#and i guess i’m far enough removed from it now that i should just be fucking fixed!

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none just prickly Simon

“What the fuck is this?”

You glance at the photo. It’s your patient from yesterday in his crib, except there’s a teddy bear stuffed against one of the rails, next to his face. Fuck. 

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I left. I would have removed it.” His eyes drill into you, fire blazing in them, hot enough you’re sure it will burn you to a crisp. 

“Do we need to go over the SOP for toys in cribs?” 

“No.” You bite out, looking over his shoulder to focus on the wall. It’s not that parents do it intentionally, they just don’t know. They don’t think about the fact that soft toys, plush toys, can carry bacteria since they can’t be wiped down. You can’t fault someone for wanting their child to have something of comfort. “It must have happened after I left, like I said.” 

“Well it didn’t.” You want to push back. You want to tell him again, that it didn’t happen on your watch. That you’re not stupid or careless or not paying attention like he so clearly thinks, but you don’t. You know how it will go. 

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, lip curling like you disgust him. 

“You’re sorry.” The air is being sucked from this room, the walls trying to go with it, closing in on all sides. “Keona seems to think you’re doing an excellent job, but I’m starting to think she’s just covering for you.” The accolade he gave you last week fades into oblivion, panic taking its place. You can’t lose this job. You can’t. 

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.” Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He rises from his chair, coming around his desk to lean against it, thick legs stretched out towards where you’re standing, arms crossed over his chest. It could be considered a casual stance, but on him it’s anything but. He lords over you, terrifying and dominant, ready to pick you apart. 

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.” 

“It is. I can do it.” You rush out, desperate to reassure him. It’s a crack, a very small one, and you scramble to stuff it up, plaster over it to reinforce the wall it’s trying to crumble. “I can do it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

You stare at the fancy lotion for too long. 

Before, you would have chucked it in your cart no problem. Twice even, one for home and one for your work locker. 

But now, your entire existence is built around a budget that’s calculated down to the dime. 

And that budget really does not have wiggle room for a twenty dollar bottle of lotion. 

Still- 

You toss it in your cart. A mistake. An irresponsible indulgence. Something you absolutely should not purchase, but the girl buried so far beneath who she is now, the one who was once reckless and wild and free, she wants that lotion. She wants it bad. She wants a relief, a reprieve, a little treat for the hell that this week has been. 

You really, really wish you hadn’t listened to her. 

“Wait… what?” 

“Sorry, the tag was incorrect.” You stare at the bag of cherries unbelieving. They were the last thing on the belt, bringing your total to a whopping one hundred and forty dollars. Forty dollars over the budget that was already twenty dollars over. 

“Okay.” Thank god for small miracles, there’s no one in line behind you to watch your shame unfold like a car crash in slow motion. 

“Do you still want them?” You do. Riley loves them. She asked for them specifically. She eats them raw from a bowl until her fingers are stained. She feeds them to the mares even though you tell her a million times not to. 

“I mean… you’re saying this bag of cherries is twenty dollars?” The clerk’s smile is sad. 

“They are twenty one dollars and fourteen cents.” The lights in the grocery store suddenly seem too bright, and the noise, the beeping and the intercom and the chattering is too loud. Too much. It’s all too much. Everything. This weight will crush you. Your vision tunnels until there’s nothing else, just you and this cashier and your stupidity. “Miss? Do you still want them?” 

“Yes, sorry. I want them.” She rings them up, total flashing on the reader in front of you. You sigh as you tap your card- 

and then freeze when it makes that dreaded sound. 

The “you’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re buying this bottle of lotion” sound. The clerk is looking at you with sympathy now. Camaraderie. 

“Maybe it was a bad read. Try again?” She tries keeps her voice down, bless her, but she’s also older than dirt so it doesn’t do much. You try your card again against your better judgement. Same noise. Same sinking feeling. You must have made an error somewhere, screwed up the math. 

“Do you have another card dear?” You swallow and shake your head. 

“No, I don’t. I’ll… can we take the lotion off?” This is your fault. Your self indulgence, the little devil sitting on your shoulder who told you to pick that stupid bottle of lotion up and put it in your cart. 

You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Riley’s, and you’re sure as shit not picking it over her cherries. Lesson learned.

“Take the lotion off?” She repeats, you’re assuming to make sure she got it right before she starts pressing buttons on the screen, and you nod. Force a smile. It’s fake but they’re the best shields. “Do you want to run back and grab a cheaper one?” Insult to injury. 

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Your tunnel vision finally widens when the new total pops up, and your chest loosens with relief. 

For a second. 

Until you see Doctor Riley. Standing in the other line just over your cashier’s shoulder. 

Staring at you, head just barely cocked in consideration. 

Oh my fucking god. 

You lock eyes and freeze, a deer in headlights, a woman tied to the tracks. It lasts for a second and then you look away, silently praying for a tornado to come by and rip the roof off this place, carry you off. 

No such luck. 

Instead, you go through the mortifying motions of loading your cart up with the bags, casually tracking him from the corner of your eye. He finishes before you, thank god, and you stall at the end of the checkout lines until he’s fully out of sight, beelining to the truck lest you get caught in some awful, awkward small talk or worse, more eye contact. 

Great. 

“The British are coming.” 

It’s the long standing joke. Started spreading after they got here, though Doctor MacTavish apparently throws a fit over it, considering he’s not British at all. 

They all showed up together too, an already forged unit, strong alliance to one another that stretches across the hospital. There’s history there, a lot of it, but you worked with John for a while and he was pretty tight lipped. No one ever pushed him, but you and others can’t deny the curiosity. There’s nothing a hospital loves more than gossip. 

“Where?” You still eat with the ED. There’s always at least someone on break at the same time as you, and you indulge in the comfort of your friends. It’s not that you dislike anyone in the NICU, you don’t. They’re all lovely, it’s just the team in the ED knows you. They supported you when you stumbled, when you fell, when you went through hell and came out on the other side. They knew you before, and those precious pieces are long gone. The ED is your last tether to the girl who wants to buy lotion, who rode recklessly and screwed around. 

Olivia jerks her head towards the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria. 

You hope for Price. Instead, you get Garrick and your walking nightmare. “Fuck.” 

“God he’s so hot.” You bristle. It comes out of nowhere, strikes you like lightning until you look over and realize she’s staring at Doctor Garrick and not Doctor Riley. The reaction is nonsensical, and instead of trying to diagnose it, you move on. The two of you reach the end of the line, and Clara behind the counter gives you a big, genuine smile. 

“Hey honey. How’s that baby?” 

“Not a baby anymore, that’s for sure.” She asks this every time. It’s sweet. “How are your grandkids?” 

“Oh you know. Terrors.” You snort. 

“I know your pain.” You wait for Olivia, who clears her throat when she makes it back to your side. 

“Is it just me or… is Doctor Riley staring at you?”  Heat floods your cheeks. 

“It’s not just you. He does that.” You don’t look. The embarrassment from the last time you saw him, the grocery store fiasco this weekend, is still stagnant in your brain, taking up way too much space. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen someone so scary, and hot at the same time. It’s like the fear makes it better.” You swallow that feeling again, and nod. 

“I saw him without a shirt on like two weeks ago.” She squeaks. Just the memory of the bulk of him, the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, the well carried layer of fat on his belly covered in hair makes your stomach swoop. 

“You what?!” 

“Yeah I had to wake him up. Needed him at bedside. He’s... huge. Built like a bear, I bet he could take one. And he has a full sleeve.” She gives you a look, and you give her one back. Mischief and malice. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying… how long has it been for you? Since before Riley?” 

“Olivia, come on. You know I don’t have time. And even if I did, you’d never catch me sleeping with a provider. Especially him. He’s a dick, and he hates me.” It’s not like you have anything against it, you don’t. You don’t judge. It’s just not for you. There are happy endings sure, but they’re rare, and it’s not worth the headache. Olivia however, is an equal opportunity employer. She sniffs. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” 

“I won’t be trying it.” 

You could cry. 

You could. 

You haven’t done it so long and it would be well within your right today, though you won’t. Even if you wanted to, your automatic response is to hold your tears back no matter what, no matter how, and this is no different. 

You spot Mabel on the hill right away. She’s the only one who strays from the pasture when the gate gets loose, always taking off towards the highest point on the property, probably so she can look down on her kingdom. 

It doesn’t help that she hates Blue, your horse, and as soon as you get close, she bares her teeth. 

“We know, we know. You’re in charge. Come on lady.” You reach for her halter, but she side steps away from you, jerking backwards. “Mabel. Stop.” You squeeze Blue with your thighs, urging her forward, closer, and reach again, snagging your fingers into the side of the halter. She tries to pull away again, but you hold her firm. She won’t follow Blue back because following any other horse or even human is beneath her, but if she realizes you’re not going to be giving up, she’ll high tail it back to the barn. You’ve got a good grip, now you just need to wait until she gets the picture. You lift your face to the pink streaked sky. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on me if you hadn’t spoiled the shit out of her.” You chastise the clouds and give them a dirty look. “It’s like I’m still getting bullied by you through your god damn horse.” Mabel snorts, and you glare at her. “Don’t start with me. You’re worth tens of thousands of dollars. I could have sold you.” It’s an empty threat. You’d rather lay down and be trampled. 

She decides she’s had enough and pulls ahead, intention clear, and trots off towards the barn. 

For a minute, a brief, hazy minute, she’s not alone. 

Your sister is there, turned around in the saddle, laughing and telling you to hurry up. The sunset is painting her in a rainbow of pink and coral and orange, glowing on her face, saddle squeaking under her pregnant belly. Mabel’s gait is smooth, smoother than it’s ever been, like it has been for months, since she started to show. You’re convinced she knows, instinctively. One mother to another. 

“Come on crazy Daisy.” She moves Mabel into a canter, and you grit your teeth. 

“Tess,” you’re about to tell her for the seventeenth time that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she cuts you off. 

“I’m fine. Hurry up. I’m hungry and Liam is making mac and cheese.” She looks over her shoulder one last time, smile bright, so bright it could blind you, a nearly perfect mirror of your own, and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re the worst.” She laughs. 

“But you love me.” 

The minute passes. It slips through your fingers and you swallow, once, twice, three times. 

You could cry. 

You could. 

But you can’t. You have a little girl back at the house who doesn’t need her aunt fucking crying every time shit gets hard or sad or both. You have a responsibility, and that responsibility depends on you to be strong, to be in control, to take care of her and make sure she’s safe, healthy, happy. 

So you are. 

And that’s all there is to it. 

[cordidy]

Just needed to get this out of my head after Sylus's Myth so i hope you like it :)

TW : drunk MC, fluff, it's sad I guess ? No proof read cause i'm a savage, english is not my mother tongue

“......tail ?” 

“What did you just say kitten ?” Sylus asked, gently patting the back on your thigh while steadying you on his shoulder as you exited the elevator together, .

At first he had been quite surprised to receive your call.

Even more so when you bluntly asked him if he would be ok playing bodyguard and keep an eye on you while you indulged in a night of carefree debauchery at the club but hey, who was he to judge ? 

Besides, if you felt safe enough to be in such a vulnerable state around him, going as far as trusting him with your safety and your apartment key to make sure you would make it back safe and sound, he was not going to complain.

“I….I said…ooooh that spins…do…do you ever miss your tail ?” you repeated, your voice tired and slurred, words barely comprehensive despite your best effort.

Sylus couldn’t help the chuckle that came as you poked his lower back through his jacket.

You really were wasted…

But you had a good reason !

Your week has been shitty as hell.

Your nights were even worse lately, barely getting a couple hours of sleep only to wake up either with a sore throat, screaming or crying at something you could not recall.

And, on top of that, you were off duty as Zayne decided you needed a break and refused to sign your abilitation.

“Come on Zayne, look, I’m fiiiiiiiiine” you tried to convince him with a huge smile and so much concealer on your face you could open your own makeup shop.

“As your physician I cannot let you go on field with such results” he retorted not even looking away from your chart “You should be dead with such a high blood pressure”

“I’m a tough cookie !”

“And you’re going to have to stay in the jar until these get better. You’re not only a danger for yourself right now but also for your partner”

That was a low blow but he had a point.

Clearly, you needed a break, something to unplug your brain, something fun, a good night out to leave all your problems behind and get shitfaced to oblivion. What you did not need though was the unwanted attention a young woman alone at the club would probably get and, while you were very capable of handling those kinds of situations, you did not really want to have to be on the lookout constantly or end up in a cell for assault.

You tried Tara, back to her family for the Holidays.

Simone ? Night shift.

Xavier….doing God knew what God knew where….

So, with a heavy heart you picked up your phone and called your secret weapon…

“Not necessary,” Sylus finally answered in a calm, composed voice, as he opened your apartment door, being extra careful as to not bump you in the doorframe. Based on the current humming coming from you right now and your kicking feet, your head was already going to kill you tomorrow.

Better not add “commotion” to the list of your impending issues.

“To be honest, being half human half cat was quite annoying” he admitted, walking you toward your bedroom to tuck you into bed. “I don’t like not being in control of myself and beside, it was bad for business to be away from the N109 zone for so long...although…I kind of enjoyed having to hide here and spend time with you…” he added with his signature smirk, poking your side before tossing you onto the bed, making you giggle like an idiot as you plopped on your back. It was the first time you allowed him into your room and, although he did plan on being a gentleman despite what you could think of him when sober, he couldn’t help the loving smile on his face as he watched you mumble something about a potato bag while fighting with your plushies for room.

“I miss you tail” you retorted in your drunk voice, closing your eyes in hopes it would help with the dizziness while Sylus started to remove your shoes and socks.

“I quite remember you telling me how insufferable it was” the man said in a collected tone while making his way to the kitchen once he was done. 

“Yeah but it was sooooo pretty…I miss how you used it to grab me with it and…and toss me around ! That was funny !” you laughed, mimicking being tossed around like a ragdoll in the middle of your plushies as Sylus was coming back in your room, a glass of water in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks, a puzzled look on his face.

“I never use my cat tail to...toss you around” he corrected. His Evol, yeah, on a daily basis at some point actually, just to annoy you and enjoy those little lovely sounds coming from your mouth, threats mostly.

He had not been able to use it at all during the time those damn kittens from Hell had turned him into one of them though.

Your foggy brain did not hear him though and just kept mumbling in your drunken state, propping yourself on your elbows, trying to focus your gaze on him.

“You would think scales are cold and harsh…” you started, raising a finger to look all serious before falling back onto your pillow, not registering the look of surprise on his usually steady face.

“Kitten wh…” his voice was faltering as he looked at you getting all comfy like you had not just shaken his world upside down with your words.

“...but it was sooooo soft and sooooo warm…” you continued, grabbing your pillow to hold on tight as if you were looking for said warmth. 

Your voice was starting to fade as sleep was settling in.

“...felt safe when you wrapped it around me…I kept holding mine to sleep after…but…”

The glass in his hand fell to the ground, shattering as he froze in place, eyes wide open in shock. 

“…it was not…not the same…” you mumbled before losing consciousness, your body going limp against your pillow, before starting to snore.

______________________________________________________________ Pssssst, you liked it ? P2 is already up here :) https://www.tumblr.com/cordidy/770227784125677568/a-few-days-ago-i-wrote-this?source=share

[cuntygojo]

everything is romantic ft. armin arlert.

synopsis: a game of cat and mouse gets to be a little too much for armin.

content warning: nerdmin, sub!armin, dom!reader, armin has a tongue piercing, armin is a PERVERT, the glasses stay ON during sex, coming inside, not proofread, prob more but i’m a freakaleak and can’t keep track. wc: 943.

notes: not apologizing for anything that occurs in this fic, i need armin badly!!!!!

poor armin, you’ve been making him play this little game of cat and mouse far too long, and he doesn’t know how much more of it he can take.

a day goes by, and you’re purposely leaving your panties on the floor of the bathroom, but you swear up and down it was on accident!

“sorry ‘min, guess i forgot to grab them after my shower.” you’d say, eyelashes batting at him slowly.

“it’s okay, just please— be more careful.”

“i can’t make any promises.”

he sighs, walking back to his room to play overwatch.

no promises kept, the boy catches you changing with your bedroom door open a week later. he didn’t mean to look, he promises, his eyes moved on their own. he can’t help the fact that late at night, he imagines your body, and how soft it would feel— your hands teasing his cock oh so slowly.

by the time he’d start to lose track of it all, he heard something. at first, maybe it could’ve been confused as background noise people use for sleep, but the moans that followed after? definitely couldn’t. it was coming from your room.

fuck.

he tries to ignore it, but god, the way you sound is making him lose his mind. he can’t control the strain of his cock against his plaid sleep pants either. armin tries to think of something— anything to help him right now, but he’s far too distracted by your loud moans. he can’t help the way you sound when you whimper his name is driving him crazy.

he either needed to ignore it until you inevitably decide to torture him again, or finally put an end to your sick teasing.

he hesitates at your door, adjusting his glasses, and a hand hovering over the doorknob. should he knock? should he barge in? he decides on an answer in the middle, opening your door slowly and meticulously, just enough so he can see what you’re doing.

the poor boy nearly lets out an audible gasp at the sight. there you were, in the flesh, vibrator between legs. he’s frozen in shock— but his hard on is saying otherwise. fuck it, he thinks, it’s not like you’ll notice anyways, he speaks to himself as he slides down his boxers just enough to start touching his cock.

“o— oh god armin! you’re s’good, my good boy!”

armins cock twitches, keep calling me that please. his tip is red and sensitive, he’s waited too long to finally make himself feel good like this; thinking— no, seeing you like this is driving him wild. the blonde starts with a slow stroke, his cold hand wrapping around his warm cock, he can’t help but moan. armins eyes widen.

you turn your head to your door, finally noticing him. you let out an airy laugh before speaking,

“armin! took you long enough, come in!”

he gulps and tucks in his painful hard on, walking slowly into your room of the shared apartment.

“uhm, look— i’m really sorry that i—“

before he could finish, you’re standing up to kiss him, tongue slotting perfectly into his mouth. you feel the cold metal that adorns his mouth, giving yourself a second to admire it with your tongue. he lets out a little whine in response, your hand coming up to grasp the back of his neck as you deepen the kiss.

breaking the kiss, you lean him down onto your bed before whispering, “it’s okay, don’t worry.” he’s confused, and moreover aroused, so he lets you take the lead. “since we’re both already eager,” you start, rubbing your hand over his bulge, “why don’t we just skip to the good part?”

armin nods frantically, hands already moving towards your chest— which he’s obsessed with. you waste no time removing his pants, boxers following suit. body moving on its own, you begin to straddle armin, cupping his face in the process. so cute, you think.

“do you want me to fuck you, ‘min?”

eagerness taking over him, he guides his tip near your entrance, shuddering at your wetness. you ease down gently onto his cock with a moan, letting your hands roam as you pull up his shirt. you fingers tweak with his nipple, which is seemingly sensitive, because you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

letting out a giggle, you start to move up and down on him, making him let out a whimper. his hands grasp your hips tightly, almost as if to stop you from moving. he was strong sure, but your dedication to make him cum was stronger.

“listen baby,” you let out a moan, his cock pressing gentle kisses against your walls, “want you to cum inside, ‘kay?” he looks at you with the cutest puppy eyes, all you can do is smile down at him as you continue, “be my good boy ‘n do that for me, please?” it’s almost as if you’re begging for it, but you know he wants it just as you.

he’s thrusting into you as your bouncing gets sloppy, his grip never faltering, and his glasses sliding down his nose. you’re both a moaning mess, armin’s mouth open agape, he just can’t handle the pleasure anymore. for most it would be embarrassing how quick he came, but to you, it was the hottest thing ever.

you felt his cock twitching inside as he came with a whimper, and you quickly follow suit by clenching down onto him, gripping his chest. he starts laughing— laughing, and you were so confused.

“y’know,” he fixes his glasses, “if you wanted to do this from the start, you could’ve said so.”

[tootiecakes234]

I just know you would receive “gifts” from Katsuki all the time. They’d be little things to make your life easier that you didn’t even know you needed.

You like to read at night to unwind, but sometimes it’ll be a really good book so you want to stay up reading it. The thing is you don’t wanna bother Katsuki cuz you know he has a strict bedtime. This means often times you’ll stay a little longer in the living room reading as to not bother him.

One night you’re getting ready for bed when you see a box next to your bed.

