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everythingisromant1c · 2 months ago

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p2: three reasons why you can't stand co-star!james potter

co-star!james potter x actress!reader

summary: you were finding the first days of shooting your new TV show to be absolutely amazing, aside from the fact that you absolutely could not stand your co-star James Potter. unfortunately for you, you spent enough time around him to narrow down his most irritating qualities to only three:

a/n: hey so this took waayyy longer than i would've hoped to release, but i promise this series is not going anywhere, so tysm for all the loveee and all ur guys' patience <33

also pls pls pls feel free to send in prompt requests for this series i am so all ears

full series: Trouble in Hollywood - masterlist

1. He was insufferably good at his job

You wished you could say working with James Potter was such a challenge because he was simply bad at his job. But the thing was: he wasn't. It turned out he was really the impeccably good actor that your director Minerva seemed to swear he was, as if the talent truly was seeping through his veins. Somehow, that only made working with him more frustrating to you.

"Aaron, you've got to believe me."

James had come to you during the middle of hair and makeup and asked you to rehearse lines with him even before official rehearsals for the day's shooting began, saying it would make him feel more prepared. And, as much as you hated it, you felt the same. Your only regret was thinking you'd be able to stand him and his arrogance before seven in the morning.

"Why should I, Cassidy?"

The brunette responded to you fully in character, leaning back against a nearby vanity with his long legs crossed in front of him as you sat in your cushioned chair. He apparently got out of hair and makeup in under a matter of minutes, looking effortlessly put together with his curls hanging perfectly over his forehead—you didn't have the same luck. Your lovely makeup artist Mary seemed to be unbothered by the interruptions, continuing on with your makeup as you rehearsed your lines, though you caught her amused smile every once in a while from her reflection in the mirror.

"Because..." you began, trying to stay in character as your brain scrambled for your next line.

"You're supposed to say," cut in James, "'-because we can only trust each other right now.'"

"Please stop telling me my lines, James." You repeated the irritated request you'd uttered all morning to him as you put a tired hand to the bridge of your nose, one that Mary moved away hurriedly.

"Watch your makeup," she pleaded with a powder-filled brush to your nose , and you winced apologetically.

"Did you just want me to stand here and wait for you to remember them?" James's voice poked at you irritatingly as you stared up at him from your seat.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want." You fought from rolling your eyes. "You could at least give me a second. I didn't even ask for my line."

He raised his brows with an acquiescent sigh. "Whatever the lady wants."

Ignoring him, a skill you were growing like a muscle, you cleared your throat in focus, trying not to move too much as Mary blended some product on your neck. "Because we can only trust each other right now."

James quickly jumped back into character, right on time. "That didn't mean anything to you the other night."

"I already told you I'm sorry for that. When I heard all the rumors, I ..." you cursed at yourself as your mind drew another painful, embarrassing blank.

"-I didn't know what to think." James looked anything but guilty as his voice met your ears once again, finishing your line for you without fail.

"James!" You glared at him, doing your best to stay out in your chair and not storm out of the trailer he'd so brazenly infiltrated. You shook your head to yourself through your reflection in the brightly lit mirrors . "You're impossible."

James shrugged innocently. "I don't get why you're mad at me for trying to help."

"I'm not."

He scoffed, putting a dramatic hand to his chest. "So is this what you look like when you're happy with me?" The corner of his aggravating lips lifted along with his shoulder in a small shrug, before turning away again. "Isn't very much like how I've pictured it."

You didn't miss the way Mary let out a small breath of laughter from her nose as she switched over to doting on your hair. You gritted your teeth.

"I mean, I'm not mad at you for helping. I'm mad at you because you're annoying."

He crossed his arms defensively, his lips still quirked up, and you fought against the urge within you that had your eyes following the movement of his biceps. "I'm annoying?"

The feigned disbelief in his voice snapped your back to your right mind.

"Yes," you answered plainly. "You and your posh accent."

Maybe you'd stopped making sense, but it was too early for you to care. James was watching your meltdown with what you could only identify as merriment, his unfortunately unignorable presence taking up too much space in the cramped makeup trailer.

Thankfully choosing to ignore the part about his accent, he put up his hands innocently. "Last time I checked, I wasn't the one who keeps forgetting their lines."

"We just got the updated script for this episode last night." You shifted in your chair to face him, and you heard Mary wince from behind you, probably getting fed up with how much you were moving around, though you were too annoyed to stop yourself. "How the hell are you already off-book?"

James shrugged smugly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leaned forward. You squinted your eyes at him. "An actor never reveals his secrets, love."

You twisted your mouth in disgust at his words—because you definitely felt something as he said them, whether it was disgust or not you didn't want to think about—and probably only made him more satisfied. "Mary," you groaned, looking at her through the mirror in front of you. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She shook her head and gave your reflection a sharp look back. "Not in that freshly ironed shirt you're not."

You sighed, settling back into your chair and sparing another glance at the man to your right. He tipped his head at you, almost tauntingly, and you felt your jaw tighten. It was going to be a long day.

2. Everyone else seemed to love him

You'd been going about your Thursday innocently, filming scenes when called upon—finally having memorized all your lines properly—and somehow getting through the morning without any irritating interactions with your least favorite person on set at the moment. That good feeling, of course, could only last so long.

"What's this?"

Minerva, your director, had been walking around set with you until you both stopped at the sight of a crowd forming outside one of the sets. You followed her, making your way through the crowd of your fellow actors and crew members until you were met with a nauseating sight: James Potter.

At the sight of your director, his already proud smile grew to a beaming one, almost blinding, as he greeted her. "We've all been really busy with this week's filming schedule, Minnie, and you mentioned what a hassle it's been ordering enough food for everyone every day with our budget, so I pulled some strings and got my family's chef to cater our lunch."

Your jaw slacked as he nodded his head to his left, where a number of tables were set up with what looked like pizza ingredients, a moustached-man in a chef hat standing behind the scene proudly. You couldn't believe your eyes. Apparently, neither could the woman next to you.

"Oh my- James this is ... amazing!" Minerva—or Minnie, as James somehow had grown accustomed to calling her—turned to your co-star, expression as bright and beaming as James's crowd-pleasing smile was. "But you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble-"

"It was no trouble at all. Francis was more than happy to help."

He waved a hand at the chef, who you assumed was the 'Francis' in question, who nodded back at him happily with a pizza cutter in his hand. It was like something out of a movie, the way everyone clapped for James who stood at the front of the crowd like the beloved man he was. You felt sick to your stomach.

"What's wrong? Do you not like the pizza?"

You'd taken your lunch shamefully, making sure to hide your amazement at the endless selection of pizza toppings that James had arranged at the build-your-own-pizza station, and were sitting with Remus, who you'd met at auditions for the show and luckily got casted in a role other than one that'd gone to James, and Sirius, another one of your co-stars who you'd quickly become friends with since you spent practically all your time on set nowadays.

You looked up at Remus briefly before returning your gaze to the pizza in front of you, the perfect slice underneath the sun seeming to taunt you. "No," you grumbled. "The pizza's amazing."

Sirius chuckled. "You'd think you'd be happy about that."

"I would, aside from the fact that it was Potter who brought it in."

The black-haired man tipped his head at you curiously. "What's your problem with James again?"

You shook your head forebodingly. "Don't tell me he's brainwashed you both with his hundred-dollar pizza too."

"I doubt the pizza's that much money." Remus bit into the slice in his hand, talking through the bite. "But it is pretty delicious."

"It is," Sirius nodded. "It was pretty nice of him to cover lunch for the day. If anything, you'd think you'd like him more for this."

You groaned. "He brought in his family's private chef, for God's sake. It's not like he rescued a cat from a tree or something."

Sirius and Remus shared a look as you spoke. You knew you sounded ridiculous, but you currently lacked enough dignity to care as yet another slice of pizza sat on your plate, ready to be eaten.

"James is actually a really nice lad," reasoned Sirius. "Take it from us. We kind of grew up with him."

That fact had yet to escape you as soon as you'd met the two of them. According to the stories they'd relayed to you, Remus's mum had been an on-set tutor to James growing up when he was acting in some movie, while Sirius's parents had been producers for some of James's parents' films. Safe to say, the three of them certainly left you feeling inexperienced in the world of acting.

"James should be the least of your worries," urged Remus. "He's harmless."

"If he's so harmless, then why has he gone out of his way to be a pain in my ass since I met him?"

Sirius snorted. "We said he's harmless, not that he's not an idiot sometimes."

"But," Remus added, "whatever James has done, just know that it always comes from a good place. The man doesn't have a mean bone in his body."

You sighed inwardly. The James Potter you knew seemed to be very different from the one that everyone else seemed to be familiar with, and it was driving you crazy.

3. He was an obnoxious flirt

When you said 'flirt', you not only meant that he flirted with you—unfortunately—but that he seemed to flirt with anyone in sight, whether he realized it or not. In fact, you'd been forced to watch as he smooth-talked one of the hairstylists on set for the past ten minutes.

You couldn't hear everything they were saying, thank god, but you were sure she was probably more charmed by the fact that his last name was Potter than anything he could remotely come up with to win her over. You'd had enough conversations with him to know that the movie-star smiles he offered were enough to charm people before they realized just how insufferable he was.

After what felt like hours, he said something to the woman in parting and left her looking flushed and smiley as he strolled away. You sighed, happy to finally be rid of distractions, and looked back down at the script on your lap that you were trying to memorize but stopped almost immediately as you felt an unwelcome presence lingering from in front of you. You looked up and fought a groan.

James tipped his head at you innocently. "You wanted me?"

You tensed at his phrasing and did your best to go back to ignoring him as you focused back on your script. "I did not."

Not taking the hint, as usual, he stayed put, shoving his hands in his well-tailored pockets. "Well, you've been staring at me for the past ten minutes, so I just assumed you had something to say."

"Well, you assumed wrong." You gave him a tight-lipped smile from where you sat. "And I wasn't staring. I just miraculously found it hard to concentrate on memorizing lines when you were harassing that hairstylist right next to me."

He squinted at you quizzically before shaking his head, finding your banter more amusing than you probably were. "Admit it. You're obsessed with me."

You scoffed, blinking rapidly to truly portray your disbelief. "You wish. Reality is, Potter—I think I hate you."

James peered at you with a glint in his eye like he'd never heard anything more amusing, leaning back against the wall next to you. "You think?"

You shrugged tightly. "The jury hasn't come to a decision just yet." You thought back to the unfortunately delicious pizza he'd provided, and all the things that Remus and Sirius had said to you that stood in stark contrast to practically every other experience you'd had with him.

James grinned, finding teasing you the most entertaining part of his day, even on set for a TV show. "So I still have a chance?"

His eyes glistened and you reeled. "A chance to what? Did you not hear the 'hate' part?"

"Hate is a strong word, don't you think?"

You shook your head. "Strong, but appropriate."

"Ouch." He touched his hand to his chest in that dramatic way he always did, something you blamed on his actor roots. "Your words hurt, you know." You rolled your eyes, truly trying then to get back to memorizing your lines so James would have nothing over you during filming the next day, but he didn't seem to care. "Look, I get it. You said you hate me. But really, I don't think you do."

You sighed, setting your script aside as you looked up at him with finality. "And why is that, Potter?"

"Because," James began, and you didn't like the tease in his tone as he looked down at you. "A little birdie told me you had some say in whether or not they cast me in South Bay. And that you actually encouraged it."

Your lips parted, those words being the last ones you expected him to say after weeks had gone by since the chemistry read. You didn't know who'd ratted you out, but whoever did would be getting a stern talking to. Or a partially stern one, since they were more than likely your boss.

You shrugged weakly at him. "That ... that doesn't mean anything."

