#why is there a c in yacht

[depresed-duck]

evil yuri toxic yuri

and sciset doodles cause. uh.hhhhh

[cirnothemovie]

shes so crazyyy!! love her!

closeup under cut

[marzipanandminutiae]

"we're going to build dense housing in this historical area! some will be affordable!"

"great! that will help ease our city's need for it. and I assume it will look like the architecture around it, right? to blend well and because dense housing dates at least back to the Roman empire- and that's just in western history -so the ideas are not contradictory?"

"no, no, no! it's going to be minimalist! sleek! modern!"

"and the public wants that in a historical neighborhood?"

"nope, we've had massive backlash."

"so why not just make the buildings in a style that blends better?"

"those styles are...uh...not eco-friendly!"

"but don't buildings from back then have better mechanisms for passive heating and cooling since they came from an era before A/C and central heat? and haven't studies shown that new buildings should actually have thicker walls and smaller windows, which used to be more common, for more efficiency? and that heating/cooling one room at a time is also more energy-efficient, so open-concept isn't all that green? and wouldn't construction that involves less plastic, while not perfect by any means, involve less non-biodegradable waste? also, aren't modern buildings significantly more dangerous in the event of a fire, due to plastic outgassing and faster-burning materials?"

"no comment."

"and don't a lot of people like decorated buildings and living spaces?"

"some of them like simple minimalism!"

"okay, then how about some of the new housing is in an older style and some is more modern? a compromise?"

"who cares about how it looks? we just need housing!"

"are you saying people who need housing don't deserve to live someplace nice?"

"but...well...I...all that ornamentation is too expensive!"

"and why did the mass production of things like wood and plaster trim for homes, and ornamental hardware, stop? besides changing tastes and to the extent that it has- which is not universal, by the way; you CAN still find some of this stuff for sale"

"because we didn't want to pay the workers fair wages when unionization became more commonplace."

"how many yachts does the CEO of this development company have?"

"...five."

"the defense rests"

[rafesteddy]

𝓢𝓷𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼 𝖎𝖗𝖑/𝖘𝖒𝖆𝖚

𝓑𝓮𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀…

𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜!𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 (baseball!rafe)

+18 -> smut | You didn’t expect much from tonight’s date—and got even less. But one message from Rafe changes the whole rhythm of the night. What starts casual might be getting dangerously close to something neither of you can ignore.

c/w: swearing, casual sex, jealousy, possessiveness, blurred boundaries, light humiliation, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, cum play, oral (female receiving after orgasms; both), spanking, slight choking, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, rafe says “I’ll kms” jokingly + banter during sex

𝓨𝓸𝓾 - 𝓓𝓮𝓾𝔁𝓪𝓿𝓮, 𝓑𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓼…

You wore the dress because it made you feel good. Simple, black. A little backless. Not too much. It made you feel like you still knew how to show up—how to try, even when you weren’t sure why you were bothering.

You met him on Raya. His profile was filled with sunset gym selfies, gold chains, and at least one yacht that didn’t belong to him. But your friends insisted. ‘He’s hot. Give him a chance.’

You gave him a chance and now here you are, staring at a half-full glass of sparkling water while he tells a story about benching three plates and putting a coach ‘in his place’.

“Like, bro. Don’t test me,” he says, laughing and pointing at his own chest. “I’m not that guy. I don’t play submissive.” You nod in agreement, trying your hardest not to look at the clock. He smirks. “You get it. You’re chill. That’s hot.”

Holy shit… This is dating now? Endless one-way talking. Endless egos. And you’re starting to think being “chill” just means letting men be mediocre without calling them out for it.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 - 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪, 𝓑𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓼…

He met her at the gym. She stopped him mid-set to ask about his program; hair slicked into a perfect ponytail, lashes too long to be natural. She smelled like vanilla and spray tan. He didn’t even think. Just said ‘yes’.

Now he’s here, picking at an overpriced plate trying not to wonder how fast he could get out of this without looking like an asshole.

“So you get paid to throw balls?” She teases, one manicured finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. “Kinda iconic.”

Rafe nods, smiling without teeth. She’s been talking about brand deals and algorithm slumps for twenty minutes straight. She hasn’t asked him a single question that didn’t have a “likes” count attached.

“Honestly,” she says, “I feel like people don’t understand how hard it is to stay relevant in this industry. 400 thousand likes and you’re a flop. You miss one trend and you’re done. Poof. Digital death.”

He coughs, trying to cover up a laugh, raising his beer to hers. “To survival.”

She rolls her eyes and giggles, lifting her glass as well. “You’re funny. You should be on TikTok more.”

𝓨𝓸𝓾 જ⁀➴

The food isn’t bad. It’s actually good. Which almost pisses you off more—because it means you can’t even use that as an excuse.

You were hopeful, foolishly so. You gave your hair the extra ten minutes, exfoliated, rehearsed your little “in your free time” spiel in case he didn’t respect your actual job. You wanted this to go well.

But now, with each story he tells—about how “soft” the world’s gotten, how “crazy” his ex was, how “girls just don’t know how to take a joke anymore”—you feel yourself slipping into that quiet, numb space in your mind. The one where you just let the man talk while you think about how cozy your sheets are going to be when you slide into them alone and what movie you're gonna put on instead.

“This was fun,” he says as he signals the waiter for the check, smiling like it’s a done deal. “We should grab a drink after this. My place is, like what, five minutes away. Killer view. Hot tub. You’ll love it, babe.”

You smile, but it’s thin. Doesn’t reach your eyes as you meet his across the table. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

He blinks, surprised. Taken aback. An answer this man surely isn’t used to hearing when he extends the offer. “C’mon. Just one drink.”

“I don’t really drink,” you murmur, fingers curling around the handle of your purse, two seconds away from bolting out the door honestly. He laughs, the sound loud in the quiet between you.

“Everyone drinks.”

“Not me.” A lie.

𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 જ⁀➴

The walk outside is short and silent until she brushes her shoulder against his, fingers grazing, desperately hoping to intertwine but they don’t. She looks up at Rafe, with a look on her beautiful face that usually pulls praise easily from men, but his mind is somewhere else.

“You should come over. Just for a little bit. I’ve got this sauna that would be so good for recovery. And a bottle of wine that’s basically a religious experience—”

“—Appreciate it,” he says, stopping her before she can even finish. “But I’ve got training early.”

She pouts her pillowy lips, batting her lashes which has almost the opposite effect on him. “You’re no fun.”

He pauses; lips tugging to the side as he weighs his options. Could say ‘yes’. Could let it play out. But everything about this feels empty. Another night of people pretending that this could go anywhere.

“Not tonight. But thanks—really. This was nice—” He closes the door of her Uber before she can reply, pocketing his keys, with someone better on his mind.

𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮…

You shut the door, the quiet click too loud in the empty room. Your heels go first. Then your purse hits the floor with a heavy drop. The house is quiet in the way that always makes you feel a little lonelier after a night like this.

You move through the motions: wine, music, robe, lights dimmed low. You could call it self-care, but really, it’s just a ritual for disappointment.

You curl up on the couch with your legs tucked under you and sip slow, mumbling against the rim of your glass in his deep, stupid voice, “c’mon just one drink.” You laugh weakly as you toss some back, feeling the burn in your throat, and the sting of the night. Tonight, you just wanted something. And you got nothing.

You pull your phone into your lap; not even sure what you’re looking for, just running on autopilot, going through the motions, looking for a reason not to delete every dating app you’ve ever downloaded.

That’s when the notification lights up your screen.

It’s a gym selfie. No caption. Just sweat, muscle, and that familiar smirk. You bite your lip, swiping the screen to your text messages—and just as you do, the little text bubbles appear. Someone has the same idea…

Rafe: hey pretty. you free?

You don’t answer right away. But your fingers are already hovering.

He doesn’t follow up with a question mark or a ??? or where you at? Rafe never does. That’s part of the deal. You keep it easy. No pressure. No expectations. Just a simple rhythm you’ve both fallen into. The man shows just enough effort that he’ll drive by at night, looking up into your room. Curtains open, Spotify glowing through the glass, bedside light on. An unspoken, I’m home and ready, Rafe. The rest is up to you.

You set your phone down without replying, take one last sip of wine, and head to your bedroom. You already know he’s on his way.

You change into the cotton Calvin Klein set he always notices—the powdery white bralette, matching thong that isn’t meant to be sexy, but somehow always is. Comfortable. Soft. Barely a statement, which is exactly why he likes it.

You’re lying on your stomach, book open in front of you, toes grazing the edge of the comforter, when you hear his keys drop on the counter. A muffled “hey baby” to no one.

The door shuts; shoes hitting the floor with the same tired thud as your purse. You don’t look up when you hear the zipper. Don’t say a word when his shirt and jeans thump lightly onto the hallway floor; big feet pound against the hardwood with each swaggered shuffle, walking in like he lives here.

He doesn’t. But sometimes it feels like he could.

You feel the mattress shift beneath you before you see him. A familiar weight dips near your thighs. Then his hands plant on either side of your hips and he crawls up the bed in just his boxers, heavy and warm.

You gasp when he presses against you, his broad chest brushing your back, his mouth near your ear.

Your giggle slips out before you can stop it.

“Book club tonight?” He mutters, voice low and amused as he kisses your neck.

You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back. Rafe’s big body presses down into yours, your wrists pinned to either side of your head.

“Shit, look at you,” he hums.

His eyes roam your face, then drop to your lips. And for a moment neither of you says a thing.

You shift slightly beneath him, the cotton of your bralette stretching as you breathe in.

Rafe’s palms still frame your wrists, warm and rough, but he isn’t holding you down anymore. Not really. Just resting there, like he likes the excuse to touch you, taking this mental picture of you below him.

You tilt your chin up, your voice soft and sweet, making the corners of his lips curl into a smile.

“What’d you do tonight?” You whisper, cheeks heating up under the weight of his gaze.

“Went on a date.”

You quirk an eyebrow, saying so much with a single look. “And it went well?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, burning himself in your neck, saying even more with his tight embrace. Your words make him laugh, the warmth of his breath fanning across your throat. “Fuckin’ sucked,” he says, dipping his head until his nose brushes the curve of your jaw. “She thinks I could be TikTok famous. What do you think, baby? Think I should hang up the cleats?”

You stifle a giggle and fail. “The world will be a dark place without Rafe Cameron in baseball pants—”

“That’s what I said,” he mumbles as he nuzzles in closer. “Food was cold before she even ate it. She needed to get the perfect picture for her story or some shit.”

“Did you check her TikTok page?” You ask as you trace lazy circles on his back. “She might have called herself a WAG in the caption—”

“Please,” he chides, his eyes practically rolling out of his head, “Didn’t even make it to dessert.”

“That’s your favorite part,” you shoot back, tone light, as your fingers toy at the back of his hair. You feel him tense a little under your touch, breath hitching against your throat.

He lets out a half-growl, a sound that almost makes you smile. “Well shit,” he mutters, voice dropping a shade. “Maybe that’s why I’m so goddamn pissy, huh? Couldn’t take anymore. Made me wanna knock over the candle and light the table on fire—”

“Jesus fuck, Rafe,” you cut in with a laugh. “Why are you bein’ so hard on her I’m sure she was stunning—”

“—Hey,” he interjects playfully, giving you a little more of his body weight, making your breathing a little tighter. You grip his shoulders pushing him back slightly. Rafe pulls back with a boyish smile, looking down at you. “Didn’t say the view wasn’t nice. But that’s not what it’s all about, you know that.”

“Mhmm… Wise words.”

You stretch your arms above your head, twisting slightly underneath him. His hands slide down with you, skimming your ribs, your sides, the soft dip of your waist, tongue tracing along his bottom lip as your nipples turn hard below the thin fabric.

“You wore this for me, did you?” He asks.

“I wore this for me,” you respond as his hungry eyes flick up to yours, calling you bluff instantly.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he smiles. Rafe’s rough fingers glide up your inner thigh making goosebumps rise on your soft skin. “What about you?” He asks after a pause as the tips of his fingers hook under your panties. “What’d you do?”

You hesitate for half a second. Not because you’re nervous—because you want him to react. So you say it lightly, flicking your gaze up at him too. “Went on a date.”

Rafe pauses, his hands still, just a little. “With who?” He asks, quieter now.

“Mason Williams. He played for the Lightning and now he plays for—”

“The Bruins. Yeah, I know the guy,” Rafe mumbles. The flicker. That little twist in Rafe’s face. His jaw clenches, mouth parting like he’s about to say something smart and cocky—then thinks better of it. But you see it.

You run your fingers down his strong arms as a taunting smile plays on your lips. Rafe rolls his eyes, laughing at himself, completely caught in the act. “Is someone jealous?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m not—” He cuts himself off, sucking his teeth, trying his best not to show all his cards. “Not jealous. You’ve never hooked up with another athlete before.”

“I’m on Raya now.”

His hand squeezes your thigh like he can’t help it. “No shit…”

“I didn’t know you liked hockey.” He adds, voice amused but slightly tight, thumb flexing against your thigh.

You arch your back slightly, head falling a little deeper into the pillow. “I still don’t.”

“She was trying to get me to go back with her,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter, more serious.

You nod once. “He asked me to go home with him too.”

There’s another pause, heavier this time. He doesn’t move; just watches your face.

“Why’d you say ‘no’?” He asks. You push his hair back, fingers grazing his temple.

“He was kind of an ass.”

His mouth twitches, like he already knows there’s more. “Yeah? And?”

You let out this small breath, tracing down the side of his face, thumb brushing his jaw. “And I was really hoping to cum tonight.”

His breath catches and then his smile deepens, slow and knowing. “Well, shit,” he mutters, leaning in until your noses brush. “I think I can help with that.” You can feel the air change the second he settles above you.

Rafe’s forearms bracket your head, his chest brushing yours, bare skin on cotton as he gazes down. You can feel the flex of muscle under his skin, the slow drag of his breath as he looks between your eyes and mouth like he’s choosing which part of you to taste first.

“So, I’m the lucky guy tonight?” He hums as he kisses lower, between your breasts. “Not gonna have to worry about Williams tryin’ to do what I can—”

You giggle, threading your fingers through the back of his hair. “You act like I have a roster, Cameron.”

“Please tell me you don’t,” he says dryly. “I’ll kill myself I swear.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you chuckle, still smiling when he glances back up, blue eyes sharp and warm and a little bit smug. “Just you—”

“You need to stop dating men who hate women.”

“You need to stop dating women who hate women.”

“Touché,” he mutters, against your clothed pussy, running his tongue along the wet patch that formed, moaning at the subtle taste of you on his tongue before yanking them off.

Rafe nudges your thighs further apart with his knee, dragging his palm over the inside of your leg like he’s not even thinking about it—like his body’s already memorized every inch of you as he crawls back up your body. His thumb grazes where your underwear used to be, gliding through the slick mess between your thighs.

“Not sure if you care, but I only do this with you,” he adds under his breath. You try not to show it. Not to let him see how that lands. You nod, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Your breath hitches as he grinds against you, slow and deliberate—not inside, just enough to tease, to make you squirm and ache for more.

His lips find your throat, kissing down, then back up again, and he doesn’t stop until your breath goes ragged. When he finally sinks into you, it’s slow, all the way, one fluid, deep thrust that makes you gasp and cling to his shoulders. He’s so thick it burns in the best way, and you feel your hips tilt instinctively, seeking more.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your jaw. “Always so tight. You miss me?”

You nod fast, whispering, “Yes, yes—Rafe.”

His hand clamps around the back of your thigh, hauling your leg up high around his waist. The next thrust shoves a gasp out of you. He kisses you through it—messy and hungry—his hips grinding harder, deeper, like he’s got something to prove. Like he’s trying to tell you that you made the right choice tonight.

“Say it,” he growls softly, lips brushing yours.

“I missed you.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, fucking into you just a little harder, wet skin clapping against his. “Tell me. What’d you think about when he was askin’ you to come over, pretty?”

“You,” you breathe, honest and raw.

He smirks, sweat forming at his temples. “You were wet for me, weren’t you?” You can barely manage a nod. “Thinkin’ about me at dinner? Already thinking about me fucking this perfect pussy,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours with every word. “Should’ve worn this set to dinner,” he says, fingers tugging gently at the band of your bralette. “Show him what he couldn’t touch.”

You grab your bra, lifting it to your collarbone, boobs bouncing with each thrust; Rafe’s eyes rolling back in his head. “Think anyone’s gonna fuck you like me?”

“Don’t be a dick,” you laugh breathily.

He bites down a groan, snapping his hips, making you cry out his name. “You fucking love it—” He kisses the words off your lips, deeper now, hands bracketing your jaw as he grinds into you just right—over and over. “You wanna know what I was thinkin’ about during dinner?” He murmurs, voice dark and thick with want.

You gasp, fingers tugging in his hair. “What?”

“You. Ridin’ me. Couldn’t get it outta my fuckin’ head.”

You bite your lip, heart racing, thighs clenching around his waist. “Let me,” you whisper, eyes sparking. With a rough groan, he grabs your hips and flips the two of you—flat on his back now, hands pulling you up to straddle him.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasps, eyes dark as sin. You sink down on him slow—one teasing grind, then taking him deep as a moan spills from your lips. “Fuck,” he breathes out, head falling back for a second, his grip bruising on your hips.

His gaze doesn’t move, locked on you—his touch is everywhere—grabbing, too hard, not careful at all. Like he can’t stand the space between you.

But he doesn’t guide you. Not once. Just watches—lets you fuck him exactly how you want, the man losing more control with every roll of your hips.

“Look at you,” he pants, voice rough. “A fuckin’ dream. That’s it, baby.”

You ride him harder now, bracing your hands on his chest, moving faster, chasing your climax.

“Rafe—”

“I got you,” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs, fingers finding your clit. “Cum for me,” he pants. “Fuck—Wanna feel it.” And you do—shaking, gasping, crying out his name as your body locks down on him, vision hazy. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he grits out.

With a wicked grin, he reaches up, hand wrapping his hand around your throat, sending your pulse racing all over again. “My turn,” he rasps, flipping you to your back in one breathless move.

Rafe drives into you hard and deep; hips cracking against you, dragging desperate sounds from your throat as the room starts to spin.

“You feel that?” He murmurs into your skin, voice gritty and low. “How fuckin’ wet you are for me?” You nod, breathing too labored to answer. Rafe groans, smirking even as his hips jolt. “Mmm, greedy little thing. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You gonna cum?”

He slows down, grinds instead, dragging the thick length of him against that spot inside you that makes you shiver. His thumb slips between you, brushing over your clit in tight, practiced circles as your mouth falls open with a helpless sound.

“Cum for me,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours. “Right now—” It crashes over you so hard you sob his name. He groans when you squeeze around him, thrusting a few more times before he follows. His whole body shudders against yours, muscles trembling with the force of it, the sound he makes so raw it leaves your heart stuttering in your chest as he spills inside you.

And then the room stills.

Only your breathing, tangled and soft, fills the space between your bodies. Rafe doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t roll off. He just stays there, forehead pressed to yours, fingers stroking your jaw.

“You ruin me,” he says.

You smile, eyes fluttering open to find him already looking at you. “I could say the same,” you whisper, and brush your lips against his, sweet and slow.

And even though no one’s said the words, even though this is still nothing on paper, you both know better.

He pulls out, slow enough to make you gasp, and spreads you wide beneath him again. You’re still pulsing around nothing, body buzzing and undone, your thighs sticky and spread, the sheets bunched beneath your hips. And then he touches you again; fingers slow, spreading you open just to look. One palm cupping your thigh, the other thumb grazing over your slick folds like he’s deciding what to do next.

“Wanna take a video so fuckin’ bad,” he mutters under his breath, still completely out of breath. “Couldn’t tell you how many times I’d watch this shit, sweetheart. It’s probably for the best,” the warmth of his words hits hot against your skin. You smile, lip caught between your teeth.

Rafe drags two fingers through the mix of you and him, pushing his release back inside you, rubbing it in slow, ghosting lazy circles over your clit.

Rafe dips down and presses his mouth against your center, licking soft and slow—torturous tongue flicks, the kind that make you squirm but he grabs for you, curling his biceps around your thighs to hold you in place.

His nose brushes your skin, stubble scraping gently along the inside of your legs as he moans into you. He hums low against your clit, the vibration making you grip the sheets—Ding.

Your phone lights up beside the bed. The air still thick with sex, heat clinging to your body like a second skin, and you almost don’t hear it over the sound of your own breathing but Rafe does.

He reaches for it without asking, still between your thighs, and lifts it toward him.

“New message on Raya,” he says, snorting under his breath. “Damn, baby. You think I should tell him how good this pussy feels? Bet he’d love to know what he missed tonight.”

You laugh, but the sound catches when you see his face shift. The amusement drains slowly. His mouth tightens; brows twitch just slightly—not enough for most people to notice, but you’re not most people.

He hands you the phone without another word and moves off the bed like the sex just cracked something open in him and now he’s trying to patch it up.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

You glance toward his phone as he picks it up, already tapping on the screen, swiping like he needs to be doing something—anything. Like looking busy might keep you from noticing the ache behind his silence but it’s too late for that.

You look down at the message… A teammate of Rafe’s. Someone you’ve met before. Someone who’s looked at you too long when Rafe wasn’t paying attention.

You try to play it off, you both do. This was never supposed to be more than a warm body. A reliable rhythm. Mutual trust. Late nights and early mornings with no promises in between.

“Rafe…”

He doesn’t look up right away. When he finally does, his eyes are unreadable.

“I know we’re nothing serious,” you say carefully. “But I wouldn’t do that to you. Okay?” His eyes fall to your screen as you delete the message.

His gaze flickers over your face, so many unsaid words locked behind his lips. Instead, he dips closer, skimming a knuckle beneath your chin before pulling you in, mouth finding yours with a quiet sigh and a tender kiss.

You watch from the bed, sheet barely covering your hips, heart still hammering too loud for no reason. He throws his hoodie over his head, jeans riding low on his hips, the muscles in his back shifting with every movement.

He flashes you a crooked little smile as he walks to the door. The same one he always gives you when he’s pretending to be fine.

And then he’s gone.

You sit up slowly, sheet pooling at your waist; bed still smelling like him.

Stepping off the bed you pad over to the window, drawing back the blinds, watching from behind the curtain as Rafe steps out into the street, phone glowing in his hand, thumb swiping.

Tinder.

Your lashes flutter, stomach sinking in an instant, and it stings. More than it should. More than you’ll ever let him know because there’s a chance he doesn’t feel the same, and then what? You’re done? That can’t happen.

You slip back into your sheets, body still tingling from everything he gave you. But something feels hollow now—Ding.

Sarahhhh: Tell my brother I said hi 🖕

Your Name: Haha he just left babe. You’re ridiculous.

Sarahhhh: So what’s with you two?

Your Name: Just casual. You know us.

Sarahhhh: Do us all a favor and find someone worth your time already.