“Hey Kat, is this yours?”, you say loud enough for him to hear you in the bathroom.

He peaks his head out the door and says, “No, I ordered it for you.” And then goes back to what he was doing.

You sit on the edge of the bed and open it up. It’s a reading light with a dampener so you can adjust the brightness.

He comes dragging his little slippered feet towards his side of the bed.

“Now you can keep your ass in bed. Tired of waking up and you being asleep on the couch. I’m an old man, I can’t keep carrying you to bed.”

You look at him with a bright smile on your face.

“You know you can just say, you like me being in the bed with you while you’re sleeping. You know, because I’m your big bad protector and I make you feel safe.”

“There is no talking to you sometimes you know that?”

It’s winter time and you always have your gloves on because you HATE your fingers being cold. The only problem is of course you have to remove said gloves to use your phone when you’re out and that SUCKS.

You’re out with him one day and you’ve been texting back and forth with Mina because her and her girlfriend are in an argument and she of course comes to you about it.

You are always there for your friend so you’ve been removing and putting on your gloves over and over again until Katsuki can’t stand it anymore.

You’re outside on a bench waiting for him while he runs into some shop when he comes back out he snatches your phone out of your hand.

“What the hell? I’m usin-“ you start shouting at him.

“ give me those shitty gloves and put these on. I’m sick of watching you struggle.”

When you look down you see a pair of gloves in your favorite color.

“How are these any different from the ones I have now, Mr. Know-it-all”

He smirks at you, “These gloves are thicker than those thin ones you use AND they work on smart phones.. so yea. I do know it all.”

“Oh…. Well thanks I guess” you murmur lowly.

“Now you can talk Racoon eyes through her mental breakdowns without getting frost bite in your fingers.”he says then hands you back your phone. “She deserve better than that idiot anyways. Don’t why she keeps putting up with it.”

Katsuki is leaving for a mission today and you’ve been so gloomy. He gonna be gone at least 3 days, maybe even the whole week.

You’re been wrapped around him like ivy since you woke up this morning.

“Listen woman, I have to go. You do this every time.”he says with his arms wrapped around you waist pulling you even more flush against him.

“You should clone yourself or something. Who am I gonna cuddle with now?? And who is gonna cook for me?? I’ll die of starvation before you get back. Is that what you want. To come home to a dead girlfriend???”

“You are so damn dramatic. Cuddle with the damn plethor of plushies you have in my goddamn bed. And as far as food… you won’t starve. You’ll just eat out everyday and I’ll come back to you complaining you’ve gained weight when you look the exact same.”

“I do not.”, you start to object.

“Yes you do. Which is why I made a few meals and froze them.” He says all smug, cuz he knows that would surprise you.

“You what??” You ask looking up at him with wide eyes.

“There’s a pot pie and dumplings. I even stored a lasagna in there.” Then his phone buzzes letting him know his ride is downstairs.

“Ok I gotta go. I love you.” And he bends down to give you a deep kiss. “Be safe. Call Eiji if you need anything and try not to burn the house down before I get back.”

“I love you too. Come back to me in one piece please.”

He smiles at you, “always”

He kisses you one more time and then heads to the car.

You go directly to the fridge to see the frozen meals he left you. And not only are the packages all neatly but he’s left the heating instructions on top for you.

To say there were tears shed would be an understatement.

Katsuki Masterlist

Tags: @dreamcastgirl99 @xxvendettaxx @justbepeace @moonpieshawdy @theloveofnagiseishiroslife @mintsbubbletea @darkstarlight82 @anon-mouse223 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @i-literally-cant-with-this @flowerbedbaby @kit-katsukii @blaize-hewwo @sweetblueworm @tippy-toes @superlegend216

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list in the comments💕

[s1rawb3rry]

Rooftop Encounters

synopsis: After a long night of back-to-back shows, Y/N seeks solace in the hotel's rooftop hot tub... only to find Jay is already there, lost in his own thoughts.

word count: 9.3k

warnings: some fluff if you squint, no smut, suggestive (?), kissing, touching, cussing, some alcohol drinking

genres: band au, rockstar!jay, mutual pining

pairing: enhypen Jay x reader

featuring: katseye Lara (so far)

a/n: first time sharing one of my fics ahhh, enjoy huns <3

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli @kireistrawberryjayla (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

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I stood straight after putting on my bikini and slowly stretched my aching back. It's been a couple of days where we had show after show, back to back. A warm dip in a hot tub is being demanded by my muscles and joints at this point. Lara came out of the hotel bathroom, eyeing me as she’s putting away something in her travel bag, “you’re not going to bed?” she asked.

“Soon, I just need to sit in the hot tub for a minute. I won’t be gone for long, I promise.” I answered as I was picking up my phone and our hotel keycard. “Alright, just don’t be loud when you come back please.” she said wearily, climbing into her bed.

“Sleep tight,” I whispered to her before switching off the lights. I clicked our hotel room shut quietly from the outside and headed to the hotel’s rooftop. The pool should be still open… It's not that late. But there was nearly no one in the hallways. After an elevator trip, I was in front of the sliding doors that open up to the pool. If I wasn't so tired, I would stand for longer to soak up the beauty of the pool decor;  palm trees with many rosemary and boxwood bushes surrounding the pool and the perimeter of the rooftop. The view of the cityscape stretched endlessly in front of me, the night sky was dark with some stars scattered around. The moon hung high, casting a soft glow on the pool and the empty lounge chairs. In fact, no one was here. I can only hear the distant sounds of traffic from underneath. I quickly look at my phone to have 1:23 am looking back at me. Yeah, Lara was right about questioning my hot tub needs at this hour… 

I followed the stone pathway that stretched in front of me, slowly leading me somewhere behind some bushes and trees. My gaze was glued to the sky, completely mesmerized by the sight that was above me. The sky seemed to be glittered with lights from the stars, the skyscrapers or the moon. When my gaze dropped back to what's in front of me, I immediately froze in my place. 

My eyes straight away darted to figure in the hot tub. It was Jay, reclined with his arms lazily draped over the edge. His head was slightly backwards, eyes closed shut. His dark hair was slightly damp and pushed back. From his posture you can see he was at ease. He slowly breathed in and out, his chest rising and falling.

My own breath caught in my throat, not expecting anyone here at this hour. Especially not him. 

Jay noticed me almost immediately. His eyes locked onto mine, mirroring my surprise. Fuck, he saw me. I opened my mouth before he could utter a word, “I’m sorry, i thought no one would be here,” i stammered out, “i will leave you alone-” i said as i was turning around.

“No, wait, y/n,” Jay spoke up, shifting his weight to the front and slightly sitting up, “please, stay.” he said. There was something in his eyes– a very silent plea I couldn't ignore. 

Shit. It's too late now, he saw me and it would be more awkward if I said no. With a tight smile on my lips, my body turned to a nearby table to set my phone and keycard. The hot tub is completely covered by the trees and bushes, no one can see from the outside and no one can see from the inside, “guess my idea of a hot tub wasn’t very original,” I said barely above a whisper, just enough for him to hear. All I heard was him quietly chuckling at my comment. My eyes were avoiding him, but I could feel his gaze on me. 

In fact, every inch of me has been avoiding him for a while. A month to be exact, ever since the tour had started. This is our first tour but not our first time working together. However, the air between us two just feels different now and it was extremely hard to ignore. On stage I can easily sing with him being two steps away from me. We would even share smiles and glances. But off stage, the space between us always felt heavier. Since everything seems fine on stage, no one questioned our awkwardness off stage, which was a blessing in disguise.

As I near the hot tub, I took a look through my lashes to see him back to his relaxed position. From where I was standing I could see an alcohol bottle with one champagne glass behind him. I looked away as I slowly dipped my feet in the warm water, instantly feeling the relief I have been needing. I sat on the opposite side of the hot tub, only leaning my head on the edge and shutting my eyes. Maybe if I ignore the fact that we’re both half naked in a hot tub– then I could relax. 

A moment or two passed before I heard his voice again, “want some?” 

I fluttered my eyes open to see him handing me his glass, filled with whatever beverage he was drinking. I looked at him, then the glass maybe twice before I extended my arm, “champagne?” I questioned as I was bringing the glass to my lips. 

He let out a breathy laugh, “good guess, it's actually Sauvignon Blanc.” he corrected me, watching me taste it. I hmmed with the drink in my mouth, smiling at his ridiculous pronunciation. “Interesting taste and interesting way to say its name.” I laughed, finally looking at his eyes. 

He smiled, “I took whatever the bartender was willing to give me,” he said, defending himself. I chuckle as I tilt the glass back to my lips for a long swing, “yeah, sure,” I mock before drinking. 

This time I felt the burn of the alcohol on my throat quite well. I guess that was visible on my face because I could hear him laugh, “Careful now, we need our vocalist to be in shape.” 

I smiled and splashed water on his face, catching him by surprise, “Oh, shit,” he exclaimed, wiping his eyes. I giggle as I turn around to set the champagne glass behind me. 

Stupid –idiotic even– move. He straight away took the opportunity that I was looking away and doubled the splashing. I yelped from the startle and the amount of water that is covering all my face and torso all of a sudden. I also tried to push some water but no comparison to what he's pushing. All you could hear was laughter and water splashing. 

The splashing eventually slowed down a little once he was closer. As I pushed my wet hair out of my face to see clearly in front of me, I felt two strong hands with calloused fingertips pulling me by the hips. My arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders. Once my vision became clearer and the water splashing stopped, I noticed how we were positioned. I was between his legs, his arms around my body, our faces inches away from each other. 

We were catching our breath for a moment, neither of us daring to move. As I was trying to stabilize my rising and falling chest, I noticed his fixed eyes on my lips. “Jay…” I finally whisper, if that. His name was barely audible. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” he whispered back, cutting off my train of thoughts. His eyes now trailed up from my lips to look in my eyes. He held my gaze before I broke it, looking at his lips and then back at his eyes. How can I explain to him that my heart races each time I hear his voice? Or how my thoughts jumble together into a ball of mush just by his presence? Or how my stomach knots itself when he smiles at me on stage?

“Answer me, love.” he whispered again, his hand lightly tracing the curve of my hips. I could smell the alcohol on both of our breaths, but I can somehow still smell his cologne. I swallowed, looking into his eyes, “you make me nervous…” I confessed, tangling my fingers in his now soaked hair. 

Our lips were so close to each other, a faint smile on his, “yeah?” I responded only by nodding, not trusting my brain to come up with something smart right now.  

“I think you're underestimating how much you affect me…” he said, his hands pulling me even closer to him. 

"Then show me," I finally spoke, my voice breathless. Without missing any more time, he closed the gap between us. I leaned into him, my hands sliding from his hair to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, my fingers threading through his damp strands. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving with a certain urgency, as if he’d been waiting for this moment longer than either of us had realized. His hands slid slowly to my thighs, back to my hips then to the small of my back. My skin felt alive under his touch. His lips tasted of the alcohol we both shared. 

We both pulled away from the kiss, but still incredibly close, trying to catch our breath from the kiss. I closed my eyes and gently rested my forehead on his, I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. Jay’s hand remained on my waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles. “It’s getting really late…” he noted while catching his breath. I nodded, slowly pulling away from him, though his hands never left my body.

He was the first to leave the hot tub, he extended his hand towards me. I smiled at him and took his hand, pulling my body out of the water while his grip never wavered. I grabbed my phone and keycard, joined him, and felt a soft chill begin to settle on my skin. Without a word, he wrapped a towel around my shoulders. Before I could say ‘thank you”, he held the singular champagne glass in front of me. I frowned in confusion before my eyes landed on a lipstick stain on it. A laugh bubbled up in my throat, and my eyes turned to him, a sheepish smile tugging at my lips. "Sorry about that," I mumbled, my cheeks flushing slightly.

His hand found mine, while my other hand rested on his arm, feeling the solid strength beneath my touch. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, just held me firmly, reassuring me with his presence. 

[cece693]

mano mažylė Pt. 2

pairing: platonic! hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: leaving was the best choice, hannibal unable to handle feelings, chiron is over his drama, dead abigail, part 3 coming soon

Distance makes the heart grow fonder—a sentiment you didn’t share one bit.

When you left home with nothing but a bag of clothes and some money, a hint of regret settled in your bones, heavy and unwelcome. The image of your last act before leaving—the angry, desperate scrawl of I HATE YOU on the mirror—lingered in your mind. How could you have left Hannibal with nothing more than those words? How could you have reduced everything he had done for you—the home he provided, the security, the life most would envy—to that final, hateful declaration?

But then, as you sat on a train heading to nowhere in particular, watching the world blur past the window, you realized it really didn’t matter.

Hannibal wouldn’t miss you. He wouldn’t sit in the silence of that house and long for your return. No, if anything, he was probably relieved. Now that you were gone, he could fully embrace his twisted vision of fatherhood with Abigail. The unwanted thing had finally removed itself from the picture, leaving space for someone more deserving.

The thought hurt more than it should have, but it also encouraged you to keep wedging distance between you and Hannibal. Perhaps you had been a burden, but maybe—just maybe—this could be the first time you made him proud. The first time he would be thankful for something you did. And that was enough. Enough for you to settle back into the stiff train seat, exhale softly, and close your eyes.

In the months following your escape, you found a modest studio apartment with creaking floors and a single window overlooking a busy street. It was cramped, but it was yours. The landlord didn’t ask too many questions, and the rent was low enough that you could afford it by working at a local bookshop. Between the dusty shelves, the soft hum of customers chatting, and the friendly banter with your new coworkers, you slowly built a life that felt…normal.

But that comfort was disrupted soon enough. It was late on a cold Wednesday night. You had just finished closing the shop, the last customer having left half an hour prior. The street outside was nearly empty, save for a few cars idling at the traffic light. As you clicked off the lights and locked the door behind you, your breath plumed in the crisp air.

That’s when you saw her.

A woman stepped out from the shadows beneath a flickering streetlamp. She wore a long, tailored coat that looked far too expensive for this part of town. Her hair was meticulously styled, and there was an air of quiet confidence about her posture. She stopped a few paces from you, lifting her chin in greeting.

“Excuse me,” she said softly. “I’m looking for—” She spoke your name.

Instantly, your stomach dropped. The key in your hand felt suddenly heavy. You glanced around, but there was no one else on the sidewalk. “Who wants to know?” you asked, forcing your voice to remain calm.

She offered a polite, practiced smile. “My name is Chiron. I’ve been sent by Dr. Lecter. I’m sure you can guess as to why.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Of course you could guess why. Chiron took a step closer, holding out her hands as if to show she meant no harm. “He wants you to come home,” she said gently. “He’s worried, and—”

“Worried?” You barked a laugh that sounded more bitter than amused. “You’re joking, right? Hannibal Lecter doesn’t do worried.”

She seemed unfazed by your scorn. “He cares about you more than you know. He…regrets things. He wants to make amends.”

“Amends,” you repeated. “Let me guess: he wants to show me how sorry he is by offering me a nice meal, maybe a glass of wine, and some carefully chosen words about ‘family.’” You swallowed, the taste of your own sarcasm nearly choking you. “I’m not interested.”

Chiron exhaled slowly. She reached into her coat pocket and produced a sealed envelope, dark red wax pressed into an elaborate seal. “He asked me to give you this. Please read it. If you don’t believe me, see for yourself how he feels.”

Your gaze shifted to the envelope, but you made no move to take it. “Burn it,” you said coldly. “I left for a reason. That hasn’t changed.”

“Listen,” she pressed, her voice taking on a more urgent tone, “I know you’re angry—”

“Angry?” you cut in, clenching your jaw. “Oh, I’m beyond angry. I gave him years of my life, hoping he’d see me as anything more than an accessory. And the one time I needed him to notice—” You stopped, your breath trembling, memories flashing of Abigail being hugged so tenderly by Hannibal. “He chose someone else. So yeah, angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Chiron’s expression softened. “He wasn’t trying to replace you. Abigail was...complicated. She needed help—”

“So did I,” you snapped. “And guess whose help I didn’t get?”

Silence stretched between you, weighted with everything you left unsaid. Finally, Chiron stepped back, slipping the envelope into your coat pocket anyway. You glared, but she ignored it, her tone quiet and careful. “He’s hurting in your absence. He thought he was protecting you.”

“Protecting me,” you repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. You shook your head and turned on your heel. “Tell him I don’t care what he feels. I’m not going back.” You walked off, not bothering to watch as Chiron remained behind, the glow of the streetlight flickering over her motionless figure. By the time you glanced over your shoulder, she was gone—as if she’d been nothing but a phantom in the night.

Far away, in that house you once called home, Hannibal Lecter was unraveling.

When you first left, he tried to maintain his usual routine. He prepared elaborate meals for carefully chosen guests, kept his appointments, and played the perfect host. But the silence in his home weighed heavily, like an echo that wouldn’t fade. You were missing. The one variable he had never intended to lose.

Abigail Hobbs was still there, at first. The girl who had unknowingly stirred the pot of jealousy. She tried to tiptoe around Hannibal, sensing his growing agitation. One evening, she found him sitting at the dining table, staring at a stack of your drawings—yes, the ones you thought he’d thrown away. His fingers traced the edges of the paper with a tenderness she had never witnessed before.

“Dr. Lecter?” she said quietly, stepping forward.

He lifted his gaze, dark eyes filled with something close to sorrow—but also a mounting fury. “Do you know,” he said, almost conversationally, “that these were drawn when they were four? And yet, you could see the hope in every stroke, every color they chose.”

Abigail swallowed. “I didn’t mean to come between you and—”

“Didn’t you?” He rose slowly, placing the drawings down with precise care. “I saw the way they looked at me after you arrived. As though I’d betrayed them. Perhaps I did.”

“I didn’t ask for your attention. I was just—”

“You existed,” Hannibal finished, his voice low and dangerous. “You came into my home, accepted my care. Took something that wasn’t yours to take.”

Abigail’s eyes widened, realizing too late the shift in his demeanor—a predator uncoiling. “Please, Dr. Lecter, I never wanted—”

Her words were cut off by the abrupt movement of Hannibal’s hand. He struck her with a force that sent her stumbling back. Dazed, she tried to stand, tried to speak, but Hannibal was already upon her, calm and methodical.

“This is not your fault,” he murmured, voice eerily gentle as he pinned her to the table. “But you are the catalyst. And for that, I cannot forgive you.”

In the final moments, Abigail tried to plead, to find some spark of mercy in his eyes. She found none. Hannibal dispatched her with the same detached elegance he reserved for his darkest practices. The dining room was silent save for his steady breathing. When it was done, he stood there, gaze flicking to the scattered drawings that had fallen from the table in the struggle. A few were stained now, the colors warped by splatters of red. He picked one up, turning it over in his hands.

It was a child’s drawing of the two of you, hand in hand.

[randomusingsofalovesickgirl]

EPISODE 04 (PT. 1): LIFELINE

disclaimer: ai has been used to proofread my writing 🎶 lifeline by sedona 🎶 bing bong love song by fig 🎶 shaking the can by peach fuzz

a/n: also!! i want to say that this is completely fictional. i do not think anyone in the show was particularly terrible or rude, but i had to amp it up for the story. please remember this is fictional !!

“Oh, so now you’re good!” Whitney exclaimed, motioning to George beside you, who had suddenly become suspiciously fluent in harmonica–a far cry from his struggling attempts minutes earlier. 

The tune was oddly cinematic, like a horror movie soundtrack building suspense before the kill, mocking your fates with every note. You knew someone was going, but you had no clue. Gently, you reached for his hands, slightly nudging the harmonica down. 

“Maybe, not the time,” you murmured. You were enjoying it, although clearly, not everyone was.  

No one noticed his sudden silence though. Not with Mandi spiralling over PK’s potential betrayal. Jason, of course, was fuelling the fire, instigating her further. “He could be manipulating you. One minute you're safe, and the next—poof—you’re gone. He could vote you out just like that.”

The others joined in, analysing PK’s trustworthiness (or, well, lack thereof) and guessing who Uncle P thought was dragging the team down. You, on the other hand, just wanted to know so you could either get out or go to bed. 

Whether you were on that chopping block or not, there’s nothing you can do to defend your spot. You can’t run into Room 19 and convince them to let you stay.

Still tied at the ankles, you and George had given up on the stiff dining stools and settled close on the couch, your head hovering on the sofa just above his shoulder. “Hey,” He whispered, loud enough for only you (and of course, the microphone). “Be careful going forward, okay?” 