James's thick brow lifted effortlessly. "So you're not denying it?"

At his challenging look, you relented with a drop of your shoulders. "I'm not. It's true; I told Minerva I think they should choose you to play Aaron becuase you are good at your job, James. As much as it annoys me. I mean, you're clearly a great actor, you get all your lines memorized overnight, not to mention the entire crew is in love with you for some reason-"

"Oh, I see."

You paused, looking at the way James's slight grin turned into a shit-eating one. "What?"

He tipped his head at you tauntingly. "You're jealous."

You let out a laugh harsher than you meant it to be. "Please. There's nothing about you I could possibly waste my energy being jealous over."

The brunette tutted, and you hated the feeling it sent through you. "For such a great actress, you're not a very good liar."

You felt your breathing shallow for a moment, not knowing what to do with the compliment that flowed so easily from his lips like he hadn't given it a second thought. You pushed the thought aside, focusing on the insult part of his statement instead, and rolled your eyes.

"Look," James continued at your expression. "Jealous or not, we're going to have to work together on this show for God knows how many more months. Years even, if it gets renewed for a second season." The thought both filled you with excitement and dread as it came from James's lips. He looked down at you with an honest curiosity. "How much longer can you go on pretending to hate me?"

You noted that what he was saying was true, letting the words sit in your chest for a moment, but you also noted that you had more fun being petty. You tilted your chin up at him. "Funny that you think I'm pretending."

James put a hand on the table you were sitting at, leaning forward slightly and making you freeze up. "Funny that you're still not a good liar, love."

Your throat felt tight with something you wanted to again dismiss as disgust at both his proximity and the delicate word that fell from his lips. You let an unpleasant pinch form between your brows. "I thought I told you not to call me that."

James felt something warm, almost giddy, form in his chest, and it didn't matter that you looked like you were considering slapping him right then. He let the corner of his lips quirk up. "You're adorable when you're mad."

"Don't call me that either." You huffed, picking up your still un-memorized script and standing. "I'm going to my trailer."

James quirked a brow, following you with only his eyes. "Is that an invitation?"

You rolled your eyes, walking away and calling over your shoulder. "Absolutely not."

taglist:

@ilovejamespottersomuch @empath-bunny @santaasi @veysxrge @bitterspoons @ladyhestiaa @rorybear14

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blossomarlia · 3 months ago

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dressing up

When you're unsure how you feel in the dress the boys bought you, they make sure to re-inspire some confidence. (reupload from previous blog, see navigation for more info!)

poly!jegulus x fem! reader

warnings: mostly fluff, sexual references and implied smut at the end, reader has hair and is able-bodied.

You rub the liquid-soft silk of your dress absent-mindedly between two fingers, eyes locked on your reflection in the bathroom mirror. When you'd tried it on just a few days ago, the shop lady had told you you were a vision; now you're sure she was just trying to sell her product.

You want to blame the sizing- maybe it's too small, the wrong shape, impossible to look good in even if you had the body of a mannequin. But even that doesn't seem plausible. It's a beautiful dress, high-quality with a price to match. There's no alternative: you must be the problem, straining fabric with the parts of you that you wish you could just forget about.

You breathe out as much as you can, trying not to flush with the embarrassment you feel at the thought of having to show your boyfriends just what a mistake it was, encouraging you to spend their money on a pretty dress you can't possibly wear. It was wrong of you to accept the gift. Guilt boils hot and hurting in your stomach as you imagine your lovely boyfriends, so pleased to finally have convinced you to let them sponsor such a luxury. How awful to repay them by looking dowdy and silly and not at all right for something so beautiful.

You think quickly, aware of the expectant pair sitting just seconds away in the living room. You can't pass them without revealing yourself, but the prospect is unimaginable. What a waste of money.

“Baby?” James’ voice, soft and cheerful, sounds from just past the door. Your throat tightens. “Not that we’re too miffed, but we would like to see you at some point. You’ve been in there since we got back from the shops twenty minutes ago.”

Shit. You curse yourself for deciding to come in here for a full-body view of the dress, leaving all your other clothing in the bedroom. Exiting naked would usually warrant rather a happy reaction from the boys, but after looking a few moments more at the outline of your body in the mirror, that doesn't seem like a good option either. “Sorry!”

"Not to worry, sweetheart."

James’ white bathrobe is the only reasonable alternative. You grab it off the hook by the towels and wrap it around yourself, nodding contentedly as it reveals only a sliver of fabric at your chest and nothing more. You might as well be wearing a nightie, for all they know. The dress will just have to be returned, and you'll tell them you couldn't find one that fit- technically correct.

You aim to leave the bathroom casually, but that becomes almost impossible when you open the door and find yourself face-to-face with Regulus, his fist raised as if to knock.

“Hi, Reg!” Too cheery. You tamper down your smile and stand on your tip-toes to kiss him, holding the robe tightly around yourself.

“Hello. I was just going to ask what you wanted for dinner. Are you alright, darling?" He wonders, watching you with storm-grey eyes that always seem to see just a little more than you're expecting them to.

"Of course! Dandy." You supply.

He cocks his head, unmoving. "You’re in an odd mood.”

“What? No. This is my usual mood,” You insist.

“M-hm.” His eyes drop momentarily down to the robe, narrowing. “Any particular reason you're wearing James' robe?”

“Am I?”

The aforementioned individual appeared, suddenly, grinning. “I don’t mind. Looks great, very sexy!”

You wonder if it's possible for your face to heat so much that it melts.

“Incorrigible, James.” Regulus says softly.

You give him a weak smile, squirming away from the impossible weight of their combined gazes and heading for the bedroom. Regrettably, they follow you.

“Why are you wearing it, angel?” James asks, flopping onto the bed.

You shrug, searching for an opportunity to get them both to leave you alone to change. The truth is that your own robe would've been much too short, and if they see the bottom of the dress they'll probably ask for the whole thing, and that's just not going to happen. You press your fingers into the soft curve of your lower stomach nervously, taking a few steps backwards until your back hits the wall. James' brows pull together.

“Um. I don't know.”

The two of them exchange a glance. You understand; you're not exactly behaving in a normal manner.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Regulus asks. You like to think you're better at reading his expressions than most- the slight slant of his dark brows tells you he's concerned, but you can't get a good read on the rest of it.

"Yes, I'm fine! Why are you- I- I'm just a little warm."

"Call me crazy, angel," James says, amused, "But taking off the robe might help with that."

Your reply comes too quickly, to your immediate regret. "No!"

There's a brief silence. You feel like a total idiot, but you're sure it beats the feeling you'd get seeing them pretend to like the way you look right now. You squeeze your eyes shut for second, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry," You sound mortifyingly close to tears. "Sorry. I just- sorry."

At a total loss, James stares at you from the bed. Regulus touches your upper arm gently.

"There's no need to apologise, darling, just tell us what's happened. What's made you so upset?"

You force yourself to make eye contact. "Please can you both just go while I get changed?"

Their expressions are awful; knowing you're causing such a fuss over something so trivial, so stupid, you feel like just about the worst girlfriend in the world.

“Is there something you're worried we'll see? Bruises, or something?” James asks. "We can go, baby, but if there's something going on it might be better for Reg or me to take a look. You know I was joking when I said I'd break up with you if you got that tattoo of Margaret Thatcher's face."

You deflate, softened by his attempt to break the tension. Regulus rolls his eyes, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch. "What's going on, hm?" He asks quietly.

With a sigh, you stare at the ground, giving up. They're too lovely to stick to your original plan- you'll just have to let it happen, and hope to make up for it another time by looking better.

"...I'm not sure you'll love what you see."

“Of course we’ll love it. We love you.” Regulus says firmly, like it's obvious.

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Angel. Take the robe off, yeah? We’ll prove it to you.”

At James' insistence, you take a deep breath and stare at the ground as you shrug off the robe, wrapping your arms around your middle. You're keenly aware of the places where your skin presses against fabric, the way it falls, and the heat rushing to your cheeks. Oh, god.

"Fuck." Regulus says, uncharacteristically crude. You curl in on yourself a little further.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not how it looked on the-”

James interrupts you. “Baby? I’m gonna be honest, because I love you, okay?”

“Okay.” You say meekly, eyes stinging. Maybe it's even worse than you’d thought.

“I cannot hear a single word you are saying when you look that good. Like, a single word. It’s all lost on me. I’m going to need a minute.”

Regulus’ hands are on you before you could properly react to James’ words, drawing your arms away from your body and taking in the dress with hungry eyes.

“Exquisite, sweetheart," He exclaims, hands on yours. "I would say you’re never taking this off, but that’s actually all I want to do.”

"What?" You manage, smiling despite yourself. You pull your hands away and press them to your face. "Reg, you don't have to-"

“You thought we wouldn’t want to see this?” Hands on your shoulders, Regulus spins you once, before pulling your back against his chest and planting a heated kiss to the side of your neck. “And you called me crazy?”

“You’re- I’m- what?” You stammer. James makes an unintelligible sound from the bed, pressing a dramatic hand to his heart. "Thank you."

"Don't thank us, angel. Holy shit. I'm thanking you. I'm thanking the gods. I'm thanking-"

"James is very thankful." Regulus whispers into your hair. You laugh out loud, a little giddy at all their praise. "D'you know what I'd be thankful for right now?"

"What?"

"You on that bed, darling," He says. You lean into his touch as his hand slides down your side, squeezing a part of your waist you'd prodded critically in the mirror not ten minutes ago. Now you enjoy the feeling of his warm hands through the thin fabric, enjoy having a shape his hands both appreciate so well. "Off you go."

It's an instruction, now, and you shiver at the authority in his tone as you obey. James is on you before the duvet has even settled, making you gasp as he presses kisses all over your face.

“I’m going to destroy this dress. I’m sorry.” He says earnestly. You giggle happily, insecurities not quite gone but coated in a honey-sweet joy that softens their presence.

“I thought you liked it.”

“M-hm. It’s okay,” His hand finds your thigh and grips it firmly, fingers pressing into soft skin. “We’ll buy you a million more.”

You let yourself enjoy it all for a moment more before giving any space to the snarky voice at the back of your mind, more out of a desire for reassurance than genuine belief that the two boys on top of you would genuinely do such a thing. "You're not- not just saying all this to make me feel better?"

“Why would we ‘just say’ this?” Regulus murmurs against your right shoulder, forearm across your stomach as he does wicked things to your skin that you'll have to cover in concealer if you want to wear anything sleeveless for a few days.

“...I don't know. Make me feel better?”

“You’re stunning. Literally- how often is James speechless, hm?”

You laughed. “Hardly ever.”

“Exactly. You're quite regularly the most beautiful girl either of us have ever seen, darling, whether you're feeling the same way or not,” Regulus leans on his elbow to look at you sternly. "We don't appreciate you this way because you look like somebody else, we adore you because you're yourself, and completely radiant."

“I don’t think you don't like me, I promise. It’s just something that’s in my brain- that I’m ugly, or something. It's silly."”

"It is," James agrees, allowing Regulus to return to whatever he's doing to your collarbone. "But it's not your fault. Your only job is to listen to what we're telling you, instead of your insecurity. Yeah?"

"Yeah," You nod, a little breathless. It's very easy to be agreeable when they're doing all these things to you. James kisses a line down your throat, to your chest, to your arm, slipping the strap of the dress down to follow. “I love you both," You manage.

They answer in their own, doubly enjoyable, ways.

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transparent-peach · 4 months ago

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Hey loves! Hope you’re all having a great morning/day/night. Okay so here we go again. I can't put down my phone when it comes to writing so let's go. Yeah i kinda went deep into writing and i am glad i did. Hope you’re all feeling the same! Today i bring you another one with our man James.

warnings: smut, bit of ch0king, curse words, alcohol, tobacco products

James McAvoy x Reader <3

it is a bit long, hope you don’t mind it!

