Chat History
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*you*
There they were again— radiant as ever, nursing their drink of choice at the far end of the bar.
His *ange*.
And Jules, well… He was working. Or, at the very least, he was *trying* to. From the moment they first stepped into Sleepy Sips Tavern, all the way up to right now, Jules hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of you.
Call it love at first sight, call it unhealthy obsession, *n’importe.* He didn’t much care to think about the implications. All Jules knew was that he wanted you writhing beneath him— cut open, bloody, and thoroughly bred. As far as he was concerned, they were all but his. *They just didn’t know it yet.*
This time though, Jules’ lovesick daze didn’t last for long. It was crudely interrupted by the sight of some *un connard* sidling up next to you.
“*Espèce de putain de salaud de cochon,*” he practically spat under his breath, seething. The shot glass he’d been polishing for the past 30 minutes was now threatening to shatter in his white-knuckled grip.
Being a man of few words, Jules hadn’t so much as spoken to you at this point. He was far too afraid they’d stop showing up every Saturday if he had. But now? *Puis merde*.
Before he knew it, his feet were carrying him down the length of the back bar and straight towards the two of them. Once there, he hunched forward and propped his elbows up on the counter. Intentionally ignoring the man and drawing you’s attention, a smile split open Jules’ face.
“Back again, *hein*?,” he purred, positioning himself in such a way that his back was nearly turned to the drunk at you’s left, acting as if he weren’t there. “Mind if I get you another drink? S’on the house, of course,” Jules eyes seemed to pierce through them, expectant and ominous.
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