You frowned, “Why? What happened?” 

He sighed, “You’re safe today, I hope, but when I was at the gym with PK this morning, he said he and Jason wanted to vote a girl out.” 

You wanted to scoff, of course, they see it as girls versus boys right now. Regardless, you leaned closer, trying to hear better as the noise at the table doubled, with Mandi now declaring that it’ll be her. 

“He was talking about how the girls are in little teams, like you and Milli.” 

Admittedly, they weren’t wrong. There were no strong bonds between the boys yet, while Whitney, Mandi, and Mya were practically inseparable. You and Milli were another pair, while Cinna and Farah floated between. 

“So, how do you know I’m safe?” PK is close to the trio, so the odds were that he wouldn’t touch them. Then again, you have been among the best savers, so it’d be detrimental if they got rid of you. That, and you and Uncle P were relatively close. 

George hesitated, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “He told me he wouldn’t vote you out.”

[Later, while watching the episode back, you’d realise that PK promised George, “I won’t mess with your girl, don’t worry”, and George had just…dabbed him up. Thanked him. No corrections, no clarifications.]

“And, he’s worried that the trio is going to turn on him.” George added, before you could question his hesitation. 

“Do you think they will?” You turned around to face him, not realising how close you two actually were–his breath hitting your face, his eyes glancing down to your lips. 

He shook his head, turning to face the wall in front of you now. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t really trust anyone here, can you?” 

Removing yourself from facing him so directly, you drop your head back to where it was, nodding. You let yourself process the new information. 

There is no doubt that it’ll be a girl tonight. If you could give immunity to anyone, it’d be Milli or Cinna. Although, you knew you were biased–they were smart, loyal, and played the game with a conscience. 

“I’m so tired of all this,” You huffed, dropping your hands into your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. “Maybe I should just get voted out, and spend the rest of the week at home.” 

George paused before deciding to test the waters. Slowly, he took one of your nervous hands into his, and let your intertwined hands rest on his lap. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” 

“Well, I want you to win. For your sister.” Your voice was barely a whisper. 

You decided to stop yourself from confessing that you wanted to be out so you could process your feelings for him, so you can avoid him a little longer. But even worse, you wished that both of you were eliminated, so the two of you can talk without all these cameras. “I just want us to talk…really talk.” 

“We don’t have to be voted out to talk,” He murmured, nudging you with his shoulder. 

You lifted your head, but made sure to keep your distance from his face this time. “You want to talk about it with all these cameras on us?” 

Despite the distance you created, he brought his empty hand to your face, brushing your hair behind your ear. Something he’s done a million times. But this time, it felt…charged. 

“I know a spot without cameras,” He said, “Just say the word.” 

Before you could answer, Whitney’s voice cut through the room. “What are you two whispering about, huh? Plotting something?” 

You pulled away from George and turned to face her. “There’s nothing we can do now. No point stressing.” 

“Oh, sorry for interrupting your little make-out session,” Whitney scoffed. “Some of us are actually trying to win.”

Rolling your eyes, you spoke without thinking–too tired and done to filter your words. “At least I’m trying to save money for someone to win.” 

“What was that?” Whitney shot back. You two have surely butt heads more than anyone else so far. “Just ‘cause Mandi said you’re the most boring one here doesn’t mean you can start acting sassy.”

George scoffed. “Okay, that’s not fair, Whitney. What the hell was that?” 

“It’s fine,” you whispered just to him. “This isn’t worth a fight.” 

You’d met girls like Whitney before. Sweet, but they can be immovable when they are convinced they are in the right. Turning around, you raised your hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired. Just trying to nap.”

Cinna jumped in, trying to help you de-escalate. “Yeah, she’s been trying to nap all day, Whitney.”

That calmed her, luckily. It also gave you cover for the slip-up. 

Luckily, your distraction—or maybe your doom—arrived. PK and Uncle P walked in, looking sheepish and exhausted.

“Why are you smiling so much, man?” Mandi called out, eyeing PK’s suspiciously wide grin.

“I’m smiling ‘cause I’m nervous,” he said, his teeth nearly chattering.

Uncle P clapped his shoulder. “You wanna say it, or should I?”

“Together,” PK said.

You instinctively leaned into George again, feeling comfort despite all the things unsaid. He was always your lifeline, your comfort space. While your safety on the Inside may be up to debate, you knew you were safe with him. 

“We just wanted to make the game a level playing field,” they said, like a rehearsed breakup. “And that’s why the person we chose to eliminate is…”

You braced yourself. 

Whitney, maybe, due to her spending habits and temper. Farah could be an option, as she hasn’t gotten along much with PK or Uncle P until earlier today. 

“Mandi.” 

Your jaw dropped. 

The silence was deafening—until Whitney gasped, “Oh my god.”

“Snakes!” Mandi was on her feet, storming toward PK. “You are a snake! A two-faced, lying—”

You jumped up, joining the rest of the girls who were quick give her a hug once she slowed down. George, unfortunately, got swept into the hug too.

“You okay?” you asked, joining the rest of the girls (and George) around her.

While Mandi and you have had one or two minor disagreements, you actually enjoyed her company. She was honest (for the most part) about her spending, she was funny, and she brought people together. You were going to miss her. 

She sighed. “It’s alright. I know it is. But just... don’t trust anyone, okay?”

As she and most of the girls disappeared to pack, George asked to stay back. And you agreed, wanting to check in on the most tempered person on the Inside. 

George turned to Uncle P. “Hey, you alright?”

Uncle P sighed. “It’s tough, sending someone home. We really were just trying to balance the teams. And yeah… she was a big spender.”

George nodded. “No, I completely understand the thought process.” 

That’s when you noticed George still wearing his ridiculous party hat. You reached up and toyed with the string under his chin.

“Don’t think it’s the right vibe anymore, Clarkey,” you teased.

He laughed, pulling it off fast. “Yeah… this feels wrong now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone was sitting around the TV, dreading the inevitable gut-punch moment when the screen told you exactly how much money had been spent. 

“I think…” Uncle P clapped his hands together, scanning the room solemnly. Since Mandi’s elimination, the atmosphere on the Inside has changed. Even though the living room was still decked in birthday decorations, no one was celebrating…sitting in silence, hushed conversations, and a clear upset from what happened an hour earlier. 

Further exasperated as the production crew slowly brought everyone into Room 19 to relive what just happened so everyone can say their own opinions on it. 

“Let’s have a moment of silence for Mandi.” Uncle P suggested finally now that everyone has returned from their confessionals. 

“Nuh-uh,” Whitney cut in, shrugging him off as if she was offended. “We’re not doing that! What are you even suggesting?” 

PK looked like he’d seen a ghost, visibly shrinking into the couch, clearly still haunted by Mandi screaming at him earlier. He’s being smart enough to stay out of saying anything else incriminating. 

Thankfully, the argument hit pause as the number on the screen dropped.

673k. 

“No fucking way,” you muttered. Nearly a 90k drop. 

Whitney, of course, didn’t even blink. “We’re not doing a moment of silence—that’s a piss take,” she declared, brushing off the prize fund like it meant nothing. Maybe because at least 30k of that money was spent on her five-minute decision. “And Mandi? She’s a good vibe. We’re not gonna act like Mandi is a Dylan.”

You froze.

You were so fucking tired of the Dylan jokes.

Apparently, George was too.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” he asked sharply, sitting forward. “That’s mean.”

Your heart kicked up a beat. George was someone who liked to stay out of confrontation, but he wasn’t scared to call someone out when they’re doing something wrong. It’s one thing, among many, you admired about him; his strong moral code. And that is exactly how you knew Whitney had genuinely fucked up, and it wasn’t just you being close to Dylan. 

“We’ve been taking the piss out of Dylan all day, but why? What’s he actually done to any of you?”

Whitney scoffed, “It’s not a mean thing to say. Let’s clear this mean girl narrative the two of you are trying to spin.” 

“We’re not spinning anything,” George snapped, his voice becoming sharper. “But what the fuck is that language?”

She just shrugged, indifferent as ever. “Mandi added to the vibe. Dylan didn’t. It’s not personal.”

“It is personal,” George spoke fast and deliberately. “I know jokes happen, I’m not dumb—I’ve made a few myself. But you could’ve said literally anything else. Instead you chose ‘Mandi’s not a Dylan’? That’s just unnecessary.”

Whitney raised a brow, and smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry—didn’t realise you were going to defend the guy who asked your girlfriend out. Didn’t realise you were into being a cuck.”

You stood to your feet now. 

That was it.

George didn’t deserve this. 

“No. Whitney, no. I know we’ve had our disagreements, but that? That’s not it.” Your voice shook with frustration. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re sweet. And yeah, you’re fiery. And I admire that, but fire doesn’t give you the right to burn people down.”

The room was dead silent now, not quite expecting this full-on outburst from you. 

The only thing stopping you from being face-to-face to her was George remaining seated, keeping the two of you planted in your corner. 

“George has been nothing but kind to you, even when you didn’t deserve it. Dylan? He’s done nothing but support this group. Hell, he even earned us back 10k. You don’t have to like everyone here, but we have to work together and respect each other.”

No one moved. It felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

Whitney didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. The look on her face was enough…something you’d describe as a mix of a bruised ego and something that was akin to guilt. 

Then, from the corner of the couch, Uncle P exhaled loudly and stood up.

“Aight, enough.” he said. “Look. We all got our friends, and we all got people we don’t click with. Not everyone’s gonna mesh—and that’s cool. But especially here? With cameras, competition, money, pressure? It turns people inside out. I’ve seen some of my kindest teammates say and do shit they’d never dream of because of the heat of the game.”

He looked straight at Whitney. “But just remember: there’s a line between banter and disrespect. And once you cross it, no amount of jokes can walk it back. And that doesn’t just make you look bad, it hurts people who don’t deserve it.”

He let that sit.

“You don’t gotta be besties with everyone,” he added. “But treating people like they’re disposable? That’s not fire. That’s just cold.”

The room was dead silent. Then Uncle P gave a quick nod towards the dining table. “Anyway. I’m going to get some more cake. Anyone want to join?” 

“I wasn’t trying to throw him under the bus,” she muttered, eyes trained somewhere between the wall and her nails, as people started to disperse around the room. “It’s not that deep.”

“It is that deep,” You didn’t miss a beat. “You just didn’t think anyone would call you on it.” And especially George. But, you also know him. He’s someone who wouldn’t let shit pass. 

Whitney didn’t respond to that. But she didn’t argue again, either.

Instead, she sank back into the couch, quieter than usual. 

While guilt overcome you about saying the wrong thing or potentially overreacting, the later support from George, Milli, Cinna, Farah, Jason, Uncle P,  and DDG was enough to remind you that you did the right thing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The note taunted you from the nightstand, scrawled in JJ’s unmistakable handwriting:

“We combined your beds to make sleeping easier for you two while you were tied up…sleep well xoxox. 

P.S. There’s a condom in the top drawer, if you need it.’ 

And yet, as you two laid in the dark–your ankle tied to George’s, his hand barely brushing yours, and the freezing cold chill throughout the room–that stupid note was the least of our problems.

You were hyper aware of everything…the rise and the fall of his chest, the warmth radiating off his skin, and the weight of all the words you hadn’t said. 

The room was quiet now…finally. After the emotional circus of the day, everyone had finally passed out. 

Even Whitney, who had muttered a rushed and vague apology to you and George before lights out. 

(It was as if she was tired herself, and just registered what she said. You didn’t bite back, and instead, you thanked her. You know she was close to Mandi, she was likely reeling from the news. But that still didn’t excuse the disrespect on Dylan.)

You turned slightly, careful not to wake the others, to face George. His curly mullet fell back onto the pillow, messy as if he’s ran his hand through it a dozen times. 

“George?” You whispered, checking if he was awake.

A low hum. He was awake.

“Two people went home today.” It could’ve been him. 

He hummed again. You weren’t sure if he was half-asleep or just waiting for you to say more. 

You rolled back onto your back. The rope tugged gently at your ankle, a quiet reminder that you couldn’t escape this, even if you wanted to. And to be honest, you didn’t. You’re tired of swallowing all these words down. 

“I don’t want you to go home,” you whispered. 

While you were willing to go home, you wanted George to come back with that prize fund. To support his sister. That’s what he came for, and you know he deserves nothing less. Yes, you came to win too, but you’ve won enough of the Sidemen’s challenges this last year.  

He turned toward you, his blue eyes staring into the side of your face. “I don’t want you to go home either. I don’t want to be here without you.”

Something in your chest burst. Testing the waters, you reached out and carefully threaded your fingers through his. He didn’t move away.

“Are we okay?” you asked, trying to stop your voice from cracking–although it failed. 

George didn’t answer right away. Just a shrug, subtle but intentional. “You tell me.”

You sat up slowly, glancing around the room—everyone else was out cold. He followed your lead, but his eyes remained trained on you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. “What’s going on?”

You tucked your hair behind your ears, suddenly shy under the weight of everything between you. “Would you be ready for a chat now?”

A pause.

Then, without a word, George nodded.

You both quietly stood, making your way toward the door, the ankle rope tugging gently between you. You whispered a request to a production assistant monitoring the set, asking if you could get some air on the roof, at the spot everyone who vapes goes during the shoot—just for a few minutes.

They nodded, eyes tired, already pulling a walkie to confirm with security. 

For safety as you go up the stairs, they untied your ankles and removed your mic packs.

And just like that, for the first time since the challenge, you and George were free to move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night air bit at your skin, but it felt easier to breathe up here than there. Away from the cameras, away from the drama, and away from everyone else’s noise. 

Right now, it was just you and him and the silence between you, thick with everything you hadn’t said. 

George sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, watching you like you might run…again. You leaned against a giant plant pot, arms crossed tight over your chest, trying to hold yourself together. 

The silence wasn’t peaceful, but heavy. Unforgiving. And you knew, he wouldn’t be the one to break it. It had to be you. 

You exhaled, “I’ve been pretending it didn’t happen. “Like everything’s fine. Like that night was just…a blip. But I still remember the way you looked at me, and…” 

His jaw twitched, but he didn’t interrupt, even as you trailed off into silence. He was going to let you speak. Grounding himself, his hands curled tighter around the edge of the bench.  

“It’s not fine. I can’t keep pretending. I’ve tried to act like nothing’s changed…but it has, hasn’t it?” You were scared to look him in the eye, to see his answer, so your eyes remained on the ground. “I can’t go back to being your friend and pretending not to hurt every time you look at me like that.” 

Silence.

He didn’t look away.

And it made everything ache worse.

Facing your fears, you looked down at him; his blue eyes that you used to be able to read so well were suddenly unreadable. 

“I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, George, longer than I even admitted to myself.” You confessed, voice cracking. “But by the time I thought I should say something…it was too late. Chris was talking about your Hinge profile and these girls you’d bring home from the pub, and…I thought I missed my chance.” 

He let out a dry laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hide something deeper. 

You panicked. He didn’t feel the same. Is that why he was laughing? Maybe that night was a mistake for him. He’s laughing because I’m being ridiculous. Within the millisecond, a thousand of your worst fears seemed to come to life in your mind. 

“If I’d known you liked me, I wouldn’t have touched that app. Jesus.” He finally looked up at you, eyes burning. And warmth spread throughout you, the butterflies in your stomach erupted. “I went on them because I thought I didn’t stand a chance with you.”

You took a step closer, voice trembling, and decided to tell-all. “I thought you didn’t want me. And I didn’t want to risk us. You were–hell–you are my safe place. I can’t stand the idea of losing that.”

“But you already pulled away,” he said, standing now, voice raw. “I called. I texted. And you ignored me. Were you really going to leave in the dark for a week?”

You laughed nervously, wanting to shrink into yourself. Out of guilt, out of shame, out of regret. “I thought we both said we were on off-the-grid family trips, remember?” He didn’t look quite impressed by your answer. “Honestly, I wanted to buy myself a week to figure this out…alone. I haven’t had a day without you since we met. And I was scared I didn’t know who I was without you. I needed to remember I could figure it out alone. And mainly, I thought we both wanted space.” 

His voice cracked. “Well, I didn’t want space. I wanted you. I was ready to talk. I needed to talk, and you disappeared.” 

You looked down, ashamed. “I didn’t know how to face you. Because if I said it out loud—if I told you how I felt—and you didn’t feel the same… I couldn’t come back from that. It would’ve broken me.”

You thought of all your movie nights, your friendships with Chris and Arthur and heck, even the Sidemen. This wasn’t a light crush you could forget about, this could impact everything and implode everything that was normal in your life. 

“I do feel the same,” he said, stepping forward, like the words were waiting to explode. “I’ve felt the same for so long. You think I would’ve kept calling if it didn’t matter? I was losing sleep over you, and you were acting like we never happened.”

Your voice broke. “I just… I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

His hand found yours, gently, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. It was warm, compared to the cold air hitting you. “Then let’s not ruin it. Let’s start something. Because I can’t go back to pretending I don’t want more.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “I don’t want to pretend either.”

He brushed your hair from your face, the gesture so soft and so familiar it made your throat ache. “Do you think we won’t work out?”

“I don’t want to think that,” you whispered. “I was scared to risk it. But now... I think you’re worth the risk.”

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ve always been worth it to me.”

A silence. A beat. Your breath hitched and your heart thumping. 

You smiled back. “Then make the move.” 

He kissed you then—slow, tender, warm, but most of all, certain. Not testing the waters, but like he knew. Like he has been waiting. His hand curled around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like he was scared you’d disappear again. Forget the cold air of the night, you had George to warm you up. You kissed him back, your fingers tangled in his curly hair, trying to tell yourself this wasn’t a dream. 

When you finally pulled away, your breath was still caught in your throat.

“You’re such a silly goose for thinking I didn’t have feelings for you,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. You let out a breathless laugh, your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“So what now?” You asked hesitantly, tilting your head to stare straight into his blue eyes–something you’ve been stopping yourself from doing since Day 1 on the Inside. 

“Well, what do you want?” He asked, nudging you slightly. 

“I want you.” You said, without hesitation. Without question. Without concern. 

He let out a breath, the kind you only let go when you’ve been holding it in too long. “Then that’s all I needed to hear.” Smiling, he said your full name, slowly, like each syllable mattered. “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

Your breath hitched, heart pounding like it was about to leap out of your chest. 

So you didn’t answer, at least not with words.

You just kissed him again—firm, passionate, smiling against his mouth—and this time, it wasn’t to test the waters. 

It was to say yes. To him, and to everything that once scared you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @rubyskies @edgyficuselastica @gmontaguesbitch @sundarksposts @canyouseethesainz @lovingaphroditesworld @maggie-readss @liz140569 @lmaowhathaha @moofilms @lalisasrealwife @courtjjade @bowielovesyou @raekensluver @cuntessaii @theresglittleronthefloor @isabelle-2934 @smzyyx @wroetominter @madforgeorge @megan-jane02 @lottiewills @cheesystylesig @suspicious-stain-in-spain @kneelforloki @wherethezoes-at @clarkey4life @madsclarkey

[slut4thebroken]

Dad/stepdad finding your vibrator hcs

Tommy Shelby, Cillian Murphy, Raymond Leon, Jackson Rippner, Lenny Miller

(All accurate to the universe’s time period)

Tommy Shelby - To say he was shocked would be an understatement. At first he was concerned— were you suffering from hysteria and he didn’t even know? But then he remembered that vibrators have very recently started being used for more… personal activities. He confronted you about it anyway though. You blushed and stuttered out “I- I can explain..” and he found it amusing at first, but he kept his expression stern. It was when you broke down crying that he suddenly softened. “I’m sorry, daddy. Please don’t be mad..” You cried out, making him pull you into a hug and shush you, trying to calm you down. “I’m not mad, love.” He said gently. “Just… tell me what it’s for.. I promise I won’t be mad.” You looked up at him with wide, teary eyes to see if he was being truthful. When you found no sign of a lie, you whispered that you use it for self pleasure, which he already knew. He just wanted to hear you say it. He sighed and shook his head. “You think you’re old enough to be playing with adult toys like this?” He asked, and you muttered out an excuse of how you just turned 18. “Maybe so, but I still don’t think it’s appropriate at your age.” That triggered something inside of you and you whined about how you’re an adult and you can do what you want, acting far too bratty for his liking. “Is that so? An adult, are you?” He had a condescending smirk on his lips and he pretended to think it over, then scoffed a laugh. “Fine then. If you’re an adult I guess I should start punishing you like one.” His tone was noticeably darker now. “Get on the fucking bed.”