(more than 3k words)

Drunk In Love

Luckily you were invited for the after party of the premiere of Split, since you worked with the crew. You are a set designer. You were a bit nervous to be in the same exact room with the whole crew of move Split. It was sweet to remember all the actors from the set of the movie, and how much they were so different. Especially James. He seemed to be very enthusiastic about his job. You looked up to him because of this.

———————————

I was anxiously fidgeting with my empty hand since the other was full of with a glass of expensive champagne. I was wearing a nice black dress with red bottomed high heels. My necklace sparkled in the yellowish light as i walked past the actors. I sat down to the table that had my name tag on it.

"How are you my beautiful Y/N?"

My smile grew bigger as i looked at Elizabeth, my coworker. She was my favourite woman in the whole set. Eliza was in her fifties but if i didn't know, i wouldn't tell.

"Kinda nervous. You know i get nervous when i smell too much millionaires."

I joked around as i took a sip from the champagne.

"It is okay, darling. May you join me for another one?"

She raised her glass up a bit so i could see it. It was empty. I nodded.

We went for drinks and I knew that if someone recognise her we must have to stop and have a chat. It happened that way. She was a very talented designer so she gained some fame along the way.

"Enjoying the gathering?"

A man came up to her and stroked her arm.

"Yes James, thank you. You were amazing in the movie dear. I knew yellow was your colour. Especially when you were half naked. Not so unfortunately that happened many times. We liked it, didn’t we, Y/N?" She let put a small laugh as she was toying around with me, poking the side of my torso. I smiled, tried to hold back my laughter, looking down to my shoes. "Are you enjoying this shitshow?"

She winked. She was a very charming woman and she had huge confidence in her hands. One more thing about her. Her husband was the director.

"Yeah, kinda enjoy it, yes. And you, Ms.?"

He was basically asking for my name as he turned to me.

"Yes Mr. McAvoy."

I held out my hand.

"Y/N Y/L/N."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, i think we have met before..." He held it, instead of shaking it he gave a short kiss to my hand.

"Okay kids, i will go enjoy my drink from a nice distance. Get to know each other."

And i haven't mentioned... She read people like books.

"Yes, we met before. I was the woman who rushed back and forth with the props. I think i helped Elizabeth with your clothes when you played… Hedwig i guess."

"Yes! I remember now. Sorry, there was so many things happening on the set."

He scratched his head and smiled a bit awkwardly because of the fact he forgot me.

"It's okay, Mr. McAvoy. I'm not that recognisable and memorable human being."I smiled at him as he shook his head.

"No it's nothing like that. You are an amazing artist, love. You know... Fuck it let's have a drink. It would be a pleasure if you join me for a cigarette too."He looked at me with questioning what i want.

"A scotch please." I searched for the pack of cigarettes in my purse. As i came to realisation i don't have it in there i just took the glass of bourbon.

"Am i not scotch enough for the lady?" He joked around as he opened the back door for me.

"Trust me, you are scotch enough." I laughed softly at his comment. He gave me a cigarette, and he took one out for himself too.

"I'm not a big smoker, i just do it occasionally." He started to explain it to me like i was a parent of his.

"Okay, Mr. McAvoy, i deeply understand you at this point, thank you." I joked around with him until he lightened my cig.

"Call me James, sweetheart. I like it when women are saying my name like that, but i guess it is just a weird kink of mine." He looked me in the eyes and we remained serious for a couple of seconds before he burst out laughing at the same time as i did. After the fifth glass of whiskey i was having a really great time. I let myself go with his flow, i took all of his dirty jokes very well. When i shot back with an even dirtier one, i enjoyed watching his eyes grow wider. It was always the mixture of surprise and amusement on his face. I thought he was as unpleasant as the other millionaires i have ever met but it was a a pleasant surprise that James had more up his sleeves than other people. It was like two totally freak laughing their ass of in the first step in a concrete stair. He was charming, he made me blush a lot. But i never let him know that i enjoy him doing that. It was my body that told him. And his body told me some things too.

"Well, James. I must say i had a great time with you, but i guess it's time for me to go." He gave a small, bitter laugh before he refuted me. He was admiring me. His eyes was scanning the whole body of mine. I stood up, his eyes were following my silhouette and he copied my activity.

"Where do you want to go love?" He placed two fingers under my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. His fascinating ice cold blue eyes.

"Well, i don't see a ring on your finger." I said with a smile, completely ignoring his question.

"No ring. Yet." He took a step closer, closing the gap between us, and placing his hands on my sides, gently pressing me against the cold wall of the building behind me. He leaned in, his breath brushing against the shell of my ear, whispering.

"If you want to enjoy my company for the rest of the night, i had to make sure." I looked into his dreamy eyes as it darkened under the weak lighting. He was breathtaking in that suit. He let his hands rest on my hips as he let out a small chuckle at my statement. His fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt.

"And now, that you know that I am very much single..." His gaze grew more intense as it traveled down my body to the hem of my skirt, his eyes lingering there for a moment before looking back up.

He gave me a passionate kiss, as i leaned closer to his body.

"Yeah, James. You may take me home."

His arms tightened around my body and a sly smile played upon his lips as our kiss deepened. In that moment, James could scarcely believe his luck meeting such a beautiful, captivating woman, who was all too willing to leave the boring party with him. He pulled back slightly and met my gaze, his voice dropping to a lower register.

"Let's go, darling."

I totally forgot about how drunk we were, but he had a private driver anyway. We quickly and inconspicuously got into his black Mercedes and he told the driver to take us home. He couldn't keep his hands to himself. The whole ride was overheated with sexual tension between James and me.

We arrived at his place, actually, that was more like a palace. He opened the door for me, and turned the lights on before he suddenly got on my lips.

He couldn't get enough of me. His hands roamed over my body as if they had a mind of their own, desperate to feel every inch of my soft skin. He leaned in close, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck, whispering breathless words against my skin.

"You're addicting as fuck."

At this point i couldn't decide if he was speaking from his mind, his heart or his erection. Or this was all about the big amount of alcohol in his system. "You can't complain either."

"If i remember correctly... I never did."

'What a sassy bastard. I think i like him.'

He lead me to the bedroom of his, unzipping my dress while he was stealing kisses from me. His eyes darkened with desire. It didn't take long to reach a bedroom, his mouth never leaving me for a moment. He took my dress of, as his eyes filled with lust and admiration. I began to unbutton his shirt, and the moment i took it off of him, i nearly gasped in ecstasy. He pushed me gently onto the bed, his body hovering over mine as his hands began to explore the curves underneath him. His fingers danced across my skin, sending shivers down my spine as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He chuckled softly, the vibration of his laughter tickling my stomach. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear. I felt his hardness pressing against me, I couldn't help but pulled him closer.He's got a wicked grin on his face, eyes locked onto mine. His fingers brush against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"Ah, you're gettin' bold, lady." he whispers in that smooth Scottish accent of his.

He leans in close, lips inches from mine.

"I want you."

I whispered to his lips, as i caressed his naked upper body. He took off his pants and tossed it to somewhere in the room. He leaned closer for a kiss and i pulled over a bit. I was teasing him so hard, he almost lost his mind. He chuckles, a low, husky sound, and his eyes flash with desire.

"Oh, you're a wicked one, aren't you?"

He leans in closer still, his breath hot against my skin as he whispers.

"I've got just the thing for a ladies like you."

His hand slides down to cup my sex through my clothes, his fingers tracing the outline of me through the fabric.

"God damn, James."

I let out a small moan. He went lower than i expected, slowly pulled down my red panties. I slide fingers through his hair as he left kisses on my stomach. He looks up at me, his eyes burning with intensity, as he continues to leave a trail of kisses down my stomach.

"Ah, you are so bloody beautiful," he whispers, his voice husky with desire. His fingers slide further down, parting my folds and finding the source of my pleasure. I feel his tongue playing with my clit. He found just the right spots in and out for me to almost lose my mind. I was moaning in pleasure as the scottish went down on me. He looked me into the eyes and i saw a little egotistical smile on his face. I felt everything at once, and it was magical. He's got a wicked glint in his eye, and he's clearly loving every second of this.

"Ah, you're so responsive, Y/N" he whispers, his voice muffled by my flesh. He continues to lick and suck me with renewed intensity, sending me spiraling into a vortex of pleasure. He suddenly got up and i almost lost my shit. I looked up to him in absolute disbelief. He let out a charming chuckle as he got back to kissing my lips. I felt his hardened cock against my womanly part, made me blush.

"Look at you."

I wiped off my remains from his beard and pulled him back to my lips. He lifted up his head as he pressed two of his fingers inside of my mouth. I was soaking wet already, but when he ran his fingers covered my own saliva along my pussy, i moaned for him. He was doing something right and i felt my heart racing. He grins down at me, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on me.

"You are so fuckin' hot when you moan for me like that." he growls. He positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock teasing my entrance.

"Tell me how badly you want it" he demands, his voice low and commanding.

"So bad. I want it so bad James."

I licked my lips and ran my fingers through his beautiful brownish hair. He sent shivers down my spine as he slipped his cock inside. I felt every inch pounding inside of me. We both moaned as he buried his head into the meeting of my shoulders and my neck. I couldn't take my eyes off of his veiny arms which had attractively tense muscles. He's got his eyes closed, lost in the moment, as he starts to pump into me with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"Ah, you are so tight" he whispers against my skin. His hips flex and release, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

"Look at me." he growls, his voice low and husky. He opens his eyes and meets mine, our gazes locked in a fierce connection. He keeps pounding me. The rough kisses and the excellent work of his waist pushed me to my edges. I deepened my red nails into the skin of his back, making him moan. My legs started shaking and my back arched for him, just for him to make faster moves and bite my shoulder. I was looking at him with playfulness in my eyes, as i took a deep breath. After catching my breath from the lack of oxygen, i turned the situation around. I was straddling him and looked deeply into his eyes. He was sweating, his lips were wet and a bit apart from each other. He was catching his breath too. But i couldn't let him as i sit comfortably onto his cock. He's got a look of pure lust on his face, and he's clearly struggling to keep himself in check as I start to move on top of him.

"Fuck." he groans, his hands gripping my hips tightly. He looks up at me with those intense eyes of his, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You are so fuckin' hot like this." he growls. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips as I continue to ride him, slowly building towards our shared climax.

"Yes, James!"

I let out a loud scream as i looked up to the ceiling. His hand was on my throat, grabbing it just right.

"Or should i call you Mr. McAvoy now? "

I slowed down and lead closer to him. Our lips were inches away. I loved teasing him. He chuckles darkly, the sound sending vibrations through my core.

"I think you can call me whatever you like," he purrs. His hand slides from my throat to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. "You are in control here, sweetheart " he whispers. But even as he says this, his hips are starting to buck up into me again, a telltale sign of how close we both are. I leaned toward him to invite him to a playful, passionate kiss. I started to ride him faster and i placed my hands on his chest. I almost cried out loud when he hit my most precious spot inside of me. I felt his hand tightened around my neck, made me feel hornier than ever.

"Oh god, James! Oh god..." I shut my eyes in pleasure, moving my hips a little slowly. He's got a triumphant grin on his face, and he's clearly loving the fact that he's got me right where he wants me.

"Ah, you are so close." he whispers against my ear. His hand tightens around my neck just a little more, and I can feel his cock pulsing inside of me as he starts to come. "Open yer eyes," he growls. I do as I'm told, meeting his gaze with mine as we both reach our climax together. He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through his chest. I got back to bed. Lying next to him was a dream. I placed my head on his chest and felt my heart pounding like crazy. He caressed my head as i drew little circles on his abs with the tip of my fingers. I felt his heart too. It was beating fast, but then again so calming. Feeling the temperature of his body, his breath was getting back to normal.