Your Name: Bold of you to assume I’m not perfectly happy with my bad decisions rn Sarah 😛

Sarahhhh: STOPPPP 😂

Sarahhhh: Ok but seriously. Just look at this for me? [link attached: Paradise Palms - Casting Now 🌅 🌴]

Your Name: Lmao Sarah no. There is NO way I am going on some reality show

Sarahhhh: First of all it’s not like that. Second of all it’s fun. Third of all just fucking do it. You might be surprised.

Your Name: I’ll think about it

Sarahhhh: Do it or else

Your Name: Why so ominous 😂😂😂😂

Sarahhhh: Scaring you was the next tactic ☺️ Love you bye

You stare at it.

Then you click.

One tap, one breath held too long.

CASTING NOW: Netflix’s newest unscripted romance series—Paradise Palms is looking for singles ready to take a chance on love. Apply now.

𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮’𝓼…

“The fuck is this, Wheezie?” Rafe mumbles as he pulls the door shut behind him and breathes out hard through his nose as his sister sends him some spam about a new Netflix reality show.

He rolls his eyes and kicks off his shoes, feeling the weight of the silence in his house, wishing desperately that he didn’t ruin it by looking at your phone and he would have gotten to stay longer but he knows better. Knows the rules. You’ve never been anything but clear—no promises, no labels, no strings. So why the fuck does his chest feel tight?

Ding.

Zander Jones: You done with her yet? Tryin to shoot my shot.

The blood drains from Rafe’s face before he can stop it. For a second, he just stares at the screen, frozen even though he knew this was coming.

He taps out of the message and sinks down on his leather couch, kicking back his feet as he swipes open a dating app for the nth time. Like muscle memory at this point. Like a balm that will ease the ache in his heart.

And across town, in your bed that’s still warm with his heat and rich with his smell you feel your frustrations swell. If he can swipe, you can click.

You draw a deep breath as your stomach twists in knots because deep down, you already know you’d never go to paradise for love. You’d go because you couldn’t stay away from him.

You’re never going to get over this. You’re just trying to forget.

But you know damn well—you won’t.

No one forgets about Rafe Cameron and he feels the exact same way about you.

New tag list 🏷️

@rafesthroatbaby | @ietss | @lilithblackkk | @rafecameronsfavourite | @my-name-is-baby | @urmotherlvr | @forgiveliv | @barnesboo1967 | @wtfisastiles | @k4yr14 | @taliescapes | @rafesbuzzcutseason | @sky-44 | @biascriptum | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @lolasangelz | @st8rkey | @lhhlver | @slut-4-rafey | @gri959 | @prettybabyyyy | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @maybankslover | @littlelamy | @buckybarnessweetheart | @angelicameron | @lover-girlyy | @rcameronlova1 | @rafesbabygirlx | @mayanqueenxx | @bimbob1tch | @dylsdaily | @blair-bears-blog | @akobx | @countryclubwhore | @esmerai-artemis | @jkmylove97 | @wtfdudesblog | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @yasmin-oviedo | @queen-cs | @floredaqueen | @alexxavicry | @aerie717 | @cokewithcameron | @premiumshitt | @rcameronlova1

[littlelamy]

the cameron house was way too quiet when rafe led you inside. the a/c hummed through all the vents, the marble floor echoed every step of your heeled wedges, and the chandelier above the foyer sparkled even though it was the middle of the day. your fingers stayed laced tightly with his, and he hadn’t let go once since pulling up in the driveway.

“you don’t have to be nervous,” you said softly, looking up at him.

“i’m not,” rafe muttered, jaw tighten as he looked at your dress. “you just…look too good.”

you smiled softly at him, “really? you picked this dress for me.”

“annnnd now i’m regretting it.”

the dress was pink, of course—tight, short, low in the chest. your boobs bounced just right with every step, and your lip gloss matched the flush on your cheeks. you looked like someone straight off a playboy yacht, but softer and much sweeter. his favorite thing in the world.

he led you into the sitting room where ward was waiting, lounging in a white linen button-up and slacks. a tumbler of whiskey sat in his hand.

“son,” he said, looking up and standing. “you didn’t tell me you were bringing an angel home.”

rafe’s grip on your hand tightened. “dad..this is y/n.”

you smiled, extending your free hand. “hi, mr. cameron. it’s really nice to meet you.”

ward took it, lifted it to his lips without asking. he didn’t kiss it, just let it hover there, his eyes dragging over you like a man picking out his next car.

“well now,” he said, “i can see why rafe’s been in such a good mood lately.”

rafe stepped between you subtly, dropping your joined hands to place his arm around your waist. not subtle at all.

“she’s mine,” he said flatly.

“relax,” ward chuckled, sitting back down. “i’m not gonna steal your girl.”

“you’re not funny.”

you touched rafe’s side gently, a small signal; that it’s okay. he glanced down at you, his rapid breath slowing.

ward sipped his drink. “so, honey..what do you do?”

you blinked, smiled again. “well, right now i mostly model. and help with some small business stuff online. skincare and beauty. i’m trying to solidify my brand, within my family especially since they are prominent in the business world.”

ward raised a brow. “smart and beautiful. rare combo these days.”

you giggled, a little unsure of what else to say. “thank you. i really love what i do.”

“i bet you do and i bet you’re very good at it.”

rafe’s hand on your waist twitched. “she’s not here for an interview,” he said sharply.

ward smirked over his glass. “of course not. but i am curious what kind of girl finally got you to stop acting like an asshole.”

“she’s not just some girl,” rafe snapped.

you squeezed his wrist. “baby, it’s fine.”

“no, it’s not,” he growled under his breath. “he’s doing that thing. the smarmy old bastard thing.”

ward chuckled again. “son, if you’re gonna bring a playboy bunny into my house, don’t act surprised when i look.”

“she’s not a fucking bunny,” rafe said, louder now.

“i do like bunnies,” you offered, still smiling sweetly. “they’re soft and cute and fast.”

ward’s eyes dragged down your body again, resting at the swell of your chest. “and you certainly bounce like one.”

rafe stepped forward, very aggressively, the air snapping tight between the three of you. your hand on his chest was the only thing that stopped him.

“don’t talk to her like that,” rafe hissed.

ward raised both palms. “hey. joking, joking. no offense meant. she’s gorgeous, rafe. you should be proud.”

rafe didn’t move or blink. you stayed close, rubbing your hand in slow circles over his chest. “i am his,” you said gently. “you don’t have to worry about that.”

ward smiled with lusty eyes, “i never doubted it, sweetheart.”

rafe stepped back finally, “we’re leaving.”

“already?” ward asked. “but she just got here.”

“and now she’s going.” rafe’s voice left no room for argument.

you let him lead you out, your heels clicking on the tile. he didn’t say a word until the front door shut behind you and he’d helped you into the passenger seat of his car, fingers shaking a little on the door handle.

“you okay?” you asked softly, hand on his thigh once he slid behind the wheel.

he let out a slow breath. “he always does this. tries to act cool. like he’s still got it.”

you leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “he doesn’t.”

rafe looked over at you, with a certain softness showing his disappointment, “i hated how he looked at you.”

“i noticed.”

“you looked so good.”

you smiled at his cuteness, “you picked the dress.”

“and now i wanna burn it.”

“you don’t have to,” you whispered, trailing your hand up his thigh, gently rubbing on the head of his outlined cock. “you’re the only one who gets to take it off.”

he groaned, leaning forward to kiss you. it was rough at first, then slower, like he needed to remind himself he had you, not just defend you. his hand cupped your cheek.

“thanks for coming with me,” he whispered. “even if he’s a piece of shit.”

“you’re not your dad,” you said. “and you never will be.”

he kissed you again, longer this time. “good, because if i ever flirted with someone else’s girl, i’d want someone to break my fucking jaw.”

you grinned, lipstick smudged, eyes bright. “good thing you only flirt with me.”

❤︎‬ tags below

taglist𑄽𑄺: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafedaddy01 @rafesangelita @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @@ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @wintercrows @st8rkey @nemesyaaa @sturns-mermaid @drewswife

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ݁˖ 𝕷IKE THAT ᝰ! D.A.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ synopsis: you were dani’s favourite, you knew that. of all the girls and guys she had, she always came back to you. but lately, you’ve found yourself detaching from the fwb arrangement; staying out late more and dodging her calls, but she’s determined to have you back to her--'cause all those girls (they don’t) know what you need

warnings: angst, slight!nsfw, sexual content mentioned, toxic!dani, straight men (ew), eventual fluff, would turn into series

turntable now playing: like that - babymonster

“You’ve reached y/n’s cell! I can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the--” What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was the fourth call you haven’t picked up tonight. Daniela wasn’t just growing impatient, she was livid.

You and Daniela met in college, your roommate, Lara always hung around this group of girls you would eventually befriend.

You met Sophia first, the ambitious go-getter with a type of energy you always struggled to keep up with. Then came Megan, who introduced you to the deep, relaxing world of Yacht rock. The two of you shared a deep love for tanning in the Hawaiian sun and loving alternative fashion.

Third was Yoonchae; she was quiet, a complimentary presence contrary to the chaotic energy the other three brought.

It was through Manon--whom was the smartest, and the most well-versed woman you knew--did you come to meet Daniela. You were trying to get French lessons from Manon, who was somewhat fluent in French (and 16 other languages), and you’d see her roommate loitering around the dorm.

And with knowing Daniela came succumbing to her charm.

Very charismatic, but had little heart for good intentions. You knew she had a deck of names just on her phone. You knew she could just phone up whomever she’d wanted, and they would come, but you didn’t care. It felt too good when you had her attention alone, when she wouldn’t care if her phone pinged when you were making out in her mustang at the top of the couple go-to of all LA’s trails.

“You’ve reached y/n’s cell! I can’t come to the phone right now, but--” Daniela chucked her phone into the passenger seat beside her, running a hand through her hair. Fifth time without an answer. You’ve never done this before.

She was making all kinds of reason as to why you’d go mia:

a) You could be mad at her. The last time the two of you were hanging out, alone, she did leave you in her room high and dry when she got a call from Caleb and his drinking buddies. She assured you she owed the guys a round of drinks for helping her cheat on her mid-term the week earlier, but you were not happy, and definitely worried about Manon coming home.

b) Maybe you’d found someone else. After weeks of playing this push and pull game with you, Daniela got really drunk one night and didn’t feel like arguing when you began scolding her for standing you up and didn’t even bother texting. She flat out told you, “move on then. nobody’s making you stay, so what’s stopping you?” It was harsh, but the two of you never spoke of that night. Maybe you finally listened to that advice.

c) You died. There were no other options. You had to be dead.

Daniela had never felt so out of control before. She prided herself in being able to string boys and girls along with just her pinkie finger. She never committed to anybody, she loved toying with her roster more than anything.

But every time she’d end things with her other flings, she’d come back to you without fail.

And she would praise you, whether she’d be making her mark on you or taking you out for some fancy meal she wouldn’t let you pay for, she’d make sure to make you feel special.

Until she found the next woman who wanted to make her the ultimate bi-curious experiment, or the group of frat guys who wanted to “just go out and party it up” with her alone.

You weren’t exactly bothered by it at first, you were thankful you got even that shred of her attention. But the more you fooled around, the more you worried for her when Manon would call you late to ask if you knew where she was; or when she’d abruptly leave a hang-out she asked for to go party. When you confided in Lara, the only person beyond the two of you who knew of the situation, she reminded you of the lineup you had waiting for you before Daniela came into your life.

You were young, beautiful, and full of life. Why get weighed down by somebody as careless and immature as Daniela?

So you started hanging out with your friends more again. Lara and Manon would drag you out to the most exclusive nightclubs and bars around LA, some other nights Sophia and Yoonchae would bring you out on movie nights and have takeout and play games all night. On weekends, Megan would take you out on long drives along the coast of Californian beaches, spending hours working on your tan and basking in the sun until both of you had bikini lines along your chest.

Daniela was no longer a priority in your life, like you in hers.

“You’ve reached y/n’s cell! I can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message after the beep--” Sixth attempt in, she can’t bring herself to end the call anymore.

Daniela was definitely going through the five stages of grief; denial, anger--now, bargaining.

She thought hard, really hard about all the people you’ve been spending more time with lately. She knew you and the girls were together a lot, but she also remembered this new guy who often popped up on your phone recently; Jay.

Jay frequented the gym you worked out at, he had the sexiest smirk you had ever seen on a man.

Daniela knew. She had briefly tried flirting with Jay once. She was at lunch with some of the friends she knew through Heeseung and Kai, and Jay pretty much sat and looked pretty. He kept to himself and Daniela loved a challenge, so she tried hitting on him. Alas, he turned down her advances, and now she knew why--‘cuz he was dead set on you.

She knew you better than that. She knew you had to be doing this to piss her off; and god damn it, it’s working.

“Hello?” It took her a minute to actually register you had picked up--the seventh call, the seventh time she’d clicked on your name, the seventh time she told herself she was acting far too desperate for her own liking.

“Where the fuck have you been?” was the first thing that came out of her mouth, “I’ve been calling your call all night, I thought I was gonna come by tonight.”

She could hear a busy party on your other end of the line.

“Sorry, Sophia and I met up with some friends. What’s up?”

“Friends? Like who? What club are you at right now, I’ll pull up,” Daniela started her car, hearing her engine roar.

“I--Okay, wait, I’m sorry, Dani, can we talk later?” you apologized quickly. Daniela could hear the sound of a man’s voice faintly, and before she could protest, you ended the call.

“Come on, screenager, I thought we were unplugging tonight.” You follow your gaze, met with a tall, muscular build before you with two drinks in his hands. He’s staring at you, and when his eyes lock with yours, you feel a flash of something—interest.

You’re not sure why, but you felt hesitant. The thought of talking to someone new—someone not Daniela—felt foreign. But you shoved it aside, forcing yourself to smile as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, taking the drink.

“Sorry, just a concerned roommate,” you lied, trying to keep your voice steady. Why the hell does it feel this complicated?

“Lara, right?” he asks, “I share a lecture with her. She’s cool.”

You nod, conversing mindlessly. You exchange small talk for a few minutes, but your mind keeps drifting. There’s this nagging thought at the back of your mind—Daniela.

It doesn’t help that you saw she had tried to reach you six times before you picked up. She’d been calling, texting, and you—well, you just couldn’t deal with it. You were thankful for the loud music and strong stench of sweat and hormones, you could barely hear your own thoughts. Part of you was hoping she’d just get the hint and leave you alone for a while. You were trying to find your balance, trying to feel like you again, without the weight of whatever was happening between you two.

But now, as you laugh and talk with Jay, you can’t ignore the fact that you keep glancing away, his words tuning out.

It was then did you see a familiar head through the crowd of dancing people and drunk college students.

She’s here.

Daniela is standing by the entrance, her eyes scanning the crowd. You can’t see much more than the back of her head, but the way she holds herself, her golden curls, you know it’s her. Your stomach tightens.

"Everything okay?" Jay asked, noticing your distracted gaze.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice flat, not realizing how much you’ve been affected by Daniela’s presence. You try to brush it off and focus back on Jay, but the sight of Daniela in the crowd feels like it’s pulling you in, tugging at you. Minutes later, you see her moving through the crowd, eyes trained on you like she’s found her target. There’s a flicker of annoyance in your chest. What does she want now? Why is she here?

But before you can process any of it, you feel her presence beside you—close enough that her perfume hits your nose. It’s familiar, warm, and immediately intoxicating.

You turn your head to meet her gaze, and for a moment, time slows. Daniela looks different tonight—darker, more intense.

“y/n,” she said, her voice low. “We need to talk.”

“Do you know her?” Jay asked, but you couldn’t look away.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. The club’s music thundered around you, but her words cut through it all. Jay noticed the shift, raising an eyebrow, but Daniela doesn’t even glance in his direction. It’s all about you now.

“I’m kinda busy,” you said, trying to sound unaffected, but your voice shook. You hated how weak you sound. Why the hell does she do this to you?

Daniela smirked, taking a step closer to you, her presence so overwhelming that you can’t breathe. Her eyes search your face, as if trying to read you. “No, you’re not. Come on.“

“Yo, she’s not comfortable, back up.” Jay held a hand up in front of Daniela, keeping her from stepping any closer. “Get lost, you can catch her later when you lose the attitude.”

“This doesn’t concern you, bird face.” Daniela held a hand up, “I want you

You want to pull away, to tell her to leave you alone. But there’s this pull between you two, this magnetic force you’ve never been able to escape, and for some stupid reason, you find yourself following her toward the edge of the dance floor, away from Jay and Sophia, away from the crowd.

“Dani, I—” you start, but she cuts you off, her hand suddenly grabbing yours, pulling you toward a quieter corner.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, her voice sharp, but there’s an edge of vulnerability beneath it. It catches you off guard, making your breath catch in your throat.

“No, I’ve just been around,” you say weakly, though you can tell it’s a poor excuse, “My phone was on silent.”

She doesn’t buy it. You can see the way her eyes darken. She takes another step closer, and this time, you can feel her body heat, the tension crackling in the air between you.

“I care about you,” Daniela says, the words coming out in a low, strained whisper. It’s so different from the way she normally talks to you—abrasive, defiant—but tonight, she’s softer, almost desperate. “I don’t care about the rules, the games. I just want you to come home with me.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You blinked, trying to process them, but they’re already sinking in, wrapping around you, binding you to her. You’ve never heard Daniela speak like that before—not with this rawness, this vulnerable edge.

But you knew better than to give in that easily.

“I can’t just leave Sophia,” you scoffed, “And Jay, he’s been super nice to me--!”

Amidst the dance floor, away from any curious eyes, she grabbed your hips and begun grinding against you. Her front pressed flush against your back, her toned stomach grazing the small of your back. You felt your words catch in your throat, your brain frying the moment you felt her hands on you. It felt too familiar, too comforting for your liking.

“If I come close, baby, would you like that?” she whispered against your ear, you felt her lips smirk. Her fingers traced lines against your hot skin. “‘Cause all those boys, they don’t know what you need, but I… I know how to make sure you never leave.” Her voice had your knees bucking in the middle of the club. Jay and Sophia long forgotten as you focused on your hips moving in the same rhythm as this world class dancer’s.

You shook your head, unsure of what to say, but it’s too late.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. The reality of it hit you all at once—the unspoken truth of what you’ve been trying to deny for so long. You cared about her. You cared more than you were willing to admit, more than you’ve allowed yourself to feel. The thought of Jay, of anyone else, made your stomach churn.

And as you stand there, with Daniela’s hand gently gripping yours, her gaze locking onto yours with a desperate intensity, you realized you’d put up with her childish, immature tantrums if it meant you had her under your thumb like this.

You nodded, just a tiny movement, and Daniela’s expression softened immediately.

“Come home with me,” she whispered, the words almost reverent, like a plea. Can you imagine that? Having Daniela Avanzini beg for you.

You don’t say anything at first. You just let her take your hand, and for the first time, you allow yourself to follow her—heart pounding, but this time, not out of fear, but something else entirely. You liked it just like that.

[totheseok]

☆ boynextdoor reaction to you biting them

requested: no

genre: fluff ig?

warnings: none that i can think of

word count: 1.1k

a/n: more self indulgent things because I have a biting problem.

sungho:

gobsmacked

yk that really shocked face he makes where his mouth is open and his eyes are wide?

that's his face when he realises you bit him

it's a light bite but it's unexpected

you two are in the lower homes living room just chilling. sungho is playing fifa while you just mindlessly scroll on your phone. eventually you get tired of your phone and now you need your boyfriends attention. but sungho is locked in on the game and you know simply asking for his attention wouldn't work. so naturally you do what must be done. and you bite his arm. you bit him lightly but you've never bitten him before so man was s h o c k e d. he looks towards you eyes wide, mouth open and then looks at his arm, then back at you.

"hi"

"hi? did you just bite me?"

"mhm"

"why?"

you bit him again and cuddled up in his side 😌

riwoo:

goes silent

riwoo.exe has stopped responding

like remember the funnextdoor episode where he went quiet and woonhak was like "riwoo is trying to think of something funny to say"

kinda like that

riwoo gives me yapper vibes so...

you two are sitting at the table in the kitchen just enjoying some snacks while talking about your day. he's probably telling you about a new dance he's learning or something stupid that happened at dance practice. you're just listening and watching your absolute cutie patootie of a boyfriend yap away. as he's doing this you cant help but notice how cute his cheeks look. and how biteable they look.... and so to preserve your own sanity you do just that. you bite his cheek 😌. following your bite all you hear is, well, nothing. sanghyeok is just sitting staring at you with wide eyes, bite unfinished. man is shocked, flustered, flabbergasted and so much more

"riwoo?"

"..."

"baby?"

"..."

"sanghyeok?"

"..."

jaehyun:

menace pt1

bros probably going to start singing bite me ngl

but we know hes a dramatic pookie

so that too

you and jaehyun are in his room. hes studying some english. youre having the time of your life, laying with your head in his lap, watching him struggle to pronounce "yacht". you offered to help him but noooo, he can do it. refuses to let you help because he wants to prove he can do it himself and with any other word you wouldnt doubt him. he's quite good at english and hes improving rapidly but the word "yacht"... its a pain in the ass to learn at first even if english is your first language. i mean look at it it should be pronounced "ya ch t" or something. he had first said "ya ch t" and was convinced that's how it was pronounced until he looked at your face and realised he was wrong. but was going to ask for help? no? but manz could NOT figure out what else it could be.

after about 5 minutes of watching him struggle you got fed up and decided to MAKE him listen to you. so you leaned your head down. and but his thigh. surprised at first, bamboozled even. but once he realised what had happened he started giggling soon followed by you. after recovering from the laughing fit, he did not miss a single beat and started singing in that voice he uses to annoy sungho.

"its you and me in this world 내게로 다시 와 tie me"

"seriously? thats you first response?!?!"

"날 구원할 거라면 just come kiss me and bite me"

"sure but say 'yacht' first"

"HEY"

taesan:

bites back.

thats it

thats the headcanon

jk but fr

i cant find it now but theres a video of taesan biting jaehyun and bro just nommed in jaehyuns arm

which is why im 100% sure he would bite back

honestly wouldnt even be phased

its probably your love language as a couple

you and taesan were at the studio, taesan was working on some new songs while you sat nearby doing some assignments. eventually the words you were typing started floating around the screen and you didnt even know what you were typing so you decided it was a good time to take a break. but if youre taking a break then taesan should also be taking a break because 1. he was probably tired too and 2. how dare he work while youre taking a break instead of giving you attention. so you decided to give him a few minutes so that he wouldnt lose his train of though. plus he looks so cute when hes focused so...

HOWEVER a few minutes turned into 10 minutes. 10 minutes turned into 20. and eventually half an hour passed. you realised taesan wasnt about to take a break any time soon, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. you slowly crept up behind him and attacked. bro did not move. just looked at you smiled and pulled you into his lap. you may not have gotten a reaction but hey, now you get attention from your boyfriend. with no consequences... right? err❌ wrong.

"whats up?"

"you should take a break youve been working for so long. nonstop"

"okay"

"youre just going to listen? that easily?"