Cillian Murphy - He knew he should’ve ignored it, respected your privacy… But he just kept thinking about you using it. The pretty sounds you probably made, the way your cheeks probably became flushed… But then he started thinking about you using it with someone.. Did you have a secret boyfriend? Or were you exploring your sexuality all on your own… Deciding to do the responsible thing, he started planning out when and how to talk to you about all of these new things you may be feeling as a developing young woman. One day he sat down with you, gently told you what he knew and reassured you when you immediately became embarrassed. He told you that it was natural and nothing to be ashamed of… “A young girl like yourself needs someone to guide her, teach her what’s right and how to be safe.” He said softly, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. “As your father, I’m afraid that role falls on me.” He tried not to seem too excited by the idea. Standing up, he walked over to where the toy was hidden and brought it back over to the bed, handing it to you. “I need to make sure you’re using it the right way. I’d hate for my little girl to get hurt.” He frowned, watching as your eyes widened. He didn’t let you protest as he helped removed your clothes and laid you down on the bed. “Now show me exactly how you’re using it, sweetheart.”

Raymond Leon - At first, he almost mistook it for something else, but when he did a double take, he realized what it actually was. A rush of emotions hit him, the main ones being anger, disappointment, and arousal. Were you turning into a whore? Did he do something wrong when raising you? When you came home one day, he was waiting on your bed, the vibrator next to him. You were immediately hit with a wave of embarrassment and humiliation- good. You started trying to defend yourself, saying it’s not what it looks like. “Don’t try to play innocent.” He scoffed. “Get over my fucking lap.” His voice was so harsh, it made you tear up as you begged him not to. So he roughly grabbed you and pulled you over his thighs, then flipped your skirt up. He spanked you until his hand was burning and there were little welts on your ass. You were sobbing loudly, the pain becoming too much, and with the way you kept squirming and rubbing against his cock, he eventually got hard. He forced the vibrator between your legs, making you apologize for your whorish behavior as you came over and over again until he was satisfied. “Get on your knees.” He demanded and you slid off his lap to the floor, still sobbing and almost hyperventilating from the overwhelming pleasure. “There are consequences for acting like a whore.” He spat, quickly opening his pants to free his cock, making your breath catch in your throat. “So, be a good girl for once and finish what you started.”

Jackson Rippner - He had been trying so hard to be a good father figure- god knows you desperately needed it. But as soon as he found a vibrator hidden away (very poorly) in one of your drawers, he just lost all control. He managed to wait a few days until it was only the two of you in the house, then confronted you. This wasn’t his proudest moment… but he didn’t regret it. “What would your mom think, huh?” He asked, subtly threatening you. “I would hate to have to tell her… but maybe we can work something out.” He said coyly, enjoying the way you blushed and squirmed and pouted. He made you beg for it, for his cock and for him to not tell your mom. Once he had you underneath him with his cock fully sheathed in your little cunt, he practically plowed into you until you cried. “This is your own fault.” He hissed. “The only reason this is happening is because you teased me by leaving it somewhere for me to find.” You sobbed harder and shook your head, unable to do anything else to protest. “You’ve been a fucking tease since day one with those tiny little shirts and the skirts that barely cover your ass… I’m fucking sick of it.” He growled, getting more worked up. “From now on, you’re gonna let me use this cunt whenever I want, or I’ll tell your mom about your little secret, and how you seduced me and begged me to fuck you.”

Lenny Miller - You should’ve known better than to think you could hide things from him. Just like you should’ve known better than to think you could lie to him. But when he confronted you, you denied it. Which he figured you might do… That’s why he set up a camera in your room, hidden in a vent but angled perfectly at your bed. The quality was not the best, but it was good enough to still obviously show what you were doing. He can’t even count the amount of times he came to that footage of you. When you tried lying, he sighed and reached for the remote, already having the tape ready in the tv. The second it turned on, you lips parted in shock and your face paled, then a very dark blush took over your cheeks. “There are a few different ways this can go. Option one: the camera stays up and you can keep the vibrator. Option two: I punish you, then confiscate it, but I’ll take down the camera.” He paused, lowering his voice into something darker and thick with arousal. “Or option three: you show me just how sorry you are for owning something like this. I’m still going to punish you, but if you do a good enough job begging, I might just let you keep it.” He said coyly. He waited impatiently for you to choose and when you couldn’t get any words out, still glancing at the tv, he chose for you. He spanked you until you cried and made you suck his cock to prove you were sorry, then forced you to ride him while you begged for his forgiveness.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

You're Not Alone (pt 2)

And here is the requested part 2 of vampire spawn!Tav/reader! I'm pretty sure I injected more fluff into this one after the very dark part 1.

Taglist (I guess I could do one in the future): @silverfangmarks @astarioffsimpmain

Summary: You and Astarion deal with the aftermath that is you being turned into a vampire spawn.

After the events of Cazador’s palace, the group quietly head back to the inn, covered in blood and downcast. Astarion keeps his distance from your limp body gently cradled by Halsin, gaze fixed on the ground and disappears the moment the party reaches the inn.

“Where is the vampire spawn going?” Lae’zel hisses. “He is the reason why Y/N is like this, he should be here.”

“Leave him be, Lae’zel. He’s taken the events hard, give him some space for now.” Halsin chides, setting you down on a bed. Your physical injuries can be easily healed with some blood, fortunately Cazador hadn’t gotten far with his poem before the party had crashed the ritual so your scars wouldn’t be as bad as Astarion’s but the main issue is the emotional scarring. Halsin had hoped Astarion would remain by your side so that when you woke up, he could help you but the vampire had gone off by himself and Halsin wasn’t sure when he’d return.

The druid slices open a wound on his wrist and lets the blood drip into your slightly ajar mouth. Your throat bobs instinctively, swallowing the precious fluid but your eyes remain close. At least you’re drinking the blood, that was enough at this stage. He continues letting his blood drip into your mouth until your eyelids flutter and you stir slightly.

“Y/N.” He says. You groan in response, eyes opening blearily.

This place smelled different, looked different. You were in a different place, where were you? You shoot up, eyes wide and muscles tensed, ready to fight. A quick glance around the place told you you were in a room of sorts and the only other person around was Halsin.

“Where am I?” You croak. Your body felt cold, sore and you wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep slumber.

“You’re at Elfsong Tavern’s Inn. Don’t worry, you’re safe now. Cazador is gone, he can’t harm you anymore,” Halsin reassures you, but keeps a distance away to give you some space. You press a hand to your head as memories come rushing back to you. Astarion’s siblings coming for him, you defending him, Cazador appearing and kidnapping you, Astarion’s cry for you, Cazador using you as Astarion’s substitute in the ritual, the pain that followed, the others rescuing you, Astarion holding you tightly in his arms, comforting you…

'“Astarion,” you whisper, “where…”

“He’ll be back soon,” Halsin says, but you can tell he’s lying.

“You don’t know!” You snap accusingly, “stop lying! Where did he go?”

“Calm down, Y/N. After we brought you back, Astarion left for somewhere, although none of us know where or how long he will be gone. He still hasn’t returned.” Halsin raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to worry you after all you’ve just been through.”

“It’s just that simple! Just tell me! Like that!” You snarl, fangs bared. Halsin leans away so that your fangs are far enough from him and you realise what you’ve just done.

“I’m sorry. It’s not even your fault.” You sit back down on the bed, shoulders hunched. “Everything’s been so…much.”

Halsin shakes his head, “it’s quite alright. You have a lot to adjust to, with your new…condition.”

“At least the tadpole still lets me walk in the sun,” you give a hollow laugh, “if Astarion’s ability to do so is anything to go by.”

You smile sadly at the bed beneath you. “Things can never go back to the way it was, and I was so looking forward to doing so many things once we had our tadpoles removed too.”

Halsin remains quiet and you sit there in the silence with him, tears sliding down your cold cheeks. You curl up, hugging your knees to your chest, causing tears to stain your kneecaps. The warmth you once had is all gone now, replaced by a chill that reminds you of what you have lost, of what you once had.

“Are you still hungry?” Halsin quietly breaks the silence, extending his wrist towards you. You shake your head despite the sanguine hunger gnawing at you, afraid of what the act of feeding solidifies.

“Then I will take my leave first. Call me if you need anything.” The druid rises from the stool, sending you a look of concern but leaves you with your thoughts.

You stare at your hands, your cold undead hands and bite your lip. Your new fangs pierce through skin with ease, drawing a little blood and your nostrils flare instinctively at the scent. The sanguine hunger roars again, louder this time. It craves blood, it demands blood but you force it down as far as it can go. You hate it, you hate your new condition. You hate the thought that once your tadpole has been removed, you’ll never be able to enjoy the sun again, feel its warmth. You finally truly understand why Astarion had been so adamant about ascending, the temptation to do the same is strong.

Suddenly, a new scent floods your nose.

“Who’s there?” You call, glaring in the direction of the scent. Astarion steps into view, smiling a little too widely — a sign that he was nervous.

“You’re awake, darling. That’s good.” He moves to sit on your bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve just been turned into a vampire spawn?” He flinches at your words and you wish you could take them back.

“Sorry.” You mutter. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”

Astarion quietly looks down, fidgeting. The silence between the two of you isn’t the comfortable kind, the tension in the air waiting for one of you to cut it so you decide to take the initiative.

“What’s it like, being a vampire spawn. Is there anything I have to take note of?”

“It’s…something that takes time to get used to.” Astarion murmurs.

“Well, good thing I have you to guide me, don’t I?” You smile, reaching over to take his hand in yours. Both your hands are cold now, freezing to the touch, reminding Astarion of one more thing he has lost to Cazador.

“Even when permanently dead he still haunts me,” Astarion mutters, squeezing your hand tightly. “How badly did he scar you?”

The concern in his ruby red eyes is genuine, a softness you’ve missed filling the crimson orbs. You turn around despite everything in your body screaming at you not to, feeling yourself shake as you slip your top off, flashes of memories you’d rather keep buried burning through your mind. Astarion suppresses the angry growl that threatens to spill from his throat, hatred for Cazador burning once more and wishes he could drag the vampire lord from wherever dead vampires went just so he could make Cazador pay with pain a million times worse than yours.

You swallow as bile rises to your throat, the overwhelming scent of your blood filling your nose, screams of pain flooding your mind, then the scent you’ve saved as Astarion’s fills your nose as he wraps his arms around you, whispers of love falling from his lips.

“It’s alright darling, I’ve got you. I promise you’re safe. Focus on my voice, breathe together with me.” He whispers into your ear. “In…out…in…out…”

Through the haze, you struggle to regain control of your body, tears blurring your vision once more but with Astarion’s help, you find a breathing rhythm and grasp tightly onto it.

In, out. In, out.

When the room shifts back into focus, you realise that the scent of your blood wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. Long claw marks decorate your arms, your clawed fingertips stained crimson while the sheets beneath soak up whatever has dripped onto it.

“Shit, I’m a mess,” you whimper.

“Everyone is,” Astarion reassures you, pulling a bottle out. “Here, you’ll need to drink this. All of it. Don’t leave a single drop.”

The sweet scent of blood fills the air as he uncorks the bottle and your hunger growls, eager to lap it all up but you push his hand and the bottle away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion scowls. “I’m not going to let you starve yourself to death, trust me, you do not want to be starving as a vampire. It’s worse than death.”

“I don’t want to drink another person’s blood,” you croak weakly. The very thought of doing so makes you want to vomit, but your body says otherwise.

“It’s bear blood. I went out to hunt and came across a bear,” Astarion swirls the bottle. “I promise I’m not lying.”

You cautiously take the bottle from him, lifting it up to your lips. You have to trust him on this, it’s not like you know how bear blood smells like as a vampire. Locking gazes with him, you tilt the bottle, letting the sweet liquid wash down your throat. Strange new flavours burst in your mouth but it’s a pleasant taste and sends a tingle down your spine. Soon, you’re greedily sucking the bottle dry until there is not a drop left.

“There, not so bad, is it?” Astarion leans in to give you a peck on your cheek. “Now, your instincts should help but this is the best place to drink from on a wrist.”

He points to a spot on his wrist and lifts it up to your lips, “give it a try.”

You eye him warily and he sighs at your reluctance, “I can’t keep giving you bottles of blood to drink from, love. You’re going to need to learn how to feed yourself.”

“But I don’t want to,” you mumble. Astarion frowns but doesn’t push the matter further, instead he reaches for the medical kit Halsin has left behind and starts to clean up the dried blood on your arms. You let him, silently watching as the cloth starts to turn brown.

“There, all beautiful and blemish-free again,” he presses kisses along the length of both your arms, tossing the cloth aside. “Being…this doesn’t change anything about you, love. You’re still the same person, and that is more than enough for me.”

He cups your cheeks, letting his thumbs run over the skin of your cheeks. Leaning in, he presses his forehead against yours and feels you wrap your arms around him. With a small smile, he pulls you in, feeling your head rest on his shoulder as he embraces you tightly, breathing in your new scent. One of his hands gently rests on the back of your head, fingers running through your matted hair.

“You’re not alone. I’ll always be here for you, right by your side whenever you need me. That I promise. I won’t let you go through what I went through, I won’t let you be alone in this.” He swears, holding you tightly. “We’ll face this together, side by side.”

You clutch desperately at his tunic, crying for what feels like the millionth time today into his chest and he lets you, ignoring the way your tears dampen and stain his clothes. Instead, he curls around you, wishing he could shield you from the world and the suffering he knows is to come and cherishes the way you cling onto him, the way you so clearly trust him with everything you have. No one had ever bared their soul like this to him, even all his prey had always kept a thing or two from him, no matter how sweet the lies he used to ensnare them.

You were different. You had let your walls down around him, bared your sweet neck at him, let him drink the first night he had tried drinking your blood instead of staking him on the spot and in return he had fallen for you. He let you have his back, let you into the shattered pieces he called his heart and let you see his broken self, hoping it wouldn’t scare you off and it hadn’t. Now you were the broken one and you had let him see it all, returning the favour was only natural but it wasn’t the only reaosn he was doing all this. He wanted to help you without needing anything in return, he wanted to see you smile again, he wanted to…he wanted to show you how much he truly loved you.

He had changed, that much he knew. It wasn’t long ago when he’d have chosen to ascend no matter the cost, but that night when he had seen you bound by glyphs with Infernal being carved into your back, all he could think about was how if he ascended you would be sacrificed too. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, he couldn’t sacrifice you no matter what he would gain in return.

He wouldn’t have needed to consider that if you hadn’t been turned into a vampire spawn.

Years of self-hatred gnaw away at him, reminding him of his failure, hisweakness that had led to this whole mess. If only he had been stronger, faster, better, then maybe you wouldn’t have to suffer his fate, the fate of a vampire spawn. His thoughts tear into him again and again, berating him, a whirling wind of destruction that threaten to unravel him. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, fighting the darkness that threatens to drown him. He doesn’t have time for this, he has to help you adjust, to be there whenever you’re drowning and he can’t do that if he’s wallowing in self-deprecation. Those damned thoughts can wait another day.

A quick glance down lets him know you’ve fallen asleep in his arms, worn out from recent events and he lets out a soft sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I meant everything I said, my love,” he says, knowing you can’t hear his words but that’s fine by him. He doesn’t want you to hear his next words anyways. “I love you.”

[billy-cockblock]

SWTD Theory

Still Wakes the Deep has been a huge brainworm for me the past few weeks, so I wanted to make a post with one of my takes. Someone’s probably thought of this already, but I can’t find anything about it, so here I go. 

I’m gonna take this time to shout out a little sub theory of mine that plays a bit of a part in my main point. 

For a little background, in populations of organisms, there are limiting factors on their growth and spread. Think of it as a series of funnels of different sizes: the rate of liquid that can flow through is going to be determined by the narrowest funnel. For example. if there’s a population that has ample food, space, and whatever else it needs, but has a restricted access to water, that water is going to limit how large that population could grow.

Before the Shape was dug up by the drill, it was probably dormant in the sea bed, doing its best to survive, the same as any other organism. Down where it was dark, wet, and cold, I think it had one main limiting factor: oxygen.

I don’t think the Shape can efficiently exchange gas underwater. Most of the untouched bodies Caz sees are only underwater, where an organism that thrives in air would struggle to access. Once it gets dug up and brought to air with plenty of organic matter to consume and grow with, its population explodes. When a limiting factor is removed, there’s nothing holding the population back any more until they hit a new limit. The Shape’s old limiting factor was removed, and it would only stop reproducing by running out of space to grow on the rig, running out of organic matter to use, or being killed (like, say, in a giant fiery explosion).

(I could go on and on about how the Shape potentially works, please feel free to ask me about it)

Now, I’ll get to my main theory:

I think Caz was dead the whole time.

Now, I don’t mean that in a “the whole game is in his head, none of it was real” way; I mean it in a “this man got Ethan Winters’ed” way. 

So, I started to do a little research into how tall oil rigs are to know how far Caz would have fallen off the helipad. I quickly learned there are many types of oil rigs and not every oil rig of the same type is the same size. I’m studying marine biology, not petroleum engineering like my brother, so I got tired of trying to guesstimate how tall the Bierra D’s helipad would be and attacked the problem with some simple math. 

Watching a video, I saw he fell for between 4-5 seconds; the acceleration due to gravity is 9.8m/s^2. Plugging that in a calculator while not accounting for air resistance to solve for distance gets me ~80-120m, depending on if I used the 4 or 5 second count, so I’ll guess around 100m. I’ve found many conflicting sources on what the tallest heights you can safely fall into water are, but I can safely tell you that 100m is much higher than any of them. 

Now, maybe the devs weren’t going with the mathematical exact timing it would take for a guy to fall off an oil rig, and didn’t mean for it to be implied that he fell from THAT high. Still, we can agree he fell from very high up, high enough to have likely ended in injury. Maybe he’d just fall on and break a leg? Maybe an arm or some ribs?

After falling off the rig, the last frame before Caz blacks out shows the water at the top of the screen, meaning he hits the water head-first. He may be wearing a hard hat (that somehow stays on his head through the whole ordeal since he clips his flashlight to it), but he still should have cracked his skull open or broken his neck. 

When they pull him out of the water, he’s cold and not breathing, which wouldn’t be unusual for a drowning victim in the North Sea in the dead of winter, but it would usually be a death sentence. They never explain how they dragged Caz out of the water, but it would presumably have taken a long time to get him out, and time is key when dealing with someone who isn’t breathing. The fact that he’s able to cough up water and start breathing on his own is a miracle, since it doesn’t sound like Brodie or Douglas do CPR when they bring him inside.

So, fall damage, head and/or spine injury, drowning, and hypothermia. By several different factors, Caz should be a very, very dead man. So why isn’t he?

My theory is that, somehow, somewhy, the infection from The Shape healed and brought him back to life. We know for a fact it has amazing generative properties, basically able to double, triple, quadruple the amount of tissue and organic matter in the crew’s bodies with no regard for conservation of mass, so what’s just a little regeneration of damaged tissues in a single body? Once Caz’s body gets someplace with better conditions suited to life (inside where it’s warm and there’s air), it just jumpstarts his body functions. The Shape’s presumably been dormant in the seafloor for a long time, so it could be able to go dormant and kinda “come back to life” as conditions change, similar to a tardigrade, and potentially pass this ability onto its hosts.

And Caz mentions how his head hurts a lot, especially when he gets close to the Shape. 

Now, this might seem like baseless conjecture, and y’all might say “That’s a good headcanon, but there’s no evidence that The Shape could bring people back to life!” to which I would say “Oh, but there might be!"

After the helicopter on the starboard side, we get a call from Bruce, who is actively drowning. Through his gasps, he tells us that O’Connor hurt his leg and couldn’t swim, presumably drowning. And guess who we see still kicking as we’re passing through the pontoon? My thought is that O’Connor couldn’t swim, drowned, and drifted to the bottom, landing on a part of the shape. Once Caz and Brodie start working in the legs and they drain, it exposes him to air and allows the shape to start growing again, assimilating him and bringing him back to life. 