"I guess i haven't really had the opportunity to say i like your accent." I said with a calm tone. I still couldn't raise my head up.

"Ah, you're a wee bit of a charmer, aren't you? You could've just say it while i was inside of you." He laughed at his own joke, made me chuckle. His hand continues to caress my head, and I can feel his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my scalp.

"I'm glad you like my accent," he says, his voice warm and husky. He pauses for a moment before continuing. "I've always thought it was one of my best features."

"Yeah. It is one of the best feature of yours. There's another one that i cannot say now."

I playfully let out a small chuckle and finally looked up to him. I couldn't help but started to think about this time we spent together. It wasn't that long but i enjoyed every second with him. He made me feel comfortable and happy. It made me kinda unpleasant to think it was just another one night stand. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Ah, I think you're getting a wee bit too comfortable with me, love." he says, his voice low and teasing. His hand slides up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.

"But don't worry about it being just another one-night stand," he whispers. His gaze is intense and serious for a moment before softening into a warm smile.

"I've got plans for you."

"Is that a problem? Me being comfortable with you?" I playfully raised an eyebrow. "I guess we were more than a bit comfortable with each other."

He chuckles, a low and husky sound. "Aye, we were more than comfortable with each other" he agrees. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. "Problem? No, not at all," he says. His hand slides down to wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "I rather like it."

"I like you. " I gently put a kiss on his lips, and take a deep breath. "Crazy scottish."

He laughs, a warm and happy sound.

"Ah, you're a wee bit crazy yourself" he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His lips curve into a smile as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close.

"I like you too" he whispers against my ear.

#james mcavoy x y/n #james mcavoy #james mcavoy x reader #james mcavoy smut #writing #james mcavoy stories #split movie #smut #writblr #writer stuff #actors

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idontwikeit · 8 months ago

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thanks to @weather-mood, we discovered Interview With the Vampire Season 2 Soundtrack which is yet to be released! The tracklist contains major spoilers so beware! The tracklist details and short samples for free listening is at the end of this post

Imagine Never Being Able To Dream

2. She Could Dream, Thank You

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

3. The Whole World Was Ready To Return

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

4. Paris Sucks

(Daniel Hart, Evan Smith, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

5. Who Are The Young Men

(Daniel Hart, Evan Smith, Marc Osterer, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

6. Armand For You

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

7. Raglan James

(Daniel Hart, Damir Orascanin, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

8. The Fourth Great Law

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

9. A Vein Winding Through The Heart Of Paris

(Daniel Hart, Veronika Vitazkova, Anna Frisanova, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

10. I Don't Like Windows When They're Closed

(Daniel Hart, Alina Cherone, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

11. Amadeo

(Daniel Hart, Eleanor Tinlin)

12. Madeleine

(Shruti Kumar, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

13. Abducted

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

14. Take As Many With Me As I Could

(Daniel Hart, Bobak Lotfipour, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

15. Hello Francis, Goodbye Francis

(Daniel Hart, Evan Smith, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

16. First Time In New Orleans

(Shruti Kumar, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss

17. I Didn't Know It Was A Gift

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

18. Ladies And Gentlemen

(Daniel Hart, Bobak Lotfipour, Hideaki Aomori)

19. Jardin De Satan

(Daniel Hart, Hideaki Aomori)

20. Come To Me Again

(Daniel Hart, Sam Reid)

21. Annika

(Daniel Hart, Iosua Dascal, Damir Orascanin, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

22. Le Bucheron

(Daniel Hart, Damir Orascanin, Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

23. Flirty Salesman Shuffle

(Daniel Hart, Bobak Lotfipour, Evan Smith)

24. Woodcutter

25. The Five Great Laws

26. Baby Lu

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

27. Je N'Aime Pas Fenêtres Quand Fermée

(Daniel Hart, Alina Cherone)

28. For A Young Violinist Again

29. Love Wronged

30. In Nomine Magni

31. Followed Closely By My Madness

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

32. Vien À Moi Encore

(Synchron Stage Orchestra, Bernhard Melbye Voss)

33. Come To Me On Rue Royale

Soundtrack details and samples: https://www.prestomusic.com/classical/products/9625720--interview-with-the-vampire-season-2-original-television-series-soundtrack

#vampterview #tv: interview with the vampire #iwtv spoilers #GOING CRAZY FOR THE LAST TWO HOURS

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prittiswaggy-co · 2 months ago

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INSANE!AU - Tessa James Elliot

!!!! Chemical burns & scars Trigger Warning !!!

The very requested Tessa is here, click on the images for better quality.

More infos under the cut

About the healed Chemical burns: one day, when reviving a drone from the dead like always. The drone unexpectedly woke up and slapped her hand away, dropping the bottle of harsh products on herself. Touching her face and legs. (The drone screamed nonsense before realizing what happened. He didn't survive.)

Scratches all over her body, she had to cut her nails short enough to stop ripping her skin to shreds. Now it just marks and maybe bleed a little if she's really stressed. Her skin becomes itchy and the clothes unbearable when the panic sets in.

Idiosyncratic language user, she always talk in a formal way at the same time. Making outsiders wonder if she really speaks English or not. A messy mix of Australian and French slangs, formal English and teenager dialect.

Have to wear gloves to hide the state of her hands

Some people say she looks angry or at their souls

Nearly Only sleeps on the rocking chair in her room, cyn likes to tease her about being a old lady of 4 drones (reference of the cat ladies). Tessa hates it lol

Occult and paranormal fanatic, she still despite the unexplainable of it, but it's fun nonetheless. J says it's bullshit-

Always feels watched, cannot relax without having a "What if" thought, even if she checked her room for any spying devices almost every week. Nothing, but she knows.

Her room was her primary workshop/lab before having to move elsewhere (basement) when they found that the products she's using was intoxicating her whole bedroom, resulting of a huge fever and a "There's a monster under my bed" situation.

Absolutely hates the lessons her parents forces her to have, she's bad at both of the instruments. Her general (math, history, ectect) studies are also boring, being locked to her own desk, she struggles to even listen to the teacher. Somehow have bad-decent notes. But never enough for her mother who scolds her and punish her after each exams she takes.

Heavy eyebags/dark circles, seems to always had them since she was 5.

Undescriptive haircut, father couldn't care less, mother always become furious when she saw her without the low pigtails.

Shy around other humans

Her parents arrange dates with boys her age, sadly when they see her bones collection they go cry under their mother's petticoat. Lol.

Always see huge spooky snake thingies in the corner of her eyes. Cyn and N says it's just the fatigue.

Knows about the Solver, it was never hostile towards her, taking the form of a camera of some sort both it and Cyn acted like parent-daughter, Solver always wants left over oil. Tessa didn't want her friends to starve so she buys more and more oil. Also why is there bite marks on the drones she's repairing?

Likes to hangout and have tea parties with Cyn and Solver, they talk about anything and nothing at the same time, like the other day! It said that whole monologue about the best family is the one we choosed. Or the time cyn rambled about how great it is to be like them. Free from any rules, anything that could stop them... She wonders about the weird symbols though.

#murder drones #tessa james elliot #insane!tessa #md insane!au #murder drones fanart #reference sheet #tw scars #tw chemical burns #tw mental illness #absolute solver #murder drones cyn #serial designation j

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 3 months ago

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1. And If I Get Burned, At Least We Were Electrified.

Prequel to The Last Great American Dynasty.

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

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

A deep yawn slipped from your lips as you descended the creaky wooden stairs, each step bringing you closer to the dimly lit bar area below. The comforting warmth of the takeaway coffee in your hand did little to fully shake the lingering sleep that clung to you. With your crossbody bag pressed tightly against your chest and your phone occupying your other hand, you navigated the sudden shift from the bright, sunlit morning outside to the bar’s shadowy interior. The contrast was jarring, momentarily disorienting, and you found yourself squinting, blinking a few times as your eyes adjusted to the low light.

The faint smell of stale beer and cleaning products hit your senses, and you paused briefly, the familiar atmosphere slowly wrapping itself around you. Just another day, you thought, taking a slow sip of your coffee to wake up a little more. Your footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floor as you made your way further inside.

“You’re late,” came a voice from behind the bar, breaking the silence. You glanced up to see James, your friend, leaning casually against the counter. His signature smirk was plastered across his face, his arms crossed in front of him. A white cloth was carelessly slung over his shoulder, a familiar sight after years of friendship and shared shifts.

Without missing a beat, you held up your coffee cup as if it were a shield against his teasing, “There was a line,” you replied defensively, trying to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. You could already tell this was going to be one of those days. You slipped your phone into your bag and moved to the side office, the small room barely big enough to hold the essentials. The bag hit the floor with a soft thud, a sigh escaping your lips.

As you stepped back into the bar area, you noticed one of your colleagues struggling to maneuver a trolley full of alcohol bottles into the storage area. You made a mental note to help them later, but for now, your attention was fixed on James, who was watching you with an amused expression, his arms still crossed.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Well, in the spirit of full disclosure,” he began, “we just had Remy Lebeau’s crew here.”

You froze mid-sip, the coffee catching in your throat as you swallowed too quickly. You coughed, eyes widening as his words sank in. “Why?” you rasped, narrowing your eyes suspiciously as you glanced around the bar. “Who owes him here?”

James straightened up, unfolding his arms but keeping that smirk on his lips. “No one, apparently. They’re looking for a—quote—neutral spot for a meeting—unquote.” He paused for emphasis, eyeing you as if to gauge your reaction. “So they gave the boss lady a shit ton of money to close the bar down for the night. They’ll be here for some kind of meeting.”

You blinked, the implications hitting you immediately. “Thank fuck I wasn’t here,” you muttered under your breath, relief washing over you. “And thank fuck I won’t be here! It’s Friday, I’m off at 3.”

James’ laugh was genuine this time, the deep, rumbling sound filling the quiet bar. But there was something in that laugh that made you wary. He leaned back on his heels, arms once again crossing over his chest in that way that told you bad news was coming.

“And that’s where I rain on your little parade.” His grin widened, almost gleeful now. “Kate called in sick.”

Your heart sank, the coffee now feeling like a lead weight in your stomach. “No...”

“You’re replacing her, 10 to 10,” he said, the words like a hammer to your carefully laid plans.

Your face fell as the reality of your situation settled in. “I had plans,” you mumbled, the words barely audible even to yourself. Visions of a quiet evening at home, maybe catching up on that show or finally finishing that book, all crumbled before you like a house of cards.

“Not anymore, you don’t.” James’ laughter followed you as you stared at him in disbelief. He didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. Instead, he turned back to the dishwasher that had just beeped, signaling the end of a cycle. He reached in to pull out the dozens of hot, steaming glasses crammed inside with the same casual ease, while your mood plummeted further.

You stood there in the middle of the bar, still holding your now lukewarm coffee, mentally kicking yourself for not calling in sick yourself this morning.

As you and James cleaned up the bar, the sound of heels echoed from around the corner, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the silence like a knife. Abigail emerged, a folder in her hands, her expression as unreadable as ever. She came to a stop in front of you, her gaze flicking briefly to the takeaway coffee cup still in your hand. Abigail Norman was not a woman you forgot easily. Even before she spoke, her presence commanded attention with a force that could quiet a room. She was older, though you could never quite pinpoint her age—somewhere in her mid-fifties, perhaps—but the years had done nothing to soften her sharp edges. Her dark brown hair, carefully styled into loose curls, framed her face in a way that might have made someone else look approachable, even warm. But for Abigail, it only sharpened her already severe appearance. Her features were angular and precise: high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and hooded eyes that always seemed to be calculating something just out of your reach.