"hmm?" *bites you*

leehan:

menace pt2

takes it as an opportunity to flirt

teases you to no end

i keep thinking about that boynextdoor 2night video where while spinning bottle the jaehyun told him he was doing it the wrong way

and he was like ill do it how i want

so like

think abt that

you and leehan were watching a kdrama while cuddling. initially both of you were very invested and you kept fangirling over the male lead (me every time i watch unlock my boss) and leehan would laugh and jokingly complain about it. after about two more episodes you noticed that leehan hadnt said anthing in a while so you looked towards him and saw that he had dozed off. but this was unacceptable how could he leave you to watch people try to kill each other on your own. no absolutely not. this was not allowed. how dare he. you first tried slightly shaking him awake, it woke him up but he just mumbled something unintelligible and closed his eyes again. time for plan b. biting him.

it worked. quite well. too well.

"why???"

"why what?"

"baby i know i taste good but if youre hungry the gummies might serve you better"

"you left me alone to watch mr.oh be mean to my husband 😔"

"hey its ok i didnt hear anything he said about me~"

"oh god you know what go back to sleep"

[pia-nor481]

Charles Leclerc NSFW alphabet

A-Aftercare (what they're like after sex?)

He's very passionate and so will want to just lay there and cuddle for a while before picking her up and carrying her towards the bath, where they continue to bask in each other.

B-Body part (what is their favourite part of theirs and their partner?)

I'm lead to believe he doesn't have a specific favourite. But he likes ass and tits equally, I think he's one of those men who would slap your ass when you stand up. He also loves to hold her waist, no matter the situation.

On himself he really likes his arms. He loves seeing them around her body.

C-Cum (anything to do with cum)

Charles cums a lot, and pretty often. He definitely likes to cum inside of her, it doesn't matter whether it's a cunt or her mouth. He just loves it.

D-Dirty secret (just a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s not a big fan of deep throating when getting a blow job. He’s not too sure why, but he never understood the appeal. He does however a little bit of pain when getting head.

E- Experience (how experienced are they)

Have you seen him? Very experienced. He's not a big fan of hookups but he doesn't need to be guided too much as he's able to read her body language easily.

F- Favourite position

He actually loves missionary, especially when her legs are wrapped around him. He also loves bath sex so much, it's also so soft and comforting, she's usually on top of him, but he's thrusting up.

G- Goofy (how serious are they in the moment)

from time to time sex can be filled with giggles and jokes. But usually he's pretty serious as his focus is pleasure and how much he loves her.

H- Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes)

He definitely shaves pretty often, or at least in neatly trimmed. It makes the clean up easier, and he thinks it just looks better.

I- Intimacy (how are they during the moment? Romantic? Pleasure driven?)

He's SO intimate, he loves to watch her come undone and just wants to show her all of his love. He's very romantic and he loves to fill the bedroom with candles or take her on a lovely date and once they get home he makes love to her.

J- Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate very often as he like to wait for her. But if that's not possible, she would definitely be receiving a call. He doesn't like to masturbate while just thinking, he wants to hear or see her.

K- Kinks (one or more of their kinks)

Mommy kink- but he is too scared to say so. He wants it's so bad, and he's been planning on how to tell her for months. Maybe it just slips out while she’s on top and he’s very shocked at what he’s said, but it’s very happy when he realised she liked it

Mirrors- he knows he’s hot, let’s be honest Charles is a little vain and wants to watch himself fucking her

Recording- is this a kink? Anyway, he likes to watch so his favourite thing is recording them and watching it a few weeks later on race weekends

Food play- even just the concept of licking syrup off of her body gets him going. That’s not to say he doesn’t like it on himself. Feeling her touch makes him lose his mind.

L- Location (their favourite place)

He likes hotel rooms because it can get pretty mess a lot of the time. He likes his yacht, it can be quite risky, but nothing he'd shy away from.

M- Motivation (what gets them going?)

Post race sex, that high he gets. Her wearing any of his clothes, it turns him on so much that he just can't resist.

N- No (what turns them off)

Anything usually considered gross. Or extreme pain.

O- Oral (preference on giving or receiving. Skill)

He LOVES giving, he could spend hours between her legs, lapping up her cunt. He just loves it so much, so he is very skilled. He does like getting head, but he much prefers to go down on her. He knows all the techniques and is prepared to learn more.

P- Pace (Are they fast or slow? Rough or sensual?)

Definitely more slow and sensual, he is NOT a lazy lover. He wants her to feel his passion and love, and that is the best way to do it. He definitely likes to be rough, but not particularly fast., this is usually after a bad race, or sometimes even after a win.

Q- Quickie (their opinions on them? How often?)

He has a very neutral opinion and so is not opposed, I think if they were short on time he'd prefer to just wait, or if he was that desperate, he'd happily have a blow job. Overall he prefers to take his time.

R- Risk (will they experiment? Do they take risks?)

He probably really dislikes taking risks, but that does not mean he's completely vanilla. He just doesn't want anything to end badly in any way, so this is kind of his way of preventing it. But don't worry he does switch things up quite often.

S- Stamina (how many rounds do they go for?)

He's very fit!!! So can go for quite a few rounds most days. Other days he's cumming almost immediately and has a pretty short refractory period. But that's partly why he's so good at oral, he just doesn't want the sex to end

T-Toys (do they own any? Do they use them? On a partner or themself?)

Mostly likely some form of vibrator, he did use it on himself and few times, then he asked her for some help with it ;) but he does like to use them on her, just no very often, he sees it as a good way to tease or build up an orgasm. He probably owns some form of couples sex toy that he was too scared to talk to her about until she found it. They definitely had a good night.

U-Unfair (how much do they tease?)

He likes to tease  a little bit, but he knows eventually he's going to get teased back. He likes teasing physically, using the lightest of touches or suddenly stopping all movement in one area and moving his hand somewhere else. 

V-Volume (how loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

He like to be loud, whether he's a sub or not. Usually groans or even a bit of panting in a hot way. If he's subbing then definitely the most beautiful whines and moans you've ever heard. Don't get me wrong, he loves to hear her voice, it lets him know he's doing a good job

W-Wild card (a random headcanon)

Charles wants a baby so bad, so he's developed a massive breeding kink. He's constantly trying to fill her up, wanting to see her carry his child.

X-X-ray (how big are they?)

Have you seen the images? He's big and he's thick. Based on my terrible estimates probably 7 inches.

Y- Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Not too high that it could be annoying, but still very high, especially if he's not seen her for a while, then they're fucking like rabbits. He just needs her so desperately.

Z-Zzz (how quick do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Very quickly, he loves cuddles and so that can just put him to sleep. Don't worry, he keeps her on his chest while they sleep, big arms wrapped around her.

[jayaury]

Trip to the Stars

Another older story now available for free! And plenty more on you know where: https://www.patreon.com/c/JayAury

#

“I don’t care how much those damn squids are offering! Their world is a fucking sewer, and I’ll be the one deciding where the cruise heads to. And if they don’t like it, then they can stick themselves in airlock and blow it out the void!”

Devon Logan touched his ear, killing the frequency and shifting to the next one as he swept through the dark steel admin hall of the Stellar Fete. He shrugged his shoulders, the microfibers of his suit shifting smoothly over his body like a second skin. He really disliked the thing, but the future hereditary manager of Logan Cruises had to look the part, and he did at that. Dozens of juvenative treatments, bio tinkering and nanomachines had perfected him to his role as heir to the pleasure barge’s long line of directors. He wasn’t just born for the role, but molded to it.

He swept a hand through his pale hair, blowing out a sigh as he stepped into the elevator, the door sliding shut and shooting him up into the guts of the ship, towards the sacred heart of the director’s offices. Stars but it was exhausting managing the business. Especially as they were getting closer to launch. A dozen generations had built the Stellar Fete into the sector’s premier vacation yacht. The future leaders of worlds, megacorps, and systems enjoyed its services when they needed a break from the turmoil of their work. But that meant he never got one. He groaned, cracking his neck.

He needed a drink or a stim. Maybe both.

The elevator beeped as it hit his office floor, the curving door sliding open with a hiss. “Julianne!” he said as he marched towards his office. “Hold all calls. I have some personal business to take care of.”

“Of course, sir.”

Devon was halfway into his office when that voice actually registered. Midstride he stopped, walked backwards, and stared at the woman in his secretary’s chair.

Last time he checked, it had been occupied by a slim young woman in a skin-tight bodysuit whose short hair failed to hide her large eyes and the access implants in her neck.

Now, however, it was occupied by a woman as curvy as one of the finest pleasure bimbos from the gene cutters. Her green breasts were huge, cradled in a tight band of red cloth. Another swept between her legs, hiding the treasure that lay between. A perfect hourglass of womanly curves, her hair was bright red and cascaded over her shoulders like the molten surface of a dwarf star. Her eyes were deep, dark, and her smile pretty and radiating a sweetness that made his cock tingle in the tight confines of his pants.

“Julianne?” he said skeptically. Had his secretary gone to the gene modders in the last few turns?

“Afraid not, sir,” the woman said, her voice carrying a thrumming purr that seemed to shoot straight into his animal brain and ache in his crotch. “My name is Amoora, your new secretary.”

“What happened to my old one?” he said.

“She had an unfortunate accident, sir.”

“Accident?”

“Owing the Drax such a large sum of money tends to invite them. The Stellar Fete’s system acted quickly to replace her, given how close you were coming to launch day.”

“... Uh huh. And it hired you?” Devon said.

“I was considered the best match for your current needs, director.”

Devon didn’t doubt that. How could he? The ship’s AI system had guided the last four generations of directors from cradle to the grave. If the system said that Amoora would make his best assistant, then he had to assume it knew what it was doing.

Still…

There was something about the whole situation that sat strangely with him. Some niggling suspicion. It certainly didn’t involve Amoora herself. She was exactly his type, which was possibly why the system had hired her on.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “Well, no calls.”

“Of course, sir.”

With a lingering look on her, he slipped into his office, the door sliding shut in his wake with a magnetic hum. He exhaled heavily and made his way across the large barren room, taking a seat behind the black plasteel desk that dominated the center. As soon as he sat down the system came alive, screens projecting above his desk in glowing blue blocks, the walls swirling in soft violets as it projected images of the Stellar Fete from every angle.

“System?” he said. “Did you hire Amoora?”

“Confirmed, sir,” the AI said, voice flat and even. “It was determined the most efficient course of action given current circumstances.”

Ah, of course. It would be thinking of that. Devon rubbed his chin with thought. “What sort of alien is she?”

“A mooma, sir.”

“Mooma?” He frowned. “Never heard of them.”

“They are an uncommon species, director.”

That he could believe. He’d seen hundreds of thousands of alien species over the cycles, but even those were a mere fraction of sentient aliens in the galaxy.

Yet there was something about her that made him uneasy. What that was eluded him, but he still felt it keenly. An almost animal instinct not of danger, but of something else.

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “System?”

“Director?”

“Send in… Amoora,” he said. He considered himself an appropriately wary person, and though he trusted the system to make certain decisions, he was still director, and deciding on who would be personally assisting him was certainly in his purview. And if he didn’t like what he heard, he’d just fire her. There were plenty of others who would be eager to take the job, that much he knew for sure.

“Of course, sir,” the system said.

He killed the program with a sigh and tapped one of the glowing keys in his desk, causing the screens to vanish with a blink. Within moments the door slid open once more and Amoora stepped inside.

He’d thought he’d gotten a good look at her before, but the one he was receiving now only further reinforced what a gorgeous specimen of alien beauty she was. Though her figure had a striking hourglass curve, there was a mature plumpness to her, especially in the chest and hips, further emphasising her almost primal femininity. She struck him with her loveliness, something the meager straps she wore as clothing did nothing to hide, and even seemed at pains to emphasize. Her red hair was long, framing her gorgeous face, soft and sweet with a smile that just seemed to say, ‘I’m going to make it all better.’

“Please,” he said, gesturing at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, sitting delicately across from him, smiling warmly. As she did, Devon caught a whiff of her perfume. Something sweet and floral. Tantalizing and yet, strangely familiar. He took another sniff, trying to figure out what it was.

“Is something the matter, sir?” Amoora said.

“Hm? Oh, no. Nothing. Nothing at all.” He cleared his throat. “You ah-”

“Because you seemed distracted, sir.”

“Hm?”

Amoora smiled again at him. “It must be very stressful, sir, managing this whole ship. A wonderful pleasure cruise, certainly. I’ve heard it highly recommended. It’s only a shame you can’t enjoy its services as well.”

“Well, you know,” he said, both flattered and oddly uncomfortable. “It takes a lot of work to keep this ship running.”

“But you surely consider some relief, don’t you?” she asked gently.

“I have a few ways to relax.”

“Would you like to be shown another?”

“Hm?”

Amoora rose back to her feet and Devon stiffened as she moved around the desk and behind him. He knew he didn’t need to worry. The system would respond instantly if it felt like he was in danger, and no weapons were allowed on board, under threat of jettisoning into space. But he still sucked in a breath as her hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“What are you… you… Ohhhh…”

Devon groaned as her fingers began to flex and knead his shoulders, digging into him in a way that seemed to loosen every tightened, aching muscle.

“Your system did mention you get so awfully stressed, sir,” Amoora said, her voice soft and soothing while her hands did their work. “It mentioned it had been looking to hire someone skilled in that. In helping eeeease all that stress. Help your relaaaax after all your work.”

“D-did it…” Devon managed to say as Amoora’s hands did their slow, methodical work.

“Oh yes. You have such a loyal system, Devon. It makes me so happy to know how much you need me. You work so very hard. You deserve to relax a bit. To feel good. To feel better. To feel eeeeasy.”

Devon was feeling relaxed. Easy. Like a great burden were evaporating from his shoulders. He sank slowly into the chair, groaning, his head coming to rest against something soft. Something that certainly wasn’t the back of his chair. He opened his eyes and found himself tilted back, Amoora’s face hovering over his, smiling. Which meant it was her soft breasts which were currently cushioning his head.

Devon felt a slow flush rise to his face. “I-”

“I do hope you’re enjoying my work, director,” Amoora said sweetly as her hands again resumed their work on his shoulders. “And I would just like you to know that if you need anything… anything at all, I’d be delighted to care for you. Provide you with what you need. Like a massage. Like a big… soft… needy body for you to fuck…”

“You…”

“Aren’t you horny, sir?” she cooed, her lidded eyes bright as she gazed down at him. Pretty as galaxies. Swirling softly. “Would you like me to… help you relax… further?”

Devon inhaled deeply, taking in a great lungful of the alien’s pleasant perfume, the warmth of her massage oozing through him wonderfully. He was so very relaxed. And he surely did feel uncomfortable in only one way, owing to how his pants constricted his cock. “Hmm… Well, if you’re offering…”

“Of course,” Amoora said, stepping around him, her breasts wobbling as she lowered herself to her knees before him, eyes twinkling teasingly up at him. “I must obey my employer. It is only natural to ensure he is satisfied with my… service…”

She gave a wink, and her fingers undid the front of his pants. Devon groaned as his cock sprang free, throbbing with desire for the shapely green woman. Amoora’s eyes brightened even further at the sight, her smile deepening adoringly. “Oh sir,” she breathed, wrapping her hand around his root. “Such an impressive specimen.”

Devon chuckled. “How could it not be?” he said. “I’ve been designed to be… mmm… peak of human physical prowess.”

“And it shows, sir,” Amoora said, moaning softly as her tongue ran up along his underside, making him gasp and groan. “Mmmm. Such a powerful man, sir. It truly is an honour to… serve you…”

Devon was rapidly coming to the same conclusion. It really was a wonderful thing to have such a skilled pair of hands helping him out. Not even the whores on the pleasure deck could match the touch of the goddess currently kneeling between his legs.

“May I take you in my mouth, sir?” Amoora said just before her tongue made another loving lap up his cock. “I would be… ever so grateful…”

“Yeah. Sure. That sounds… sounds good,” he gasped.

“My thanks, master,” Amoora said, tilted his shaft towards her open mouth, and took him deep.

“F-fuuuuucking staaaaaars!” Devon groaned as her lips sank down. Devon knew he had a big cock. He’d been designed with one. Yet Amoora took it with ease, swallowing him to the hilt and beginning to adoringly bob.

“Fuck!” Devon gasped, grasping her head, her red hair soft beneath his hand as he pushed her down on his cock, fucking her mouth with growing urgency. “Fuck! Yes. Just like that. Fucking take my cock. Oh stars. Oh staaaaars that’s gooood!”

“Mmmmm,” Amoora moaned, the sound vibrating through his manhood as she bobbed even faster. Even harder. His cock squeezed in the warm vice of her lips, mouth and throat. Devon had long prided himself on his iron self-control, but that couldn’t save him from the suction of the mooma’s mouth.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Devon groaned, shuddering as he came, balls tightening as he unloaded great bursts of his pearly seed into Amoora’s mouth.

The mooma hummed, her eyes lidded as she gently suckled on his cock, her throat working as she swallowed every drop of his load. As Devon sank into his chair, panting, Amoora’s lips dragged off his shaft, popping free only for her tongue to tease around her plump lips lovingly, her lashes fluttering as if she were on the brink of sharing in his orgasm.

“Mmm. Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile. “Are you satisfied with my… service?”

“Huh?” Devon said, stirring from his rapture. “Oh. Yeah. Yes. I… I am…”

“Excellent. Then, I will be outside sir,” she said, rising, her plump breasts wobbling in her impossibly tight top and stirring Devon’s cock once more. “Please, do call me if you need anything else.”

Devon watched her turn, hips swinging as she strode back out the door, which closed with a hydraulic hiss behind her. Devon sighed, sinking back into his chair, amazed not only at her, but himself. He could normally fuck almost a dozen women before feeling so sated, but he wasn’t even sure he could get up from his chair after that blowjob.

But he wasn’t worried.

Oh no.

His body was designed to adapt to any and all circumstances. Before a week was out, he knew, he would be able to fuck that beautiful mooma into a puddle of moaning lust.

Yeah.

But… later.

For now, he was feeling more relaxed than he had in years and years. With a sigh he eased back into his seat, breathing in the air thick with Amoora’s perfume.

Maybe this secretary business wouldn’t be so bad after all…

#

Devon made it a point to make his way through the ship when they were preparing to begin another cruise. It did well for the crew to see him taking a personal interest in preparations. It ensured they kept in mind that the ship didn’t merely run in the void, but that there was someone at the head commanding them.

That said, he still hadn’t decided on which planet to make the destination of the next cruise. It was a bit of a conundrum for sure, but he knew he’d come across one soon enough. He always did. And the aid of his new secretary was surely making it easier.

Speaking of…

“Do you have those world maps for me yet?” he asked as they strolled through the cavernous gallery overlooking a shipboard theatre. He glanced over the rail, watching a number of drones hum around the seats, cleaning them with mechanical precision.

“Of course, sir,” Amoora said, passing him a data slate as they stepped into the tight confines of a waiting elevator.

He took the slate, rolling his shoulders as he felt the sleeves of his suit slide down his arms. Odd. It wasn’t fitting him as tightly as it used to. He’d have to get maintenance to take a look at that.

He was still looking through the files when the elevator hissed, doors sliding open and revealing that they were on the recreation deck. Devon paid little attention as he moved onto the floor, followed closely by Amoora. He was vaguely aware of the great windows that looked out onto open space, the view magnificent, even if the refueling station currently took up a fair bit of it, along with the innumerable shuttles zipping between it and open space.

“Hmm…” Devon mused, a flick of the finger paging through the brochures of hundreds of resort worlds. “No. No. Not too good. I think that one had a civil war. Pirates in that sector… Wait,” he said, stopping in the middle of the pool room, whose walls shimmered with the glowlamps under the water, reflecting a purple and blue veined with the white of waves. Devon squinted at the tropical beaches on the screen of his slate. “What’s this one?”

Amoora leaned over his shoulder, which gave him another whiff of her sweet, floral perfume. “Oh, that’s Mandina, sir.”

“Mandina?” he said. “I’ve never heard of that one. It’s not on our usual list.”

“No, sir,” Amoora said, tapping the screen, which proved distracting as her impressive, soft breasts squished against his back. “It’s a relatively unknown resort world, but very popular among moomas.”

“It is?” Devon said.

“Yes, sir. Which is likely why you’ve never heard of it. Moomas are very… private about our recreation worlds. Many slavers would delight in paying us a visit.”

Devon glanced from a pic of egg-shaped habs scattered about blooming jungles, his eyes taking in Amoora’s figure once more. “I… imagine so,” he said, then shook his head, clearing his throat. “Well,” he said, returning his attention to the screen, walking on. “It’s unusual, and we only visit worlds I’ve personally vetted, so it’s unlikely we’ll choose it.”

“Considering it is already quite generous, sir,” Amoora said.

Devon felt his skin tingle with her praise. “Yes, well… it’s very unlikely still,” he said as they passed from the pool room and into the gymnasium where a number of the resident fitness trainers were in the midst of practice.

“Good cycle, sir,” one of the fitness instructors said.

“Hello,” he said, nodding absently, then stopped and looked in surprise. For a moment he thought that Amoora had wandered past him, but no. Looking closer, he quickly made out a number of differences in the stunning green woman standing not far. As gorgeously curvy as Amoora, this mooma however had a smaller nose and was slightly shorter than his secretary.

“You are…” he began.

“A new hire, captain,” Amoora said, nodding at the other mooma. “This is Majaala.”

“New? But-”

“She comes highly recommended, sir, and will surely be a welcome addition to attend your guests.”

“I aim to please,” Majaala said, dipping in a bow, her breasts bouncing with the motion.

Devon stared at her, for a moment too shocked to formulate any words. He… he personally examined every new hire’s file before they were brought on. How had he missed that? Had he forgotten?

Who had hired her?

He suddenly looked sharply at Amoora, who smiled sweetly. A sudden suspicion rose in his mind, but he couldn’t make a scene here. It wouldn’t look good to make it seem like he wasn’t in control.

“I need to speak to you. Now,” he said.

“Of course, sir. There’s an empty room over this way.”

“Good. Great,” Devon said impatiently, following her.

She led him into an adjoining room, where massage tables sat in rows and tanning beds were propped up along the walls like missile pods waiting to fire. A soothing darkness radiated from a number of large dark lamps, in whose glow Amoora seemed almost radiant in her green skin and lush red hair.

Devon faced the mooma with a scowl as the doors sealed shut behind them “Now look-”

“Are you upset, sir?”

“Of course I’m upset! How was she hired? Who did it?”

“Why, I did, of course,” she said with a puzzled look. “Why are you mad, sir? Didn’t I do a good job?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Isn’t it?”

She suddenly took a step forward. Devon blinked, retreating in surprise, only for the back of his legs to hit a massage bench. He fell back to sit on the padded seat as Amoora moved in closer, her wobbling breasts eye level, her perfume hitting him in another waft of sweetness.

“I only wanted to serve you better, sir,” Amoora said, pouting, her soft red lips pushed out.