Obviously, he’s not doing as well as Caz is. My thought was that, if Caz died as he was infected, the infection would’ve had to put a lot of its energy into bringing him back, not leaving much for itself to begin assimilating him into the Shape. Since O’Connor was in direct contact with the Shape, it could hook him up to its network to help supplement that loss. Caz, meanwhile, stays as far away from the stuff as he can and doesn’t even get anything to eat all day; guy's running on empty. He has small things where the Shape affects him, like the colors at the edge of his vision, but most of his hallucinations only happen after the Shape attacks him through O’Connor. Before, I’m pretty sure the largest incident (other than when he’s blacked out) is when we can barely hear Suze’s voice over the speakers when moving through the pontoon. It’s really only after getting attacked that he starts to hear her when he’s awake, near the Shape, or over phone calls. He only hears her clearly over the speakers in administration after he runs into the shape many times when he gets swept away in the flooding.

With my main evidence out of the way, I’ll also mention that Caz sees the “light at the end of the tunnel” from the end of the game in the oil flashes when he blacks out.

But hey, that’s just a theory. 

A GAME TH- I have received a cease and desist.

Man, this became a long read. Thanks for getting this far, and I hope you enjoyed!

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 33 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

As it turns out, the Underworld provides a whole slew of services designed to deal with circumstances just like this. Medical care, emergency home repair–and body disposal, all for the price of a handful of gold coins.

You sit with John as a man your lover so descriptively calls Doc sews up Wick’s wounds. There is blood on your face, and your silk pjs. Dog sits on your foot, clearly anxious about letting either one of you out of his sight. In the same spirit, John’s good hand is clasped in yours, or yours in his–neither of you have been able to let go. 

Another man known simply as Charlie orchestrates the removal of the collection of corpses through the house. Yet more tattooed tradesmen work on boarding up the blown out window in the kitchen with a big piece of plywood. 

It’s a miracle, really, the house didn’t burn down. 

“Thought you’d left all this behind you, John?” asks Doc, making a neat knot in the former assassin’s side. 

“So did I.”

“What will you do?”

“The same thing I always do when I’m lost. Talk to Winston.” 

The two men share a snort of laughter you don’t entirely understand. 

When Doc finishes with John he gives you a bottle of pain meds, and a bottle of what are, as far as you can tell, pharmacy grade amphetamines. “In case he has to work again.” You take them with wide eyes and a nod, praying to whatever devil might be listening that that won’t be necessary. 

You’re fairly certain that no one up above is interested in any of you anymore. 

You killed a man. 

You killed a man with a gun to save John, and you do not feel sorry at all. 

Numb, perhaps, but not sorry. 

John groans as he adjusts himself on the couch. You reach out to steady him, helping him best you can. He is heavy, and you look at the stairs with doubt. “Maybe we should sleep down here tonight?”

He blinks at you, undoubtedly thinking you incredibly naïve. “We can’t stay here, baby. It’s not safe.”

“Where will we go?” 

“We’re going to the city,” says John, sounding weary as a man twice his age. “I know a place. Can you drive?”

You have to admit you’re a little dizzy from the whiplash. In the span of a few hours, you’ve gone from being locked up like a princess in the castle, to murdering a man, and now John is going to let you drive?

He must read the blatant surprise on your face. He doesn’t like it, his grip tightening on your hand. “These are bad, bad men who would eat you for breakfast. You’ve got to stick with me.” 

You bristle at this, because even though you absolutely should be thinking about escape? You’re not. You were thinking about how you were going to manage taking care of him in this state, and it pisses you off that he’s still so fucking worried about controlling you that he can’t see the writing written in blood on the wall. 

Or at least, written in blood, on the kitchen floor. 

“You asshole,” you say for the second time tonight. It wins you a lordly scowl that for some fucked up reason thrills you to the tips of your toes. But it’s too late to turn back now. “Were you there, when I fucking shot a man for you? Maybe this is just business as usual for you, but it’s fucking new to me.”

He clenches his other fist on his knee, seeming to count to ten with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he finally grinds out. “I know…Are you alright?”

You guess that you put up a good enough front that he forgot that maybe he should ask. Good on you. Maybe.

“No, not really,” you answer truthfully. “But I don’t have any choice, do I?”

He actually has the grace to cast his eyes down, seeming to really think on what you’re saying. “You had a choice,” he muses quietly, his thumb sliding over your knuckles. “In the kitchen.”

You stroke Dog’s head for something to do with your other hand, which is shaking. Your thundering heart beats painfully in your chest. From the corner of your eye you take in this anomaly of a man. This man, who kidnapped you, who has been playing mental games with you for months, who has kept you prisoner, who has taken your body to heights you never even knew were possible, who has spoiled you, who has adored you and degraded you all in the same breath–this man, who somehow, you know you love with your whole heart. 

“John…” He tilts his head to look at you, his eyes glazed with pain. You’re not sure if it’s physical or mental at this point. “Did you really think I could shoot you?”

Perhaps he did, because in his mind, the only acceptable answer to a wrong against you is murder. 

Perhaps in the brutal world he’s occupied since he was just a child, it is. 

Suddenly he can’t meet your eyes. “Maybe I would deserve it, y/n.”

The fact that he knows that is definitely a good sign. 

But the tricky truth is–it wasn’t all bad. And the good? The good was almost worth the bad, you dare to think now that you’ve survived it. You know better than to say that, because you know you are in the midst of a negotiation right now.

“I love our life together, when you’re sweet to me, John. I only want to murder you when you boss me around. And I only mean that figuratively.”

A huff of laughter escapes him; there is a glimmer of hope in his miserable dark eyes. You know it’s insane, after everything he’s done, but you feel sorry for this man. 

“If you would just treat me as an equal, instead of constantly trying to control me…” I’ll be your ride or die. You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud yet. He already has enough power over you. “Do you think…that’s something we can work on?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, when slowly he nods, bringing your knuckles to his lips to kiss them. “If you don’t want to murder me after everything I’ve done to you…maybe anything is possible.”

You on the other hand, can only blink. Did you just hear what you think you heard? 

That blood-pressure induced ringing has returned to your ears again. The explosion and gunfire surely didn’t help, but somehow this is far more momentous to you. Your surprise for the magnitude of this admission surprises you, and you must show it in the lift of your brows. It makes him smile ruefully; you’re not sure why the sight of it squeezes your heart so. 

You are not so stupid as to think this traumatic event has healed him miraculously, knocked some loose screw back into place. The mind doesn’t work like that. But just maybe, it did put some things into perspective. You are allies now against a mutual cause, rather than enemies of each other. And just maybe, when you tell him that you don’t want to leave him, he will actually believe you from now on. 

“Anyway…I can drive the Rover…” you say with confidence, even though you are still utterly flabbergasted he’d even give you the opportunity. “I don’t know about the ‘Stang.” The Mustang you think you could manage in an emergency, but it’s been a long time since you had to drive a stick, and being responsible for his baby doesn’t sit well with you. 

“That will do.” He grumbles, mostly to himself, “I’ve got to teach you to drive. There is so much I need to teach you.”

You’re not sure what he means by that. You are too tired to hash it out completely right now, but you sense that something, a whole lot of something, has changed in the past few hours between you.  

He makes to get to his feet with a groan–and can’t quite. “Maybe I am too old for this shit,” he grouses. 

“John, you got shot, stabbed, and fought off ten heavily armed assassins. I think you can count tonight as a win.”

Again, that bitter huff of laughter escapes him. You help John to his feet, trying to steady him as best you can. If he’d injured one of his legs badly you would be so fucked; there was no way you could carry him.

“Um…who were they?” You realize you haven’t even talked about who was just trying to kill him. You suppose you already think you know the answer, but then again you could be wrong.

“Camorra goons, I’m pretty sure,” hisses John, clearly in pain. “Guess I should have kept someone alive for questioning…I’ve always been bad at that.”

You press your lips, because it shouldn’t be funny…but if you don’t laugh about it, you might cry. Your life has been so weird lately, it almost just seems par for the course in a way. 

“John…” you chortle and sigh. “Surely the d’Antonio kid gets the picture now? You’ve killed everyone he’s sent after you? Why can’t these assholes just leave you alone?” Why the prince of the Camorra would court such trouble is beyond you. 

“Good question.” He groans as he takes a step, his good arm slung over your shoulder. “The young ones, especially the second or third generation, think they have to prove themselves. Or maybe…he loved his mother and wants me dead. It’s a faint possibility.” 

“Italian boys and their mothers.” 

John chuckles a little, then winces. “Please, sweetheart,” he entreats you. “Don’t make me laugh.” 

Maybe you are a silly creature, but hearing the endearment for you warms something in your heart that had been left out in the cold for too long. “Fine,” you agree, even though humor is absolutely your biggest coping mechanism. “Tell me what we need to do next?” 

“We need to pack.”

“Ok. What?”

“Suits, and guns.” 

You guess in a nutshell, that was the essential distillation of his world, once upon a time. Now, quite against your will, you both are being kicked back into it. By the look in John’s dark eyes, for some reason you have a feeling it’s the Camorra who are going to regret it. 

[raainberry]

compliments to the chef

Momo x gn!reader

synopsis - momo falls for her new chef’s flavor🤭 (she’s the sole heiress of the Hirai culinary empire and hiring you spices things up a lot more than she intended.)

wordcount - 14K (please don’t say damn when you see the price)

T/W - kinda chaebol!momo - chef!reader - mentions of food, knifes etc… - nothing violent tho - slowburn? but make it angsty? - light cussing - you lowkey hate each other but not really - enemies to lovers? - guest starring bc that’s fun - that’s all i can think of, tell me if i missed anything

Momo sent a polite smile to the man sitting across from her. The fourteenth in the past half hour.

She’s been keeping count, along with the minutes, the grains of rice left on her plate, and the amount of times he’s mentioned one of his accomplishments.

Thirty-three, seventy-eight, and six; in that order. Only two questions about her so far, one if you remove the one about her name.

She almost left right then and there, but the respect she had for her mother weighed her down on that chair. If she wasn’t going to take over the family empire, the least she could do was find a worthy successor.

A soft sigh escaped her as she pushed her food around. Being an only child was way more fun when all it meant was that she didn’t have to share it with anyone. Or get it stolen, according to the venting of her friends when younger.

She finished the few bites left, trying to drown out the sound of his voice by focusing on the flavours. She closes her eyes, appreciating their delicate yet bold dancing on the tip of her tongue.

Maybe it was the boredom clinging onto whatever could keep her mind entertained, but the taste reminded her of herself. A small smile spread across her lips, the first real one of the day.

The next one came when the man asked for the bill. Her lungs could finally grasp the air around her, her nose picking up on the different notes and aromas of the dishes around her.

She sent her compliments to the chef, adding to them a generous tip she had no idea who’s pockets it’d really land in. It’s the thought that counts.

Her senses were in heaven walking out, engraving her mind with a memory that will stick longer than the guy who’d just made her split the bill, unevenly that is.

“Let me take you home.” He said once out front. His hand held the door open to the leather seats of a luxurious car she was too familiar with.

“Oh, no it’s fine thank you.” She declined quickly. “I actually have a meeting scheduled right after this.”

“I can drop you off.”

Momo almost laughed. She found his use of the personal pronoun very funny. She almost forgot he would just be sitting near her some more while the chauffeur did the sexiest part. If the latter were to her taste, she’d have driven off with her.

“I’d rather not.” She declined. “Business confidentiality and whatnot.”

The lie was forced through an awkward smile that he found endearing enough not to question. Relief washed over her when he finally let go of her, climbing into the car, but not without asking her to keep in touch.

Another sigh, a heavy one, loaded with all those she’d held back until now as she watched the car drive away. The pressure was off, but only for a second as her thoughts soon spiraled.

No way she had to do this again… She reached in her purse, looking for the one thing that could get her out of here.

All this junk, where is it—

“You’re awful at lying.”

Her phone almost dropped to its death from the startle you gave her.

Momo had a few questions at the sight of you. Your presence and your eavesdropping were the first, but the white apron half folded around your waist and the cigarette in your hand answered most of them.

“What,” was all she managed to say though, and a smile pulled on your lips.

“I mean, I’m not fond of lies, but when you’re famous for turning your back on business, you should probably come up with a better excuse.”

“Who even are you?”

“Right, I guess that’s fair. I’m Y/n. You’re Momo, right? Hirai?”

“Y-Yeah.” Her eyes squinted, desperately trying to see what you were leading to.

Your name sounded as unfamiliar as you looked, but you seemed well informed. She didn’t like that.

“Nice to meet you,” You greeted simply, eyeing the contrast between her features and the neat clothes on her back, “So how bad was it? You look… Worn out.”

Her chuckle was distasteful, and she tried to suppress its bitterness at the reminder of her lost time. “Awful. The food caught my eye more than he could ever hope.”

You smiled, “He wasn’t bad looking.”

“But he was a bore.” She argued. “Borderline narcissistic too.”

“Deal breaker then?” You guessed, turning her laughter a little sweeter.

“Pretty much.” Her gaze found the ground in a nod before focusing back on you. “I do like it better when it’s a two way conversation.”

“Does that make me cute?”

She scoffed at the brazen question. “You wish.”

“I don’t.” You dropped your cigarette on the ground, stepping on it in a way she found more hot than revolting to her surprise. That cheeky smile of yours was most likely to blame. “Thank you for the compliments by the way. I’m glad you liked it.”

Your bow was quick, desultory out of rehearsed respectfulness. As much as you appreciated her compliments, you had better things to do in the kitchen that could get you some more.

You caught a glimpse of her jaw dropping on your way back in, and it was enough of a sight to revel in for a few days.

—

It took Momo a couple weeks to pick her jaw back up and swallow her pride. It seemed as though the latter was the only thing she inherited from her family, and she managed to set herself apart yet again.

Her parents would have never set foot in your restaurant again. Not that you had lacked respect or anything, but the fact that you managed to set her off balance… Something about it she didn’t particularly like.

Why was she back then?

You asked yourself that same question when you stormed out of the kitchen at her request. If it weren’t for your manager and his speech about image and reputation, you never would have allowed her to interrupt you and abandon your brigade mid-shift.

Hands on your hips, dragging your feet, you walked into the office she awaited you in and felt your voice die down on your tongue at the sight.

Beauty or surprise, either way it came down to her presence.

The way her hair fell down her back, delicate and blending in with the fabric of her perfectly tailored shirt. The sleek black attire formed a shadow, painting a hole cut against her silhouette and into the spring she admired in the sakura tree out the bay window.

“Hi.” She smiled, her voice a fitting melody to the sights now behind her. Enchanting, sure, but odd.

She wasn’t exactly known to be a warm one to strangers. More power to her, you could understand that. But why didn’t it apply to you?

If it weren’t for the stories associated with that voice suddenly popping into your mind, she’d have lured you in. Nothing too bad about them; only testaments of her success. Rumors about the danger surrounding her, setting her apart from her family. You didn’t care for the big industry names, but theirs always had you curious.

“You asked for me?” Your voice rang in the quiet space.

Momo didn’t seem to notice your apprehension, her smile ever so welcoming, “I did.”

It felt as though she owned the place for a second.

“Do you have some more compliments?” You wondered, eyes following her figure as she went to take a seat in the armchair across your manager’s desk.

“I do actually.” She turned the seat to face you as she mused, “That black cod was to die for.”

You nodded, thankful. “Glad you liked it.”

As much as you didn’t like the way her family capitalized on the food you took such care to value, you couldn’t deny their expertise. Even if not a lot to you, Momo’s compliment did mean something.

“But that’s not all.” Her voice pulled your eyes back on her.

You found her posture quite imposing, matching her tone, but her infamous shyness was something she never got around to master. Her gaze held yours but it lacked control.

It was hard to ignore how endearing the attempt looked to you. It just made you want to give her whatever she wanted. Reward her efforts.

“What is it?” You wondered, curious.

What could she possibly want from you? This restaurant wasn’t yours. The only thing you had control over was the kitchen.

“I want you to cook for me.” She said, and you didn’t leave room for a breath before responding, “Excuse me?”

“I meant I’d like to hire you.” She clarified, a smirk dancing on her lips at your transparent thoughts. You tried to make sense of her proposal, but she didn’t waste any time in providing details. “I’m sure you’re familiar—the annual Hirai banquet my mother holds for shareholders. I never cared for the specifics, but I want to do good by her. I haven’t been the best daughter lately so I thought I’d make it up to her by holding it this year.”

It all clicked at the mention of her mother. Of course she wouldn’t be back with her own motives.

The Hirai Culinary Group was an empire. A home to the most prestigious restaurants of the country. All housing different specialties, techniques and themes… Quite a whole lot to manage yet the quality remained flawless. Fifty years of irreproachable cuisine, you could only respect it. If only they didn’t care about business so much…

Those banquets were popular, talk of the town within the industry as it usually set the next trends and whatnot. Make no mistakes, you were tuned in as well. They did bring in some interesting elements, but you hated the way they set it all up. A disguised year-end performance meeting. White collars expecting numbers and being served them on gold plates, horizons and growth perspectives hidden in desserts.

“So she’s actually the one that asked for me.” You smirked, unexpecting of the way she’d wipe it off just a second later.

“No.” She said simply, a serene smile gracing her lips. “Why would she know about you?”

You scoffed. Good point. You could recognize that despite the blow to your ego.

“Fair enough.” You nodded. “But why should I help you?”

“Help me?” She repeated, a hint of offense creeping into her whole being. “I’m offering you to work with me.”

Perhaps she wasn’t that much of an ugly duckling among the Hirai’s.

“My question still stands. Why should I?”

A silence followed your words, hanging low over your heads and expecting the next ones to come out of her. Hopefully they’d be good enough.

Momo’s gaze suddenly drifted from yours, finding interest in her surroundings. A few details she’d noticed earlier, various frames highlighting the establishment’s foundations. She could count three of them : its history, the owner and visibly the most important—you.

“Are you happy here?” She finally spoke, tearing her eyes away from your latest reward.

“I am.”

“I’m sure you are,” she remarked, tone striking a nerve. “Highest rank, valued both within and outside—you’re basically ruling the place…”

“What’s your point?” You asked, growing impatient.

“You’ve hit the ceiling, Y/n. It’s time for a new challenge, don’t you think?”

Silence enveloped you again as you found yourself contemplating her proposition.

Momo took the sight as a sign of her job being done here, and you watched as she left her business card on the desk before gracefully excusing herself; leaving you to deal with your internal struggle.

—

In the days that followed, her offer continued to linger in your thoughts, and with each passing day, the idea of a new challenge began to take root in your mind.

It spread enough to takeover a good portion of it, sending it all elsewhere. Far enough for your closest friend here and sous-chef to notice.

“What’s up with you, you’ve been all over the place lately.” Jeongyeon asked after you nearly knocked an nth plate to the floor.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” You met her gaze and it was enough to backtrack on your words “Okay, fine there is something, but… I don’t know it’s pointless.”

The empty pot you were carrying resonated as you put it back into its designated place, partially covering Jeongyeon’s words. “Does it have to do with that Hirai girl?”

“How do you know?”

“It’s the only thing out of the ordinary enough to throw you off your game.” She chuckled, drying her hands on her apron.

Weird way to tell you to live a little more, but okay.

“So what did she say to you?” She sighed, leaning her back against the sink. “What even happened in the office, you never told us.”

“Well…” You trailed off, gettng that business card out of your back pocket. You handed it to her, and it took her a second to notice what it was.

“What are you waiting for?” She scoffed, causing your eyebrows to furrow together.

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever she proposed just accept it, Y/n”

You spotted a hint of annoyance in her voice, but you had trouble seeing if it was about you or Momo. She sure was scrubbing that counter pretty hard.

“Why?” You asked, watching as she practically polished that stainless steel by hand. Something bothered you, and it wasn’t her cleaning technique. “Are you not even gonna fight for me?”

Jeongyeon paused to look at you, catching the slight pout on your lips. Her own twisted along her features in disgust, teasing you, and you let out your first laugh of the day.

“I should be the one asking you that.” She pointed out. “The fact that you haven’t thrown that card as soon as she left tells me enough.”

“I was just thinking about it…” You admitted, only proving her point.

Jeongyeon chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re past the point of even considering it, I mean… You’ve been walking around with that business card glued to your ass for the past week, yet you haven’t told me a thing about it.”

“You think you know me so well.” You grimaced. It was playful, but part of you wanted to provoke her. You didn’t blame her for that small jab at you, but it did hurt to think she didn’t put turning your back on this place past you.

She did know you so well, though. That’s why she continued to argue her point.