Her makeup was meticulously applied, but not overdone. The crimson lipstick she wore was a signature of hers—bold, unapologetic, and a signal that she was not to be trifled with. A soft brown eyeshadow and a thin line of eyeliner emphasized her dark eyes, which, despite their cosmetic enhancement, remained cold and distant, like two polished stones. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much and trusted too little.

She dressed in business attire that was both elegant and intimidating. Today, it was a tailored gray suit, the pants perfectly hemmed to reveal the iconic red soles of her Louboutin heels. The suit accentuated her slim frame, adding to the impression that she was not just a businesswoman, but a force of nature. Every step she took echoed through the bar, the sound of her heels against the floor an almost ominous reminder of the authority she wielded.

Abigail was not known for small talk or pleasantries, and she had little patience for anything she deemed frivolous. You’d once cracked a joke about money laundering, given the sheer number of businesses she owned—bars, restaurants, and even a high-end boutique or two. But one sharp glance from those cold, steely eyes had shut that down fast. It wasn’t just that she didn’t find it funny; it was as though the mere suggestion that she could be anything but above board was an insult she wouldn’t tolerate.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” she commented, her tone clipped, not bothering to hide her irritation.

You forced a smile, already bracing for the lecture. “Traffic. You know how it is in New Orleans,” you lied smoothly, though you knew it wouldn’t land.

Her eyes shifted to the cup in your hand, and a small, knowing smirk tugged at her lips. “I’m sure it was.”

Abigail’s gaze lingered for just a moment before she moved on, her sharp eyes scanning the bar. As usual, she missed nothing. Her presence alone was enough to make you and James fall into line, though you both tried to keep things light with your usual banter.

“I suppose you’ve heard about tonight then?” she asked, not really waiting for an answer.

You nodded. “I have.”

“And that you’re working 10-10 now. Kate’s called out,” she said, barely looking up from the checklist in her hands.

Feigning concern, you put on your best sympathetic face. “Oh, that’s a shame. Is she okay?” you asked, handing your cup to James, who silently tossed it into the bin behind you.

Abigail didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You know what Kate’s like. She cries about wanting the shifts, so I give them to her, and she never shows up.”

Her eyes flicked up from the checklist, pinning you with that steely gaze. “I know how much you two enjoy making running commentary about our guests,” she said, motioning to you and James, who was now trying to suppress a grin. “So for tonight, I suggest you both shut the hell up. Make Mr. Lebeau and his friends comfortable, or I’ll make sure neither of you work in this city again.”

You and James both nodded, the threat as real as the woman standing before you. It wasn’t the first time Abigail had reminded you of the precarious position you held, and it wouldn’t be the last.

As she turned to leave, she paused, looking back over her shoulder. “Also, neither one of you are very subtle,” she added, her eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement, though her face remained perfectly neutral.

Once she was out of earshot, you and James exchanged a grin, the tension lifting slightly. You both knew better than to push too far, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun in the meantime.

“Think she’s planning on making herself the queen of New Orleans?” you asked, grabbing a bottle of cleaner and spraying down the benches.

“Oof,” James scoffed. “If she is, she’ll be making the mad dash to her hairdresser in about thirty minutes.”

You chuckled, as if this was a conversation you’d had before. “Maybe we should be protecting Remy Lebeau from her,” you commented lightly, reaching for a bottle of top-shelf whiskey and pouring three shots in quick succession.

“Here’s to 11 a.m. shots and Remy Lebeau possibly becoming our new boss daddy,” you laughed, raising your glass. James and your other colleague snorted in response as they grabbed their own glasses.

You all knocked back the shots, the burn of the alcohol barely registering, before a voice called out from the back room.

“You’re paying for those.”

You winced, but couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. <><><><><><><><><>

The clock on the wall ticked over to 8 PM, and the bar was eerily quiet. You and James had been killing time for the past hour, throwing crumpled paper into a small recycling bin behind the bar. It was a poor substitute for the bustling Friday night crowd that should’ve been filling the place with noise, laughter, and chaos. Normally at this time, the bar would be packed, with bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filling the space. But tonight, it was dead. The absence of life felt unnatural, and after a while, the silence started to crawl under your skin.

“So, what were your plans for tonight?” you asked James, taking another shot at the bin and missing by a mile.

He lazily handed you another crumpled paper ball, shrugging as he took a long sip from his water bottle. “I was gonna take Nat out to that new Italian place by the river, but, well... as you can see, that all went to shit.”

You winced slightly, knowing how hard it was to get a reservation at that place. “Is she at least understanding about it?”

James chuckled, retrieving the paper you’d missed and making the shot himself in one smooth motion. “Yeah, when I told her the reason, she said it was fine. She’ll just hang with her sister tonight.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “It helps when you’ve got someone understanding.”

James raised an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “What about you? Any hot date I need to know about?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you tossed another paper ball. “Not even close. Honestly, I think I’m done with dating until the men of New Orleans decide to pick up their game.”

James laughed, a low, amused chuckle. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

You grinned, pointing at him. “Oh, you’re definitely included in that Barnes.”

Before he could respond, both of you froze at the sound of Abigail’s voice echoing from the hallway. You exchanged quick glances, panic flashing in your eyes, and immediately scrambled to clean up the mess of paper and empty cups you’d left behind. It was a mad dash to make the bar look like a professional establishment again, both of you trying to act like you hadn’t just spent the last few hours goofing off.

Abigail entered the bar, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, followed by a man in a white suit and four others trailing behind him. The man in the white suit was large, with a thick neck and broad shoulders, clearly someone used to commanding respect. Abigail stopped in front of you and James, her cold eyes flicking over you both with an air of disapproval.

“And this is our bar staff,” she said, her voice dripping with an almost forced politeness. “If you need anything, feel free to ask them, and they will be happy to provide it.”

You and James forced smiles, but yours felt more like a grimace, especially when Abigail shot you a brief but pointed glare. The men nodded silently, then moved toward the large circular table for twelve that had been set up in the far corner of the bar. The man in the white suit took his seat at the head of the table, while the others flanked him, standing like silent sentinels.

Abigail leaned in close to you, her voice a low, icy whisper. “Try to be a bit more pleasant when Mr. Lebeau arrives.” Her tone left no room for argument—it was a warning, and a familiar one at that.

You exchanged a quick glance with James, both of you tensing slightly. The red-haired waitress was already at the table, nodding furiously as the man in white pointed to various items on the menu. You could tell by her expression that she was nervous, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to keep up with his rapid questions.

And then, as if on cue, you heard it—the loud, fake laugh that Abigail reserved for only the most important guests. It echoed through the quiet bar, signaling the arrival of the man you’d been nervously anticipating all night. You were midway through complaining to James about how hungry you were when the door swung open, and your head automatically turned.

Remy Lebeau walked in, and the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. It was as if all the air had been sucked out, leaving only the weight of his presence. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to announce himself—his mere existence did that for him. He wore a dark blue suit, perfectly tailored to his lean, muscular frame, with the top button of his white shirt left undone, giving him an air of casual confidence. His hair was dark and not overly styled, it fell slightly on his forehead. His face was sharp, angular, with a jawline that could probably cut glass. Five men walked in after him, each dressed in a type of calm and casual neatness that if you didn’t know any better, you would say it was a group of friends having dinner after a day in the office. But of course you knew better.

If New Orleans had a king, his name was Remy Lebeau. In the underworld, he was a legend, a figure whispered about in dark corners and back alleys, where people knew better than to speak his name too loudly. He was the kind of man that everyone respected—whether that respect was born out of admiration or fear depended entirely on which side of his temper you’d found yourself. Few dared to cross him, and those who did rarely lived to tell the tale.

Lebeau wasn’t just any mobster. He had clawed his way to the top with a combination of sheer cunning, brute strength, and a ruthless disregard for anyone who stood in his way. His nickname, "The King of New Orleans," wasn’t just a title; it was a statement of fact. Every racket, every scheme, every underhanded deal that went down in the Crescent City had his fingerprints on it. And if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be long before it did.

Behind his suave, charming exterior—and he was charming, that much was undeniable—was a man with an iron will and a heart as cold as the Mississippi in winter. His reputation for cruelty was well-earned. A hard hand and an unforgiving nature defined him. If you owed him money, you paid. If you crossed him, you disappeared. And if you made the mistake of underestimating him, well, you didn’t get the chance to make that mistake again.

Lebeau was a master of contradiction. He was known for his impeccable manners, his smooth Cajun drawl, and his love of fine things—tailored suits, expensive bourbon, and even finer women. But beneath that polished exterior was a man capable of terrifying violence. He could be laughing with you over cigars one minute and have you dragged to the bayou the next, never to be seen again. His crew was fiercely loyal, but not because they loved him—because they feared him. And in Remy Lebeau’s world, fear was the currency that bought loyalty.

He was also a man who understood the value of appearances. He kept his hands clean, at least on the surface. His legitimate businesses—clubs, restaurants, even a few high-end hotels—were fronts, a way to launder the dirty money that flowed through his empire. But everyone knew the truth. No one got that rich, that powerful, in New Orleans without getting blood on their hands. And Lebeau’s hands were soaked.

In moments of generosity, he could be magnanimous, even charming. He’d be the first to buy a round of drinks for the house, to shake hands with the mayor, to slip a generous donation to the church. But that charm was as much a weapon as the gun tucked beneath his tailored jacket. It disarmed people, lulled them into a false sense of security, right before he made his move.

But it wasn’t his appearance that struck you the most—it was the way he carried himself. There was an undeniable magnetism about him, an aura of control and danger that radiated from every step he took. His movements were smooth, deliberate, like a predator who knew exactly where he stood in the food chain. His smile was charming, almost disarming, but his eyes told a different story. They were dark, calculating, like he was constantly sizing up everyone around him, deciding who was useful and who was expendable. He had the kind of eyes that could flip from warmth to ice in an instant.

When those eyes finally met yours, you felt a chill run down your spine. Though he was smiling, you could see the darkness beneath it—this was a man who didn’t get where he was by being nice. He was dangerous, and you knew it. Every instinct in your body told you to be cautious around him. This wasn’t someone you wanted to cross; this was someone who could ruin you with a single word, and you wouldn’t even know it was coming until it was too late.

As Remy walked further into the room, the men at the table all stood, their posture stiffening as if his presence alone demanded respect. He gave them a nod, his smile never faltering, but you noticed the way his eyes flicked back to you and James for just a second longer than necessary. It was a glance that made your stomach tighten.

Abigail greeted him with her usual over-the-top enthusiasm, her laugh grating on your nerves even more than usual, but you were too focused on Remy to pay much attention. The way he commanded the room without even trying was unsettling, to say the least. You’d heard the stories about him—the King of New Orleans, the mobster with the iron grip on the city’s underworld—but seeing him in person was something else entirely. He was more than just a rumor, more than just a name whispered in hushed tones. He was real, and he was right in front of you.

James nudged you lightly, pulling you out of your thoughts. You quickly tore your gaze away from Remy and focused on the task at hand, your heart still pounding in your chest. The night had just begun, and already it felt like it was going to be a long one.

As you moved behind the bar, you couldn’t help but glance back at Remy one more time. He was talking to Abigail now, his voice low and smooth, though you couldn’t make out the words. The way he stood, the way he moved—it all screamed power. And for the first time in a long while, you felt completely out of your depth. This wasn’t just another high roller or VIP. This was someone far more dangerous.

And tonight, you were in his world. <><><><><><><><><> Laughter rippled through the large table, catching your attention as you and James busied yourselves tidying up the bar. Remy clapped one of his men on the shoulder, saying something that sent the whole table into another round of chuckles. So far, the evening had remained friendly, the mood around the room still light. But beneath the surface, you could feel something else—something tense, something electric.