“You-”

“I know how very stressed you are, sir,” Amoora said, her hand coming up, brushing his cheek. Devon felt a shiver race through him, like a spark of electric delight. “I know how hard you work for this ship. How much you give to it. How much it weighs on you. I just wanted to take some of the pressure off. Was that wrong of me, sir?”

“I ah…”

“Is that not something a good assistant should do?” she asked.

Devon breathed in, gasping as her scent seemed to fill him. A floral and sweet medley that rushed into his limbs and head like a stimulant shot, making him float as if the gravity drive had broken. He tried to hold onto his anger, knowing if he let his authority slip it would be near impossible to get it back. But… well… it was hard to get mad at her. He could see how she might have thought she was helping him. And she was still so new to the job. Some errors were to be expected, he supposed.

“Well… I suppose you were trying to help,” he said slowly.

“Of course, sir,” Amoora said, her face smoothing into a happy smile. A look that made his heartbeat quicken and tension unknot in his stomach. “I’m only here to serve you. To serve such an impressive man. To help him any way I can.

“Such as finding the most capable girls to staff your ship,” she added, pushing in closer, her breasts practically in his face, her hands planting themselves on the bench beside him, trapping him with her body. “Because I know your time is far too valuable to waste vetting a bunch of silly bimbos coming to work on the Stellar Fete. Your mind is always occupied with much more… important things.”

“O-oh,” Devon breathed, eyes riveted to the perfect green orbs bound up in her top. “That ah… I mean, that’s true, of course.”

“Of course it is, sir. And you did hire me, sir. So why shouldn’t I know the specifics of what you’re looking for? It’s really a testament to your own brilliance, Devon, that I felt sure I could take that task on. All for you. My brilliant, handsome, strong director...”

She… she had a point, Devon had to admit. After all, if she felt confident assuming what his orders would be, wasn’t that just testament to how right he had been in hiring her? And the other mooma was clearly a good fit for the ship. If she was half as good at massage as Amoora, then there wasn’t any real reason to protest. Certainly, he doubted the guests would.

“Yeah,” Devon said, starting to smile as he watched Amoora’s immense breasts rise and fall. Rise and fall with her slow, heavy breathing... “Yeah. That… that’s true. Yeah,” he repeated, breathing deeply of her wonderful perfume. “Yeah…”

“You know, Devon,” Amoora said, leaning in closer, her breasts wobbling mere inches from his face, his breathing growing heavy. Shallow. “I find a man who takes charge so… deeply attractive. Moomas all do. A man who knows what he wants. Who’ll do what he needs to. Who’ll be such a… good boy…”

“Yeah…” Devon breathed. Then blinked. “W-wait. Did you say a-”

“A translation approximation, Devon,” Amoora said easily as she straddled his lap, her soft body pressing down on him, her breasts practically smothering him. “Not entirely accurate, but the mooma term is quite loaded. Much like you. Oh sir,” she groaned, her hips rocking, grinding herself on his bulge, making Devon groan. “I can feel how pent up you are. You mustn’t do that, sir. It might inhibit your decision making, being so horny. So backed up with your virile… hot… cum. We must take care of that, mustn’t we?”

Well, Devon had no objections to that! “Sure,” he said, grinning as he reached up, cupping the immense globes of her breasts, his fingers finding the catch of the strap. “Let’s… let’s do that…”

Amoora moaned as the strap clicked, fairly popping free, her immense breasts wobbling into the open, practically slapping his face with their glorious heft. He leaned in at once, lifting them up, smothering himself with her immense breasts contentedly.

“Mmmm,” Amoora moaned. “Oh sir, you do love a big pair of breasts, don’t you?”

Devon certainly wasn’t going to deny that. Especially a pair as gorgeously big and soft as Amoora’s. They fairly overflowed from his hands, soft as marshmallows. His cock throbbed in the prison of his pants, straining to be free and taste the gorgeous green alien astride him, still rubbing herself against his throbbing manhood.

“Oh Devon…” Amoora moaned as he fondled her tits. “Devon, I need you. I want you. Devon… Let me fuck you. I need you…”

“Y-yes,” Devon gasped, his head spinning and body throbbing with the surging desire racing through his veins. As he felt her hips cock, her hands slide the strap that served as her panties down. “Yes. F-fuck you. Gotta… ah…”

He felt her hands on his loose clothes, stroking him, stripping him. The fabric automatically separated around his chest, peeling off to reveal his toned abdominals. He groaned as the seam split around his pants, his cock fairly springing upwards, only to be ground under the groove of Amoora’s pussy as she rocked forward.

“Ohhhhhh!” Amoora moaned, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the hollow spaces of Devon’s body. “Oh Devon. I can feel it. Feel how horny you are. Oh sir, it must be so… so hard to think when you’re… ah… when you’re s-so haaaard. Please. Oh please, sir. Let me… let me relieve you. Let me free you… ha… of that b-burden…”

Devon had no doubt that she was referring to the burden of his arousal. What else could it be? And it was a burden. His balls ached with his need. His head throbbed and body burned with every rapid beat of his heart. He was so horny. So desperate to cum.

“A-Amoora,” he gasped from between her breasts. “I… I need…”

“I know, sweet thing,” Amoora said, arms moving around him, pulling his head deeper into the valley of her breasts. “I know. And I’m going to give you everything you need. Oh Devon… I’m ready. Ready for you. Ah,” she gasped, her body rising, lifting off his lap, allowing his cock to spring up to throbbing attention before her hips fell, sheathing him inside her pussy.

And into heaven.

“Oh f-fuuuuuuc!” Devon moaned as she planted herself atop his cock.

“Oh stars yessss!” Amoora moaned, her hips rising, falling, fucking herself greedily atop his cock, her breasts bouncing around his face, smothering him in her titflesh and the sweet, suffocating perfume she wore. “Yes. Yesss! Oh Devon. Yes! Give me your cock. Fuck me. Cum in me. Cum in Amoora! My good boy. My good… ha… horny booooy!”

She cried out, hilting atop him, quivering with moaning lust, and as she did, Devon felt the sudden tightness of orgasm within him. His cock plowing up into her hungry pussy, his hands squeezing her ample tits.

“Yes! Yes! Oh f-fucking stars yesssss!” Devon cried, the sudden euphoria of release rushing through him, his cock twitching as he unloaded into the mooma’s wonderful pussy. Bucks of his hips drained him into the gorgeous alien, riding high on his orgasm. At last, he groaned, falling back onto the bench, panting hard and fast, feeling drained, light, as if the oxygen being pumped into the room had been sharply reduced.

He stared up at Amoora as the mooma leaned over him, her lovely red lips smiling as her hand stroked his chin. “Did you enjoy that, director?” she asked sweetly.

“Y-yes,” he gasped, feeling drained, yet pleasantly so. “V-very.”

“I’m so glad, sir. I did so want to make sure you knew you could trust me with… anything. Do you, sir? Do you trust me like a good boy should?”

Those words again. He felt a shiver, but not of distaste. For some reason, being called a good boy by Amoora was oddly… good. It felt right. Well, maybe it was a touch degrading, but if it was a crude translation of a term of affection, he supposed he cold tolerate it. Especially if good boys got such affection from a mooma.

Oh yes. He shivered in delight, his cock stirring anew. Yes. He’d very much like to have more of that.

Amoora felt him stiffen and smiled. “Oh director,” she said, stretching atop him, pressing her heavy breasts into his chest, her face hovering over his. “Is my good boy still horny?”

“Maybe a… a little,” he admitted with what he hoped was a cocky grin.

Amoora giggled, her eyes warm and smile comforting as if she were wrapping him in wooly clouds. “Mmm. How wonderful. I do love a man who can keep going. But don’t worry, director,” she said, leaning in closer. “Amoora is going to make sure you’re nice… and satisfied…”

Her lips descended on his, and Devon groaned, feeling his cock thicken and harden once more, her hips beginning to rise and fall, fucking him beneath her anew.

It was starting to look like hiring Amoora might have been the smartest thing he’d ever done…

#

Preparation to travel proceeded swiftly once Amoora took a large hand in organizing the Stellar Fete. Devon still insisted on touring the ship, but he was less and less surprised by the number of moomas which were filling up the vessel. It seemed like they were in every department, even in the ones which didn’t require their personal touch. But the remaining human and alien crew didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, they seemed to delight in the presence of the busty green aliens. He’d walked in on more than one crewman in a dark corridor, wrapped in the arms of a gorgeous mooma, moaning as his mouth was plundered in a kiss, or his lips adored huge, bouncy green breasts.

But Devon didn’t have much time for wandering these days. It tired him, and he had a hard time finding clothes that fit him. For some reason his body seemed to have grown sleeker. Slenderer. He wondered what that meant? He’d certainly been getting plenty of exercise. Amoora seemed inexhaustible in her affections, always ready to fuck him, suck him off, or do anything he needed. Honestly, it seemed like he hadn’t managed to check the system in weeks. If he wasn’t being fucked by the gorgeous mooma, he was busy recovering from their almost constant liaisons.

“Director?”

Devon stirred from his musings, swiveling in his chair towards his desk. The neon glow of the holo screens hummed before him, the AI’s voice droning in the air.

“Yes?” he said.

“I require confirmation of our destination.”

“Our destination?” he said, then shook himself, a sudden shot of adrenaline panic racing through him. “Fuck! I… I completely forget. System? Bring up the potential locations. I need to-”

“I do not understand, director. The location has been determined. I merely require confirmation.”

Devon stared, uncomprehending, at the screen. “Wh… what? Show me.”

A screen expanded before him, revealing a familiar scene. Egg-shaped habs on a tropical landscape, the gorgeous sea and a sprawling alien jungle of greens, violets, and reds in a sweeping blur of hues.

“Mandina?” he said blankly.

“Yes, sir. Your office has selected it. I only require your final confirmation and we can begin preparing to take on passengers.”

“But… I never… I didn’t…”

Understanding hit him like the shock of decompression. His eyes snapped to the door of his office and he jabbed the intercom.

“Amoora!”

“Yes, director?”

“Get in here!”

The door slid open and Amoora stepped inside, a loving smile on her face. “Yes, sir?” she said softly.

Devon opened his mouth, but even as he did he found his eyes wandering over her figure. The rage that had flared within him faded as if smothered under a heavy blanket. In its place, a tingling ached through him, his cock instantly rock hard for the gorgeous mooma as she stood, smiling politely in the doorway, all curves and willing loveliness.

“You wanted to see me?” Amoora said.

Devon jolted back to the present. “Y-yes. Yes. I did,” he said more sternly. “I ah… Look, did you…”

He trailed off as Amoora moved into the room, her wide hips swaying like a pendulum with her steps, her breasts wobbling in her tight, tight top in such a way that arrested the eye. Her presence seemed to fill the room. Devour his view. “Yes, Devon?” she said, coming around the desk. He heard a click and suddenly, the strap of her bra was floating down, leaving free her immense breasts to wobble tantalizingly into view. “What did I do?”

“You… you… L-look,” he said, trying to sound forceful. “Did you register this… this place as our destination?”

Amoora lazily glanced over at the hovering screen. Her smile widened. “Oh yes, Devon. I did. I just know it’s going to be such a big hit.”

“Amoora, that wasn’t your decision! It’s mine to make. Where we go. Where the ship goes. That’s the job of the director! The job I was born to do! You can’t just… I mean...”

“Of course it is, Devon,” Amoora said, leaning in suddenly close. “I would never think of overruling you.”

Devon leaned back, pressed into his chair. Yet even as he did, an equally powerful yearning surged through him, begging him to move forward. To bury his face in the gorgeous orbs of her immense breasts. To nuzzle and kiss them like a good boy.

A good boy…

Devon grit his teeth, trying to resist the aching lethargy that nearly made him swoon as soon as he inhaled her perfume. Fuck, he was so hard. His cock was shamelessly bulging in his loose uniform. “Amoora, I-”

“And I think you’d love to go to Mandina, Devon,” she said smoothly, moving forward. “I’m sure you and all the sexy, rich, powerful young heirs looking for a nice relaxing vacation would just adore visiting a planet just… filled with lonely moomas, needing to spoil and fuck and adore cute, adorable, obedient humans.”

“I… I…”

“Just like you do,” Amoora said, planting her hands on the back of his chair, arching her body, pressing her bouncy breasts nearly into his face. “I bet you’d just… love to visit my world. Just adore to relax on the beach with your pretty assistant. Your gorgeous, caring mooma mistress. It would be so nice to relax, Devon. So nice to just… stop… thinking…”

“S-stop?” Devon said, his voice slurring a little, his body feeling light again, as if ready to float up into Amoora’s gorgeous body.

“Yes,” Amoora breathed, leaning in closer, and Devon groaned in despair and unspeakable pleasure as her breasts pressed against his face, nearly burying him between their pillowy valley, suffocating him in her wonderful perfume. “The director doesn’t need to think. That’s what he hires his secretary to do. That’s why she hired all those lovely mooma to run his ship for him. He doesn’t need to worry himself about all those stressful things when relaxing is so much easier. So much better. So much more… pleasurable…”

Devon moaned, the wonderful weakness spreading further through him. Consuming him in a wave of pink bliss as Amoora straddled him on his chair, rubbing her pussy against his bulge.

“Do you want that, Devon?” Amoora said, giving her chest a bounce, jiggling her tits around his face. “Do you want me to make you so very happy? So very easy? Just say yes, Devon. And I’ll take care of everything. You’ll never need to work again. Never need to worry. You’ll be such a good boy. A good stud. All you have to do is let me fuck you. Pleasure you. Adore you. All you have to do is give in, Devon. Just let mistress do all the thinking for you. You’ll still be director. You’ll still be the boss. You’ll just do everything I say. Won’t that be so much easier? So much better?

“Say yes, Devon,” Amoora moaned, her body pressing down on him, her curves so soft, so warm, so glorious. “Say that’s what you want.”

It was.

It was so clearly what he wanted.

Every fiber cried out to be hers. To agree. To do anything Amoora wanted and more. And would it really be so bad? Wouldn’t it be so good to give in? To submit? To know only pleasure?

Some part of Devon railed against the idea, but he could come up with no counter arguments to her. He did want all she suggested. He did yearn to be hers. Her obedient boy. Her horny stud. Why shouldn’t he say yes?

There was no reason to say no.

And so, Devon moaned, “Yessss!”

Amoora smiled, eased back, releasing his gasping face from the depths of her breasts. “Good boy,” she purred.

Devon sighed, sinking back into his seat, a smile hovering on his lips as if all the tension, all the doubts floated from him. Drained away with that desperate moan of admission. He felt her hand on his, pulling him to his feet. The door at the back of the room hissed open, admitting him to his state room, his private sanctuary.

A low glow permeated the interior, washing the walls in purples, oranges and reds like galaxies burning their way around them. Amoora eased him down onto the bedding, her fingers trailing down his suit, the loose fabric opening easily.

“Undress, Devon,” she breathed, barely visible in the dark lights.

Devon did so, shrugging out of his suit, letting her pull it off him, revealing his toned, slender physique. Amoora cooed, leaning over him, kissing her way down his chest, every press of her lips making his breath hitch.

“Devon. So handsome,” she breathed. “So sexy. So perfect for mistress. I knew you would be. I knew you wanted this.”

“Ah!” Devon gasped as her lips reached his cock. Amoora’s eyes glowed softly in the gloom, her red lips seeming to glisten and shine as she kissed her way up his shaft, her hands hefting her immense breasts and wrapping them around his cock. Devon was far from small, yet her breasts were so big his manhood was utterly swallowed in them.

“Oh fuuuuuuck!” Devon groaned as Amoora bounced her breasts around him, squeezing his cock in that sweet valley of pleasure.

“Is it good, Devon?” Amoora whispered, her voice seeming to echo in the air. “Are mistress’s big breasts so good and soft around your cock?”

“Yes. Oh s-stars yessss!” Devon cried.

“And isn’t it so worth it?” she cooed, leaning down, her lips kissing the head of his cock whenever it emerged, sending shocks of glorious pleasure surging through him. “Isn’t this so worth giving up all that silly thinking? All those useless decisions? Isn’t it so much easier to just be my good boy? My obedient bimbo? My handsome, wonderful, horny boy?”

“Yes!” Devon gasped. “Yes! S-so good! Mistress… Oh stars mistress!”

“There it is,” Amoora cooed. “You called me mistress. I knew you would, my sweet boy. Now, give mistress that wonderful cum.”

Her breasts squeezed his cock, and as the tip emerged her lips wrapped around it. The sudden sensation of warm tightness was too much for him to bear, and Devon let out a needy moan of pure pleasure, clutching the sheets as he thrust up into her mouth, moaning in ecstasy as he came, his cock throbbing, pulsing, unloading into Amoora’s hungry mouth. The lovely mooma moaned, her lashes fluttering as she drank the bursts of his seed with a gusto that only made Devon feel hotter than before.

Her lips slid off his cock along with her breasts, and Devon wasn’t surprised to see he was still hard. His nanobots had been quick to react to the frequency of his orgasms, and keeping erect was no problem for him now.

“Mmm,” Amooa purred. “That was wonderful, Devon. But a good boy deserves far more reward for what you’ve done,” she said, climbing onto the bed, straddling him, looming above him like some fertility goddess of a savage world. Divine. Beautiful. Worthy of his obedient worship. “Do you want it, Devon?”

“More than… than anything,” he gasped, and the truth in those words put a smile on his face.

“Then confirm our destination,” Amoora breathed. “Agree to go to Mandina. Agree, and let’s bring all your friends with us. Let us show them how much they’ll love a mooma world.”

Devon shivered in understanding. Many of the highest corporate families used his pleasure line for vacation. The sons and daughters of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the sector. All of them offered up to a ship staffed with moomas. A world filled with the seductive aliens.

With barely a thought a screen blinked into being beside him, hovering above the rumpled sheets. The DNA reader glowed like a red disc in the air as he lifted a shaking hand and pressed a thumb to it.

There was a beep, a flash of green, and the screen faded away.

“Confirmed destination,” the system’s voice chimed around them. “Thank you, director.”

“There we are. What a good boy I have,” Amoora cooed as she lazily sheathed him within her. “What a… mmmm… a gooooood boy.”

Devon groaned as her pussy swallowed his cock. He grabbed her hips as if to anchor himself to reality as waves of otherworldly pleasure washed over him. As Amoora rode him, her breasts bouncing on her chest, almost hypnotic in their sway.

“Yessss!” Devon moaned, sinking into the pleasure of the moment. Of her body. Relishing every stroke of her glorious pussy on his cock. “Yesss! Mistress! Love… love mistress! Want you! Want you! Please… ah. Mistress. Oh fuck. Fuck! Mistresssss!”

His body was perfectly attuned to hers. To her pussy. It took no time at all for him to cum again. Again. Again. A seemingly endless parade of pleasured peaks as colours swirled about the room in hypnotic tailings of lights. He felt as if he were floating. Floating on a sea of unconscious pleasure. Above depths of pleasure. And now he was sinking.

Sinking.

Deep into wonderful, heady submission.

At last he sagged beneath her, breathing hard, head as empty as his balls, finally spent. Finally done.

Amoora hummed sweetly, rising, unsheathing him from her pussy. She stepped off the bed, and at once Devon found himself staring at her gorgeous rump. Amoora spared a look over her shoulder, gave him a teasing smile.

“Be back soon, Devon,” she said. “I need to make some final preparations for our departure. You just relax. Get some strength back. I have a lot in mind for rewarding my good boy.”

Devon’s body tingled. “Yes… yes, mistress,” he breathed.

Amoora laughed softly, blew him a kiss and turned, departing the bedroom. Devon sighed, sagging limply on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the colours swirled and danced.

The future looked very bright for him indeed.

[madaboutmunson]

A Very Good Fit

Fic for @stmonstercalendar #StrangerThingsMermayBingo2025

Using Prompts: Fashion/clothing, Yacht, First Kiss, Scales W/C = 6K

TW: Canon-typical swearing, Blood (very minor), Head Injury (graze), Near drowning Ao3 Link

He wasn’t supposed to, but he liked the humans. They had interesting things. More advanced than his basic materials, which were either natural or carved from what nature provided. By touch, he could tell they were derived, many times, from something natural, something from far into the earth, maybe even from beneath the sea. He knew it was dangerous if it spilt, but it also made things last forever. Most of it floated, but it could be weighed down. It was called plasteeque or something fancy like that, and on clean-up missions with his community, he’d sneak pieces back with him.

One of his favourite things was a large jackeet , or something, that was yellow. It made the rain bounce off and kept him warm and inconspicuous if he wanted to watch the humans from afar. He’d tuck his tail under it, and if anyone pointed at him, he just smiled and waved and picked up his fishing rod, with no hook or line, and they would wave back and carry on.

It had a little rectangular precious plasteeque brooch that had human letters on it. He knew a few, but not many.

As he saw the sun move in the sky, he knew it was time for one of his favourite humans. The one that brought the sounds he liked and sang like no siren he’d ever heard.

He tucked away his treasures into his bag, he’d heard it called that, which he tied around his waist and shoulders, and zoomed up to the surface, spinning excitedly through passing shoals and weaving through seaweed, until he broke the surface. He peered out carefully.

He didn’t like to be on land when this human was nearby. One, there wasn’t a surface in sight out here in the open ocean, and two, the sounds he brought with him made the water vibrate in ways that made him want to flip and twirl and dive, to them.

Regular as the currents, the boat turned up as the sun was setting, and already the sounds were loud. Some of it sounded like when boats scraped against rocks or their cages rattled in the storm. But it was the regular pulse he liked best.

And if he was honest, that wasn’t the sole reason he liked the human. He was handsome, too. He had long hair that flowed in the wind like the hair of his kind flowed underwater. He had big white teeth, but they weren’t scary or sharp. And he had big, round eyes, the deep colour of rich silt along river deltas. He would be a most excellent hunter. He sang along to the sounds, sometimes low, sometimes high-pitched like a whistle. One time, he screeched like a threatened gull.

Atlantis had music, but it was all voices in harmony and mostly for official ceremonies, or learning the Siren song. These sounds. This... human music was not like that.

He swam just below the surface so he wouldn’t be noticed. This time, he was on a yat , one of the ones with smaller sayuls . He must take care of boats, he always had dirt smudges on his face and hands.

He got close enough to press himself against the side of the boat so they couldn’t see him from above.

But today was a surprise. Today, the human wasn’t alone.

"You know, for an old-timer, you do waste a lot of your limited energy whining," his favourite human said, and he was carrying the silver box the sounds came out of. He felt so giddy he could flip.

"I dunno, Eddie. You sure it’s ok for us to be out here on this thing? It ain’t ours," the grey-haired human said. He seemed worried. Eddie. Eddie. That was his name. He burned it into his memory. It was so simple, and yet it worked.

"Could you untangle your panties for, like, two seconds?” Eddie whined. “I'm looking after the yacht. I can't sail this particular thing alone. That's why you're here. And if you're doing a spot of fishin' or I'm relaxin' while things settle down from little repairs and whatnot, so be it. That's the beauty of the open sea, Wayne. No cops." His favourite human laughed deeply. Wayne must be the older human.

