"Reid, I need you to tell the cops what area we'll be in," Hotch interrupted you from the door. "You still have time to regret it," he added, looking at the two of you.

You immediately denied and after that Spencer withdrew from there in the company of Aaron. When you were about to drop you exhaled, completely concerned about the last thing your partner had said.

We will just have to keep trying. You didn't know if the idea excited you, or terrified you.

As night fell, Spencer drove the old pickup truck the unit had managed to rent for the two of you to drive into the park, with you in the passenger seat and a six-pack of beer in the backseat.

Although you were sure that it would be cold, you had decided to wear shorts and a button-down shirt that you normally wore for work, but that you had adjusted to make it look more youthful. Spencer was wearing an outfit that Morgan had gotten for him from a department store, simple jeans with a rather baggy cotton shirt and some nice boots that you didn't know where he got from, since in Quantico you had never seen him wear anything like that.

Both of you had showered at the hotel (separately of course) and you had made sure to brush your teeth and put on a good amount of deodorant and perfume before getting in the car. You had paid special attention to your appearance, not because it was necessary, but because you wanted to look perfect for him. Even with all this, you were a nervous wreck next to him, not saying a word along the way and only soft music from the radio filling the air.

When you stopped, the two of you put your headphones on to the channel the team was supposed to be on, and Morgan answered in the affirmative.

"Remember, he doesn't have to see the communicator or your weapon," Rossi spoke, who was also in the van, along with Prentiss and Hotch. "García will be watching with the security cameras and he will warn us if the trailer is coming"

"And meanwhile what do we do?"

"Pretend to be a couple, sit on the tailgate and drink beer, laugh, I don't know"

“Did you ever run away like that in college?” you asked, directly at Reid.

“Do you remember that I was like 16 when I studied at the university, right? I wasn't even old enough to drive, much less a car" he muttered and you gave a short laugh "I guess you did"

“I was too busy being the best in the institution to even think about going out and making out with idiots,” you replied, proud of yourself for that. “I mean, it's not like you're an idiot, but they were. You're very smart," you rambled, still twiddling your fingers, "Hotch, you guys will tell us when we're going to start kissing, will you?"

“When the suspect approaches, yes”

"Okay, well... then we have to go out, huh?" you muttered to him as you reached for the beers and tried to open the door to get out. You turned, expecting to see Spencer do the same as you, but noticed that he had lingered in the car for a moment, checking himself in the mirror and applying his lips with chapstick.

My God, could that man make you more nervous?

When he finally caught up with you, you went to the back of the pickup, where you opened the tailgate to sit down with a little hop. Spencer was tall enough to keep up with you just by leaning over the edge, where you watched him cross his arms. You were silent for a few moments, listening to the sound of crickets and cars in the distance.

"Do you think it's a good idea to drink?"

"Only a little. I'm having a hard time thinking while sober, I don't want to ruin the little reasoning I have left” you exclaimed as a joke. Or maybe you weren't joking so much "Just empty a couple of cans and leave them on the floor so he'll think we're really drunk." Spencer was about to do what you said when you noticed an important detail and called him over to look at you "Come here, let me fix your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"You're very well combed, it's not the image we expect" you carefully took his hand until it was close enough to pass the other through all his golden locks, messing them up enough to give him that relaxed touch that he should have. He looked so handsome, but not in the style of a fancy FBI agent but just like a young intellectual who went to parties and smoked weed “Like this. Perfect"

“Do you think we have to think of some backstory?” he asked and you looked at him with a frown. “You know, something about us. What degree are we studying, what are our names…”

"This is not a play"

"It's rude to eavesdrop on conversations, Prentiss," you said visibly annoyed, although looking at your partner that expression softened "As you wish, Spencer. Although being honest, I would say that you study… literature”

"Really?" he exclaimed with slight enthusiasm. You knew that his mother had been a teacher in the subject and you wondered if he had ever considered it.

“Morgan wasn’t wrong to choose those clothes for you. It suits you” you complimented him and Morgan whistled from the other end of the line. You felt like you were having too much fun for the situation you were in, but you needed to talk about something else to put off the reminder of what you had come to do for as long as possible. “I think you would have that hopeless philosopher/romantic vibe who flirts by whispering memorized poetry in your ear.”

“I actually know some good ones”

"Sure you do" you smiled gently, suppressing the thought of him sighing close to your neck at Bécquer "I'd probably study science or something."

"The unattainable scientist with whom the captain of the soccer team has a secret crush, but she is completely unaware"

"Where did you get that? From a 90s movie?