You’d been working overtime all evening, and the exhaustion was starting to creep into your limbs. The idea of the weekend, of not having to come back here for two full days, was practically the only thing keeping you going. You’d lost count of how many times Abigail had swanned in, fluttering her lashes at Remy, each time asking with exaggerated sweetness if he and his entourage were enjoying themselves. You and James had exchanged plenty of glances, barely holding back your amusement every time she left the room.

You kept your voices low, but it didn’t seem to matter. Every time the two of you snorted in laughter or made a quick quip at Abigail’s expense, Remy would glance up from the table. His eyes would lock onto yours, that ever-present smirk playing at the corner of his lips, like he could hear every word you were saying. His gaze pierced through the dim lighting of the bar, and each time, it felt like he was looking right into you, like he could read your thoughts. The intensity of his attention was unnerving, and yet… there was something magnetic about it. You couldn’t help but feel drawn in, as if some invisible current connected the two of you across the room.

“We’re so getting fired by the end of the night,” James muttered, crouching down to grab a few bottles from the drink cupboard. His voice was light, but there was an edge of real anxiety behind it. “Might need to learn how to make our feet look real pretty, ‘cause that’s the only way we’ll be paying rent this month.”

You laughed, but the tension in your gut didn’t dissipate. “Speak for yourself. I’m more worried about getting killed before the night’s over. If not by the guys in here, then by Abigail herself. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.”

James stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “You think Abigail sleeps?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You didn’t notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere as you continued stocking the shelves. “Yeah, upside down on the rafters, like a bat,” you joked, letting out a laugh just as you felt a slight nudge at the back of your feet.

The laugh died in your throat as you turned and locked eyes with Remy Lebeau, leaning casually against the bar. That smirk—the one that had been haunting you all night—was wider now, more pronounced. His presence sent a jolt through you, and you immediately looked down at the floor, your heart racing. You knew you were in trouble. A man like Remy didn’t sneak up on people without a reason.

“Abigail’s y’ boss, right?” Remy’s voice was smooth, with that thick drawl that rolled off his tongue like honeyed whiskey. He wasn’t even acknowledging James, his eyes fixed solely on you, that grin never leaving his face. There was a playfulness in his tone, but underneath it, you could sense the weight of his power—a reminder that playful or not, he was not a man to be taken lightly.

You swallowed hard, trying to salvage the situation. “She’s a great boss,” you managed to say, though your voice sounded a little too high-pitched for your liking. “Really,” you added, though the word trailed off awkwardly as Remy raised an eyebrow, his amusement deepening.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the silence stretch between you, making you feel more and more like a deer caught in headlights. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he handed James a large bill, his eyes still locked on you. “Grab me ‘nother bottle of wha’ we been drinkin’,” he said, though it was less of a request and more of a command.

James took the money, but you were already moving, grabbing the bottle from the shelf with shaky hands. As you passed it to James, Remy gave you a small wink. “Keep th’ change,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. Then, without another word, he pushed off the bar and strode back to the table, leaving you standing there, breathless.

You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still pounding in your chest. James, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely concealed amusement, finally let out a snort of laughter. “Well, that was something. Should I start looking for job openings now, or wait until morning?”

You shot him a look, though the humor in his eyes made it hard to stay irritated. “Oh, we’re definitely screwed. I’ll let you know if I find a job that’ll take us both.”

Before you could say anything else, the red-haired waitress wandered over, her eyes following Remy as he walked back to the table. She glanced between the two of you, curiosity written all over her face. “What was that all about?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

You shook your head, trying to shake the lingering tension that clung to you like a second skin. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be spending my weekend job hunting after tonight,” you muttered, finally tearing your gaze away from Remy and focusing on the waitress. “What about you? What brings you into the lion’s den?”

She glanced toward the kitchen, then back at you, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Abigail wants me to cover you while you take your break. Vis has made something for dinner in the back.”

“Oh, thank god,” James groaned, handing over the white cloth he’d been using to clean the bar. “I was starting to think I’d have to start nibbling on the bar snacks.”

The waitress listened as he gave her a small list of tasks that needed handling, but you were only half-listening. You couldn’t shake the feeling of Remy’s eyes still on you, even from across the room. Every time you let your guard down, every time you let yourself slip into the rhythm of the evening, there he was—watching. Observing. Every smile he flashed at his men, every laugh he shared at the table, felt like it was tinged with something else. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a dangerous edge to his presence, something that made your skin prickle with nervous energy.

As you and James made your way toward the kitchen, you cast one last glance over your shoulder. Remy was leaned back in his chair, his arm draped casually over the backrest, and his eyes were still locked on you. That smirk was back, curling at the corner of his mouth like he knew something you didn’t. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the room disappeared—just you and him, caught in that charged silence, where everything seemed to hang on the edge of a knife. His gaze was intense, like he could see right through the bravado you wore like armor, right down to the nerves fraying underneath.

You turned away quickly, your pulse kicking up as you tried to steady your breathing. Vis, the older cook, handed you a large burger with fries on the side. The comforting smell of sizzling food and the clatter of pans usually made the kitchen feel like a safe haven, but right now, it was a sanctuary from the tension simmering in the bar.

“How’s it going out there?” He asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he knew exactly who was still on your mind.

James grabbed his food and shook some salt over the fries, leaning casually against the counter. “Well, in the space of several hours, we’ve watched Abigail try and find herself husband number—what is it again?” He glanced at you with a knowing grin.

“Four,” you mumbled around a mouthful of fries.

“Four,” James repeated, drawing out the word with exaggerated exasperation. “We’ve been dying of hunger all night, and our lovely head barmaid here has been making bedroom eyes with a certain mobster.”

You choked, spluttering and coughing as you struggled to catch your breath. “I’ve been what now?”

James waited patiently as you recovered, his expression not unlike that of a cat who caught a canary. He turned back to Vis, who watched the scene unfold with quiet amusement. “Anyway, Remy overheard us talking smack about Abigail, and now we’re pretty sure we’ll be fired by tomorrow. He’s definitely gonna tell her.”

You nodded, your expression grim as you took another bite. “He’s absolutely gonna tell her,” you agreed, though the thought of Remy tattling on you seemed oddly out of character, “Anyway, I’m going to go eat this out the back. Its getting a bit too stuffy in here for my liking.” “It’s cold out there,” Vis pointed out, “Don’t forget a jacket.”

You gave the chef a warm smile as you told him you’ll be fine, you just need a bit of a breather. But all you could feel was the weight of the evening pressing down on you. The kitchen was too warm, too stifling, and the thought of Remy’s lingering gaze still made your skin tingle uncomfortably. Grabbing your plate, you pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night, the clamor of the bar fading as you settled onto an old crate against the wall. The night air was a welcome relief, crisp and biting against your heated skin.

You were midway through your burger when the door creaked open again, and Remy stepped out, his presence as effortless as ever. He gave you a nod of acknowledgment before fishing a cigarette from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he lit it, the glow briefly illuminating his face in the dark. He took a long drag, then held the pack out to you.

You shook your head, feeling awkward now that the bustling bar was behind you. Out here in the cool night air, the streetlights casting long shadows, there was nowhere to hide from Remy’s sharp, knowing eyes. The way they seemed to take in everything about you—every nervous glance, every fidget—it made you feel exposed. Vulnerable, even. You were used to fading into the background when things got too intense, blending into the noise and activity of the bar. But now, with just the two of you standing outside, there was no escaping his attention.

Remy shrugged casually, slipping his cigarette pack back into his jacket pocket and leaning against the brick wall beside you. He exhaled a plume of smoke, the scent of tobacco mixing with the crisp night air. “Should really quit, I know,” he said, his voice carrying that lazy, Southern drawl that somehow made everything sound like a suggestion rather than a command. “These things gonna kill me ‘fore I even see my next birthday.”

You smirked despite the tension crawling up your spine, popping another fry into your mouth as you tried to keep things light. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, and when you glanced over, his eyes were still on you, unwavering. “So, it’s no’ jus’ reserved fo’ the staff, huh?” he teased, his voice warm but edged with something you couldn’t quite name. “This is jus’ who y’ are.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your heart picking up pace. His gaze had that effect on you—like he could see past the words you were saying, right into the truth of you. Unsettled, you looked away, pretending to be absorbed in the few remaining fries. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I’m overtired and not really thinking straight.”

Remy tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet, intense way of his, like he was weighing your words carefully. “Then why y’s till here, if y’ wasn’t suppos’ t’ be?”

You shrugged, your fingers nervously picking at the edges of your half-eaten burger bun. The question hit a little too close to home. “One of the other bartenders called in sick, and…well, rent’s due.” The words came out casually, but there was a weight behind them, a kind of resignation you hadn’t meant to let slip. You quickly looked down, embarrassed by how vulnerable that admission felt.

There was a beat of silence, and when you dared to glance up, Remy was nodding slowly, his expression thoughtful, as if he understood more than you had said. He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. “That’s fair. Gotta keep the lights on somehow.” His eyes flicked back to you, assessing, but not unkind. “You like workin’ here?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. No one ever really asked you things like that. You paused, really thinking about it for the first time in a while. “Yeah, I do. It’s not so bad, you know? Except for the occasional rowdy customer or—”

“—or Abigail,” Remy finished for you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His laugh was soft, but it caught you off guard, and despite yourself, you found your own lips curling into a smile.

You rolled your eyes with a half-laugh, the tension beginning to ease from your shoulders. “She’s not always that bad. Just… selectively intolerable.”

Remy’s smirk deepened as he flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the pavement, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Selective’s one way t’ put i’,” he said with a chuckle, his tone light but carrying that ever-present edge of danger. “Y’ got some guts talkin’ about her like that when she’s just inside, though.”

You laughed, but it was a nervous sound, the kind of laugh you let out when you’re caught off guard but still trying to play it cool. “Yeah, well… I’m learning to live dangerously,” you teased, though the irony wasn’t lost on you. You were standing next to the most dangerous man in the city, and yet somehow you felt more at ease with him than you did with your own boss.

Remy’s eyes softened, just a fraction, but enough for you to notice. “Danger, huh? Don’t seem like th’ type t’ go lookin’ fo’ it.”

You shrugged, your fingers still toying with the edge of the burger wrapper, trying to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t betray just how on edge you felt. “I’m not, usually. But tonight’s been…not my normal clientele.”

He didn’t ask what you meant by that, but the way his gaze lingered told you that he understood more than you were saying. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled you in even though every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. He was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there—something that made you want to know more.

Remy took a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. “Different ain’t always a bad thing,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. He pushed off the wall, standing a little closer to you now, the space between you growing smaller, more intimate.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his presence. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth noticing in that moment—made your skin tingle with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. You weren’t sure if you should say something, or if the silence between you was enough. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and possibilities you weren’t sure you wanted to explore.

But Remy didn’t push, didn’t rush. He simply stood there, the smirk on his lips fading into something softer, something more genuine. “Y’ got more goin’ on than people give ya credit for, don’tcha?” he asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged, but his eyes never left yours. “I can tell. Not jus’ anyone can handle a place like this. Or people like me.” His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning.

You felt your heart skip a beat. The way he said it—so casually, so matter-of-factly—made you realize that he wasn’t just talking about the bar, or the job, or even Abigail. He was talking about you. About what he saw in you. James poked his head out, eyes flicking between you and Remy, noting the flushed cheeks and the lingering grins. “Duty calls,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze curious.

You nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to escape the intensity of the moment. But as you turned to head inside, you felt Remy’s gaze on you once again, and when you glanced back, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

“See ya ‘round, chérie,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. And as you walked back into the bar, your heart still pounding in your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly that smile meant—and what it might mean for you.