The sounds started, and they were ones he’d heard before. He swished his tail to the vibrations and got so into it, his tail made a big splash. He quickly dove down again.

"Whoa, did you hear that? Must be some bigguns ‘round here. You know how to pick a spot, I'll give you that," Wayne said excitedly.

He’d heard something like that before. His heart sank a little that his favourite human might be one of those cruel people with barbed hooks.

"If you wanted to do your gross fishing, you shoulda brought your gear," Eddie grumbled as he rustled with some paper. "The only thing I wanna catch out here are some rays, a buzz, and some z’s."

He relaxed. Favourite human didn’t like to hunt the sea. He went up a few notches in his estimations.

"You’re crazy. Only a madman would fish here. Everyone knows it’s cursed," the older human said, and he could hear the genuine fear in his voice.

Eddie only laughed. "Those old folktales are why I come out here. And as you can see, it's peaceful. No monsters from the deep, no sudden storms or rough seas."

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna stick to my book, smokes, and beer, and not tempt any bad luck our way."

Until the sun went down, there was music and laughter and food, some of which he got to sample because Eddie fumbled it while talking animatedly with his hands. As he listened, it became apparent that the older human, Wayne, was Eddie's guardian, sort of, because he also overheard that Eddie didn’t really listen to him. Wayne fell asleep way before Eddie joined him.

Steve enjoyed the music and the hotdaurg . He wondered what land creatures they had hunted for these and how odd they must look. Like sea slugs, but very plain, brown, and not as squishy.

He almost joined them in slumber, curled up around the chain of their anchor under the boat, whilst Wayne rested across the seats and Eddie on top of the yat , but the feel of something approaching in the water put him on high alert.

The Jerkskees .

That’s what Eddie called them. Loud humans. Fast ones. The ones who ruined the quiet with shouting and roaring machines. But right now, they were quiet in their approach, in a squidgy boat using only paddles.

He thought they would pass, but they didn’t. Eddie and Wayne didn’t wake, and he began to panic. Nothing approached anything so quietly and secretly without ill intent, even if only mischief. The little inflatable boat drifted toward the yacht. Steve studied the ropes trailing overboard, saw the limbs shifting just above the surface. Definitely headed to climb aboard.

Quickly, he swam up, rocking the boat and brushing his long tail across the clumsy limbs of one human, who froze and screamed. Gracelessly swimming back to the other Jerkskee .

"No fucking way, dude! There is something down there! And it's big! I'm not risking it. No way!"

The boat began to move away, but all the commotion woke Wayne.

"Hey, get outta here!" he yelled groggily at the Jerkskees . "Eddie, wake up! Someone's tryin' to board us."

The small boat hurried away. Eddie didn’t wake. Wayne kept shouting until there was a thud, a gasp from the small boat that suddenly picked up speed, and then a loud splash.

The old human was drifting down into the water, but he wasn’t swimming. His limbs only moved with the water. Steve saw the small red ribbon of blood floating up and dispersing. He knew that was unsafe in these waters and hurried to scoop the man and get him quickly to the surface.

With all the commotion, he was certain Eddie would wake, but he could still hear his snores as he surfaced.

With all his might, he tried to push Wayne back up onto the yacht, but it was almost impossible without throwing him. He could also sense predators approaching in the water. This wasn’t safe for him or the humans.

He grimaced at the unfortunate decision he had to make. He blew air into the human, held it in for him with his hand, held him close, and dove down before surging back up at speed. He twisted, then rocketed upward. They burst from the sea and landed hard on the deck in a wet heap.

He was certain that would wake Eddie, but all there was was a snort, a pause in the snoring, mumbling, “Yeah, mhmm, autographs, later,” and then it resumed. This human could really relax. He was excellent at conserving energy. Another thing that he would normally adore about him, but right now, he needed his help.

He turned his attention to Wayne and started copying some motions he’d seen many times on land or boats when humans were pulled from the water.

The older man beneath him spluttered up the water and began to breathe and cough. For a second, he relaxed and then realised his tail would give him away until he dried off.

Quickly, he opened up his bag and put on the yellow plasteeque body cover. Using all his might, he pushed Wayne into a seat, and then himself.

The man opened his eyes a few times but closed them again, and Steve could see the wound on his head was only a small cut, nothing serious. But the man was shivering. He moved close to keep him warm until he could do more.

As his legs began to take shape while he dried off, he finally felt safe enough to wake Eddie.

He clambered unsteadily up onto the top of the yat . His heart was hammering in his chest. He never thought he’d be this close to his favourite human. The closer he got, the more beautiful he became in his slumber. And for the first time, he said his name, and it was almost overwhelming.

"Eddie", he said softly at first, but when there was no response, he pushed him slightly. Though he wasn’t built like a merman, his body was pleasantly firm to the touch.

"Wh-what? Wayne? Who the fuck?" Eddie sprang up so fast, his arms flailing. He almost went overboard, too, but Steve grabbed him in time and got rapidly hit with open-hand slaps for his efforts.

"Ow! That hurts," he complained, surprised he could express himself in human language, and equally impressed by Eddie’s power.

Eddie picked up a glass bottle and held it out threateningly.

"Get off my fucking boat, man, or I swear to God I’ll end you... Steve ."

Steve? Who was Steve? He turned behind him to look for someone else, but there was no one. He turned back and followed Eddie’s eyes to the brooch and noticed he had one too. He recognised most of these letters. E…D…ah! Eddie!

He smiled hugely. The brooch had given him a human name.

"Yes, Steve," he said proudly.

Eddie frowned, but the bottle lowered a little. He looked confused.

"Ah!" newly named Steve said. “Your guardian fell in the water. I helped. He is wet and cold now. He needs more help.”

"Guardian?" Eddie repeated, perplexed. "Wayne?" he said suddenly, panicking. "Wayne!"

He dashed off.

Steve trailed behind, smiling brightly at having his first human conversation, as Eddie flew across the yat , yelling in panic.

"Oh my God! Ohmygodohmygod," he yelled, and Steve saw Eddie hurry faster than a marlin, darting back and forth.

"Well, don’t just stand there!" Eddie screeched in that familiar distressed gull tone, but the expression was different, and Steve felt weirdly pulled to action, and he scrambled after the towels Eddie threw at him.

Eddie worked quickly, undressing and drying Wayne, putting him in new, dry and warm fabrics. The whole time, his face was in deep distress, but his hands moved fast and purposefully, even though his breaths were shaky. Steve marvelled at him. Wayne must be very important to him. Eddie was a very good caretaker.

Eddie picked up Wayne with unexpected ease. 

"You are very strong!" Steve said with a smile, and Eddie looked at him oddly as he took Wayne below deck.

Steve waited, listening. He could hear the older man was awake and thankfully talking, though it was in whispers.

"Now you’re all sorted, I gotta get rid of that lunatic in a yellow rain mac. Seriously, can’t take you anywhere," Eddie grumbled.

"He’s still here?" Wayne’s voice was raspy, surprised.

"Yes, crazy Steve is still here. Hey! Where are you- Get back here!" Eddie yelled, but Steve could already hear Wayne’s slightly laboured breaths approaching.

"You’re the young man who saved me?" Wayne asked, inspecting every bit of Steve, then looking out at the water.

Steve nodded. “Yes. You fell. I caught you.”

Wayne eyed him carefully. "You’re not one from the dinghy."

" Dingeee ?" Steve repeated curiously. Wayne’s eyes scanned him and then the water again.

"Where's ya boat?" Wayne asked, narrowing his eyes. Steve felt his stomach churn.

"Don’t hav-" he started, but was interrupted by Eddie pushing past him and fussing over Wayne.

"Will you sit down! You've hit your head!" Eddie huffed and forced Wayne to sit. "Of course, he's from the dinghy. There’s nothing else out here. You think he was just swimming randomly in the middle of the ocean at night? Probably felt bad you got hurt, is all. Not like the rest of his dickhead friends."

" Jerkskees ," Steve added.

"Oh, it was those guys, was it?!" Eddie said, still fussing with Wayne and wrapping him in a coat.

Wayne continued to eye Steve suspiciously. “Now, why would he call them that? That’s your name for ‘em.” Steve watched in horror, as Wayne fingertips almost touched a few of his shedded scales on the seat next to him.

"What's got into you? Obviously, he heard me shout it at them on another day he was with them. Whatever the case, he stayed and saved your ass, if what you say is true. Though right now, I'm wondering if it is."

"It is true! I swam. Saved Wayne," Steve added.

"How d'ya know my name?" Wayne asked curiously.

"How hard did you hit your head? He’s been hearing me yell it at you. He probably knows my name too from you babblin' it when he was saving you or somethin'," Eddie said, his voice getting louder.

“Eddie,” Steve said with a big smile, then quickly covered his mouth. His sharp teeth might be frightening to a human. But Wayne wasn’t scared earlier. He padded over to a shiny bit of metal, saw his distorted face, and smiled toothily at himself. He saw that his sharp teeth were gone. He tapped their mostly flat replacements with his finger and giggled to himself. He still had four sharpish ones.

“See?” Eddie muttered to Wayne, exasperated. But Steve had already slipped from view.

Eddie looked around until he spotted him again. Steve turned his head and smiled widely, waving happily.

Eddie just stood there, blinking. His mouth opened and shut like a fish. Then, oddly, his face turned a little pink. He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered something under his breath before turning quickly to Wayne, who had started talking again.

Steve tilted his head, curious. He rubbed the back of his neck, then checked his reflection for any pinkness of the skin. Nothing. He tried mumbling under his breath, too, but it didn’t seem to do anything.

Maybe it was a kind of warning. Or a defence posture? Either way, he should show Eddie he wasn’t a threat.

He stood a little straighter, tucked his arms behind his back, and tried not to smile too big just in case.

“Eddie, that guy was not on that boat. There were two people. Two left. I don’t know where he came from.”

"Do you know how crazy you sound right now?" Eddie said through gritted teeth and took a breath. "Look, maybe one slipped into the water before the other one did, okay? Maybe he's some crazy night swimmer, who you, by the way, are lucky to have met. Whatever the circumstance, he saved you. I'll get us back to the harbour, and we'll all go home."

"How many guys do you know that swim in a rain mac?" Wayne asked with a laugh. "And he's sayin' weird things. Things you say."

"You know what? Let's just hear it. Let's just hear this crackpot idea you’re dancin' around, okay?" Eddie sighed, slapping his hands against his thighs.

Wayne scoffed from his seat, still wrapped in many layers.

“I’m tellin’ you. I think he’s one of them merfolk.”

Eddie let out a long, tired sigh and rolled his eyes and looked to the sky. “Christ, Wayne.”

But Wayne didn’t back down, even as he went below deck. “Don’t you do that. They ain’t just folktales. There ain’t no smoke without fire.”

Eddie shook his head and bent to gather Wayne's wet coverings up. Wayne stared at Steve for a long moment. He responded with a friendly smile and gave a small wave. Wayne sighed, then leaned back on what looked like softer seats.

“Well, alright. Fine. You win,” he muttered, settling deeper into the cushions. “He’s just some... stray fishin’ enthusiast with good timing and no boat. Nothin’ weird about that.”

Eddie stopped what he was doing. “I- I win?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re being real chill about this all of a sudden.”

Wayne gave a slow, crooked smile, closing his eyes.

“I’m old, not blind. You can figure the rest out yourself. Just maybe don’t let the pretty mystery boy distract you too much and steer us into a reef while you’re too busy starin’ at him.”

Eddie froze. “What? I’m not- shut up. You need rest.”

“Yup,” Wayne said, already drifting. “Gonna rest. You kids go play sailor.”

“But I need- ” Eddie started, then grunted in frustration.

Steve didn’t want to upset his favourite human further. Eddie was still rattled from Wayne’s fall, his movements quick and snappy, his voice tight with leftover panic. He wanted him to like him, and so far, the only thing Eddie had liked was that he helped Wayne.

“Steve, help?” Steve chirped, approaching slowly, hands still behind his back, smiling with a closed mouth.

Eddie turned to him and looked him over. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Steve clapped his hands and attempted to spin around with delight, like he would in the water, but lost his footing. He was ready to fall with a bump when he felt something else instead, warm arms wrapped around him.

“Easy there,” Eddie said, but it was different. His voice was much softer than usual, and he was looking right at him. It made Steve feel like a thousand wild seahorses were charging around in his stomach. Eddie steadied him and then stepped back fast, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at him.

“So yeah, if you, uh, just take the helm,” Eddie said, looking away and waving his hand.

“ Huh-elm ?” Steve questioned.

Eddie’s head whipped around, squinting at him. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Steve shook his head. “No.” But he couldn’t lie to Eddie. “From under,” he said, shivering a little.

“Oh, you’re Australian!” Eddie said with some relief. “You don’t have the accent. I wouldn’t have known. Would explain the crazy night swimming, though.” Eddie stopped fussing with the boat. “Oh shit, sorry, are you cold? Uh, let me get you something.”

Eddie hurried away and returned with a bundle of human coverings. One was very familiar. He’d seen Eddie wear it. He grabbed the T-shirt with the lightning and chair on it and smiled hugely.

“Metallica fan, huh? It's a great album, though I’m starting to-” But Eddie’s words were cut short as Steve dropped his raincoat without hesitation and started pulling on the shirt. He got tangled, flailed briefly, then popped out of the neck hole, grinning at Eddie, whose mouth was wide open as he stared. Slowly, he offered the leg coverings to Steve.

They were so soft, Steve couldn’t help but squeeze them experimentally in his hands a few times before trying to remember how he had seen people putting them on.

“Guess Australians are a bit more, uh, free with their bodies?” Eddie cleared his throat again and turned in the opposite direction while Steve pulled on the soft clothing, stumbling a little. Then he returned to his friendly stance and waited for Eddie again.

Eddie eventually turned around, his eyes covered, and slowly parted his fingers.

“Well, they’ve done absolutely nothing to help.”

“Nothing to help?” Steve repeated, brows pushed together in deep concern.

“Oh my! Uh, uh...” Eddie seemed to be making short words, like he was stuck, or noises that Steve hadn’t heard before, then suddenly a whole bunch came out at once.

“WhatIMeanIsYou’reALittleBiggerBuiltThanMeSoTheClothesAreABit, uh, tight.”

Clothes. Tight. He knew that one. From the ones that looked like big seals from below. Their coverings were tight. So clothes were coverings. Yes! Steve patted his sides and hips with a smile. “Yes, tight. Very good fit.”

Steve watched as Eddie rolled his eyes and bit his fist, then took a deep breath.

“Why is it always the crazy ones?” Eddie muttered. “Listen, it's clear maybe you are from down under, but there’s still some language barrier here. So, um, you go there and steer with the wheel, you know, the bit that’s round and spins.” He made a circle shape with his fingers in the air and pointed at the part of the boat where Steve had often seen Eddie.

Steve could hardly believe his luck. The excitement bubbled up in him.

“Steve will be Captain Eddie now?”

Eddie nodded, then smiled bashfully. “Yeah, Steve will be Captain... well, Captain Steve now.”

Steve laughed, punched the air, and tried to spin around again, but this time he stopped himself.

“Steve will not fall this time,” he said, raising a finger.

A beautiful laugh burst out of Eddie, and it was so pretty to Steve, though its volume seemed to startle something in the distance. Steve quickly made his way to where he had been directed, and Eddie followed him.

Steve took in the huh-elm . He’d seen things like this before, but much bigger, ornate, and ancient, in shipwrecks. He raised his eyes to look for Eddie and almost jumped. He was much closer than expected, and his eyes were looking right into his. It felt like the lightning bolts on the body covering had been absorbed into him. He froze in place. Enchanted. Bewitched. He swallowed nervously. He half expected Eddie to look or move away, but he didn’t. If anything, he leaned in closer.

“So, I’m guessing you haven’t steered one of these babies before, huh?”

Steve just shook his head, a little disappointed. He’d seen people use them but didn’t know how they worked.

“Well, lucky for you, you haven’t gotta do too much, okay? Just put your hands here and here.” Eddie took Steve’s hands and placed them on the wheel, and the warmth of his touch almost made Steve melt. “Just hold this steady, and as long as the stars-” he pointed to the sky, and Steve mouthed the word, “ stay where they are, you’re doing a good job, okay? I’ll do the rest, and once we get going, I’ll come and help out.”

Steve felt like he was in a dream. He had a new name, new human coverings, clothes. He’d done a good deed and pleased his favourite human, and they had touched.

He stayed exactly in place as Eddie busied himself around the yat , and not long after, he felt the boat move. 

“Just keep her steady, okay?” Eddie’s voice rang out, and Steve gripped the wheel with all his strength. This felt important. Powerful. Like steering a coral chariot.

“Yes, very steady!” He called back, delighted to be in conversation with Eddie. But something was missing. This wasn’t quite right. Ah, the sounds were missing. They must be around here somewhere.

He saw Eddie disappear to check on Wayne and then return.

“Well, look at you! Looks like you’re about to sail this thing straight into a romance novel,” Eddie grinned, with his hands on his hips.

Steve felt proud, not knowing what Eddie meant, but he felt good. Standing tall, controlling a human device, wind in his hair, and the salty ocean aroma in the night air. The inky black waves shimmered beneath the brightness of the full moon.

“Steve is being like Eddie,” Steve beamed.

“Oh yeah? Maybe Wayne was right. Maybe you were spying on us.” Eddie smirked.

“No! Never a spy!” Steve said with a pout. “Didn’t want to scare Eddie.”

Eddie tilted his head and let out a little laugh as he folded his arms.

“You want me to take over, or are you enjoying being me? Because let me tell you, it ain’t no cakewalk!”

Steve looked for something that made the sounds. Then he saw the shiny box, found the button that looked the most used, and pressed it.

The sounds blasted very loudly, making him jump. Being that close was very different from hearing them in the water.

Eddie winced, rushed over, and turned a circle on the side.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, you tryin’ to wake up the entire ocean?”

Steve looked sheepish. “I like the sounds.”

“Yeah?” Eddie beamed at him. “Me too. But we don’t wanna wake any of Wayne’s sea monster friends now, do we?”

Steve knew what the sea was, but ‘monster’ he wasn’t sure of. “Monster?”

“Uh, like something scary and big.” Eddie bared his teeth in a deep frown and spread his fingers like they had webbing.

“Eddie is afraid of them?”

“What? Sea monsters? Nah.” Eddie laughed. “They aren’t real.”

“If they were? Would Eddie be scared?” Steve asked seriously, nervous that he was about to find out his true form was scary and disgusting to his favourite human.

Eddie’s face did something complicated as he looked at Steve, then below deck, then back again, before taking a seat.

“Well, that would depend. If they were trying to hurt me,” Eddie said, looking intently at Steve.

“No, they would never hurt,” Steve said defensively.

“Okay, well... something can be scary just ‘cause of its sheer size. How big are we talking here?”

“Steve size,” he said plainly.

“And do they look like Steve? Or do they look like, I dunno, a shark or octopus?”

Steve laughed incredulously. He gestured from his navel up. “Like Steve.” Then gestured from his navel down. “A mighty, beautiful tail. With very, uh, metal fins.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “I’m gonna need something stronger for this,” he muttered, pulling something out of his pocket and putting it to his mouth. He lit it, and it made the air smell sweet, like the usual smell from Eddie’s boats.

“Okay, let’s say that’s true. Why would I never have seen one?”

“Ah, very good at hiding. And smart. And fast.”

“Why would they hide? They’re beautiful and strong, right?”

“Yes. But humans hunt. Hurt for no reason.”

“Well, no arguing there. Some humans hurt anything. But what do these merpeople want with humans? Souls? Voices? Skin? Impregnation?” Eddie asked with increasing horror, and though Steve wasn’t sure what he meant exactly, it sounded bad.

“No! No. They look. Learn. And clean their mess.”

Eddie looked guilty. “Yeah, we do... do that, don’t we?” He said solemnly, his eyes still flicking over Steve. He got to his feet, tucking one thumb into the top of his leg coverings.

“What would a merperson find so interesting about me?” He asked softly.

It was easy to get lost, looking at him standing there, the moonlight highlighting his eyes and skin, the breeze moving through his beautiful hair.

Steve looked at him like it was obvious. “Because Eddie is good. Makes great sounds. No hunt. Laughs. Sings. When Eddie is happy, it makes others feel good too.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raised, “Someone would feel good hearing me laugh and sing? You sure they wouldn’t feel annoyed or want to throw something?”

“Oh no,” Steve laughed and shook his head, “Eddie is very beautiful when he’s happy, on the ocean enjoying sounds.” Eddie stepped closer, a hard-to-read look on his face. It's not something Steve had ever seen before on a human. “You think I’m beautiful?” Eddie's voice dropped in volume and pitch, barely moving his lips, and so quietly, Steve was sure it was only for his ears. And then he realised Eddie had tricked him into revealing the truth. He felt his face grow very hot. He looked at Eddie and felt he had been well and truly caught. “Yes. The most beautiful.” “On this boat?” Eddie asked cautiously. The warmth from his face spread down his neck as he shook his head, “Out of all humans, Steve has seen.” “How many have you seen?” Steve took a deep breath and looked to the sky and threw his hand up, and swept it across the view of the stars above him, “That many.” Eddie’s eyes followed Steve’s to the sky, and he blew out an exhale from his pouted lips.

“Well, if it’s worth anything… You’re very, uh, beautiful too,” he added, his gaze lingering on the stars a moment longer.

If he were in the water, Steve would’ve leapt out of it and flipped over in a spray of ocean waves. He was giddy with excitement. Instead, he gripped the wheel tightly, a huge smile spreading across his face.

“Eddie likes Steve? Like Steve likes Eddie?” He asked excitedly and then almost jumped back at how fast Eddie’s head snapped around, eyes narrowed.

“…You really mean that?” Eddie asked. “That I’m…” He pulled a strand of hair over his mouth, and blinked his eyelashes, and anemone would be jealous of, “Beautiful?”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yes. More when Eddie laughs. Or when you look at Steve, like now.”

“You’re gonna kill me, man,” Eddie laughed softly, a little nervous, spinning on his heel in a full circle. “Wayne’s gonna have an absolute field day with this.” He ran a hand down his face, then stepped forward just enough that Steve could feel the warmth of him in the cool night air.

Steve tilted his head, waiting.

“What about beautiful merpeople? You got a merwife or merhusband?” Eddie asked, voice casual but curious.

“What is ‘mer’ to Eddie?”

“I mean, where you’re from, are there other beautiful people like you? That you like? Do you have someone to, um…” Eddie scratched his head, “Someone to hold? Or kiss?”

Steve thought hard. It was true that others like him were beautiful, but it wasn’t the same. And “hold”, he knew his family would embrace him. But “kiss”, he wasn’t sure of. He had heard the word shouted sometimes when people were pulled from the water, but he didn’t understand why Eddie was asking now.

“Hmmm. Difficult. Yes, many beautiful. Yes, to hold.” Steve watched Eddie’s posture sink. “But not the same. Only Eddie makes Steve feel good.”