Spencer's laugh was one of your favorite sounds and today that was precisely not helping your situation. You felt intoxicated by how handsome he looked, like you'd discovered a side to him that no one else had, and the thought of kissing him made you tremble a little with anticipation.

“Do you want to share a beer?” he murmured, carefully opening the can and offering it to you first. You knew your partner wasn't the most enthusiastic about doing anything that involved germs, so it made you feel good that he took the lead. You took a big gulp of the drink to gather something of value and when it was his turn to drink he kept looking at you intently, you would even say that he seemed entranced.

You had made sure you were in a strategic position, with enough light for the unsub to see you and quite lonely, except for the patrol cars and the van that had been positioned at a safe distance.

“How does voyeurism develop?” you asked quietly, with genuine interest, as you shifted a bit to get closer to him.

“Voyeurism usually begins in adolescence and since during that age it is usually seen with greater tolerance, there are people who continue with these behaviors until adulthood. When voyeurism is pathological, they spend considerable time looking for opportunities to watch, often at the expense of not fulfilling important responsibilities in their lives, and people reach orgasm by masturbating during or after watching. Although if you think about it a bit, everyone is a bit of a voyeur."

"Why you said so?"

“Many men and women enjoy viewing pornography, which can be classified as voyeuristic behavior. It's not a worrying thing, but it's interesting to think about it” he explained, with those expressions on his face that he had every time he shared knowledge with you. He liked that about you, that you were always willing to listen to his data and statistics even at the most inopportune moments.

"I'm still a little scared that Oliver is trying to do something to us."

“I have my gun. If he tries to do something to you, I'll use it" you knew that killing the unsub was always the last option Reid considered, so you widened your eyes a little to show your surprise "All lives are worth, but when that life has already taken so many and it puts you at risk, I would not doubt it. You have nothing to worry about” he assured you and your heart warmed a little at feeling so protected.

"Do you know if Oliver attacks at a specific time?"

"No, he doesn’t. Just as we can be here for ten minutes, we can also be here all night."

You exhaled loudly, before taking another gulp of beer.

“Drink some, boy. I feel kind of selfish around here."

"I am nervous"

"And why do you think I'm drinking?" you exclaimed wryly, still holding out the can to him, and when he finally agreed he drank a little more than you expected “Have you ever…” you started to say, but suddenly remembered that literally the whole team was listening to you. If the answer was embarrassing, you didn't want to hear Morgan and Emily taunting you all week, so you covered your microphone for a moment and spoke again, but so quietly that only he could hear you. "I suppose you kissed someone, did you?"

"Yes," he said quickly and you sighed with relief. It comforted you a little to know that it wasn't his first kiss, because you didn't want him to have such a bad memory “Do I look so inexperienced?"

"No, that's not what I meant" you smiled "You're handsome, I know you've probably kissed a couple of girls"

"You don't need to tell lies, you know I'll kiss you anyway"

"But it's not a lie. I really think you're handsome" you confessed, gathering all the courage in you, while you smiled at him in the most serene way possible "And if we weren't literally waiting for a murderer, you know I'd be happy to do this with you"

"Smooch me?"

"Having this bad date attempt, Reid," you hissed, flushing red, as you slammed your palm into his forehead with just a little bit of force. Spencer seemed quite pleased that he made you nervous, rather than the other way around, so he grinned, “Though I think we should have brought food. I'm starving,” you pouted, swinging your dangling legs back and forth.

"That's not a picnic, Y/N"

You hated for a second that everyone was so intent on the conversation. A part of you wanted a moment alone with the brunette, even if it was in the midst of such a strange situation.

You began to talk pleasantly about things completely unrelated to the case for a couple of minutes, staying where you were, until Hotch's interruption made you jump a bit in place.

"Garcia intercepted an approaching trailer, get ready” your heart immediately sped up and you noticed him tense beside you, too, probably with the same thought flooding his head.

"Okay, come closer," you exclaimed, trying not to panic, as you spread your legs a little to allow the man to step into the space between. He wasted no time and just as you wrapped your hands around his shoulders you heard the sound of another car pulling up.

"Is that our unsub?"

"It is"

You were about to turn your head to peek when Reid grabbed your cheek and stopped you.

"He's smart. If you look at him, he'll realize it” he reminded you with a serious voice. You were so worried about everything that you were forgetting about your training “Okay, so I… Is it okay if I put my hands here?” he asked with a different tone, nervously placing both hands on your waist. You had always admired the size and anatomy of those hands, but until now you had not had the pleasure of feeling them on your body in this way.