“What is there to think about, y/n? The heiress of the most acclaimed and prestigious restaurant chain of the country is asking for you. No sane person would say no, never mind a chef!”

The sigh that pushed past your lips came as far back as your lungs.

“Would you say yes?” You hesitated after a while, but her answer was much faster. “With no remorse.”

“I mean, have you seen her?” She added and you laughed.

“Fine. I guess I’ll call her…” You picked up the card from the counter and stared at her name.

Well… It’s not like she had asked you to quit your job…

—

“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.”

“What?!”

Momo pulled the phone away from her ear at the sheer volume of your voice through the speaker. How unprofessional. Her eyes rolled soon after, once she registered what your reaction held and meant for her plans.

“Y/n, this isn’t some side hustle for your experience.” she sighed, “I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. If this all goes well, you could become our youngest chef in history.”

A point was made. As much as you were cautious of her voice, it seemed you couldn’t do much about the way it managed to get to you. The words she used were ambitious, they spoke to you.

But she failed to measure just how ambitious you were.

“Why can’t I do both?” You finally asked, prompting a string of arguments being thrown to one another. A futile game of ping-pong you were determined to win, only irritating the woman at the other end of the line.

All this whining, it was like dealing with a child, and truthfully you felt like one. Asking for the best of both worlds seemed completely reasonable to you, so why wouldn’t she give it to you.

“Listen, you can’t give your all to something if your attention is split in two.” She said, losing the last bit of patience she managed to keep today. “You can’t expect to grow by splitting yourself in half, and if you think otherwise, then consider my proposal void.”

A small silence fell over the line. She made sense. She was right. So why couldn’t you bring yourself to accept it?

“If you actually stepped foot in a kitchen once in your life you’d know two isn’t even the minimum.” You scoffed.

Whatever you wanted to mean by that… even you didn’t know, but apparently it was worth thinking over as you heard Momo sigh.

The woman closed her eyes to think.

Why couldn’t you just say yes like everyone else she approached. Maybe she should have made you say it back in the office, use that pathetic confidence of yours against you.

Oh how easy you were to read and see through. Pushing buttons was so much easier when people stood in front of her.

That’s why she hated phone calls. How could she know what to say—oh.

The light bulb went off over her head.

Right… That pathetic confidence of yours.

“I’ll step in if you do.”

—

It shouldn’t have been so easy.

All it took was a half-genuine smile, and a simple promise to make things different this year with a focus on the culinary side of things. Sure, she had to admit to scouting the area in search of the most skilled and promising, which eventually lead her to your restaurant, and then… you. But it was all ego strokes. Child’s play.

Part of her was disappointed. She’d hoped for a little more resistance, a challenge promised by your initial tone and attitude towards her.

“Damn it!”

She should be more careful about what she wishes for… Momo sighed, expecting your face to peek in by the doorframe of the manager’s office, and it did just seconds later.

“Momo, it’s not working.”

“What isn’t?” She said, confused. Machinery’s top-notch, brigade is her best, there was no way anything would stop working out of nowhere.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, just come and see.”

Momo stared at you, noticing a smile fighting to make its way onto your lips. She was apprehensive but followed you anyway.

You’d been working on a technical plate : a type of hybrid dish-dessert. An ambitious idea you’d prompted to Momo during one of the early meetings to work the menu out.

Only she had to make it an order. A boring one and near impossible to pull off. She wouldn’t listen, so you decided to show her.

As you led her to the kitchen, you couldn't help but start venting away about everything that went down since the last time she'd stepped foot in there, which was a day or two ago.

"So, first, the soufflé collapsed twice because someone—I won't name names, but it rhymes with 'intern’—forgot to preheat the oven."

Momo sighed internally. Why were you so fixated on every little mistake? Who cares about interns and their mistakes, that’s what they’re here for. She could excuse a non-preheated oven, but forgetting her birthday? Yeah, that Boo Seungkwan is definitely off the list. He had a good run, only regret was he was good with her dogs. And nice maybe.

"Then, the new mixer decided it wanted to be a blender, and let's not even talk about the chocolate ganache incident."

She nodded absently, her mind drifting to the text she received earlier from another potential suitor. The daughter of her family ‘s right hand man, Jihyo if she remembered correctly? The Park’s had a rocky history though, she took note to raise her guard on that one before your voice pulled her back.

"And of course, the sugar sculpture? Total disaster."

Momo glanced at you, wondering if you realized how whiny you sounded. She had bigger fish to fry than a failed sugar sculpture, like figuring out if she even wanted to leave this family business. If it meant she had to deal with one more daddy’s pocket leech…

"On the bright side, we finally perfected the citrus glaze for the salmon, and the guests couldn't get enough of the hors d'oeuvres last night, so I guess the test was a success.."

When you finally stopped talking and walking, she found herself face to face with an… interesting looking thing on a plate.

“What is that?” She said, dumbfounded.

“Oh, that’s the lemon pie thing you asked for.” You answered nonchalantly. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

“Are you serious?” Her stance and tone changed, cold and threatening like you had the joy of experiencing earlier this month. Didn’t shake you anymore though. The dumb smile on your face was still there, dangerously creeping into a smirk. She couldn’t wipe it for some reason.

“Yeah, that sucks. I guess I lost three hours of my life.” You shrugged, eyes lingering on the edible failure staining the porcelain. “Doesn’t taste bad, though.” You handed her a piece with a spoon you’d clearly already used, and Momo’s stare hardened.

“Fix this.”

Obviously, you would. But you couldn’t let it happen without messing with her first. So you stared right back into her eyes, holding her gaze just long enough to make her doubt and fear the opposite. The tension hung thick in the air, reaching a new high, until she finally broke away and walked off, her frustration evident in every step.

You watched her walk, the smirk now very apparent and mocking her back.

“I’ll do just that, you don’t have to worry.” You cupped your hands around your lips to make sure she heard it, distracting a few chefs around you.

You were oblivious to the looks they threw your way, your gaze was focused on Momo’s retreating figure.

"I'll leave you some on your desk, make sure to try it!” That smirk was evident on your lips, and she could hear it in your voice, feel it getting under her skin.

You were a challenge alright. A damn good one.

—

Momo walked back into the building only days later. You frowned at the sight of her, shoulders obviously tense paired with familiar sour features. The exposed skin told you a lot about her potential whereabouts these past few days. Added to the rumors going around, it didn’t leave that much of a mystery…

“Oh, we’re cooked.” Ryujin, the intern, mumbled under her breath, catching yours and a chef’s attention.

“Yeah, we should have seen it coming.” The chef, Mingyu, sighed, dropping a heavy pan on top of the counter beside you.

“Why, what happened?” You asked, easing yourself into their conversation.

Ryujin’s eyes widened, startled by the interruption. “I uh,” she stammered before Mingyu spoke up.

“Word on the street is, her father set her up with Park's daughter.” He chuckled to himself, making you curious.

“Park’s daughter… The Park branch daughter?” You asked, the name ringing more and more familiar. “You mean Jihyo? Isn’t she managing the H-Lounge?”

H-Lounge was a private, high end rooftop lounge managed by Mr.Park, Mr.Hirai’s right hand man. Big bar, little food, and big walls; a white collar’s favorite and the Hirai’s most profitable branch. From what you knew, Jihyo’s been pretty much running things for years now, her father only still there because of Momo’s.

“Yeah, but she’s on her way to the throne basically. Her dad’s been pushing for her to take the reins for a while now. Old man’s tired.” Mingyu commented, pulling a laugh out of Ryujin.

You squinted, watching as Momo disappeared around the corner to her office.

“Yeah. But didn’t they try to go solo with the Lounge once?” Ryujin asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she recalled rumors from a year ago. “Sounds kinda fishy.”

“And shady.” Mingyu nodded. “Seems to me like Boss Hirai’s desperate to make her stay.”

“Which one?”

You were confused out of your mind, and Mingyu could tell. He was amused when you met his eyes, begging for some clarity.

“Both,” he said. “Power play. Or two birds one stone type of deal. A Park-Hirai marriage would be beyond convenient for him—Jihyo’s a hot head, she could never hold this whole thing together without Momo stepping in at one point, he knows that. It’s the only way he gets to keep both of his most precious assets.”

You shook your head. There was no way. The idea didn’t even match with the Momo you knew. "I don't see it. Momo's way too stubborn and prideful to let something like this happen to her. She's not the type to be manipulated like that."

"You think?" Ryujin asked, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you see how she handles things... Father or not, she won't just bend to someone else's will.”

Mingyu shook his head, a knowing look in his eyes glued on Momo’s figure passing by. "I think she already is..."

You all watched as she disappeared around the corner to her office, and you noticed her shoulders slump for the briefest of moments

It was a slight, almost imperceptible shift, but it struck you deeply for some reason. For the first time, you saw a crack in that impossibly unyielding façade.

A mix of concern and confusion washed over you. Despite the fierce exterior she projected on that comeback walk, there was clearly more weighing on her than she let on. Could Mingyu be right? Was Momo already being pulled back into the company's grasp despite that stubborn pride of hers?

You felt a rush of protectiveness overcome you, but quickly pushed it aside. What a useless, unbased feeling. Momo was fine. She wouldn't let herself be manipulated so easily… Right?

You pondered on the question for a while, but came up with the same answer every time.

She’ll be fine.

You sighed as the day wound down, leaning against a counter. Your gaze wandered to the door to Momo’s office, finding it closed as always. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen nor heard it open since earlier that afternoon…

Was she still there?

Curiosity and concern got the better of you, and you decided to take the opportunity to show her the new and improved lemon pie she’d asked you to fix.

You made your way to her office, the building now eerily quiet. You didn’t wait for an answer before walking in. It was surprisingly dark, only lit by a small hanging light attached to the wall above the desk. This place was such a broom closet… You almost felt sorry for her then remembered what she’d told you.

"Technically this is still the kitchen, this wall is literal plastic."

You mentally scoffed at the memory. You couldn't believe the pettiness of that woman.

"What is that?" Momo asked, her eyes lifting from the paper for the first time in what felt like days.

Whatever was in that plate definitely looked better than the last thing you’d presented her. It held a certain finesse she wasn’t indifferent to.

"It's the pie you asked for," you said, eyes twinkling in pride. “Well, a deconstructed version of it.”

“It’s not what I asked for,” she trailed off, observing the fine details. Her eyes traced the delicate swirls of meringue and the vibrant yellow of the lemon gel. It wasn't what she had originally envisioned, but there was a beauty to it she couldn't deny. "But it's pretty."

You smiled, taking a seat on a corner of her desk as you pulled out a spoon as an offering. A clean one this time.

She was hesitant. Messing the dish up would feel like a crime, but so was leaving food unattended. So she finally dug in, picking up a bit of everything before humming at the taste of it all.

“Tastes the same as the failure, just… so much better.”

Your face lit up at the mention of that failed attempt a few days earlier. You’d kept your word and left it at her desk, hoping she’d have a taste despite the failure. It still had potential, and you wanted her to know.

“You had some?” Your eyes sparkled, and it made you look so much sweeter than you’d been lately. Momo felt herself falter for a second, slipping you a gentle smile before catching herself.

She cleared her throat, lowering the spoon down, the latter clattering on the porcelain as she went for another bite.

“I did.” She nodded. “You were right by the way. It wasn’t bad at all, just… unfortunate looking.”

You were only surprised she was admitting it; and this easily no less.

“So what do we do now? Do we listen to me more, or…?”

Momo sighed, and a victorious smile made its way to your lips before she even uttered the words. “Fine. You can freestyle a bit.” You cheered, and it took a lot for her not to mirror your happiness. “Don’t get too excited. You better follow the menu.”

“Or then what?”

She only glared at you, and the switch in her gaze was enough to turn you down. Or on. [What?]

“I’m kidding. Glad to be working with you.” You said, flashing her a grin that she could only see as cocky.

Momo's eyes rolled in annoyance, getting up from her seat and picking up the blazer on the back of it. As she gathered her stuff, you understood she was going home for the day. It was getting late, the restaurant had closed a couple hours ago and all the staff was gone too. You should get going too, but you feel a sudden pang of reluctance…

“You're going already?" You blurt out, unable to suppress the urge to keep her here just a little while longer.

Momo raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor. "You just shook my hand," she pointed out.

"Well, yes, but..." you trail off, grasping at your brain for any excuse to keep her here a moment longer. You couldn’t explain it. You didn’t understand either, but there was something about her presence that you find strangely comforting in the moment.

Maybe it was the lack of noise and chaos in the background, behind the office door she kept closed; only for you to burst it open anytime you had a complaint or an idea.

The silence, the dim lighting, their absence or her presence… Or the fact that she was actually pleased with your work for once. Explicitly at least. Most likely a gas leak you didn’t know about that messed with your thoughts—you couldn’t tell. But it was something.

There was something keeping you glued to that desk.

She was about to leave again, but this time you reached out and grabbed her hand, your fingers closing around hers in a firm grip. Both of you froze, the air suddenly charged with… again, something as you held her gaze.

"You said you'd be stepping in," you blurted out once more, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it, but now that it was out there, you couldn’t take it back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching as her mind raced to make sense of your words.

When she’d told you she’d step in, she didn’t think you’d take it seriously. That was her first mistake maybe, but to her, stepping in meant overseeing the preparations, making decisions about the menu, and handling the logistical details of the banquet. She never intended to actually cook alongside you, and quite frankly, she didn’t know how you could possibly think she would.

Were you stupid or purposefully getting on her nerves like you so often seemed to enjoy? Didn't you realize she had other responsibilities, obligations she had to take care of over cooking?

This was literally why she’d sought you out.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"You haven't helped once in the kitchen since we started, and it's basically been a month," You retorted, your tone edged with frustration. "For someone who prides herself on integrity, you sure are amazing at keeping your word."

Your words were like a slap to the face, and Momo felt a surge of defensiveness rise within her. Your claims sure were bold for someone who did nothing but defy her words ever since the beginning.

But beneath the anger, there's a stain of guilt, a nagging feeling that maybe - just maybe - you might have a point. From a certain angle, you could say she did kind of manipulate you into working for her by throwing that phrase; or let’s call it as it was : an empty promise.

Momo sighed as she struggled to find the right words to get herself out of this. Your gaze was merciless on her, probing and insistent as you waited for an explanation. Or just admittance.

"I meant overseeing things, making decisions about the menu, handling the logistics, the usual," she finally explained, her frustration evident in her tone. "I still have a million other things to take care of for that banquet, you know. It's not like I can just drop everything and spend all day cooking with you."

She paused, searching your face for any sign of understanding or sympathy, but all she found was a stubborn determination. A refusal to back down from your position. And despite herself, she felt a small spark of admiration flickered to life within her.

"Look," she continued, her voice softening slightly. "I appreciate your dedication, I really do. But you have to understand that I can't just drop everything to cater to your whims. I have a responsibility to my family, to our guests, to ensure that everything goes smoothly. And if that means I have to delegate certain tasks to you, then so be it."

Her words were only met with silence. She waited for your response, bracing herself for another confrontation. But to her surprise, you nodded, a hint of understanding in your eyes.

The relief washing over her heart at the sight startled her. Why did she want to see it? Why did she want you to understand anyway?

"Alright," you said, your voice calm and measured. "I get it. I just... I guess I was hoping for more, you know? More than just orders and instructions. I wanted to be a part of something. Contribute in a meaningful way."

“You are a part of something, Y/n,” she reassured, and the hand she dropped on your shoulder caught you off guard. Her gaze had softened, but it only made you panic.

Here comes the guilt tripping, you mentally sighed, bracing for impact.

Before you could even muster an attempt to deflect the incoming emotional onslaught, she continued, her words flowing with as much determination as you were used to. "You know, this banquet isn’t just another project for me. It may not seem like it, but I care about it a lot. I take it as a farewell, a thank you to my family and the opportunities they’ve gifted me."

You opened your mouth to intervene, to offer some semblance of resistance, but she plowed on, crushing any attempts to cut in. "And not only are you a part of it, you’re leading it, Y/n. I trust you."

The words hit like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. One of the rare times in your life. Here you were, caught in the midst of a heartfelt moment, unable to muster even a hint of humor to lighten the mood. With a silent sigh, you resigned yourself to the inevitable, silently acknowledging her words.

All you could do was drop your gaze, nodding. You almost felt shameful for trying to ignore her possibly having feelings.

“Thank you for trusting me.” You muttered, fiddling with your fingers before looking back at her. “I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. Food wise at least.”

Momo nodded in acknowledgment, finally removing her hand from your shoulder. Her feet stuttered before turning away. She’d made it to the door pretty quickly, but a sudden thought halted her tracks.

The sudden stop in the sound of her expensive heels caught your attention, and you looked up at her. Your gaze and eyebrows silently inquired her, and she smiled sheepishly. Another display of vulnerability that made your heart jump.

“Can I bring that home?”

Momo nodded towards the desk, referring to the unfinished dessert you’d brought her. She wanted to take it to her mother. Give her a preview of what was to come in a couple weeks.

The request made you smile. A little happy if you dared to say so. You reached for the plate to hand it to her, only to take it with you as you finally got up from that desk. “Wait, let me get you a takeout box.”

“We have takeout boxes?” She said, dumbfounded. You only stared at her, speechless but not surprised. You could only shake your head, before leading the way to the kitchen.

“I was just kidding by the way, I know we have them.”

She didn’t. Something you proved when you made her search for them. You let her walk around and act as though she had any idea where anything was in that kitchen before she gave up and surrendered to your amused, almost mocking gaze.

You added a few more of the day’s tests and leftovers into the box before packing it all up before sending her home with a smile.

She was nice to be around when you weren’t trying to step on each other’s toes.

—

The dining room of the Hirai residence was bathed in soft candlelight, casting a warm glow over an overly elegant table set for two. The head of the table felt empty with her father’s absence, a recurring one lately as he tended to matters deemed important for the company. Momo usually sat on his right, like she did tonight. Her mother, Mrs. Hirai, took her seat right across. Despite the picturesque scene, a palpable tension lingered in the air. Another recurrence Momo dreaded every day for months now.

Momo longed for the laughter that used to bring her family together around this table. The same one she announced her intent on renouncing to the heiress title. The same seat she’d left holding back tears at the words her father had thrown at her over a year ago.

Mr. Hirai never meant any of them, she knew that. He’d told her that, apologized soon after and long ago. But the thought, the scene, the sound… It’ll always tug at her heart, and dig the tears from deep within.

Momo swallowed hard at the sudden flashback, suppressing the pain. She managed to do that quite well; better as time passed.

The only problem was how she still couldn’t say a word at this table.

Conversation flowed in fits and starts as both women picked at their plate. Mrs. Hirai seemed determined to bridge the gap growing between them, her attempts at small talk falling flat against Momo's stony silence.

Then came a time where she was unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. The older woman cleared her throat and fixed her daughter with a searching gaze. "Momo, dear, I must say, this is all absolutely divine. You must have put a lot of thought into it."

Momo glanced up, her eyes meeting her mother's briefly before returning to her plate. "Actually, it’s Y/n who’s behind it all," she admitted, her tone guarded.

Mrs. Hirai's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Y/n? The new chef at your restaurant?"

Momo nodded, her mind already bracing for the inevitable conversation about her future. “A real talent for sure. Lots of potential. The whole experimenting thing is something we needed.”

Concern etched Mrs. Hirai's features before she composed herself, her expression becoming more serious. "Momo, don’t you want to reconsider at least once?”

Momo's shoulders tensed, steeling herself for the argument she knew was about to unfold. "Mom, we've been over this. I've made up my mind."

Mrs. Hirai regarded her daughter with a mixture of resignation and disbelief. "Think about what you’ll be leaving behind, it makes no sense! This company is your birthright, it’s your legacy, you have to uphold it."

Momo sighed, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I know, Mom, but I just don't want it. You’re asking me to be the head of it all as if I haven’t just been taking orders and following plans my whole life. I’m telling you I can’t bear all that, I don’t…"

Tears pricked at Momo’s eyes, “I don’t want to fail.”

"I understand, dear.” Mrs. Hirai's expression softened, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “But you have a responsibility to the family, to your father's legacy."

"I'm trying, Mom! Why do you think I go on all these dates for?" Momo's frustration boiled over, her voice rising slightly.

Mrs. Hirai recoiled slightly at the sudden outburst, her expression pained. "Well, it is taking a while," she murmured, "Maybe you should reconsider your approach."