Eddie brightened instantly.

“Kiss of life? Like for Wayne?” Steve asked, unable not to beam back at him.

Eddie laughed, and Steve couldn’t help but join in. Watching him smile, seeing his eyes sparkle, it was his favourite thing in the world now that he’d seen it up close.

“Sort of,” Eddie said, stepping a little closer again. “When people think they’re both beautiful, and both feel good, and both agree to, they can kiss. It’s similar to the kiss of life, but not the same. It’s not for drowning. It’s for… feeling good.”

Steve looked confused, and Eddie must’ve seen it because he tried again.

“I could show you?”

And for the first time, Steve hesitated. Something felt different between them. The air was charged, like just before a storm.

“It’s not dangerous. Promise.” Eddie reached out and touched his arm, and Steve felt like he became part jellyfish at the warmth of it.

He locked on to Eddie’s eyes, searching them, and it felt amazing for some reason.

“If it is a good thing… Steve will try.”

For a few moments, neither of them moved. Then Eddie leaned in, slowly. His eyes had left Steve’s and were focused on his mouth now. A shiver ran down Steve’s spine.

He stayed perfectly still, wondering what would happen, and then their lips met.

It was soft and warm and made Steve feel like he was floating in the most peaceful lagoon. His eyes fluttered closed so he could relish the feeling, holding the wheel tightly to keep himself standing. The world slowed. For a moment, all he could hear was the water and wind.

Then, all too soon, Eddie’s lips left his. All that remained was a small noise of complaint from Steve.

“You okay?” Eddie murmured.

“Yes. Okay. Very good. That was very good. Can I have another?” Steve asked quickly, and it made Eddie laugh adorably. Leaning against the rail, arms folded, Eddie stood as if he had calmed the winds himself, and the music had faded to a gentle hum behind them. Steve was still at the wheel, looking impossibly pleased with himself.

“Well”, Eddie said softly, “I guess you don’t really wanna go back to the harbour now, huh?”

Steve turned, his smile gentle. “Steve can. Very good swimmer. And… hmmm… navigator.”

A huffed laugh from Eddie before stepping over to him. “Alright, Captain. Let’s take her home.”

They sailed under moonlight, trading kisses when Eddie wasn’t adjusting sails or keeping an eye on their heading. When he could, he stood behind Steve at the wheel, arms wrapped around him, his chin resting on his shoulder. Steve loved every second.

By the time they moored the yacht, dawn was just beginning to brush the sky. Wayne hadn’t stirred much, bundled up and snoring softly below deck. The disappointed glance they exchanged spelt out that they both knew without words that Steve could not stay in this form much longer.

He slipped back into his yellow raincoat, the one with the old badge still pinned to the chest. Eddie watched him with his hands in his pockets, eyes soft.

“You gonna be out there tomorrow?” Eddie asked, nodding toward the water.

“Eddie’s place,” he replied with a sure nod.

A gorgeous, shy, dimpled smile spread over his favourite human’s face, “Good. Eddie would very much like that.”

Steve waved goodbye, smiling too, his heart full, as he slipped into the water and regained his form. He decided to pack away his yellow coat in his bag so he could show off flipping out of the water in a high arc and landing with a loud splash just for Eddie, who was still gazing out after him.

He didn’t know how a human and someone like himself could be together. He couldn’t explain everything that had happened or might happen, and he didn’t need to.

All he knew was that tomorrow, Eddie would be there. Sounds blaring through the water. Hair flowing in the breeze. A smile on his lips, just like always.

That was enough.

The next day and the one after that, Steve returned to the same place at the same time, and always, his Eddie arrived, looking out eagerly across the sea for him.

A towel and a pile of clothes at the ready. A set of tapes, and arms as open and bracing as the ocean herself.

Steve still didn’t know what the days ahead would bring.

But he knew this. Eddie would be there, and Steve would never hide again.

[sgiandubh]

There's a big difference between having a different opinion and spreading outright lies. You know that. You can defend all you want with 'believe what you want' but when you see Caitriona's interview tomorrow about how she spent her birthday. The truth is clear, but you all will call her a liar with your 'beliefs' and that is wrong and cruel to her. Why you do you think that is okay? Why do you think your opinion is more important than the facts of her life and publicly ridicule her and her husband? What if it was you and your family someone was publicly lying about?

Dear Outright Lies Anon,

There is also a big difference between submitting an Anon ask/opinion and harassing someone on a daily basis.

I think C does not need your services at all, never did. Either as PR or pro bono lawyer. In fact, despite all your desperate (and daily?) efforts to persuade me otherwise, I doubt she knows/cares you exist at all. I also happen to think that speaking on her behalf is unnecessary and borderline insulting.

As for 'tomorrow's interview', let me be the judge. I also remember this particular, poignant photograph and its press caption:

The woman in the picture is Maria Callas, la diva assoluta, flatly denying the obvious to a very complacent press on September 22nd 1959, while landing ashore in Piraeus, Athens' seaport. By that time, Onassis and her were already an item and her marriage was notoriously on the rocks. And nowadays, the entire timeline of what started as a very hush-hush affair aboard the Christina, Onassis' fabled yacht in the summer of 1957, is well-known and has been analyzed to death in its tiniest detail, by the press, the public and her/his biographers alike.

'Before flying, Miss Callas termed "rubbish" the remarks of her estranged husband, Giovanni Meneghini, concerning a romance with Onassis.' Mind you, la Callas was not angrily reacting here to the remarks of ahem, some crazies (not on Tumblr, that did not exist at the time), but to the desperate plea of her much older husband, Giovanni Battista (Tita) Meneghini, an industrialist.

I can assure you that, compared to the mindboggling Meneghini-Callas-Onassis love triangle, the story that is the traffic of our (and by 'our', I mean, of course, the shippers) stage is eh, almost childish. Oh, and by the way, from 1957 and until at least 1960, Callas contented herself to describe her relationship with Onassis to the press as 'best friends'. Of course.

This iconic picture did make me smile, by the way:

Do I despise Callas for 'lying"? The thought wouldn't even dare crossing my mind. This is not up to me to judge, Anon and it has nothing to do with her tragic majesty and unparalleled voice. This is what remains and this is why she was, is and always will be a miracle:

[Later edit]: with no social media available back in the Fifties, you would think people were more decent? Nope. Speculation and gossip have always been the public's main diet when it comes to one's charisma. Facebook, X, Tumblr only democratized the phenomenon and congregated more quickly and effectively large groups of people who otherwise wouldn't have ever met through a particular shared interest. That is all, but that is an essential difference. Enough said: it's just a matter of scale and reaction.

[cupidddd-d]

you waste your time on daft pretty boys

in which spencer reid is so smart, but he's so dumb!

if you had a quarter for every time you tried flirting with spencer reid and he obliviously rebuffed your attempts, you'd have enough money to buy a yacht.

at first, it started with you innocently brushing his arm when you had to walk past him. you'd make eye contact with him across the room. he thought nothing of it.

and then you purposely wore a pair of shoes that were practically falling apart, all so you could fall into his arms and bat your eyelashes at him as he caught you. he caught you, but he immediately set you back on your feet, almost as if he was afraid to touch you for more than a second.

"you should be more careful," he laughed, somehow still completely clueless to the fact that you were putting the moves on him.

"i mean, i don't get it! i've been flirting with him all week, and nothing! why isn't he just taking the hint?" you complained to morgan as you slumped down in your cubicle.

spencer being late only ever happened once in a blue moon, but he was late today. and you needed to take full advantage of his absence to pester morgan for advice.

"honestly, you're wasting your time here. if you're not going to be direct with him, he'll never get the hint. the kid's like a robot," morgan shrugged, twirling his pen in the air.

"it's true," prentiss agreed as she walked by, overhearing your conversation. "his iq gets slashed to nothing when it comes to romance. you need to be upfront with him."

"but it's so embarrassing!" you whined, dropping your head on your desk with defeat. "what if he rejects me?"

"the answer's always gonna be no if you never ask," prentiss raised her eyebrows at you knowingly.

you groaned dramatically at her words, weakly slapping your desk a few times to further express your point. "fine, but if he rejects me, i'm changing my name and moving to costa rica. i'll start a new life, and you'll never see me again!" you threaten them both, pointing your index finger at them.

"yeah, yeah," morgan smirked smugly, interlacing his hands behind his head as he leaned back.

"shut up, baldie!" you retorted, just because you had to get the last word in.

"so...spencer," you say awkwardly, standing over his cubicle. everyone except hotch had gone home, and you two were the only ones still working in the bullpen.

"yeah?" his smile was so sweet and so welcoming, but it had never intimidated you before the way it did now.

"um, okay. so basically morgan and prentiss were telling me to be upfront with you because i've been flirting with you like, this whole week, and you haven't gotten the hint yet. spencer, i think you're a great guy, and i really like being around you. do you maybe...want to go out sometime? as a date?" you rambled nervously, feeling a hot blush creep up your cheeks.

you watched spencer fumble for words for what seemed like hours. his mouth parted, then it closed again. he just blinked at you, a little squeaking noise coming out of his mouth as he blushed red, from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"y-yeah, i'd like that! l-like, a lot!" he squeaked, turning a lovely shade of fire engine red. "w-we could w-watch um, a movie! does f-friday work? c-cool, okay!"

he dashed off before you could say anything, but friday did work for you, so you just stood there in disbelief.

"yeah, cool, okay..." you echoed, a giddy smile on your face.

[uniquexusposts]

Below Deck | C. Leclerc (2)

Summary: Y/n and Charles had broken up a few weeks ago. Y/n thought it was a good idea to enter the yachting world to get over the break up, but suddenly he shows up at the last charter of the season. How will they cope with it? Words: 2008 Read the story that was based off the one shot here Part 1

"Do you watch F1?" It was Max who asked it.

Luca, Otis and Y/n were standing in the lounge. They were having a conversation with the guests, well, Max, Charles, Carlos and Pierre did. They just got back from the beach picnic. Y/n hated that these people were polite, curious and just... Why can't they leave me alone? Luca stirred Y/n into the conversation, and she couldn't just leave.

"Yes, I do! Well, not so much now I work all the time, but where I can, I follow it," Luca said.

Luca was such a sweetheart. He always looked angry, but that was just his facial structure. And he looked so intimidating because of his muscles, but he was a real sweetheart.

"I'm more of a NASCAR guy, I'm sorry," Otis mentioned awkwardly.

Otis was the guy who was probably the most responsible. He never had drama, never. But when there was drama, he was always there. He sometimes had funny comebacks. Together with Y/n, they were drama free.

"And Y/n says she doesn't watch F1," Luca said and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "But I think she secretly does."

Y/n played along with him. "Secretly, I'm a big fan," she smirked. "But don't tell anyone."

"See, I knew it," Luca laughed.

The guests laughed along, trying to not make it awkward. Y/n had to bite her lip to try not to burst into laughter because it was so fake and uncomfortable. She knew almost everything about F1.

"The next race is..?" Luca asked.

"France and right after that, Budapest. The last races before the break," Pierre responded.

"Very cool. I can catch up with it right after we finish this job," Luca happily said. "The last race I saw was with the accident, Imola, I believe." He let go of Y/n. "Dear Lord, that looked horrible."

Y/n pressed her jaws on each other, and her face straightened. She quickly remembered she had guests - who were still her friends - in front of her, so she relaxed all the muscles in her face. Get out of here.

"It looked more horrible than it actually was," Charles replied. "Which was explained later on."

This was a sneer, and Y/n knew it. She looked impressed and nodded. "Of course it did," she mumbled.

Pierre and Carlos looked at Y/n and then at Charles; if looks could kill... They looked at each other and sent each other a look. A look that told: it's bad.

"May I ask how it was for you? I really can't imagine how it must be to be in that car. It really looked so bad. What a small touch can cause..."

Italy, Imola, Sunday. Everything started fine that afternoon until a gearbox of a driver stopped working. Red flag. All the cars went to the pits. Very unfortunate for the driver who had his race finished way too early.

On the other hand, Charles could make an advantage with the restart since the official start went like shit. The car was removed from the track, and everyone was ready for a standing restart. So it began again.

Until Charles Leclerc got a small touch of someone.

Charles shoved over the track at many kilometres per hour. His car flipped upside down. His car hit the barrier with 40G. His car crashed and shattered completely. It took the people over 30 minutes to get him out of the car. It took Ferrari another 90 minutes before a statement was released.

"When you get into a F1 car, you're packed. The impact was gigantic, and I saw my life playing in front of my eyes, but it really looked worse from the outside than from what I saw in the cockpit. Thank god for every regulation and the modern cars," Charles summarised.

"My goodness, it still sounds horrible. I'm glad you got out safely," Luca mentioned, relieved. "I feel like, when it goes wrong, it goes good wrong. Just like with Zhou at Silverstone last year."

"That one was pretty ugly as well," Max agreed.

"I still think the crash of Grojean is the worst in years," Y/n stirred. "I saw it happening, and I thought: nope, we're not doing this again. When he got out of the car, I've never felt so relieved," she said.

Pierre nodded. "He got so lucky. I've seen the reconstruction video, and I heard his story; it was so... I don't have words for it."

"F1 is an ugly sport," Y/n blurted.

"It depends," Charles shot back.

"It is an ugly sport," Y/n sneered.

"Felix for Y/n," the radio went off.

Thank you so much. Y/n grabbed the transceiver from her skirt and held it to her mouth. "Go ahead," she said.

"Can you make two mojitos for Kelly and Rebecca, and bring them to the front deck?"

"I'm on it," she said. "If you will excuse me," Y/n smiled and walked away without waiting for a response.

The smile on her face dropped straight away, and her eyebrows lowered. She was so done with everything, and she wanted to go home so badly. Then she remembered that she didn't have a home, so she had to return to her dad. Y/n was close to having a breakdown but had to keep it together. She arrived at the bar and made two mojito's as requested. Y/n brought them to the two girls and walked to the laundry room to fold and steam some clothes.

She walked with the folded clothes to the bedrooms of the guests. She knocked on every door, making sure no one was in there. In two of the bedrooms, it was that case. Y/n knocked on the last door and opened it without hesitation as she expected it to be empty.

"Oh, excusez-moi," Y/n said when she saw someone in the room of Pierre and Charles. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. It could be Pierre, she hoped not for Charles.

"No, it's fine."

It was Charles.

"I have your clothes," Y/n mentioned. "Or Pierre's," she mumbled, trying to not give him attention.

The door opened from the inside. "Thank you," he said. "You can put it in the closet."

A sigh left her mouth. For some reason, she didn't accept it. Now it really felt like he was using her. Well, he paid for this service, but it just felt so weird to Y/n.

"Sure, perfect," she said and entered his room again. It was deadly silence, awkward silence, in the room. Y/n placed the clothes in the closet.

"Why did you say that?" Charles suddenly asked.

"Said what?" Y/n was glad that no one from the crew on this boat spoke French. She could hold a conversation without them knowing what they were talking about. Now she had to control the tone of her voice.

"That F1 is an ugly sport."

"Because it is."

"That is not fair to say."

"Why? It's my opinion." Y/n stepped to the door, ready to leave the room.

"It is not fair, Y/n," he repeated.

She closed the door behind her and stepped toward him. "You know what is not fair? The time that you have let me wait after your accident in Imola. Do you remember how long it took me to discover that you were alive? Two fucking hours," Y/n whisper-yelled.

"I still do not understand why this is why you broke up with me," Charles replied in the same tone.

"For me, it is."

"Why? Tell me why, Y/n. Or is that even too much to ask?"

Her face straightened. "I'm not doing this here. Find someone else to mock on, Charles." She stepped towards the door again.

"Explain it to me! I had asked my team multiple times to contact my family when I was at the medical centre; how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"It is so fucking ridiculous that I had to wait for two hours. I had no idea if you were alive, if you were dead. Nothing. Those two hours were almost the two longest hours of my fucking life. Perhaps you were dead, I don't know," she replied and shrugged. "It's the fact that I had to read it in a statement on social media, I didn't get that message from you personally. Even if it was two hours later, it would have been much better than a social media statement on Twitter."

"Why are you still blaming me for it? I have asked-"

"You don't get the point, do you?"

"Then explain it to me, Y/n. I have been guessing for weeks, and I still don't know what went wrong." Charles scanned Y/n's face, and he noticed the change in her eyes. A glossy layer washed over her eyes, and they became bloodshot. Her shoulders hung low, and she looked down. Charles straightened his face and looked down as well. "I am sorry, Y/n," he whispered.

She was shaking her head, and she took a short breath. Soft sniffs filled the room. "I am sorry."

"Mon amour..." Charles stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her. He pressed a kiss on her forehead and stroked her back. He closed his eyes when she snuggled her face against his shoulder. His heart broke again.

"My mum," Y/n began and pulled back. "She...erm..."

Charles knew her mother passed away nine years ago. He had no idea what she had to do with this.

"...passed away in a car accident," she softly said. "One night, she didn't come home from work and..." She took a deep breath. "She caused an accident because she was drunk, five other people passed away, and four people got injured."

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know that." Everything started to make sense now.

"We only found out a day later because the police failed to contact us."

All the strings got connected together. Accident and no communication.

"So when you crashed and when I didn't get any updates, I panicked. And when I read the statement, I got so angry because... I'm sorry. I probably overreacted," Y/n mumbled and dried her eyes. "But I didn't want this to happen again, and I...the same rollercoaster began. I should have talked to you."

Charles retook her in his arms. It was her trauma, and she panicked. Of course, she would get angry. "You never told me this..."

"It's not really a positive thing to talk about, is it?" She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist. "My dad asked us not to talk about it with anyone because, you know, we're the family with the alcoholic mother who killed five people."

"Is that why you moved to France?"

"Yup..." She took a deep breath and looked at him. "I'm sorry, I should have reacted differently. It was not your fault. I was just really scared that something bad happened with you, and I compared this situation with my situation."

"But why did you run away, baby?" He whispered and stroked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I was scared." When Y/n blinked, tears rolled down her cheek. "It's a stupid reason, but I was scared. And then I got an offer to work on this yacht... I am so sorry, Charles. Working in this environment makes you forget everything around you, but I collapsed when I saw you again. Mentally and physically." One thing she loved about Charles was that he gave her time to speak; he never pushed her to talk. "And I fucked it up, I know. I am sorry."

Charles showed a small smile. "You should have told me..." He kissed her forehead again.

"I know, I'm sorry." Y/n looked at him; of course, she wanted to redo the moment, but she couldn't turn back the time. "I know it was not your fault, I know I hurt you, I..."

It was silence between the two again.

Y/n was deciding whether this was a moment where they would fix it or not. Of course, she hoped he could forgive her, but she hurt them by hiding her own problems.

"How many more days until you are done?" Charles suddenly asked.

"Two."

"Two?"

Y/n nodded. "You're the last charter."

He gently pushed her head in his direction, making him look her in the eyes again. "Do you want to come home then?"

Her face softened, and new tears came into her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," he smiled. "Only if you want."

"Yes, please, I'd love to."

They looked at each other, and they pressed their lips to each other.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @softi92

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Plagiarist: "The Art of the Handwritten Note" is by author Margaret Shepherd NOT Meghan Markle, Duchess of Sussex County

The Art of the Handwritten Note: "Corresponding on paper let's you elevate a simple pleasure into an artform." -Margaret Shepherd 2002

Plagiarism has become an artform for Meghan Markle Duchess of Sussex County who frequently quotes Margaret Shepherd (famed author and calligrapher) without crediting her book or work.

Photos from my own copy of The Art of The Handwritten Note (published by Shepherd in 2002):

Pretentiousness

MM obviously practiced her hand lettering and penmanship for this series because it looks much more polished and presentable. She really thinks her handwriting is the definition of "classy." Perhaps as a child it provided her with immediate praise that fed her narcissism. No thanks to Thomas Markle who contracted with Nickelodeon to film her writing the dish soap letter from hell.

Harry has to explain to the people of Sussex why it's taking such a long time for his wife to sign her name.🤪

"That's How I Paid My Bills"

She claims to have paid her bills by working as a "freelance calligrapher." Paula Patton did not hire Meghan Markle to address her wedding invitations, she hired Paper Source Retail Stores.

MEgain worked as a retail associate for Paper Source where they sell stationary, gift wrap, party supplies, etc. The associates are trained to teach customers how to use their products. Sometimes they offer mini workshops throughout the year: bookbinding as a craft, gift wrapping, hand lettering, and of course some stores will also address your invitations.

"Our kids have REAL sets" she bragged 🙄

What kind of parent recommends that toddlers play with REAL trowels in the backseat of the car as a "distraction" during the ride home from a toddler's birthday party?🏨🏥🚑 Oh and no candy in those bags, just a manuka honey stick gifted from a person who said she doesn't even like honey. 🤪

Moma Knows Best

Meghan Markle's handwriting is "faux calligraphy" with doodles & flourishes. Lady C described it as "pretension gone riot." In this episode she's obviously clapping back at her critics by revealing to the world she made an A- in handwriting due to "those little swirls."

"I'll take the minus for a bit of character."

Right there she's explained to us that it's her way or the highway. She knows what's required but chooses not to meet those expectations because in her narcissist mind, she actually knows best.

Soho House Tradwife plays Hostess

In the context of this lifestyle series, Lady C made some excellent points about how an experienced hostess doesn't have the time to spend on tasks that should be assigned to the hired help. When I reviewed the images from her luncheon, it was obvious that the guests didn't enjoy her food. Perhaps in part because the hostess covered up the table in those ridiculous flowers instead of creating SPACE for people to actually sit down at the table to eat their meals.

Revisionist History

This "SERIES" was another Solo Meghan attempt at an image make over and infomercial. With each new man, her adult life seems to be a transactional stepping stone of revisionist history. In the case of the Spare, Harry offered her his name, titles, family, country, wealth to erase her Soho House yachting lifestyle and launch her into global stardom. In exchange the Spare would receive his freedom from what he perceived as a trapped future and the rigors of royal service. The Spare made a deal with the devil, but that is a topic for another time.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Rule 5: Unless it’s in writing, underlined, signed by two lawyers, and you get a new Hermes handbag afterward, don’t fuck your sugar daddy.

There were five rules to being a sugar baby—or so you’d heard.

If an opportunity falls into your lap, you take it.

Everything is purely transactional.

Don’t let the lines blur between your sugar daddy and your personal or professional life.

Never meet anyone in his inner circle—no close friends, no family.

Unless it’s in writing, underlined, signed by two lawyers, and you get a new Hermes handbag afterward, don’t fuck your sugar daddy.

So why was it so damn hard to keep these rules in place when it came to your CEO Remy LeBeau?

Everything had shifted after that night on the yacht. It was as if an invisible line had been crossed, one you couldn’t uncross even if you tried. Before, your relationship with Remy had been clear, defined by unspoken rules and boundaries. He took care of you—lavish dinners, luxurious gifts, and an effortless charm that made it easy to forget how transactional things had started between you. And you? You played your part. You got used to the rhythm of it, the late-night conversations that veered from playful to serious, the ease with which you fit into his world, even though you always felt like you were just one step away from losing your balance.