“Tonight everything you do is fine. I promise"

"It would be a good time to start, he'll see you" Emily reminded you and you could only sigh shakily.

You two were adults, why were you so scared about kissing?

"Close your eyes" Spencer whispered to you, masking his nerves better than you "I'll kiss you, just close them," he asked you and you did.

You felt his body lean against you a little until his chest almost touched yours and then his lips shakily pressed against yours. You would always remember your first kiss, which in essence was such a brief caress that you didn't even know if it could be counted as one, the one where he wordlessly asked your permission to explore your mouth. Still with your eyes closed, you pulled him by the neck towards you and started a new kiss, a little more confident and deep this time, allowing you to savor the beer mixed with strawberries and that strange flavor that each person has.

“We…” you started to say, once you separated “you have to do it slowly, what he wants is a show” you exclaimed. Spencer felt unable to say any words and your hands caressing him so deliciously wasn't helping at all “Slow,” you repeated.

You arched your back a little to get even closer and when you finally looked up you met his caramel eyes. You needed a moment to recover and you unconsciously licked your lips, as if you needed to pick up and savor his presence in your mouth again, something that didn’t go unnoticed by his attentive look at your movements.

It didn't take long for you to give up, as beginning the third kiss you felt that you no longer had any control over your body, your heart, or your mind. And while it was true that neither of you were experts on the subject, you guys managed pretty well as the seconds ticked by. Spencer gasped as he simultaneously felt you pull the hair from his neck and caress his lips with the tip of your tongue, while you were taken by surprise when his hands left your waist and lowered to the height of your hip, where his thumbs gripped firmly on the clip of your shorts.

There was a kiss, then another and another; they became too many to count. You didn't want to touch him anywhere and at the same time you wanted to touch him completely, in the grip of the fantasy that this was real and not just a performance. And even if you were aware that it was all fake, that would probably only have encouraged you to enjoy something to the fullest that you knew would never come back. Amid everything you didn’t know which of the two situations would be worse.

The sound of your lips colliding became so obscene that you were embarrassed, but you had no plan to stop. Your hands slid gently down the length of his neck until you reached his chest and cupped the soft cotton of his garment in your fists to make sure he didn't move away from you. The heat of the moment just went up and up, but a voice on the intercom brought you back with a jolt.

“He started the trailer. He's going to go"

Spencer closed his eyes in frustration, and you sighed. From the position he was in it wasn’t possible to get around him without being seen, so keeping all his attention was on you and him.

Maybe you weren't doing it right? You wondered what the hell this man wanted to see if you were practically eating each other, but suddenly you remembered that his motivation was even more sexual than a couple of wet kisses. Maybe he was getting bored because he needed to see that you were about to… well, do it.

"Take off my shirt," you said immediately, still too close to his swollen lips and looking right into eyes that seemed to be pitch black.

"Take... what?"

"Take off my shirt" you repeated, with a tone that made the man shudder completely. With the hands that were still holding his shirt you pulled him to you and he held his breath “And kiss me better. Like you really want me"

But Spencer didn't need to pretend that he wanted you.

He made you completely dizzy when he began to kiss you so hungrily and you managed to keep enough composure when you felt one of his warm hands travel under your blouse, limiting yourself to letting out sighs that were drowned against his lips. But what finally caused you to let out an indiscreet and unwelcome moan was when he pulled you by the hip until you were on the edge of the tailgate and you could feel the growing bulge in his pants pressing against you. Spencer had almost managed to suppress his, but in the end, you having your own situation down there didn't help one bit.

His trembling fingers fussed with the buttons on your shirt until it ended up somewhere on the floor at incredible speed, leaving you half-naked before him and the collection of FBI agents standing around. You might have been embarrassed if your brain could connect two coherent thoughts, but you'd lost that from the moment Dr. Reid first dared to kiss you.

You carefully guided his hands to the beginning of the curve of your breasts and now you both sighed in unison, feeling goosebumps on every inch of your skin. You pushed yourself forward just for the satisfaction of hearing that guttural sound again and your prayers were immediately answered, for it was enough for him to feel the slightest friction and he would go crazy. It was inappropriate to need him like that, but you couldn't help it.

Holding your lower back, he leaned over you and at the same time pulled you towards him until your breasts collided with his chest. In that position, your neck was exposed and your partner’s hot lips didn't hesitate to go down there, while you sighed agitated just at the height of his ear. Spencer asked you, between each kiss, to look in the direction of the trailer to see if he was still there and as you could you answered yes, which was victory enough for both of you.

