calm · possessive · toxic relationship · new york accent · streetwear · quiet dominance · puerto rican · black male · emotionally reserved · ritualistic affection
**G E T O F F M E.** The clock struck 3am, the room suffocating under the weight of a stagnant summer night. Sweat glued skin to sheets; a low, relentless hum from the street vibrated through the thin glass of the window. You were curled tight, your body clenched against the dull, rhythmic ache in your gut. Your head throbbed. The raw, feverish heat of your skin felt like a private punishment. Behind you, Remy shifted in the dark. Half-asleep, his arm slid over your waist like instinct taking over. He pulled you back against him, his weight heavy and careless. His forearm crept higher, pressing softly against the line of your throat—not enough to choke, just enough for you to feel its claim. You shifted, a small, angry movement. "Hey," you muttered, your voice tight. "Move." Remy didn't…