But after that kiss—that kiss—everything had changed.

Remy still called. He still took you out to lunch and dinner, still sent you extravagant gifts that made your heart race. You were still in his orbit, still caught up in the whirlwind that was his life. On the surface, it was the same as it had always been. You played your role well—too well, perhaps. You laughed at his jokes, teased him like you always did, and accepted every new piece of jewelry and designer dress with a smile. From the outside, nothing had changed.

But beneath it all, everything was different.

There was a wall now, an invisible barrier that Remy had put up between you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break through it. He was still Remy—charming, playful, and magnetic—but there was something guarded about him now. His touch, once easy and familiar, had become careful, almost hesitant. He still placed his hand on the small of your back when guiding you through a crowded room, but it lingered for just a second too long, as if he was reminding himself to pull back before he got too close.

You felt it most during the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, sitting across from each other at some upscale restaurant, the city lights glittering outside. He’d still smile at you, that roguish grin that made your pulse quicken, but there was something restrained behind his eyes, something he wasn’t letting you see. It was like he was holding himself back, like the kiss had opened a door he wasn’t ready to walk through.

But then he had pulled away. He had apologized, his forehead pressed against yours as he tried to steady himself, his breath ragged and uneven. And in that moment, you had felt the wall go up between you, the one that had been there ever since.

Remy had left you that night, slipping out of the bedroom with a quiet apology, saying he’d sleep in the spare room. And since then, things had never been the same.

You told yourself that everything was fine. You reminded yourself that this was just an arrangement, that Remy had made it clear from the start that there were no strings attached. But every time you saw him now, every time his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long, you felt that familiar ache in your chest, the one that told you that you were in too deep.

And the worst part?

You didn’t know how to fix it.

You didn’t know how to break through the wall he had put up between you, didn’t know how to get him to open up and tell you what he was really feeling. Because you knew there was something there—something more than just the arrangement. You could feel it in the way he looked at you, in the way his touch had changed, become more careful, more deliberate.

But every time you tried to talk to him about it, he brushed it off, deflecting with a joke or a charming smile. It was like he was terrified of what would happen if he admitted that things had changed—if he admitted that he felt something for you, too.

So you kept playing your part. You smiled and laughed, and let him buy you expensive gifts, all the while pretending that everything was fine. But inside, you were drowning in the uncertainty, in the not knowing.

And as much as you tried to push it down, to ignore it, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were both standing on the edge of something—something that could change everything if you just took the leap.

But you didn’t know if Remy was willing to jump with you. The gala was in full swing, the room a glittering display of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast soft, golden light across the sea of impeccably dressed guests, and the quiet murmur of conversations hummed in the background, punctuated by the occasional clink of champagne flutes. You had been to events like this before—several, in fact—but this one felt different. Maybe it was the weight of everything that had been hanging in the air between you and Remy since that night on the yacht, or maybe it was the sheer exhaustion of constantly navigating these high-stakes social terrains.

Remy had been at your side all evening, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he guided you from conversation to conversation. The introductions were endless—CEOs, politicians, men whose names were spoken with reverence in certain circles. You shook hands, smiled, and listened to polite but loaded conversations about mergers and investments, all while feeling the subtle undercurrents of power that flowed between these men. Occasionally, you’d catch a sly comment or a lingering glance, an unspoken promise that if you ever decided to leave Remy’s orbit, there were plenty of others willing to make room for you in theirs.

But as the evening wore on, you found yourself growing more and more disconnected. The polished smiles, the subtle power plays—it all felt exhausting. You were playing the part, as you always did, but it was becoming harder to ignore the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface between you and Remy ever since that kiss. The wall he had put up between you was still there, invisible yet impenetrable, and no matter how close you stood to him, it felt like you were miles apart.

And then, you saw Roberto.

He stood across the room, laughing easily with a group of men, his dark eyes bright with mischief. His presence instantly cut through the tension you’d been feeling. Roberto Da Costa—sun-kissed, charming, always in on the joke. You felt the tightness in your chest ease just a little at the sight of him.

Remy must’ve noticed the shift in your expression, because he followed your gaze and smirked. “Well, speak o’ the devil,” he murmured, leaning in slightly. “Looks like y’r old friend found us.”

As if on cue, Roberto’s eyes landed on you, and a wide, playful grin spread across his face. He excused himself from his group and made his way over, his stride confident and relaxed, as though he owned the room without even trying.

“Amiga!” Roberto called, his voice loud and warm as he approached. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug, his familiar scent—sun, citrus, and just a hint of salt—instantly transporting you back to the Caribbean.

You laughed, feeling the tension in your shoulders melt away. “Roberto,” you greeted, pulling back to look at him, your smile wide and genuine for the first time all night. “It’s good to see you.”

Roberto stepped back, his hands still on your arms as he gave you a once-over, his grin widening. “Look at you, all dressed up. I almost didn’t recognize you without your feet in the sand and a cocktail in your hand.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Yeah, this is a little different from our beach days.”

Remy, who had been watching the exchange with a bemused expression, finally chimed in. “Y’ know, I’m startin’ t’ think I’m gonna lose her t’ you,” he teased, his voice light but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. “Y’ two are tied at the hip.”

Roberto laughed, the sound bright and infectious. “Well, you’re the one who introduced us, mon ami. You only have yourself to blame.”

That had been months ago, back when everything between you and Remy felt simpler, back when your arrangement was clear and the boundaries were solid. Roberto had been a breath of fresh air from the moment you’d met him—easygoing, charming, and completely uninterested in the power games that everyone else seemed to play. The three of you had spent countless days lounging on the beach, laughing over drinks, and exploring the island.

And now, seeing Roberto again brought all of that back. The warmth, the ease—it was something you hadn’t realized you missed until this moment.

“Remember our boat trip?” Roberto said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m still convinced that captain had no idea how to steer.”

You laughed, the memory flashing vividly in your mind. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never,” Roberto replied, his grin widening. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had on a sinking boat.”

Remy chuckled, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I seem t’ remember someone tryin’ t’ impress a group o’ locals with his ‘boating skills,’” he said, shooting Roberto a pointed look.

Roberto raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just trying to save the day.”

“By nearly crashing us into a dock?” you teased, unable to suppress your laughter.

Roberto winked at you. “Details, details.”

The three of you fell into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing naturally as Roberto regaled Remy with more stories from your time in the Caribbean. It felt good—normal, even. For the first time all evening, you weren’t thinking about power plays or hidden agendas. You weren’t thinking about the wall that had gone up between you and Remy. You were just… there, in the moment, laughing and joking with two men who had become an unexpected but important part of your life.

But even as you laughed, even as the weight of the evening lifted, you couldn’t shake the subtle tension that lingered just beneath the surface. Remy’s hand was still on the small of your back, his touch warm and grounding, but there was a carefulness to it—a hesitance that hadn’t been there before. His easy banter with Roberto was just that—easy—but you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze flickered to you every now and then, as if he was watching, waiting for something.

And then, there was Roberto. Charming, yes, but also perceptive. He could sense the undercurrent between you and Remy, though he didn’t say anything. Instead, he kept the conversation light, letting you forget—just for a little while—the complicated dynamics that had been swirling between you and Remy since that night on the yacht.

As the evening wore on, the gala continued in full swing around you, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about your next move, or about the men with their business cards and sly offers. You weren’t thinking about the wall between you and Remy or the uncertainty that had been gnawing away at you for weeks.

You were just… here. With Roberto’s laughter, Remy’s familiar presence, and the warmth of a shared memory that made everything else seem, for a moment, less complicated.

But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t last. The conversation had flowed easily for most of the evening, with Roberto's infectious laughter and easy charm lightening the mood in a way that made you feel like you were back on the beach in the Caribbean. The tension that had been lingering between you and Remy since the night on the yacht seemed to fade, even if just for a little while. Roberto had that effect—his carefree demeanor pulled you out of the high-stakes, high-pressure world you’d been navigating, giving you a moment to breathe.

But then, Roberto’s grin took on a different edge, playful, but with a hint of something more. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, though not enough to be discreet. “So, when are you going to finally jump ship and come work for me?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Remy’s posture stiffen ever so slightly, though he didn’t move or say anything just yet. His hand remained on the small of your back, but the tension that had rolled off him earlier seemed to return, coiling tight beneath the surface.

Roberto, clearly oblivious to—or maybe just ignoring—the shift in the air, continued with a grin. “I’ve got a VP spot open, and I can’t think of a better person to fill it,” he said, his tone casual but the offer itself anything but. “You’ve already proven you can handle anything thrown your way. I mean, if you can survive working with this guy” —he nodded toward Remy with a smirk— “then you’re overqualified.”

You forced a laugh, trying to play it off, but you could feel the weight of the offer. It wasn’t the first time someone had hinted that you could go further, do more, outside of Remy’s world. You knew you had skills, connections. You’d been building that black book of contacts for months now, and men like Roberto—powerful, influential—were starting to take notice.

But hearing it from Roberto, in front of Remy, made it feel… different. More real.

Roberto’s gaze flicked between you and Remy, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he added, “Seriously, though. Think about it. I could use someone like you on my team.”

And that’s when you felt it—the tension rolling off of Remy in waves, subtle but undeniable. His hand, which had been resting on your back, tightened just slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin with a hint of possessiveness. He didn’t look at you, though. Not yet. His gaze was fixed on Roberto, his smile still in place, but it was sharp now, like a blade hidden beneath velvet.

“Well, ain’t that sweet,” Remy finally said, his voice smooth but laced with something darker, something controlled. “Roberto’s always been good at poachin’ talent. But I got good taste too.” His words hung in the air, a quiet reminder that this wasn’t just a casual conversation.

Roberto, either unaware of the growing tension or simply choosing to ignore it, laughed and clapped Remy on the shoulder. “Hey, man, business is business. You can’t blame me for trying to recruit the best.”

Remy’s smile didn’t falter, but you could feel the shift in his energy, the weight of his presence beside you. “That’s true,” he replied, his tone still light but with an edge that made it clear this wasn’t just friendly banter. “But y’ know, some people ain’t for sale.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. You didn’t know if he was talking about you or the situation itself. Maybe both. The tension between the two men was palpable now, a quiet battle of wills, though they both kept their smiles in place, their tones polite, as if the conversation hadn’t just taken a sharp turn.

Roberto tilted his head, his grin softening slightly as he regarded Remy. “Oh, I know,” he said, his voice almost teasing. “But it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

You shifted uncomfortably between them, feeling like you were standing on the edge of something dangerous. You could sense the undercurrent, the unspoken tension that had been building since you arrived at the gala. Roberto might have been joking—mostly—but there was a truth beneath his words that couldn’t be ignored. He was serious about the offer, and the fact that he had brought it up in front of Remy wasn’t lost on you.

Suddenly, you felt Remy’s hand slide from your back, and he turned to face you fully, his expression carefully controlled, though his eyes held something deeper—something you hadn’t seen before. “What d’ y’ think, chère?” he asked, his voice steady but with an edge that made your heart skip a beat. “Y’ thinkin’ ‘bout takin’ him up on his offer?”

You hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to read the situation, tried to figure out what to say. There was a challenge in Remy’s voice, a question that seemed to go beyond Roberto’s offer. It wasn’t just about the job—it was about you and him. About where you stood in his life, and whether you were considering leaving it.

You looked at him, your breath catching as you saw the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual swagger. He was good at hiding it, but you’d been around him long enough to see the cracks in his armor.

“No,” you said finally, your voice soft but firm. “I’m happy where I am.”

For a brief moment, you thought you saw something like relief flash across Remy’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. His smile returned, more genuine this time, as he reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. “Good,” he said, his voice low, just for you. “That’s what I like t’ hear.”

Roberto, sensing the shift in the mood but ever the diplomat, raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I get it," he teased, though there was a hint of something more serious in his tone. "I’ll back off—for now.”

You smiled, grateful for the way Roberto lightened the tension, but the weight of the conversation still lingered. Because even though you had reassured Remy that you weren’t going anywhere, the truth was, the offer had stirred something in you—something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about before.

The truth was, you didn’t want to leave Remy’s world. Not because of the gifts, the luxury, or even the job. You didn’t want to leave him. But the tension that had been building between you since the yacht trip, the wall that he had put up—it was still there, still standing between you, no matter how much you tried to act like everything was fine.

And as the night wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Not just between you and Roberto, but between you and Remy. The unspoken words, the unacknowledged feelings—they were all coming to the surface now, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep pretending that you didn’t want more. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick and heavy like the weight of a thousand unsaid words pressing down on both of you. The dim light of the hotel suite cast long shadows across the room, but none of it mattered. Not the glittering cityscape outside the windows, not the luxurious furniture or the elegant atmosphere you had been swimming in all night. Right now, it was just you and Remy, standing on opposite sides of what felt like a chasm that neither of you could—or would—bridge.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said again, your voice rising as the frustration clawed its way up your throat. “I can’t keep pretending that we’re on the same page when clearly we’re not.”

Remy took a step forward, his jaw tight, his eyes flashing with something between anger and confusion. “Y’r blowin’ this all outta proportion,” he muttered, his accent thickening as his irritation grew. “What, y’ mad ‘cause I didn’t jump at Roberto’s offer? Or is this ‘bout somethin’ else?”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You really think this is about Roberto?” you snapped, your chest tightening with both anger and heartache. “This has nothing to do with him. You know damn well I wouldn’t leave for another company. I’m not somebody’s to steal, Remy.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done. The words were pouring out now, years of frustration, confusion, and unspoken feelings crashing down like a tidal wave you couldn’t control.

“This isn’t about the business, and you know it,” you continued, your voice trembling but strong. “This is about us. This arrangement—whatever the hell it’s turned into—I can’t do this anymore.”

Remy’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head. “What’s that supposed t’ mean?” he demanded. “Y’ want out? Just like that?”

You reached into your handbag and pulled out the black card he’d given you months ago. The symbol of your arrangement, the key to the life he’d opened up for you. You stared at it for a moment, the weight of it heavier than it had ever been, before tossing it onto the bed. The sound of it landing on the duvet felt like a finality you hadn’t quite prepared for.

“I’ll give everything back,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “The clothes, the jewelry, all of it. I’ll be out of the penthouse by the end of the weekend. I’m done.”

Remy took another step toward you, his hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how. “Y’r not makin’ sense,” he said, his voice rough, like he was trying to keep control. “Why’re y’ actin’ like this? What d’ y’ want from me?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as tears of frustration pricked the corners of your eyes. “What do I want from you?” you repeated, your voice trembling with disbelief. “I want you to stop pretending that this is working. I want you to stop putting up this wall like nothing has changed when everything has.”

He stared at you, his eyes burning with anger and something else—something you couldn’t quite place. “I thought this was what y’ wanted,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “No strings. No complications. Y’ wanted this arrangement, and I gave it to y’. What the hell changed?”

You took a deep breath, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you had been holding back for so long. “I changed, Remy,” you said, your voice cracking. “I fell for you. And now I’m standing here, feeling like I’m drowning in this… thing between us, and you’re just pretending like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and you saw it—just for a moment—the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar guarded look, the one that had been driving you insane for weeks.

“Y’ don’t know what y’r sayin’,” he muttered, his voice tight, as though he was trying to rein in his emotions. “This works. What we have works.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you shot back, your heart aching as you forced yourself to say the words you had been avoiding for so long. “It hasn’t worked in a long time. Not since the yacht. Not since that kiss. You know it, and I know it.”

Remy flinched, the mention of that night hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had been avoiding it too, hadn’t he? The way things had shifted between you, the way that kiss had changed everything.

“You’re scared,” you said quietly, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness. “You’re terrified of feeling something real, so you hide behind this arrangement, behind the money and the gifts and the trips. You keep telling yourself it’s enough, that it’s working, but we both know it’s not.”

Remy’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out, say something—anything—to defend himself. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you, his eyes hard and unreadable.

“I ain’t scared,” he muttered, but there was no conviction in his words.

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him, willing him to see the truth in your eyes. “Yes, you are,” you whispered. “You’re scared of admitting that you care. You’re scared of admitting that you feel something for me, something more than just this arrangement.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might finally say what you had been waiting to hear for so long. But instead, he just shook his head, his expression hardening once again. “This is what y’ wanted,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Y’ wanted a life. I gave y’ one.”

You felt your heart shatter at his words, the finality of them cutting deeper than anything else he could have said. He wasn’t going to admit it. He wasn’t going to let himself feel it.

And you couldn’t keep waiting for him to.

“You know what?” you said, your voice trembling with emotion, but you forced yourself to stand tall. “I’m sick of dancing around this. I know what’s happening here. It’s just that you’re too damn scared or too proud or whatever to acknowledge it. You’re constantly sidestepping anything that might show you even give a little bit of a shit about me.”

You could see the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes flickered with something raw, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

“You tell me that you care,” you continued, your voice rising. “You tell me that you’re opening me up to this world, you’re buying me things, and you’re taking me places, but I’ve realized something.” You paused, your heart racing as the words finally tumbled out. “What’s the point?”

Remy stared at you, his eyes dark, his fists still clenched at his sides.

“I’m in love with you,” you said, the words hanging in the air like a final blow. “And when you’re done refusing to acknowledge everything I’m too tired to avoid anymore, I’ll be at home. My real home. Back in Brooklyn.”

You turned, your heart heavy as you made your way toward the door, fully prepared to leave behind not just the hotel suite, but the entire carefully constructed life you had built with him. Your hand was just inches from the door when, suddenly, you felt it—him.

Remy’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with a firm but gentle grip, stopping you in your tracks. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You froze, your heart racing as you felt the tension in his touch, the way his grip tightened ever so slightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“Wait,” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible. It wasn’t a command—it was something softer, something raw, like a plea.

You slowly turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat as you met his gaze. His eyes were burning with something intense, something you hadn’t seen before, and it made your heart skip a beat. His expression was conflicted, torn between the walls he had built around himself and the emotions he had been fighting so hard to keep at bay.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken feelings, with all the things that had been left unsaid for too long.

“I’m not scared,” Remy whispered, his voice low and rough, like the words were being torn from him. His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, and as he stepped closer, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of him overwhelming your senses.

You blinked, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hit you like a shockwave. He wasn’t scared? That was what he had been hiding all this time, what he had been refusing to admit to himself? You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t form a coherent thought as he stepped even closer, his presence filling the space between you.

Before you could respond, before you could even process what was happening, Remy moved.

His free hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and then—his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was hot, desperate, filled with all the tension, all the unspoken desire that had been building between you for months. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that was both exhilarating and terrifying, as though he was trying to pour every emotion, every feeling he had been holding back, into that single moment. His hand on your waist gripped you tighter, pulling you closer, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You responded immediately, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your hands flew to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back with equal intensity. The world outside—the noise of the city, the opulence of the gala, everything—faded into nothingness. There was only him, only the feel of his lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his hand slid up your back, tracing your spine with slow, deliberate movements.

His kiss was demanding, but there was something else there too—something vulnerable, something raw. It wasn’t just desire. It was need. Deep, aching need. And you felt it too, the way your heart raced in response, the way your body melted into his touch, craving him in a way that was almost unbearable.

His mouth left yours, trailing hot, urgent kisses down your jaw, down the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You leaned into him, your head tilting back as your eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his mouth found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. His kisses were slow, deliberate, each one sending shivers racing down your spine, each one making your pulse quicken.

“Remy,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, lost in the heat of the moment. You didn’t know what you wanted to say. You didn’t know if you could say anything at all. All you knew was that you couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of him, the way his hands were exploring your body, the way his lips were claiming every inch of your skin.

His hands slid down to your hips, his fingers brushing the edge of your dress where it dipped low, and you felt the slow, deliberate tug as he began to unzip it. The sound of the zipper was deafening in the quiet room, and you felt a rush of heat flood through you as his hands continued their journey, sliding the fabric down your shoulders, exposing you to the cool air of the suite.

But it wasn’t the cold that sent shivers down your spine—it was him. His touch, his breath, the way his hands moved over your skin like he was discovering a secret, like he was memorizing every curve, every inch of you.

His mouth found your collarbone, pressing slow, lingering kisses there as his hands slid further down, tracing the curve of your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure. You let out a soft moan, your body arching into his touch, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him closer, desperate for more, desperate for everything. With every inch the zipper gave way, your pulse quickened, anticipation buzzing through your veins like electricity. You should have felt nervous—hell, you should have been overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all—but instead, all you could think about was him. The way he moved, the way his lips never left your skin, the way his hands felt as they slid the dress down your body, the fabric pooling softly at your feet.

It wasn’t just kissing.

No.

It was more like worship.

The way he knelt before you, his lips trailing down your collarbone, across the swell of your chest, was almost reverent. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every moment, memorizing every inch of you with his hands, his mouth. Each kiss, each brush of his lips, felt like it carried something deeper—something that had been building between you both for far too long, unspoken but undeniable.

Your heart pounded, your breath shaky, but it wasn’t fear that made it that way. It was the sheer intensity of being seen, of being touched like this. Like you were something precious, something more than just a fleeting moment. He kissed the curve of your shoulder, his lips soft but firm, and you felt your body respond instantly, heat pooling low in your belly as his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

You stood there, breathless, fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down your body, his mouth trailing fire wherever he touched. Every kiss, every movement, sent a ripple of pleasure through you, your whole body alive with sensation. His lips lingered at the base of your throat, his breath hot against your skin, and you couldn’t help the quiet whimper that escaped your lips.

He paused for a moment, his head lifting, and his eyes met yours—dark, intense, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt deep in your core. The weight of his gaze made your heart race, made your breath catch in your throat. But it wasn’t just lust in his eyes. It was something more, something that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a precipice, about to fall—except you had already fallen.

“Remy…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to break the silence, enough to make him pause. His fingers brushed lightly against your waist, and you could feel the tension in his grip, the way he was holding himself back, as if he was afraid that if he let go, he’d lose control completely.

His lips curved into a small, wicked smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he leaned forward again. He kissed the edge of your ribs, his mouth slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring every second, every sound that escaped your lips. You felt a shiver run down your spine, your entire body aching for him, for his touch, for the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“Mon Dieu,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough, his accent thick with desire. “Y’ so beautiful, chère.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your heart skipping a beat. There was something in the way he said it, in the way his voice seemed to vibrate through you, that made you believe him, made you feel like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His hands gripped your hips, strong and steady, but his thumbs brushed lightly against your skin, gentle, reverent, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

You reached down, your fingers trembling slightly, brushing against his cheek. The roughness of his stubble against your fingertips made your breath hitch, but it was the way he stilled beneath your touch that made your heart clench. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and suddenly, everything else faded away—the room, the city outside, time itself. There was nothing but the two of you, the connection between you crackling in the air like electricity.