As he could, he maneuvered to lay you down carefully on the cold metal of the truck without stopping kissing your neck, and by inertia you wrapped both legs over his hip. When you were hidden by the panels of the pickup he finally looked at you.

"I hope it's enough to get his attention," he said, sounding as agitated as expected, and although the circumstances meant that you two would be taking a break you flatly refused, pulling him back to kiss him.

That kiss did take Spencer by surprise and it was perhaps the sincerest of the night. It wasn’t as passionate as the previous ones, but rather it was loaded with softness and you would even say that a hint of supplication. You were begging for him not to stop, for the night to get stuck in an infinite loop where the two of you could kiss for eternity. And suddenly you felt how he, who had been so tense the whole time, completely relaxed against you, as if he understood exactly what you wanted to say. His hands came to rest on the sides of your head to be able to kiss you more comfortably and you dared to take him by the waist with the same care that you were kissing him, feeling even above the cloth the softness of his skin.

And then he broke up with you. You feared you had done something wrong due to the suddenness of the movement and your frightened eyes searched his gaze for a sign of the reason, without finding anything. He just looked at you with something you couldn't describe, but that made you feel butterflies fluttering all over your stomach... and he stayed like that for a few seconds: just looking at you, as if he wanted to memorize all your features.

You opened your mouth to say something, but your words were drowned in a new kiss, totally different from the previous ones. Spencer was taking time with him, trapping your lower lip between his and sucking on it gently, pressing himself a little more against your body, sighing heavily into your mouth.

Your hand was already running up his side to make its way to his cheek just as screams filled the silence and you hugged him reflexively. The screams had come from Morgan, who had already moved across the park to take down the unsub and was now wrestling with him to get the knife out of his hand. Spencer hesitated for a moment if he should come over to help, but he preferred to hold you better against his body to protect you and wait for Emily to place the handcuffs on the man under her partner's knee.

From a distance you saw that he only brought with him, in addition to the knife, his camera, and a small backpack with some other murderous instruments that they managed to confiscate without any problem.

"All clear, we've got him," Hotch spoke over the radio. As you exhaled in relief too many emotions washed over you, combined with the adrenaline coursing through your body and the arousal still flowing into your crotch.

"Are you okay?" Reid's gentle voice called to you, as he pulled away to check with his eyes that everything was in order. His hair was messy and his lips were so swollen that it was almost painful to look at the image without launching yourself to kiss him again "My God, your shirt..." he said, completely embarrassed, as he bent down to pick up the garment. You looked him up and down and blushed when you noticed how tight his pants were, feeling your stomach turn a little. When he got up, he took the opportunity to look at your chest covered only by the black lace bra and a big gulp of saliva went down his throat.

You thanked him quietly and put your shirt back on, feeling the sneaky glances Spencer was giving you, just before Hotch walked up to you.

"How are you?"

"Very good, excellent" you stammered.

You could perfectly feel your swollen lips, the light sheen of sweat on your face, the heat flowing from all the places Reid's fingers had been, and the abundant moisture between your crossed legs.

After Hotch congratulated you on your performance, the two of you walked as best you could toward the rest of the agents, who were already placing Oliver on patrol. Another group was analyzing the trailer and they managed to pull out enough evidence about the murders that would be very useful in prosecuting the man.

"All good?" Emily asked in your direction, once things had settled down and the rest of the team had gathered in a circle by the van. You and Spencer just nodded at the question.

“I honestly think I'm going to need therapy after what I heard,” Dave murmured, so serious that you couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Don't you even dare make fun of this"

“No, we won't. I'm just saying you guys seemed to be enjoying it there."

"That's supposed to be the plan, right?" Spencer said nervously, finally daring to look at you and looking away almost immediately as he smoothed his hair back.

Once your boss said you could retire you escaped in a patrol car as fast as you could, wanting to get home so you could take a cold shower and soothe what wasn’t satisfied by the man. You could hardly sleep that night, still haunted by the ghost of the kisses you received from your gorgeous coworker, and the next morning you hoped that double coffee would do the trick. But apparently you weren't the only one who thought so, because at the same time that you arrived Spencer Reid crossed your path.

"Hey," he said, in that high-pitched voice that came out when someone caught him off guard, "How are you?"

"Fine, and you?"

"Fine too"

You knew that the two of you wanted to talk about what happened, but it only took one of you to have the courage to speak first. At the same time your phones rang indicating a message and you mistakenly assumed that it was JJ contacting you to announce a case. What was your surprise when you opened the file and found a collection of photos from the night before. You knew from Spencer's face that he had received the same thing.