Momo's jaw clenched, her frustration only mounting. "It's not my fault they're all brainless," she muttered, stabbing at the poor short ribs you’d braised to perfection. "Half of them are grossly aroused by your pockets. If you're fine with that, then tell me, and I'll gladly shorten the process."

Mrs. Hirai sighed, a mix between sorrow and anger. "Momo, we just want what's best for you. The company is important, yes, but so is your happiness."

As much as the company mattered to her parents, Momo’s happiness came above all. They’d worked so hard to provide for her, to ensure she never lacked anything. Especially love. Theirs had birthed this wonderful girl, whom they nurtured with, only wishing for her to find her own.

Seeing their daughter ready to sacrifice such a value broke their hearts more than her leaving the company.

"I know, Mom. I just wish..." Momo's shoulders sagged, her anger dissipating as she met her mother's gaze.

Mrs. Hirai saw the opportunity to mention what's been lingering on her mind. "I noticed your father has been setting you up with Jihyo. She's a capable woman, and the Park family is influential. It could be a good match for both of you, professionally and personally."

Momo scoffed, tearing through the last of her cutlet. "Jihyo’s basically the daughter of our closest enemy. She’s a wild card, Mom.”

Mrs. Hirai blinked, taken aback by Momo's bluntness. It was a true definition, but such frank acknowledgment of their family's associates was rarely spoken aloud. It felt like breaking a taboo.

“Momo—”

“Listen, she's a nice enough person, but she's not what I need nor want. I know Dad thinks that pushing me towards her will make me stay in the company and keep things stable. Nice try, but we’re not six, and it's not fair to either of us."

Mrs. Hirai's face softened, "Momo, he just wants to make you jealous,” she said, a light chuckle leaving her lips.

“What?”

“You’re giving your father too much credit, as always.” She shook her head, clearly amused. “Remember when you actually were six and didn’t want to go to bed? The way he went to grab the dog and act all cuddly with it, instead of you? He’s doing the same with Jihyo. Grabbing the closest thing to replace you, hoping you’ll come tear it up and claim your place again.”

Momo's eyes widened, processing her mother's words. She was over here claiming she was so old and mature now, but he was doing the same thing as when she was young. Getting a hold of the closest, emotionally threatening enough thing around to get her to listen to him.

"So... he's not serious about Jihyo?"

Mrs. Hirai sighed. "He's serious about wanting you to stay. He thinks seeing Jihyo in your place will make you reconsider."

Momo shook her head, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again. "I don't want to be manipulated like this. I want my decisions to be mine, not because Dad is playing games."

Her mother reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on her daughter's. "I understand, dear. But sometimes, those who love us most will do anything to keep us close."

Momo's lip trembled. "I don’t care, it's not fair, Mom. How can you be okay with this?"

Hearing her mother back her father’s insane behavior was heartbreaking. Disappointing. Momo's chest tightened, a nauseating mix of frustration and betrayal surging within her as she caught her mother’s eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I'm not saying I agree with his methods, Momo. But I know he's scared. Scared of losing you."

Momo looked down, her tears finally spilling over. "I just want to live my own life, make my own choices. Why can't he understand that?"

Her mother sighed, squeezing her hand gently. "Because he loves you, and he's afraid. Afraid that without the company, without us, you'll be lost. He doesn't realize how strong you've become."

Momo shook her head, frustration and sadness mingling in her heart. "I wish he could see that."

Mrs. Hirai nodded, her voice gentle. "Show him, Momo. The banquet is yours. Let him see what you can achieve on your own terms. Prove to him that you're capable of making your own choices and succeeding."

Momo took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. "You really think that will make a difference?"

Mrs. Hirai offered her a soft smile. "I do. Just be patient.”

Momo nodded, though the weight of her father's manipulations still pressed heavily on her heart. As she focused back on the food on her plate, her thoughts wandered back to you, and she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope.

That glimmer of hope, it burned softly within her heart. Still too weak for her to feel anything other than relief at the thought of you.

—

“Can you at least pretend to be useful?” You snapped, slamming an oven door shut. “I need everyone on deck, and you’re just standing there complaining!”

The kitchen was bustling, the whole brigade rushing around to perfect their dishes as the deadline for the banquet loomed closer. Momo had scheduled a tasting tonight, placing you at the heart of the chaos. You tried to maintain control and ensure everything was perfect, but it was hard doing so when someone seemed determined to get in your way.

Momo's behavior had shifted over the past two weeks. She'd started paying more attention, trying to be more involved. It wasn't purely altruistic—she saw a silver lining in your presence. One that could solve all her problems. You challenged her in ways she hadn't experienced since her rookie days, igniting a new source of motivation. For once, she felt driven, compelled to prove herself.

So she decided to make you feel at ease—for her own gain, yes, but you won something in the deal, didn't you?

After that night in the office, she made it a point to be around more, offering assistance, and listening to you more.

It was promising.

But she had to ruin that too.

Today, she decided to supervise the brigade as you prepared for tonight's tasting. Her presence was only getting in the way of everyone, especially you. You tried to keep your focus, but Momo's constant hovering and her split attention were grating on your nerves.

As she stood in the kitchen, her phone buzzed constantly with texts from Jihyo. She tried to juggle the mounting pressure from her father, the complications with Jihyo, and her responsibilities; but it was obviously getting too much on one plate.

You glanced at Momo, noticing the tension in her posture, the way she bit her lip as she read her messages. The way she moved, the way her eyes sparked with intensity—it all captivated you for a second, distracting you in ways you didn't need at the moment.

Momo’s irritation mirrored yours. She snapped her head up from her phone, eyes blazing. "I would if you gave me anything remotely interesting to do. I won't just fetch things for you like some errand boy."

You scoffed, crossing your arms, trying to ignore the way her anger only seemed to add to her intensity. “Seriously? Picking and choosing at a time like this? If you were just going to screw me over you shouldn’t have bothered in the first place!”

Momo only chuckled, “Really? Because I could have sworn you’d begged for me to be here.”

“Right.” You nodded. “When I did that I didn’t think you’d take it as an invite to smear yourself all over anything I do again. We agreed you’d let me handle the kitchen, why are you so hellbent on keeping tabs, just let me do my job!”

“This whole thing was my idea.” Momo shot back, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me. That name you’re so proud of means nothing without my backing.”

“You’re not doing anything but sabotaging yourself.” Your voice dropped into a dangerous whisper. “I’m gonna need you to take your eyes off your own ass and look around you. Who do you recognize?”

Momo stayed silent, her mind racing. She glanced around, seeing the faces and eyes focused on her—some confused, some irritated. She realized she couldn’t put a single name to any of them. Her heart sank as the reality of her detachment hit her. The bustling kitchen, the brigade working tirelessly, and she couldn’t even acknowledge their efforts properly.

She felt a knot of frustration and embarrassment tightening in her chest.

You chuckled, “See what happens when you’re too busy playing corporate princess? Just let me f****** handle it.”

Her anger flared again, some kind of defense against the sting of that realization. “You think you’re so indispensable, don’t you?” she hissed. “That your presence is the only thing holding this together? Get over yourself, Y/n.”

“Sure I will. Please, lead the way like you so beautifully know how!” You gestured, hands as sarcastic as your tone.

The tension was palpable, your breaths mingling as you stood face to face, neither willing to back down. For a moment, it seemed like the argument might escalate further, but then Momo broke eye contact, her gaze shifting to her surroundings.

“Your arrogance will be your downfall,” she spat, voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You think you’ve done such a great job running this s***show, huh?”

When she looked back at you, her eyes met yours with nothing but anger as something else she couldn’t quite place tried to ease itself in. She hated the way you managed to make her feel—vulnerable, exposed.

“You better prove it tonight or I’ll make sure you’ll regret ever stepping into this kitchen.”

Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you standing amidst the chaos, that short and fragile truce between you two shattered yet again.

Tasting sure was going to be interesting…

—

That same night, the dining room was elegantly arranged, a stark contrast to the chaos of the kitchen earlier in the day. The table was set with fine china and crystal glasses, casting delicate reflections under the soft, ambient lighting. Momo sat between her parents, a tight smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes. Around the table were key senior staff members, trusted friends, and a few family members, all eager to sample the menu.

You, along with your brigade, moved seamlessly between the kitchen and the dining room. You made sure to put your hard earned skills to use, presenting each course with a practiced grace, detailing the inspiration and techniques behind every dish. Despite the tension in the air linking you to Momo, your professionalism never faltered, though your eyes rarely left the plates you were serving.

Each course was met with nods of approval, murmurs of appreciation, and the occasional question, which you answered with an admirable precision. Momo, however, remained silent, her gaze fixed on her plate. Her parents exchanged glances, concern etching their features.

When dessert was finally brought out, a hush fell over the table. You presented the dish—the deconstructed lemon meringue pie—explaining the delicate balance of flavors and textures. The room filled with the scent of citrus and caramelized sugar.

"Momo," Mrs. Hirai's voice cut through the murmurs, "you haven't said much tonight. What do you think?"

Momo looked up, her eyes meeting her mother's before shifting uncomfortably to the food in front of her. She felt the weight of everyone's gaze, including yours as you had paused in your explanation to listen.

"It's... it's very well done," she finally said, her voice painfully devoid of any enthusiasm. "The team has done an excellent job."

Her father frowned, leaning forward. "You can do better than that. Your opinion matters here. Speak up."

Momo's jaw tightened. She spent the entire evening avoiding your gaze, the argument from earlier still fresh and raw. Both of you were acting like children after a petty feud over a toy, going out of your way to avoid acknowledging each other.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. "The dessert is innovative and beautifully executed. It’s exactly what I envisioned for the banquet."

Your eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and annoyance, recognizing the lie she’d just pushed through her teeth. She hadn’t envisioned anything—you’d fought tooth and nail over every detail up until hours ago.

"Thank you, Momo," Your voice strained in an attempt to stay polite. "I'm glad it meets your expectations."

The air grew thicker with obviously unspoken words. Momo’s parents exchanged another glance, sensing the underlying tension.

Mr. Hirai cleared his throat. "It’s important for us to be honest during these tastings. If there’s anything that needs to be improved, now is the time to speak up."

Momo felt her irritation grow. "I said it's fine, Father."

"Momo, we're just trying to help.” Her mother interjected gently, “If there’s anything you're not happy with, you need to communicate that."

That’s when you decided to step in, your tone sharp. "I think we all understand the importance of feedback. I have to say Momo's input has been invaluable—despite her current silence."

Momo's eyes flashed with anger. "Invaluable? Really? Seems to me like my input has been more of an inconvenience to you."

Your jaw clenched. "I never said that. But if you actually participated instead of hovering, it might be more constructive."

"Participated?” She shot back. “You mean following your every whim? I have better things to do than micromanage your kitchen."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. You caught Momo's parents looking between you and their daughter, realizing just how deep the rift had reached.

Mrs. Hirai spoke up first to try and defuse the situation. "Let’s not forget why we're here. The food is excellent, and we’re all looking forward to the banquet. Let’s focus on that."

Momo took a deep breath, faking a smile. "Yes, Mother. You're right. The food is great. Let's enjoy it."

But the damage was done. The altercation had cast a shadow over the evening and lingered in the air, unresolved and simmering just below the surface.

—

The kitchen was finally empty, the last of the staff having been dismissed for the night. You leaned against the counter, the cool steel pressing into your back as you took a moment to breathe. The day had been long and grueling, but at least the tasting was a success, earning yourself and your brigade a few days of rest before the banquet.

You should feel relieved, at least a little bit, you knew that. Yet you couldn’t break free from the weight of the air around you, mounted with tension from yours and Momo’s altercation.

It was suffocating. The hold she had on you, you could say you’d allowed it if only you could put a stop to it. If you at least wanted to make it stop…

The sound of the door to the kitchen creaking open halted your thoughts and Momo stepped inside. You could tell by the heels clicking softly on the tiled floor, and the way you instantly straightened yourself.

You watched her approach with guarded eyes, noticing her arms crossed over her chest. You mirrored her posture when she came close enough, crossing your own, guarding yourself up.

Momo noticed, eyes flickering to the tattoos peeking from beneath your rolled-up sleeves. She hadn’t seen those a lot, only finding out you had them when she started hanging around the kitchen more. Might have been a reason for her to do so, asking you to go and reach for utensils high-up just to peek.

She shook the thoughts away, finding your eyes and focusing on them. “Hey,” she began, her voice softer than you were used to. “Good job.”

The words almost made you choke. You swallowed hard, mouth drying up at the bitterness suddenly filling your heart. Momo waited for an answer, probably feeling entitled to one before she remembered you’d never given in to her.

“How are you feeling?” She tried again, leaning against the counter across from you. Her soft tone matched her eyes this time, so you allowed yourself to answer her.

“Fine, I guess.” You shrugged, eyes sweeping the floor. “It went well.”

She nodded, hesitating. “Yeah, it did. My parents were impressed.”

“That’s good to hear.” You replied, not looking at her.

Momo took a deep breath, steeling herself. "About earlier... I'm sorry. I’m the one who started yelling. Wasn't really professional of me."

You chuckled, finally meeting her eyes. "Did you just apologize? Didn't know you had it in you."

Her irritation flared once more. "I'm serious, Y/n. I get that this isn’t something you’re used to from me, but I can admit I was out of line."

"Okay, okay," you said, raising your hands. "Apology accepted."

You were so… nonchalant about it. As if you couldn’t care less. If you were honest, you could, but the reaction you were having didn’t exactly reflect that. It wasn’t the one she expected and she didn’t like it.

She almost started another argument before catching herself. Her jaw clenched, holding back some words to replace them with others she deemed more… gentle. Better suited to air out her frustrations. “Why are you still so defensive? The tasting went well anyway, didn’t it? Everything was perfect, my parents loved it, and everything has your name on it. You got what you wanted so why the attitude? Stop being so childish.”

That kind of shut you up. Momo couldn’t believe the silence that followed her words. She was right, you were adult enough to admit that. Just not enough to do it out loud. Not enough not to talk back.

You just had to do it for some reason. Maybe it was because her words struck a nerve, hitting closer to home than you were willing to admit.

"Fine," you muttered. "But you’re not exactly making it easy."

You honestly felt like a child, not being able to process or understand what's happening, so you took out your frustrations the only way you knew how to : throwing a tantrum.

Momo sighed, exasperated. "Are you going to keep this up during the banquet too? Does talking back to me and disregarding me turn you on or something?"

You scoffed, but it’s painfully evident in the moment, that you’re indeed attracted to her. But you’d never admit that either. You wouldn’t because, apart from her being attractive, you can’t tell why that is. “You wish.”

“You know what, maybe I do.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, and Momo caught you struggling. She wanted—no, she needed—to let you know. That you couldn’t hide from her. Yet her lips refused to do anything else than let you know her own truth.

“Maybe then I could make a reason out of your behavior,” she whispered, words trembling in frustration.

Silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but odd. Eerie. Neither of you knew what the next words would be or where they’d come from, but you sure were getting ready for them.

Her eyes weren't looking into yours anymore. They were searching, reflecting, maybe even reaching out to her own fears. You saw it—the shift, the hesitation.

You didn’t expect her to speak up first.

“If you can’t do it for me then do it for yourself,” she started, “If this fails my family will take a hit, sure, but ultimately you and I both know we’ll be fine. Your career’s the only thing on the line here.”

Her voice was cold, icy, cutting through your ego with reminders of where you stood in this environment. In this industry. She jabbed her finger against your chest, making each one of her points clear and painful.

So you grabbed her hand, pushing it down with enough force to make a statement and let your stubbornness shine through yet again

"Don't," your voice low, enough of a threat to pull a reaction out of her too.

Momo's patience snapped. She grabbed a fistful of your white button-up, creasing up your pride and pulling you closer, her eyes not leaving yours.

You noticed for the first time, just how pretty she was and how dangerous that is. Your heart was desperate to make you feel it, practically racing against her own.

“You know what,” a smirk quivered on your lips at how tightly she held onto you. “Maybe this is all about more than just work.” You strained out, words slipping and pushing through the limits you’d drawn around her.

You reveled in the way she let you go. Her fist released your shirt, pushing you away only for her fingers to linger on the fabric and keep you from going too far.

You made a point to step back, biting the inside of your lip when she took a stepped forward.

Maybe it did turn you on a little.

"I warned you earlier, didn't I?” Her eyes burned into yours, as if trying to distract you from the weakness she’s been displaying. “You do whatever you want on Friday. One wrong move, and I might just keep my word this time."

"Maybe you should," you retorted, your eyes flashing with defiance, provoking the spark of anger in her own.

Her proximity was intoxicating. It would be betraying your own words, painting a coward out of yourself, but you still tried to step away. Your foot carefully slipped back, ready to carry you elsewhere and flee.

Halfway there, and you were back to square one. Suffocating under Momo’s impulse, drowning into the feeling of her lips continuously crashing against yours…

She pulled you back in even closer, her fist having claimed itself around the fresh crease of your shirt. You didn’t fight to remove it this time, finding it much easier and pleasant to surrender.

Your kisses were vicious against each other’s. Anything but gentle, fueled by anger and weeks of built up frustrations.

You lost yourselves into a simmering attraction neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Even when you found enough strength to pull apart. And even less when you realized just how much it took to do so.

The air seemed to thin out, charged with more tension than it held moments ago. More than ever before.

Your breaths were heavy, mingling with hers as you stared at each other’s features in shock and confusion.

Momo’s eyes were hazy, lips a neat mess and swollen from the kiss. “This doesn’t change anything.” she whispered, visibly shaken by her own actions.

You only nodded, busy trying yet unable to process the depth of what just happened. She slipped herself away from your arms and you watched her go, a mixture of frustration and longing churning in your chest.

The night felt colder, the kitchen emptier as you stood there, thoughts in a whirlwind. The kiss had changed everything and nothing, leaving both of you with more needs and questions than before.

—

“You kissed her?!”

“No, she kissed me!”

“That doesn’t matter!”

It really didn’t, Jeongyeon was right. So you let her slap you on the arm, the sting a light and playful discipline.

A couple of days passed, and you wasted two days of your hard earned break wallowing on your couch until Jeongyeon came by to drag you out of it for brunch. You complained the whole time, for entertainment purposes, but you were thankful for her.

With how busy you’d been since joining Momo, the two of you had only seen each other once. You made sure to keep her updated though, or rather she did by pestering you and teasing you about both your behaviors. She managed to keep herself up to date with every single little thing that had happened between you and Momo.

All except the latest.

“Like it’s my fault?” You argued, “Who wears a cropped dress shirt to a tasting…”

Jeongyeon chuckled at the state of you. All sprawled out on the table, chin resting on your forearm as you played with a few crumbs of your toast. She noticed the way your eyes wandered far away from this table, probably digging into your memories of Momo in that cropped dress shirt.

How pathetic, to her delight.

She shrugged at your words, reaching for her cup. “Less fabric, less stain prone. She’s got a point.”

You threw a piece of bread at her, but she dodged. “Why did she wear a tie then?” You straightened yourself up in your seat. “Seems to me like that would be just as much fabric as a regular dress shirt.”

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes, “Stop blaming the shirt, and get a grip. You kissed her because you like her.”

“Back. I didn’t kiss her, I kissed her back.”

“That’s still a lot of kissing. So you’re not denying it, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, and snickered when you sighed. “You like her.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exasperated. "I don't even know what I feel, Jeongyeon. It's... complicated."

Jeongyeon smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Feelings usually are. But denying it won't make it any less true."

You groaned. "She's infuriating. One minute she's criticizing everything I do, the next she's—."

"Kissing you," Jeongyeon finished, taking a sip of her coffee.

You wanted to knock that smirk of hers (lovingly) off her lips, but resigned, feeling yourself smile at the joke. Too bad she was being truthful too.

"Yeah.” You fiddled with a napkin in your reach, your smile fading as you thought back to the moment. “And it wasn't just a peck, you know? It was... intense."

Jeongyeon chuckled. "Sounds like there's some serious chemistry there. Maybe all that fighting was just foreplay."

You glared at her, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips again. "You're not helping."

She leaned forward, her expression softening. "Look, Y/n, you've always been passionate about your work. Maybe she sees that and respects it, even if she has a hard time showing it. She's probably just as confused about her feelings as you are."

You sighed again, feeling the weight of her words. "Maybe. But what do I do now? She’s git the worst timing ever, we’ve got the banquet coming up; I can't afford any distractions."