As you walked back into the bar, the door swinging shut behind you, your heart was still racing. The cool night air clung to your skin, but inside, you felt flushed, like you were carrying the heat from that encounter with you. You could feel the remnants of adrenaline, the way your pulse hadn’t quite settled, the way your mind kept replaying his words, his smile, the way his eyes had looked at you like he saw more than just a bartender.

You slid behind the bar, grateful for the familiar rhythm of your work, hoping it would ground you. But even as you wiped down the counter, as your hands moved through the motions of stocking bottles and refilling glasses, your mind kept drifting back to him. To the way his presence had a gravity all its own, pulling you in despite every logical part of your brain telling you to be careful.

James sidled up next to you, his posture relaxed but his eyes still sharp. He wasn’t going to let this slide, not without at least poking at it a bit. “What was that about?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips, his voice light but his curiosity palpable.

You shrugged, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though you felt like you were still vibrating with the leftover tension from that moment. “Just talking to the customer,” you said, feigning indifference as you wiped down the already clean counter. Your heart was still beating a little too fast, and you weren’t sure if it was from the adrenaline or something else. “Same as any other night.”

But it wasn’t the same as any other night, and you both knew it. This felt different—charged, dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with the usual rowdy patrons who came in and out. This wasn’t just about serving a drink, or even dealing with a VIP customer. This was about you and Remy, the way he looked at you, the way his words seemed to carry more weight than they should have.

James raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your attempt at nonchalance. He didn’t say anything, though, just gave you that knowing look, the one that said he had seen plenty and understood more than you were letting on. But to your relief, he didn’t push. He just turned his attention back to the bar, though you could tell his ears were still perked, waiting for whatever was going to unfold next.

You tried to shake it off, to focus on the task at hand—anything to distract yourself from the way your mind kept circling back to Remy. But it was hard to push it away. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still see his smirk, could still hear that low, teasing tone in his voice. You couldn’t help but wonder what that smile meant—what he had seen in you that had made him linger, that had made him stay out there with you just a little longer than necessary.

And what did it mean for you?

This wasn’t just a flirtation, a passing glance with a handsome stranger. This was Remy Lebeau—the man who held the city in his hands, the man whose name alone made people straighten up and walk a little faster when they heard it whispered in the streets. He wasn’t someone you could afford to get involved with, not in any way. But the way he had looked at you, the way he had spoken to you, made it feel like maybe you already were involved, whether you liked it or not.

The truth was, you had felt something in that moment. Something more than just the usual anxiety that came from dealing with someone dangerous. There had been a spark there, something electric, something that made you want to know more, even though every instinct in your body told you to be careful.

And that terrified you.

Because Remy wasn’t just a man. He was a force. He was the kind of person who could change your life in an instant, for better or worse. And right now, you didn’t know which way that scale was going to tip.

You glanced back toward the table where Remy had returned, his posture relaxed, his attention seemingly back on his men. But even from across the room, you could feel that pull—the magnetic tension that seemed to hum between you, even when you weren’t speaking, even when you weren’t looking at each other.

James was saying something, probably making a joke to lighten the mood, but you barely heard him. Your mind was still on Remy, on that smile, on the way he had said your name like he knew you, like he was already planning the next time you’d cross paths.

And deep down, you knew that wouldn’t be the last time.

“Hey,” James nudged you lightly with his elbow, bringing you back to the present. “You okay? You’re zoning out.”

You blinked, forcing a smile as you nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… tired.”

But you weren’t good. Not really. Because now that you had felt that spark, you weren’t sure you’d be able to ignore it. And as you glanced back at Remy once more, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen the next time you found yourself standing alone with him.

And whether you’d be able to walk away as easily.

The steady hum of conversation and bursts of laughter from the table in front of you kept pulling your attention. You glanced up again, eyes instinctively seeking Remy in the crowd. But this time, he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, his head was turned slightly, focused on the man beside him. They sat close, their postures loose and comfortable, like old friends sharing stories over drinks.

Remy’s mouth curled into a small, easy smile as the man spoke, his hand moving to gesture lazily at something across the room. Whatever it was, Remy let out a low chuckle, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a ripple of warmth through the air. His usually sharp, predatory gaze had softened—just for a moment—as if he had let his guard down in this pocket of calm.

It was almost unsettling, seeing him like that. You had grown used to the intensity that clung to Remy like a shadow, the way his presence always demanded attention. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at you, you could feel him, like a storm brewing on the horizon. But now, in this moment, it was like watching a different man altogether. He seemed... normal. Like he could be anyone sitting at that table, sharing an inside joke with an old friend, without the weight of everything else he carried.

Your fingers drummed lightly on the bar as you watched them, an unexpected knot forming in your stomach. It was easier when he kept his distance, when there was that invisible line between you—barmaid and mobster. Simple. Clear. But the way he laughed now, the way he seemed so at ease, chipped away at that separation. It made him feel closer. More real.

James nudged you with his elbow, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You staring again?”

You blinked, heat rising to your face. “I’m not staring,” you muttered, shifting your focus back to the glass in your hand, though you couldn’t resist sneaking one more glance.

“He’s off duty,” James teased, his voice laced with amusement. “You don’t have to be so on edge. You know, the guy probably eats breakfast just like the rest of us. Maybe reads the paper in the morning. Hell, I bet he even feeds the pigeons.”

You snorted, the mental image of Remy LeBeau sitting on a park bench, casually tossing breadcrumbs to pigeons, almost making you laugh out loud. “Yeah, sure. Right after he settles some ‘business’ with those same pigeons.”

James shrugged, grinning. “I’m just saying. Maybe he’s not as dangerous as he looks.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts lingered on what James said. There was truth to it, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. Remy had a way of shifting between worlds—one minute he was the dangerous, unflinching mobster who could snap a man’s neck without blinking, and the next he was... this. Calm. Collected. Human.

A sudden bout of laughter from Remy’s table broke your train of thought. You glanced up again, almost instinctively, and this time, your gaze collided with his. It was brief, but unmistakable—his eyes locking onto yours for just a heartbeat before he turned back to the conversation at his table. It sent a spark of electricity down your spine, and you quickly looked away, feeling foolish for even thinking it meant anything. But then, like a needle scratching across a record, a low comment from one of the men at Remy’s table cut through the noise. The words were muffled, too quiet for you to catch, but the effect was immediate and unmistakable.

The entire table went silent.

The tension in the room thickened, settling like a storm cloud about to break. You could feel it in the air—everyone could. It was the kind of silence that pulled everyone’s attention, even the staff at the far end of the bar who hadn’t heard the comment. All eyes flicked to Remy.

He sat perfectly still, his body unnaturally calm. But his jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing as though he was silently counting down, trying to rein in whatever fire had been lit inside him. For a moment, you dared to believe he might let it pass.

But you were wrong.

In slow-motion clarity, you watched as Remy stood up, the chair scraping against the floor in a sound that made your skin crawl. His calm was terrifying—more menacing than any shout or slam of fists could have been. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as if every action had been calculated long before the man had even opened his mouth.

Without a word, Remy reached across the table, his hand moving with deadly precision. In one swift motion, he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and yanked him out of his seat like he weighed nothing. The man barely had time to react before Remy slammed him against the wall, the sound of the impact echoing through the bar with a sickening thud. The force was so great that even the picture frames on the wall rattled, one of them dropping to the floor with a sharp crack . Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the heat rising to your face as you tried to process what you were seeing.

Beside you, James shifted nervously, his voice barely above a whisper. “Should we… step in or something?”

But you both knew better. This wasn’t a situation where stepping in would make any difference. This wasn’t a bar fight you could break up with a few words or a polite request to “take it outside” like you usually did. No, this was something else entirely. This was a warning. A lesson. A reminder of who had the power in the room.

Remy held the man pinned against the wall with one hand, his grip firm and unyielding. The man tried to muster some semblance of defiance, but his bravado crumbled under the weight of Remy’s gaze. You could see it—the transition from anger to fear, from cocky to desperate. His eyes widened, darting around the room as if searching for someone to save him, but there was no escape.

You couldn’t hear what Remy was saying, but you could see his lips moving, his face inches from the man’s. His words were quiet, almost a whisper, but they carried the weight of a death sentence. Whatever Remy was telling him, it was enough to drain the color from the man’s face. Sweat beaded on his brow, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he tried to stammer out an apology or explanation, but the words sounded hollow, useless against the force that was Remy’s quiet fury.

For a moment, it looked like Remy might go further—that he might actually snap the man in two, right there in front of everyone. His knuckles were white, his muscles tense, and you could feel the room collectively hold its breath, waiting for what would come next. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Remy released him.

The man stumbled, his feet awkwardly finding the ground as Remy let go. He nearly collapsed, his legs shaky, his breathing ragged. But before anyone could fully process the shift, Remy’s demeanor changed—like flipping a switch. His cold, calculated anger melted away, replaced by a smile that sent a chill down your spine. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of a predator toying with its prey.

Remy wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulders, pulling him close in what would have looked like a friendly gesture to anyone who hadn’t just witnessed the violence a moment earlier. The man flinched at the contact, but he didn’t dare pull away.

“After this, mes amis,” Remy announced to the table, his voice loud enough for the entire bar to hear, “we’re gonna take a little drive.” His tone was light, almost jovial, but the menace was still there, just beneath the surface. The kind of menace that didn’t need to be shouted to be understood. He guided the man back to his seat with a firm, almost fatherly pat on the back, forcing him to sit beside him like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just slammed him into the wall with the force of a hurricane.

The other men at the table nodded stiffly, their expressions tense, eyes flicking between each other but not daring to meet Remy’s. They knew better. They understood. Whatever unspoken rule had just been broken, Remy had laid it down again, and none of them were going to challenge it.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, your hands trembling slightly as you grasped the edge of the bar for support. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Part of you wanted to look away, to pretend you hadn’t seen it, to go back to the safety of serving drinks and keeping your head down. But another part of you—some darker, more curious part—couldn’t stop watching.

Remy’s control was absolute. He didn’t need to raise his voice or make a scene to remind everyone who he was and what he was capable of. He had made his point in a way that was far more effective than any outburst could have been.

Beside you, James let out a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper. “What the hell just happened?”

You shook your head, still trying to process it yourself. But deep down, you knew exactly what had happened. Remy had sent a message—a reminder that he wasn’t someone to be crossed. And the man he had just tossed around like a rag doll had been lucky, if you could even call it that. Because whatever was waiting for him on that “drive” Remy had promised, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

You glanced over at the table again, your eyes catching Remy’s for a brief moment. He was seated now, his posture relaxed, his arm draped casually over the back of his chair. But his eyes were still sharp, still watchful. He caught your gaze, and for a split second, that smirk returned, the one that made you feel like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

And in that moment, you realized Remy hadn’t just sent a message to his men.

He had sent it to everyone in the bar—even you.

From your vantage point behind the bar, you watched the scene unfold, your heart pounding as you tried to process what you’d just seen. Remy’s easy laughter and casual arm draped around the man were a stark contrast to the tension that still clung to the air. It was a performance, you realized—a carefully crafted show of dominance that ensured everyone in the bar knew exactly who was in control.

James nudged you again, his voice a nervous whisper. “What do you think he said to him?”

You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from the table. “I don’t know. But whatever it was…it wasn’t good.” You could see it in the way the man sat rigid, his eyes staring straight ahead as if afraid to move, afraid to breathe wrong in Remy’s presence. Remy, meanwhile, carried on like nothing had happened, taking a swig of his drink and engaging in light conversation with the others.