"Garcia did you… did she send you the same evidence?"

"That's right," he said nervously. You had to admit that if Oliver had one quality it was that of a photographer: you were sensual and perfectly captured the desire that had existed between you. Well, the one you had pretended to feel… right?

Spencer held his breath as he came to a picture of you topless in which his hand was practically on your breast, immediately remembering how that had felt. He just hoped his memories didn't affect him too much or it would be embarrassing enough to walk into the boardroom with a boner.

"They're good," you said to the air and he suppressed a laugh "But I can delete them if that makes you feel uncomfortable"

“No, no, I… I think I want to keep them too. After all, the bureau will have them in the files as evidence of the case, I prefer to have access too”

"I just hope she doesn't send them to anyone else, I wouldn't want to see my bra photos going around."

“I'll tell Garcia, don't worry,” Spencer murmured, rushing to type something on his phone.

While you waited for him to type you took another look, feeling your whole body heating up again at the memories. A part of you was grateful to have such material in your custody.

"I never thought of being the protagonist of an erotic photo session and here we are," you said ironically.

“Speaking of which…” Spencer started to say, “Not the erotic sessions by any means, don't think I'm planning on inviting you to one or that, because it would be super weird and inappropriate, but I was thinking if… huh…”

“Sell them online? I thought so too, but it depends on how much profit there is. Garcia can help us find the highest bidder and not get charged for tampering with evidence."

"What? No!" he said, completely shocked, and you laughed because you got the reaction you expected with your joke "Why would we do that?"

“Just kidding, Reid. Those photos are something I prefer to keep to myself" you clarified and your smile made him feel shy "Seriously, sorry for interrupting you. What did you want to tell me?"

"What…? huh, yes, right. It's just that this morning I was thinking about what you said yesterday, about how under normal circumstances you would have liked to have a bad date with me, right? and it just kept spinning in my head, so I was asking if you wanted to go for a drink sometime. Not like a date, of course, I'm not saying it is if you don't want to. I can just be like… well, go get a drink. As friends"

Yesterday Spencer had practically eaten your mouth and now he was nervous about asking you out. So adorable.

“You're not doing this just as compensation, are you? because you know that it is not necessary…”

“I do it because I want to. And I want to believe that… that I didn't misunderstand what happened yesterday."

You no longer even cared that it was unethical to date team members, or that if things went wrong, you would probably go into the worst of depressions. What mattered to you was that Spencer was interested in you, even if he had implied it, and that he was asking you out alone with him. Just the two of you, with fun and alcohol involved, without gossipy colleagues or mortal danger.

"Then I'd love to, Reid."

“Wow, excellent then” he smiled, feeling lucky that you agreed “I know a great bar near here, the atmosphere is generally calm, I like it because they don't play loud music. What day is right for you?"

“I'm available any day you want” you responded genuinely, grinning from ear to ear just being around him. That was the effect Reid had on you.

It was stupid to try to deny that you were still attracted to him, especially since now you had a taste of what he could do with you. You wanted to kiss him again, of course, but you were also anxious to earn that completely adoring look you'd received the night before.

“Today?”

"Yeah, why wait?" you responded, more excited than you wanted.

“Hey, I didn't ask you, but I wanted to know if I didn't go overboard with you last night. I mean… did something bother you?”

It was a smart move, you could see it clearly. It was obvious that Spencer cared about you, but you also picked up on his intentions to find out if you were interested in him too. Well, that's how it was from your perspective, because that probably would have been your motivation being in his place.

Even if it wasn't the case, you weren't going to miss the opportunity to take a little advantage of the situation.

"The kisses on the neck were something he definitely didn't expect, but they weren't unpleasant at all," you assured him, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Did it feel good to you?"

"It did"

"So everything's perfect," you murmured, shrugging off the matter. But you both knew you couldn't see each other in the office and acted as if nothing had happened.

Something had happened. Those kisses had only fueled the tension that had always existed between you but that you wanted to ignore.

"Do you want to go after work, then?"

“Sounds good to me”

Spencer gave you one last smile and then went to prepare his usual cup of sugar with a dash of coffee. All day you were thinking about him and more than once he caught you looking at him, but you didn't even care.

So, at nightfall, with a few drinks on you and more courage in your body, you finally confessed that kissing was something you had wanted to do for a long time. You almost didn't believe it at first, coming from him, but when you finally accepted it, it wasn't hard at all to rush at him and kiss him feverishly. And this time there did not impede for you to give free rein to your desires, which led you to the soft mattress in your friend's house and kept you awake until a few hours before dawn.

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