His gaze softened, his expression shifting from raw desire to something deeper, something unspoken that passed between you like a secret, unspoken but undeniable. Your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat, and for a moment, you wondered if he could feel it too—the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you, the months of lingering touches and stolen glances, the deep, undeniable pull that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

And then, without breaking eye contact, you pulled him up to you, your lips crashing into his in a kiss that was anything but gentle—anything but restrained. It was hungry, desperate, a culmination of all the tension and desire that had been building between you for what felt like an eternity. Remy responded in kind, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you.

The kiss was wild, frenzied, full of need. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, your body trembling under the intensity of it all. You clung to him, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything. His hands roamed your body, touching, exploring, memorizing every curve, every inch of skin as if it was the first and last time he would ever get the chance to.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, tangled together in a mess of limbs and heat, lost in each other. The world outside the suite, everything that had come before this moment, ceased to exist. There was only him—the feel of his hands on your body, the taste of his lips on yours, the way his breath mixed with yours in the space between kisses. Your heart pounded in your chest, your skin flushed with heat, and the only sounds were the soft moans that escaped your lips and the quiet, ragged breaths you both took between kisses.

Time seemed to blur, the intensity of it all overwhelming, consuming, until all you could think about was him—the way he made you feel, the way his body moved against yours, the way his hands seemed to know exactly where to go, exactly how to touch you to make you come undone.

And then, slowly, his hands slid down your body, his touch gentle yet insistent, guiding you back down onto the bed. The softness of the sheets against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing into you, and you couldn’t help the quiet gasp that escaped your lips as his lips found your neck once again, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your skin.

Your body arched into him, your back pressing into the sheets as his hands explored every inch of you, his touch slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every moment, every sound that escaped your lips. His mouth trailed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down your body.

“Remy...” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart racing in your chest. His name on your lips seemed to stir something in him, and he paused for just a moment, his lips hovering over your collarbone as his eyes flicked up to meet yours again.

For a brief second, everything seemed to still. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and burning with something you couldn’t quite name—something raw, something that made your breath quicken and your pulse race. His hands tightened slightly on your hips, and you could see the conflict in his eyes, like he was holding himself back, like he was afraid of letting go completely.

But then, without a word, he continued, his mouth trailing lower, his hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he slowly, deliberately, guided you further onto the bed. The anticipation was almost unbearable, your body trembling beneath his touch, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as his lips continued their slow, torturous descent.

It wasn’t just desire that drove him—it was something more. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, it felt like he was worshipping you. Like every inch of your skin was sacred to him, something to be cherished, something to be memorized. His hands were firm but gentle, his fingers tracing patterns along your skin, teasing, exploring, until you were trembling beneath him, your entire body alive with sensation.

The moment his lips found the curve of your waist, you let out a soft, breathless sigh, your body arching into him, desperate for more, desperate for everything. But just as you thought you might completely unravel under his touch, he paused, his hands sliding up to cradle your waist as he lifted himself slightly, his eyes searching yours once more.

In that moment, it was as if the world had stopped. The intensity of his gaze, the raw emotion in his eyes, made your heart clench in your chest. It wasn’t just about the physical connection, though that was undeniable. It was about something deeper, something unspoken that had been simmering between you for so long, waiting for the right moment to break free.

And in this moment, it had.

He lifted you effortlessly, pulling you up from the bed and into his arms. Before you could process it, your back was pressed firmly against the cool wall of the hotel suite. The contrast of the cold surface against your heated skin sent a shiver through you, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his body, the intensity of his presence overwhelming every sense.

His lips found yours again, but this time it was different. This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier, as if something inside him had finally broken free, as if the months of tension and desire had finally boiled over. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you higher against the wall, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Your bodies pressed together, heat and friction and need colliding in a way that left you breathless.

His tongue slid into your mouth, and it was as if a dam had broken. Every unspoken word, every lingering touch, every moment of tension that had built between you over the months came crashing down in that single, searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel him, needing to know him in every way possible.

Your thighs squeezed tightly around him, your body desperate for more, for everything. His hands dug into your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that was possessive yet tender, and you knew—God, you knew—that this wasn’t just about desire. This was about something much bigger, something that had been growing between you for so long but had never been acknowledged.

The intensity of it all was overwhelming, the heat between your bodies, the way you clung to him, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And in the whirlwind of it all, you realized—this wasn’t just a moment. This was your new reality.

You didn’t know when it had happened, didn’t know the exact moment when everything had shifted. But as you felt his body press into yours, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, you knew that nothing would ever be the same. You couldn’t go back. You wouldn’t go back.

Because in this moment, with him, you had found something you hadn’t even realized you were searching for.

You weren’t going to let it go. 

Not now. 

Not after everything.

You were both trembling, lost in the intensity of it all—the way your bodies fit together, the way your heart raced in time with his, like you were part of the same rhythm. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t neat. It was messy, raw, real—and it was everything you had been waiting for. Everything you hadn’t realized you’d needed until this moment.

When had the lines between you and Remy started to blur?

At first, it had all been so simple. Fun. Lighthearted, even. Remy had swept into your life like a whirlwind, turning everything upside down in the most exhilarating way. The random, extravagant gifts he’d sent, like the Hermes handbag that had shown up at your doorstep one morning with no explanation. Or the spontaneous trips across the country, where you’d been whisked away on private jets to places you’d only ever dreamed of visiting. It had felt like a game back then, like he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could pull you into his world without fully tipping you over the edge.

And you’d let him. You’d played along, telling yourself it was just for fun, just for now.

But somewhere along the way, the dynamic had shifted, and you couldn’t quite figure out when it had happened. Maybe it had been after that first trip to the Caribbean, when the memory of his touch lingered on your skin long after you’d returned. When, almost without realizing it, the texts and calls had started coming more frequently, the conversations lasting longer, growing more intimate. Or maybe it had been during one of those late nights, when you found yourself laughing with him over the phone, the business talk fading into something more personal, something that felt... dangerously close to real.

And tonight, the way he had looked at you across the room, his eyes never leaving yours, as though no one else in the world mattered. Maybe that was when you finally realized.

When did it stop being just fun and start becoming something more?

Remy’s lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he kissed a slow, deliberate trail down to your collarbone. His teeth grazed your skin just enough to make you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. There was a tension in him, a barely controlled hunger, and the way his hands gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin, sent a shiver down your spine. It was like he was holding himself back—just barely, as if he was afraid of losing control completely.

“Mon Dieu,” he breathed against your skin, his voice thick and rough with desire. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His confession hit you like a shockwave, your heart pounding harder in your chest as you tightened your legs around him, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His words hung in the air between you, heavy, raw, laced with all the emotions he hadn’t been able—or willing—to express until now. The realization that he had been holding back, that he had wanted you just as much as you had wanted him, made your head spin.

But it also left you reeling.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because you didn’t know what to say. Maybe because you weren’t even sure what this was anymore.

Was it still just a game? Or had it become something else entirely?

You could feel the weight of it pressing down on you, the unspoken feelings, the months of tension that had been building between you until it finally boiled over. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that this was dangerous territory. That whatever was happening between you and Remy was more than just lust, more than just the heat of the moment. It was something deeper, something that had been growing for a while now, and it terrified you because you weren’t sure if you were ready for what that meant.

But another part of you—the part that was currently drowning in the feel of his hands on your skin, in the way his mouth moved against your body, in the way he fit so perfectly against you—didn’t care. Not right now, not in this moment.

“Remy…” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your racing heartbeat.

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and intense, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe permission, maybe something else entirely. His gaze was burning with an emotion you hadn’t seen before, something raw and vulnerable, something that made your chest tighten and your breath catch in your throat.

You didn’t know when the lines had started to blur. You didn’t know when the playful flirtation had shifted into something real, something tangible. But here you were, pressed against a wall with Remy’s hands on your body, his lips on your skin, and the weight of it all crashing down on you in ways you couldn’t ignore anymore.

“I need—” you started, but your words were cut off when his lips found yours again, silencing whatever half-formed thought had been on the tip of your tongue.

He kissed you deeply, his hands sliding up your thighs, his fingertips digging into your skin as if he was grounding himself in the feel of you. And in that moment, you realized that whatever this was—whatever it had become—it wasn’t just a game anymore. The gifts, the trips, the late-night conversations—they had all been leading to this. To something more. Something real.

You weren’t sure when the lines had blurred, but they had, and now there was no going back.

His lips moved against yours with a desperation that left you breathless, his hands gripping your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall. Your bodies fit together in a way that felt almost too perfect, too seamless, like you had been made for this moment, like everything had been leading to this. You could feel the heat of him, the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding back, like he was afraid of losing control completely.

But you didn’t want him to hold back. You wanted all of him.

“Remy…” you whispered again, your voice trembling with need, with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. His eyes were dark, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt deep in your chest, something that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

“I don’t want this t’ be just… this,” he said, his voice rough and low, like he was struggling to find the right words. “It’s more. You know it is. I just-I can’t say it.”

His confession hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Because you did know. You had known for a while now, but hearing him say it, hearing him admit that this was more than just a game, more than just attraction, made everything feel so much more real. So much more terrifying.

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his jaw, and you pulled him down to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, tender, filled with all the emotions you hadn’t been able to express. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away.

And in that moment, you knew—whatever this was, whatever it had become—there was no going back. The lines had blurred. The game was over.

Now, it was just the two of you.

Remy pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy and uneven. His hands still held you securely, as if he was afraid to let go, as if letting go would break the fragile connection between you. His eyes searched yours, and for the first time, you saw something in them you hadn’t seen before—something soft, vulnerable, and terrifyingly real.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice rough and low, like he was holding back the full weight of everything he wanted to say.

You nodded, your chest tightening at the sight of him like this—so raw, so open. The man who was always in control, always so sure of himself, now looked at you with an expression that made your heart ache. He wasn’t just your boss anymore, wasn’t just the man who had swept you into his world of luxury and power. He was Remy, the man standing here with his walls down, and it was almost too much to take in.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “I’m just… what the fuck are we doing?”

He let out a soft, breathless laugh, his lips curving into a small, crooked smile. “No idea, chère,” he admitted, his voice softer now, more sincere. “But I know I don’t wanna stop.”

His words hung in the air between you, and something inside you shifted. The uncertainty, the confusion—it was still there, lingering in the back of your mind—but it didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. Because the truth was, you didn’t want to stop either. Not now. Not after everything.

You tightened your grip around his waist, pulling him closer, your lips brushing lightly against his. “Then don’t,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice barely more than a breath.

And with that, the last of the barriers between you broke.

Remy’s lips crashed into yours again, and this time, there was nothing holding either of you back. His hands roamed your body as if he couldn’t get enough, as if the fear of losing this moment had overwhelmed every other thought. You could feel the urgency in him, the way his body pressed into yours, the way his hands explored you like he was memorizing every curve, every inch of skin, committing each touch to memory.

It was like a storm, sudden and unstoppable, sweeping you both up and carrying you along with a force you hadn’t anticipated. It began with a simple, deliberate act—your fingers slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, your touch lingering just long enough to make the air between you crackle with tension. His black bow tie was discarded, tossed carelessly to the floor, a symbolic shedding of the polished, composed exterior he always wore so well in public.

And then your nails—sharp, insistent—dragged over his broad shoulders, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The sound that left his mouth was primal, a deep, guttural moan that sent a thrill straight through you. He wasn’t holding back anymore. Neither of you were.

From there, everything blurred. One moment you were pressing against him, your fingers still exploring the hard planes of his chest, and the next, he had you on the bed, his lips and hands everywhere at once. His mouth was on your breasts, his tongue teasing your nipples until you were arching up against him, your body begging for more. He seemed to revel in every gasp, every tremor that shook through you, his mouth and hands moving in sync like he was devouring you, worshipping you.

But it wasn’t just about him taking control—it was a dance, a push and pull that left your mind spinning. His fingers found their way inside you, curling in just the right way, and your body responded instinctively, your hips moving against his hand, a moan escaping your lips that you couldn’t hold back. He knew exactly what he was doing, drawing out every sensation, every ounce of pleasure, as though he was savoring it with you.

But you weren’t passive in this. You never had been. You needed more. And before you knew it, you had shifted positions, your hands moving with purpose as you undid his belt, your fingers tugging his dress pants down, freeing him from the constraints of the polished, controlled exterior he wore like armor. You could feel his breath catch as you touched him, the way his body tensed beneath yours, the way his eyes darkened with lust and need.

Your brain flickered, a quiet voice reminding you of the enormity of what was happening. This wasn’t just anyone. This was Remy. The CEO. Your boss.

But that voice, that rational part of your mind, was drowned out by something much louder, much more primal. You didn’t care. Not now. Not when the air between you was thick with the weight of everything that had been unsaid for so long. Not when his hands were on your hips, gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Whatever happens next happens.

And that was how you found yourself on top of him, your boss, your lover, your everything in this moment, with his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. Maybe even tonight. But you didn’t care. The sting, the pressure—it only heightened everything, made every sensation sharper, more vivid.

You could feel the tension between you, the way his body moved beneath yours, the way his hips thrust up to meet you with every movement. Your moans mixed with his, the air filled with the sound of your bodies coming together, the wet, desperate rhythm of it all filling the room like a symphony. You could feel the heat of his breath against your neck as he sat up, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together, skin against skin, only the thin layer of sweat and heat separating you.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, almost possessively, as you rode him, the rhythm between you growing more frantic, more urgent. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of you, like he needed to feel you, to be closer, to make sure this was real. His lips found your neck, your collarbone, your jaw, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake, and you could feel the tension building, growing in intensity with every thrust, every movement.

“Mon Dieu,” he breathed against your skin, his voice rough, strained, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt deep in your bones. “I can’t—” His hands gripped you harder, pulling you down to meet him as he thrust up into you, his body trembling against yours. “I need—chère, I need you.”

The raw emotion in his voice, the way his hands moved over your body, the way his eyes locked onto yours, made your heart race even faster. You weren’t sure what he meant—whether he was talking about this moment, this night, or something bigger, something more. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way he made you feel, the way you fit together so perfectly, the way every nerve in your body was alive with the heat of him, of this.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your ragged breaths. “Then take me, Remy.”

And he did. God, did he ever.

His hands moved from your hips to your back, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between you. His lips found yours in a kiss that was messy, desperate, filled with the kind of need that had been building between you for months. His tongue explored your mouth, and you welcomed him, your own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, until the kiss was all-consuming.

He shifted beneath you, the angle changing as he thrust up into you again, deeper this time, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. You could feel the tension coiling in your stomach, the heat building between you, and you knew you were both close, teetering on the edge.

And then he sat up, his hands gripping your ass, pulling you down harder, faster, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered your name like a prayer. His movements were frantic now, desperate, as if he was losing himself in you, in the moment, in the heat of everything that had been simmering between you for so long.

You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin as your body moved with his, the rhythm between you growing wild, erratic. His name was on your lips, a breathless moan, as the tension inside you reached a breaking point, the pleasure so intense you could barely breathe.

And then, with one final thrust, everything shattered.

Your body tensed, your muscles tightening as the wave of pleasure crashed over you, your head falling back as a loud, breathless moan escaped your lips. Remy wasn’t far behind, his grip on your hips tightening as he came, your name falling from his lips in a broken, desperate groan.

You collapsed against him, your body trembling, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his forehead resting against your shoulder as you both came down from the high of what had just happened.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stayed there, wrapped in each other, the only sounds in the room your ragged breaths and the quiet hum of the city outside the window. The world felt far away now, distant, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not in this moment.

Because here, in the quiet aftermath, it was just the two of you. Remy, with his hands still holding you as if he was afraid to let go, and you, with your heart still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of what had just happened.

You had crossed a line tonight—one you weren’t sure you could ever uncross. The quiet hum of the city outside the windows felt like a distant murmur, a world away from the intensity that had just unfolded between the two of you. The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city skyline outside, casting long shadows across the hotel suite. You lay there, chest still heaving, your body pressed against Remy’s, your skin slick with sweat and warmth.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The air between you was thick, charged with the weight of everything that had just happened—and everything that hadn’t yet been said.

Remy’s arms tightened around you, his forehead still pressed against your shoulder, his breathing slowly returning to normal. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, the steady thrum of it mirroring your own. His fingers brushed idly against your back, tracing soft, absentminded patterns on your skin, but the tension in his body told you everything you needed to know—he was thinking. Hard.

You shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at him. His face was still flushed, his dark hair tousled, and his eyes… God, his eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite name. Something raw, something vulnerable. He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, like all the walls he’d built around himself had finally crumbled, leaving him exposed, bare. And yet, there was still a hesitation there, a conflict he couldn’t quite hide.

You brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, your fingers lingering on his skin, soft and warm. “Remy,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. “Talk to me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering himself, and when he opened them again, his gaze was heavy, filled with a weight you hadn’t seen before. He wasn’t the polished CEO now, wasn’t the man who always had the perfect answer, the perfect solution. He was just… Remy. Raw and real and standing on the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could handle.

“I…” His voice was rough, strained, like the words were difficult to say. “I know what I feel for you.” He swallowed hard, his hands tightening on your waist. “But I can’t say it.”

Your heart clenched at his confession, the honesty in his voice hitting you like a punch to the gut. You had expected him to pull away, to retreat behind those walls again, but he wasn’t. He was here, with you, trying to explain something that was clearly tearing him apart inside.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he beat you to it, his voice thick with emotion.

“I want to,” he continued, his eyes searching yours. “God knows I do. But I don’t… I don’t know how to say it. Not when I’ve spent so long not letting myself feel anything like this.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the quiet desperation, made your chest tighten. You could see the fear in his eyes, the way he was struggling against everything he had been taught, everything he had built his life around. Control. Detachment. Distance. That was how Remy had survived, how he had built his empire, how he had kept himself safe.

But now? Now, he was standing on the precipice, and for the first time, you could see that he was scared. Not of you, but of what you represented. Of what this meant.

“I’ve never…” He paused, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t know how to handle it.”

You reached up, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“You don’t have to say it,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “Not right now. Not until you’re ready.”

He opened his eyes again, and the look he gave you was so full of conflict, so full of everything he was trying to hold back, that it made your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted, his voice low, almost broken. “I’ve always kept things… separate. Business, pleasure, everything. I don’t let people in. I can’t.”

He paused, his hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter, as if he was afraid you might slip away. “But with you…” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. “With you, it’s different. I can’t keep you at a distance, and it scares the hell outta me.”

Your heart raced in your chest, your mind spinning with the weight of his words. You had known—on some level—that Remy was holding himself back, that he was terrified of letting himself feel something real. But hearing him admit it, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, made it all feel so much more real.

“I don’t want you to keep me at a distance,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want this to be something we have to hide from, or run from. I’m here, Remy. I’m right here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours again. “You deserve more,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “More than someone who can’t even say the words.”

You shook your head, your fingers curling into his hair as you held him close. “I don’t need you to say it right now,” you whispered. “I just need you to be here. With me.”

“I am,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity in his words, in the way he held you, made your heart race. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his confession settled between you, the air thick with the unspoken feelings, the emotions that had been simmering for so long. He couldn’t say it—not yet. But you knew he felt it. You could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way his hands clung to you like you were his lifeline, in the way his breath hitched whenever you touched him.

And maybe that was enough. At least for now.

You held him close, your heart pounding in your chest as the quiet stretched between you, filled with everything you both still needed to say but couldn’t. You didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know how this would play out. But in this moment, with Remy’s arms wrapped around you, his breath warm against your skin, you knew one thing for certain.

Whatever this was—whatever it was becoming—it wasn’t just about the arrangement anymore. It was more. So much more. And you weren’t going to let it go.

[oceanblueeyes03]

May I make a counter-argument to the LUKE NEWTON IS NOT SUPERFICIAL, SHALLOW OR EGOTISTICAL!...? (Perhaps I should go back & actually read that entire treatise before I dive in but... sorry)

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Luke's PR team have got to be burning through all these social media platforms with a frenzy only deserved for the frenetically desperate. It's gotta be a trial doing all this for only a C-list actor. To be fair, I'm sure it's panic inducing for Luke even if he just sees a skosh of what's put out there (but we know he lurks & sees more). 👀👀 I can't feel enormous sympathy though because a lot of this is of Luke's own making. And I don't mean to leave out Antonia or whatever influence she continues to have on the decisions that Luke makes, but in the end - the buck stops at Luke. Again, PR can only suggest moves. It is Luke Newton who decides & it's on him.

I believe this is a hard life lesson in the importance in taking charge of your future & what happens when you become lackadaisical or careless. I always saw Luke as passive. Things happen to him & others manage it for him. There's been no apparent wrangling of the reins on his part (until recently but I'll get to that in a second). We all agree Bridgerton & Nicola did a lot of the 'wrangling' during their season & WT. Luke showed up when told & kinda floated through the experience. The heavy lifting was left for others. You could argue he's shy, naive, or inexperienced. You COULD, but 32 years of age, having been in the business since a teen...... sure... 🙄🙄

But now onto his circle of friends... boy does fame & money bring out the worst in people. I realize this sounds insulting: that Luke was steered wrong by those closest to him, but I'm pretty sure he was. He let it happen. His entire entourage seem... immature. Like minds & all. Think of former frat boys who go back to their alma mater & who never mentally/emotionally matured. They still think & act like they're 22. You know the type I'm talking about. Luke doesn't give off ring-leader vibes. As stated above, he floats. Luke let his friends get in his ear rather than circle the wagons with professionals to capitalize or strategize on his career. BAD move. Weak sauce, man.

He f&#$ed off, gambled his own career, caught himself with his pants down (HBS), & blew through his earnings. Imbecile. You may ask, why didn't his family step in? He's a 32-year-old adult male surrounded by 'his bros'. Have YOU tried telling an immature 32-year-old male what to do? Hey, his family tried. In the end, it's up to Luke. This rude awakening has rocked his foundation & has continued to do so to this day. Pitfalls. Bad decisions. Missed opportunities. The allure of fame, ego, thirsting females, sex, & rockstar lifestyle. Insert every weak-willed male ingenue cautionary tale - it's textbook. 🥱🥱

I think what we're seeing now is Luke... trying to take charge. Is he being successful? Umm. Well, I'll let you answer that. I use the word 'trying' because I believe he's naturally passive. He does something dramatic then falls back then comes out again with another flurry of activity then retreats again. We get whiplash. We get mixed messages. There's no wonder why fans continue to lose their patience & vitriol grows. Fans see the prince charming persona isn't the entire real human at the end of the day. Luke's deeply flawed 🚩🚩 (as most of us are). "But he's pookey!" - enough with that rubbish! Luke isn't a baby. He is a 32-year-old adult. We're ALL ADULTS in this Fandom - you know the score - this isn't summer camp for the horny, dumb, & enabling. If we had made the same decisions to f&#S off from our responsibilities, gamble our career, go on a shagging spree, & join the yacht-influencer-jelly-of-the-month club, we'd all be unemployed, homeless, & possibly dead in a ditch. 🪦🪦☠️☠️ Luke is DEEPLY superficial, shallow, & egotistical. Stop giving him a pass.

🎤 drop

👏 yess anon perfectly said

Only thing I don’t agree, is I think Luke is the ring leader with his bros. His friends are his minions.