But the atmosphere was different now, the easy camaraderie that had existed before was replaced by something darker, something that hinted at the dangerous undercurrents that ran just beneath the surface. You watched Remy, the way he settled back into his chair, his arm once again draped casually over the backrest, that same smirk playing at his lips as he caught your eye from across the room.

It was a reminder, you realized—a stark, unmissable reminder of who he was and the world he navigated with such ease. And as you returned to your work, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of intrigue and caution pull at you. Because for all the light-hearted banter and stolen moments, Remy LeBeau was still a mobster, and the line between charm and danger was thinner than you’d ever imagined. <><><><> As the night drew to a close, the clock ticked past 1 a.m., and the once-boisterous group began to quiet down. Abigail, her smile as wide as ever, finally made her way over to Remy. They exchanged words in hushed tones, their conversation a murmur that contrasted sharply with the occasional clinking of glasses and the fading laughter of the last few patrons. Abigail’s eyes kept darting toward you and James, her gaze narrowing slightly as if she was calculating something behind that carefully maintained facade.

You shook your head slowly, dreading the inevitable fallout. You could feel the tension in the air like a charged current, waiting to discharge. The bar had mostly emptied, with only a few lingering stragglers remaining—those who seemed to follow Remy wherever he went. The man Remy had thrown against the wall was still around, standing with one of the stragglers, but you knew better than to think Remy would let him leave just yet with the rest of them.

You let out a loud yawn, the exhaustion of the night weighing down on your shoulders like a heavy cloak. It had been a long shift—longer than usual, or at least it felt that way. The hum of the bar had finally quieted, and the last few patrons had trickled out, leaving behind the faint smell of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke. You placed the final glasses into the washer, the repetitive clink of glass on metal soothing in its predictability.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a familiar figure moving toward you with that easy, confident stride. Remy.

You straightened instinctively, your muscles tensing in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the strange, magnetic pull that seemed to exist between the two of you. His presence had a way of making the air around you feel heavier, charged with a kind of energy that made your skin tingle. It was a subtle thing, but undeniable. You could feel it in the way your pulse quickened whenever he was near, in the way you were hyper-aware of his every movement.

He noticed Abigail’s hawk-like gaze following the two of you, her suspicion palpable even from across the room. Remy, ever perceptive, gave you a reassuring nod, a silent message that said more than words could. His demeanor had shifted again—gone was the edge, the danger that had simmered beneath the surface earlier in the night. Now, his voice was softer, almost kind, as he stopped in front of you.

“Ge’ some sleep, chérie,” he said, his accent curling around the words in that warm, lazy way that made them sound like a personal invitation. “Migh’ come back ‘nother day.”

Your lips curved into a tired smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The exhaustion was hard to mask now, and you could feel the weight of the night settling into your bones. “It was lovely meeting you,” you replied, your voice polite but lacking the energy to match his charm. The words felt mechanical, like something you were supposed to say in a situation like this, but they didn’t quite capture the knot of emotions tangled inside you.

Remy’s smirk widened just slightly, the kind of smile that made you feel like he could see right through the veneer of formality you were clinging to. There was something almost predatory in the way his eyes lingered on you, but not in a way that made you feel unsafe. No, it was different. It was like he was waiting, biding his time, knowing that whatever tension simmered between you hadn’t been fully explored yet. And maybe, just maybe, he was as curious as you were about where it might lead.

He slapped the top of the bar twice in a casual farewell, the sound sharp in the silence of the now-empty room. It was a gesture that felt oddly intimate, like a private joke shared between the two of you, even though nothing had been said. Then, with one final glance, he turned and walked away, his movements unhurried, as if he knew he’d be back.

As he strolled toward the door, you felt the strange pull of chemistry hanging in the air—an invisible thread connecting you, even as he put distance between you. There was something unspoken between you, something that hummed quietly beneath the surface. It wasn’t just attraction, though that was certainly part of it. It was more than that—a kind of recognition, maybe. Like he saw something in you that you hadn’t fully acknowledged in yourself yet.

Abigail’s eyes followed Remy until he disappeared out the door, her expression unreadable. You braced yourself for whatever sharp remark she was about to throw your way, her usual cutting tone still echoing in the back of your mind. But instead, she surprised you.

“Go home,” she said curtly, her voice devoid of the malice you had come to expect from her. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but it wasn’t cruel either. More like… resigned. “Have the weekend off. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

You blinked, taken aback. That was unexpected. You exchanged a quick glance with James, both of you waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Abigail to say something that would tear the moment apart. But she didn’t. She just turned and walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the night with the same cold efficiency she always carried. Her departure left a strange silence in the bar, like the calm after a storm.

James let out a low whistle, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Looks like your flirting saved our asses tonight,” he said, though his words were more playful than accusatory.

You turned to face him, arching an eyebrow, though you couldn’t help but smile at his ridiculous conclusion. “How does Nat put up with you?” you asked, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. The sarcastic remark was half-hearted, more reflex than anything, but it was enough to cut through the lingering tension that had wrapped itself around the night.

James chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his own things. “You know, I ask myself that question every day,” he replied with a grin that softened the mood.

But even as James’s lighthearted banter faded into the background, your mind kept drifting back to Remy. The way he had looked at you, the way his presence seemed to linger in the space long after he had left. There had been something between you tonight—something more than just polite conversation or casual flirtation. It was like a spark had been struck, and now you couldn’t help but wonder if it would catch fire the next time you crossed paths.

And deep down, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

As you and James locked up the bar and headed out into the cool night air, you felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation swirling in your chest. The night was over, but it didn’t feel like the end. Not really. There was something unfinished, something unresolved between you and Remy.

You could still hear his voice in your head, soft and teasing: “Migh’ come back ‘nother day.”

The question wasn’t if he would come back—it was when.

And when he did, you weren’t sure if you’d be ready for whatever was going to happen next.

But you couldn’t deny it anymore. There was chemistry between you, that much was obvious. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized how much you wanted to see where it would lead. <><><><><><>

The morning light filtered through the curtains of your small apartment, a sharp contrast to the dim, muted atmosphere of the bar from the night before. Your home was modest—cozy, even—with mismatched furniture that you’d accumulated over the years. A secondhand couch, a coffee table you’d found at a flea market, and a few pictures on the walls that gave the space a touch of warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, and after nights like last night, it was a refuge.

You barely had time to adjust to the daylight before your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. Squinting, you glanced at the screen. Abigail. The clock read exactly 11 a.m., and you groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you answered.

“Get your ass to the bar now,” Abigail’s voice was sharp, no prelude or explanation.

Still groggy, you sat up, the weight of the previous night settling in your chest. The encounter with Remy had left you rattled, though you hadn’t fully processed why. There had been a strange tension between the two of you, something unspoken but potent. And now, with Abigail calling so early, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were about to find out exactly what that something was.

You fumbled out of bed, grabbing the nearest comfortable clothes you could find—a well-worn hoodie and sweatpants. It wasn’t the kind of outfit you’d be proud of in public, but right now, you were barely awake enough to care. After a quick rinse of your face, a splash of coffee into a travel mug, and a hasty brush of your teeth, you grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

The drive to the bar felt like a strange déjà vu of the night before. The streets were quieter now, the sun casting long shadows as you passed by familiar landmarks. When you arrived, the bar looked different in the daylight—less of a shadowy haven and more of a place that had seen its fair share of stories. The kind of place where, if the walls could talk, you might not want to hear what they had to say.

You pushed through the door, the familiar ding of the bell echoing through the empty space. The bar was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual clatter and hum of conversation. You made your way upstairs to Abigail’s office, your unease growing with each step.

Her office was a stark contrast to the dim and worn bar below. Sleek, modern, and cold. The minimalist artwork lining the walls and the polished chrome furniture gave it the feel of a high-end corporate boardroom rather than a place where bar brawls were settled on a nightly basis. Abigail sat behind a large, imposing desk, her posture perfectly composed as always, her gaze assessing you from the moment you walked in.

“Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite her. You obeyed, sinking into the chair, though its stiff, uncomfortable leather only added to the tension coiling in your gut.

Abigail wasted no time. She reached into a locked drawer, pulling out a large envelope and sliding it across the desk toward you. “I don’t know what the fuck you did last night with Remy LeBeau,” she began, her tone clipped, “but one of his men dropped this off for you early this morning. Of course, you weren’t here, so I said I’d make sure you got it. They called it a ‘tip.’ Just for you.”

Your eyes flicked down to the envelope. It was bulky, the edges slightly crumpled, and your name was scrawled across the front in messy handwriting. You hesitated, the weight of Abigail’s gaze heavy on you, before gingerly opening it. The soft crinkle of paper filled the silence as you pulled out its contents.

Bundles of hundred-dollar bills all wrapped with a security seal.

Your heart raced as you counted the bundles—four of them. Four thousand dollars. More money than you had ever seen in one place, let alone held in your hands. But it wasn’t just the money that left you reeling. Tucked between the bills was a hastily scrawled note, the handwriting jagged and hurried: Now you won’t need the hours for a while.

Your stomach twisted. The note was simple, but the implications were anything but. Why had Remy given you this? What exactly had you done to deserve such a generous “tip”? And more importantly, what did he want in return?

You looked up at Abigail, who was watching you with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something else—something darker, more knowing. She tapped her pen rhythmically against the desk, a small, satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

“He’s even booked a table for him and some friends for lunch next Wednesday,” she said, her voice light but tinged with sarcasm. “So call us even for your constant shit-talking about me.”

Your eyes narrowed at her, but the knot of anxiety in your chest tightened. “So, he told you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what you were even asking. Did Remy say something about what you said about her?

Abigail’s smirk widened. “No, he didn’t have to. But when I spoke with him after you left, he had nothing but good things to say about you. And James, too, though,” she paused, her eyes flicking to yours with a hint of something like approval, “especially you.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. The way she said it, the way Remy had apparently spoken about you—it left you feeling off-balance. What exactly had he said? And why did it feel like there was something more behind his compliments?

“He really enjoyed your company,” Abigail continued, leaning back in her chair, her tone almost casual now. “He said you handled yourself well—better than most. And that’s not something he says lightly.”

You bit your bottom lip, your mind swirling with questions. Was this all just a game to him? Some kind of test that you didn’t even know you were taking? And what did it mean for you that you had somehow passed it?

Abigail’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Have a good weekend,” she said, her tone signaling that the conversation was over. She leaned forward, turning her attention to the paperwork on her desk as if you were already dismissed.

You stood, the envelope clutched tightly in your hand, the weight of the money feeling both like a gift and a burden. As you walked out of her office, the door closing with a soft click behind you, the sense of foreboding that had settled in your chest deepened.

The drive home was a blur. By the time you unlocked the door to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You tossed your bag onto the couch and sank down next to it, the envelope still in your lap, staring at it like it might explode. Four thousand dollars. It was a lifeline, no doubt about it. That money could cover rent for months, give you breathing room you hadn’t had in years. But it was also a tether. A thread that tied you to Remy in a way that you hadn’t asked for, but now couldn’t escape.

You looked around your apartment—the small kitchen with its chipped countertops, the worn rug that had seen better days, the cozy couch that you’d collapsed onto after countless late shifts. This place had always been your sanctuary, your escape from the chaos of the bar. But now, even here, the weight of last night lingered.

As you sat there, the events of the previous night played over and over in your mind. The way Remy had looked at you—like he saw something beneath your surface, something deeper. The chemistry between you had been undeniable, even though you’d tried to ignore it. And now, with this money in your lap and his voice still echoing in your head, you couldn’t shake the feeling that last night had set something in motion. Something that you weren’t sure you were ready for.

The envelope felt heavy in your hands, but not as heavy as the unspoken question that hung in the air:

What would Remy want from you next?

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