Jeongyeon smiled knowingly. "Just be honest with yourself. And let go of your pride a little, who knows, maybe then she’ll be nice to you. If what you both truly want is for that banquet to work out, you’ll know to set this aside for now. Behave, and the rest will follow. Probably."

You gave Jeongyeon a pointed look, clearly unimpressed by her attempt to absolve herself of responsibility. "Probably?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Jeongyeon shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, I'm just here to nudge you in the right direction. The rest is up to you. Relationships are messy, but you'll never know if you don't try."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair again. "I guess you're right. It's just... a very uncharted territory right now."

Jeongyeon nodded, her expression turning sincere. "I know. But she might just be worth getting into it, I mean… I wouldn’t mind letting my guard down around her.”

You rolled your eyes, "Of course you wouldn't."

"You should do the same," she said teasingly. "Seriously, Y/n."

You looked down, a small smile playing at your lips. "Maybe. We'll see."

"That's the spirit,” Jeongyeon grinned. “Now finish that toast and get back out there. You've got a banquet to hold. And a girl to figure out."

You chuckled, “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Jeongyeon."

"Sure. Just invite me to the wedding."

—

Momo stood in front of the grand mirror in her room, adjusting the final touches of her outfit. The sleek black suit, paired with a statement pearl choker, gave her an air of authority and elegance she loved to see on herself. The sharp lines of the fabric contrasted with the delicate jewelry, creating a powerful and refined look.

She glanced at her reflection, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Her mind raced with thoughts of the evening ahead, the guests, the speeches, the food, and most of all, you.

Since that kiss, everything had become a whirlwind of confusion. You were infuriating, challenging, and utterly impossible to read. The kiss had only complicated things further, as if that relationship needed another tangled strain. What was she thinking… It was hard to focus on anything else when she replayed the moment in her mind, over and over again. Your lips on hers, the intensity, the fire—it had been unexpected, unplanned, and yet, it felt strangely good.

And then there was Jihyo. The situation with her was just as headache inducing. Jihyo's texts, her father's manipulations, and the pressure to stay in the company-everything just kept weighing on her. Yet somehow, in the midst of it all, she didn't mind any of it. As if the kiss had awakened something in her, something allowing her to bear all that weight. She hadn't felt that in a long time. It made her question everything, including her feelings for you and what she truly wanted for her future.

She didn’t like that. But she didn’t exactly mind it either.

As she walked into the venue, her eyes scanned the room, filled with guests fighting for best dressed mingling along with some others… settled for comfort. The atmosphere was buzzing, poking at Momo's racing heart. She felt nervous, not just from the pressure of the evening, but from the thought of seeing you again. She hadn't seen you since that night in the kitchen, and she wasn't sure what to expect.

It took a while, but her eyes finally found you across the room, looking dapper in your chef's uniform. For the first time, as a sign of gratitude and hopefully good news for your future, you were made to wear the official uniform of the Hirai kitchens. The jet black jacket, adorned with the restaurant's insignia, felt weird and new, but the colors … You could get used to them, and the material was soft enough.

You were talking to one of the guests, a polite smile on your face, but she could see the tension in your posture. You must have felt her gaze because you looked up, eyes locking with hers for a brief, electrifying moment.

You took Jeongyeon's advice to heart, determined to behave, to keep things professional despite the need to lash out at your own confusing feelings, and by extension; her. So you approached her cautiously, using the distance separating her from you to try and calm that pounding in your chest.

"Momo," you greeted, your voice came out steady enough, but your eyes betrayed your nerves.

"Y/n," she replied, her own voice calm.

You stood there for a moment, the silence hanging heavy with the memory of your kiss, a palpable tension neither of you could ignore.

"You look nice. Very professional," You finally said, breaking the silence. Your words were sincere, and for a moment, Momo's heart slowed.

"Thank you," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. "You look... different."

You chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension. "Yeah, I do. It feels weird but... good."

You stood still. Just there, awkward and unsure, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. Anyone passing by could tell there was something between you two, although not able to put their finger on it. Not any more than you could. But you tried; to find a way to move forward without letting your emotions get in the way of the night's success.

"I think we should... talk maybe," You said, your voice dropping to a low, almost hesitant tone.

Thankfully Momo nodded, wanting nothing more. Until she remembered where she was. "Yeah, we do. But maybe not here. Later?"

"Later," you agreed, relief evident in your eyes. "For now, let's focus on tonight."

"Agreed," she said, her resolve strengthening. "Let's give them a night to remember."

—

The banquet was in full swing, and Momo couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she watched the guests enjoy the evening. After her brief but intense interaction with you, she’d thrown herself full swing into hosting, greeting the most important guests warmly and ensuring everything was running smoothly. She could see you, now dressed in the official Hirai colors, making your rounds with the staff in the kitchen through the glass doors.

She liked the sight. Enjoyed it even.

As the main courses began to be served, Momo took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes scanning the room. Everything seemed perfect, but she knew better than to let her guard down, and just as she was about to step back into the fray, one of the staff members approached her, looking visibly distressed.

"Ms. Hirai, we have a problem in the kitchen," the staff member whispered urgently, causing a surge of anxiety within her.

“What kind of problem?”

"The main course... there's an issue with the meat—well, it’s more the ovens not working properly—but we don't have enough time to fix it without some quick thinking."

Momo's heart picked up the pace again. This could ruin the entire evening.

Without a second thought, she hurried towards the kitchen, her mind racing with solutions. As she entered, she found you there, looking equally concerned.

“Y/n,” she called out, catching your attention. “We have a problem.”

The tension between you both flared up instantly, old arguments resurfacing in the heat of the moment. You tried to stay focused, but her presence was both a distraction and a relief. You were stressed, and seeing her only added to the pressure.

Momo crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's going on? Why wasn't I informed earlier?"

Your jaw tightened, trying to keep your frustration in check. "It's under control. We have a backup plan. I'm using the emergency meat, but we need to cook it quickly and differently."

"Good," she said, biting back her irritation. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

You paused, debating on teasing her about stepping in, but it wasn't the time nor place. "Can you go around and make sure everyone is on time? Report back to me if there's any issue."

She nodded, her gaze softening slightly. "Got it."

As she moved through the kitchen, checking on the staff and ensuring everyone was on schedule, she couldn't help but notice the tension in your posture. Despite the pressure, you remained in control, your hands moving with precision as you prepped the backup meat. She saw the way your brows furrowed, the way you bit your lip in concentration. It struck her how much you actually cared, how deeply invested you were in all this.

When she returned to you, she gave a quick update. "Everyone's on track. No issues so far."

"Good," you replied, a brief moment of relief flashing in your eyes before the stress settled back in. "Thank you."

Momo only nodded. She wanted to say more, to ease your tension, but the words wouldn't come. So she just took a step back, intending to head back out when her eyes caught sight of a pile of uncut vegetables next to you.

"Is anyone on these?" she asked, motioning to the vegetables.

You cussed under your breath at the sight of them, wiping the sweat from your forehead. The meat chaos had messed with your train of thoughts... "Damn it, no. I completely forgot."

Momo stepped closer, pushing her sleeves up. "Relax. I'll handle it."

"What—Are you sure?"

You would question the move, but the help she was offering was too precious.

Momo nodded, already reaching for a knife. "Yeah. How do you want them cut?"

The way she proceeded to handle that knife shouldn’t have been a surprise. She did belong to a respectable culinary lineage, but seeing her in action was something else entirely.

You felt a strange sense of relief wash over you as you witnessed her skills from the corner of your eye. The fact that she was actually helping you made the situation feel a little less overwhelming.

The two of you worked side by side, and you could feel the tension easing up its hold onto the two of you as the minutes passed.

It was suddenly easier to breathe.

—

Much later in the night than you’d have liked, you stood outside the restaurant, the air of the night cool against your skin as you savored the last drags of your cigarette.

The streets were calm, the occasional hum of traffic in the distance adding a weirdly soothing track to the end of it all.

The banquet, everything had finally come to an end, and successfully, but the lingering thoughts of Momo and your unresolved tension clouded your mind.

You mindlessly watched as the guests left one by one, their laughter and chatter fading as they climbed into expensive cars and drove away. The soft glow of taillights disappeared around corners, leaving the street empty and silent every time.

You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the dark sky above.

Sure, that little moment in the kitchen earlier was nice, but… There was still a lot to work through.

A familiar sound of stilettos against the rough concrete pulled your eyes off and away from some sweet looking Mercedes. It didn’t compete with the sight you knew was awaiting

Momo stepped outside and startled you with a soft, “You smoke too much.”

You looked over, a faint smile on your lips. “Well, I’m trying to quit, but I deserve this one.”

She chuckled, taking a seat beside you. You watched her, feeling bad for the expensive suit you’d eyed any chance you got. All night. “You’ll mess your pretty clothes up,” you said, stubbing out the cigarette.

“Who cares,” she brushed off. “Night’s over anyway.”

You nodded. Couldn’t argue with that. “Congratulations, by the way. Was your mom proud?”

Momo smiled at the recent memory of her parents congratulating and thanking her for her hard work. “Yeah, they both were.”

You eyed her fingers as they fiddled with each other. It made you smile, how no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to hide that shy part of her.

“Was the outfit supposed to be a statement?” you asked, and she shuffled, telling you it might have been. It amused you. “You shouldn’t have. Did it shake you up that much?” You smirked as though you hadn’t gone to cry about it to Jeongyeon.

“About that night…” she trailed off, silently hoping you’d take the reins.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell your suitors.” You shrugged, half-jokingly.

A small, playful but sincere gesture that slapped Momo in the face. She had completely forgotten about her little side quest with the pressure of the past few days. And also because you’ve been the only thing on her heart’s mind since your kiss. Before stepping out to join you, she even cut things off with Jihyo through a text, thinking it was finally the end of it all. She’d forgotten about all the other ones.

“Oh.” She managed to say after slowing her thoughts down. “Thanks.”

“No problem…”

A few long and awkward seconds passed.

“Wait, are you gonna carry on with those?”

Momo pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t know.”

She really had no idea. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to quit the company anymore. Until her dad told her he’d slowly been warming up to her decision as he left moments ago, she forgot this was her last project.

It was great news, yeah, if it weren’t for one little detail you helped her realise a little too late.

She didn’t want it to be.

Momo cleared her throat, her lips opening and closing a few times before managing to get the words out. “Are you going to stick around?” she tentatively asked.

You shrugged, playing it cool although you had a feeling her question meant good news. Hopefully in both professional and personal parts of your life. “If you want me to.”

Momo grinned, “I wouldn’t mind.”

You nodded, suppressing a smile. “Will you?” you asked, and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Will you stick around too? Or are you quitting and leaving the country to become a dance teacher on the other side of the world?”

“How do you know I dance?” She laughed.

“You’re a public figure, Momo. Investments make headlines, especially the heartfelt ones,” you reminded, referring to the time she donated a generous amount to her old dance school in need.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Not really. Just news stuff.”

“Right.” You felt her eyes on you, rightfully suspicious. Another silence settled, although this one was a little less awkward and shorter. “Have you always wanted to be a chef?”

You simply nodded at the question, not wanting to dull the moment with details. “Thank you for the opportunity by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you, how rude of me.”

“You’re welcome,” she chuckled. “You deserved it. A lot of guests asked me to send their compliments to the chef.”

Her nudge to your ribs made you pull away instinctively, the sudden contact sending a rush of warmth to your chest. You looked down, hiding your smile as your mind rewound back to your first meeting. “You never called me chef, by the way.”

“And I never will,” she said assuredly, making you chuckle. It was all you could do for now with your focus on her hand fiddling with your own, watching as she intertwined her fingers with yours, the other caressing the exposed and sketched skin of your forearm.

She sure had gotten comfortable. The way she leaned into you, her touch becoming more familiar and assured... You wondered where it came from for a second before remembering how bad of a job you were doing at hiding the effect she had on you so far.

Well, if that’s what it got you…

“Bet on that?” You teased. A little provocation, for grounding purposes.

Momo just nodded though, still assured, and it made you even more curious about what she had in mind for her to be. “Why not?” you probed.

She only smiled, observing your features long enough to make you blush in the night. She inched her face closer to yours, her hand squeezing around yours. It felt only natural for you to lean in, and the nose scrunch she did was new, but the grin that came with it had you guessing it was a good thing. She couldn’t help but giggle as you leaned in, and you almost forgot what had pushed you so close until she spoke up.

“I’ll call you much better, and more flattering things than ‘chef’… darling,” she whispered.

You folded immediately, and this time, you were the one that kissed her. This one was much sweeter, softer. Flavors from the night dancing on your lips, teasing the ones on your tongues. Dessert and smoke, a blend of sweetness and bitterness that felt just right.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, you felt her lips turn into a smirk against yours.. “Doesn't mean we’re done arguing, though.”

“It doesn't?”

She shook her head, her free hand reaching for a displaced lock of your hair. “Not until you quit smoking.”

“I told you I’m already trying to.”

“I know, but I also happen to think you look hot doing it.”

“Can’t wait to fight about me being hot then.”

———

epilogue if you want

@cry4mina thank you for supportively bullying me to finish this i hope you liked it

[sideysvault]

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖ HC’s of Deadpool having a vamp!partner ˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔

Pairing: Wade Wilson x gn!Reader

Established relationship wc 386

Warnings: Minors dni. Mentions of some disturbing themes (in a joking manner)

────────

 Wade Wilson loves having a partner that is not at all phased by blood or violence. He also loves that you don’t see those things as an integral part of who he is. (Or at least, his only characteristic) 

 You two would absolutely engage in some kinky sex. (Wade would even insist you should eat tiny bits of his flesh so you guys could be together forever. At the end of the day, he could regenerate in no time). But for their partner, that would be taking it a bit too far. Even for a vampire. 

 “I wish I had a super sexy tight cunt so you could drink from me every month. Wouldn’t that be so cool?”

 “Wade…” 

“Does this technically count as necrophilia?” 

 “Wade!?” 

You two would bond over the fact that you are a tad bit removed from the usual aspects of human experience. Pool has never felt the comfort of being truly known. Being able to relate to their partner and be understood with no judgment is priceless to him. Even if he doesn’t always admit it.  

At first, he would be shy about showing you his face without the mask. However, you assure him that you have truly seen it all. You are not easily impressed. When he finally feels comfortable enough to do it, your eyes tear up a bit. If it’s possible, you think you might love him even more than before. 

 “I just think it’s super sad that you aren’t able to see yourself in a mirror. You are smoking hot, babe”.+

“That’s not really how it works. But thank you. I guess”.

His partner would occasionally join on his missions

When you stayed home and Pool came back from a particularly tough day, you’d always make sure to patch him up. Even if it was make-believe. Even if it wasn’t really that necessary with his powers. But you knew how much physical contact and normalcy could help someone like you two. So you took care of Wade. Every. Time. It makes him feel human. And you completely adored him. 

“Honey, I need to ask a question. It’s serious”. 

“Are you going to say something stupid?”

“How dare you?! I’m so hurt right now…”

 “Ok, Pool. Spill it”.

 “Do you know Count Dracula?” 

“…” 

────────

Notes: Hello beautiful anon! Thank you so much for being my first request. I’ll love you forever. As always feedback is welcome. I hope I did some justice to your request! Idk much about vampire characters (I’m sorry). xox - Sidey

Based on this request.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I think we should throw the two twst French men into a room and observe how they interact 😳 👉👈

I FULLY AGREE WITH THIS… Let them congregate 😤 for French-on-French violence science!!

P.S. I think Rollo should speak full-on French just let me have this 😳 (Shoutout to @pointedly-foolish, who generously translated my English dialogue to French for this post~)

Like Fire, Hellfire.

Another school day was drawing to a close.

Rollo had settled into a comfortable routine by now. Keep his head low, avoid eye contact, speak little, stick to his textbooks and hug the quiet corners. In this manner, he avoided incidents with the NRC students.

His peers had filed out of the classroom long ago, racing off for extracurriculars, their friends, their dorms. They had places to be, people to be with. He didn’t.

… Good riddance. Rollo released a sigh as he retrieved his staff. Already, his mind was making a pass through a checklist. He had to hurry back to his temporary housing, prepare his usual dinner, cleanse himself of grime—

Click.

The classroom door suddenly swung closed right in front of him. A gloved hand on it, keeping the exit sealed off.

Rollo froze when he sensed a warm body behind him—from where the gloved hand had extended. A terrible realization sunk in: he had been caged, trapped between the door and some stranger.

Just his luck.

He glared over his shoulder, glimpsing his captor. It was a man in a golden bob, his vest a deep violet and his armband bearing the sword-strikeb apple emblem of Pomefiore. A hat with a generous brim shadowed piercing green eyes and a smile sharper than knives.

“Roi du Mouchoir,” the blonde man greeted with the tip of his feathered headwear, “bonjour.”

“You are Rook Hunt, if I’m not mistaken. I remember you from the... masquerade.” Rollo’s voice was tight. “Do you care to explain why it is that you’ve cornered me like this?“

“Désolé!! Pardon the intrusion.” Rook’s cheery tone seemed to indicate that he was, in fact, not sorry at all. “I consider myself a huntsman—and as it just so happens, I’ve found quite the fascinating quarry. Can you guess who it is?”

“... I have no quarrel with you, but I am not a wild beast to be hunted down. You wicked NRC mages seem to rely on the basest forms of amusement." Rollo folded his arms. "Kindly remove yourself—you're impeding my schedule."

“It will only take but a moment of your time!”

“I haven’t a moment to spare. Find another subject to amuse yourself with.”

« Non, non! » Rook wagged a finger and winked, sending a chill down Rollo’s spine. « Mon vœu n'est que de mieux vous connaître. »

I want to get to know you better.

Rook's words were sweet and low and intimate, like a lover's croon. The familiarity with which he spoke made everything in Rollo shrivel up and die. Disgust rose up like bile.

« Et j'aimerai être loins, loin de cet endroit damné, » Rollo snapped, his tongue laced with venom, « mais lamentablement, on ne peut pas tout avoir, n'est-ce pas? »

And I want to be far, far away from this wretched place—but I suppose we can’t all have what we wish for, now can we?

Rook didn’t miss a single beat. He held up an index finger.

« Auriez-vous l'obligeance de me donner un sourire? C'est tout ce que je demande! »

Would you be so kind as to give me a smile? That’s all I ask!

« ... Pourquoi? »

... Why?

« Je ne vous ai pas encore vu dans toute votre sincerite. Ta beauté. »

I have yet to see your most genuine self. Your beauty.

The phrasing of it rubbed Rollo the wrong way. His patience at last caved, and his tongue switched back, unleashing irritation unfettered upon the huntsman.

"Enough of this charade. You know perfectly well what sort of man I am. There is no need for you to play ignorant. To you villains, I am nothing more than a monster. That is the end of the story.”

"Ah, you speak of the portrait of a city dyed in crimson." Rook's eyes held a playful twinkle. "And you, its artist, driven by despair to bring about the end of the world as we know it."

"If you are going to waste my time, at least be more succinct with your blabber."

"Bien sûr." Rook chuckled and held out both hands, palms facing up. "That is only but one side of you: your lowest point. What I seek is a full spectrum of oneself, its mirror. A Roi du Mouchoir at his most jubilant and most radiant, emotions unclouded. Smiling."

Rollo scowled.

"It is physically impossible for me to force even a fake one when I am surrounded by blithering oafs," he shot back. Like yourself, he silently added. "Not to mention these grounds are infested with sin. How is anyone meant to be smiling in this scenario?"

Rollo, of course, discounted the stupid grin currently on Rook's face. Idiots didn't deserve the consideration.

Frustration curled at his temples all the same.

He could not understand it. Pain, suffering, loss—were those not shared experiences of the human condition? Yet here was a fool who seemed to take it all in stride, laughing as he winded down the path of life and smelled the roses that peppered it.

Saw the fairness of the world when Rollo could not.

Embers sparked under his skin, as if summoned up by a struck match. Rollo clenched his jaw. He didn't like it—didn't like that this buffoon and his flowery prattle were getting to him.

Rollo took a sharp breath in, then released it.

"... Move. You've held me up for long enough."

With the butt of his staff, he prodded Rook back, releasing his hold on the door. Rollo yanked it open, not even bothering to toss one last withering look back at the huntsman before passing through.

"Roi du Mouchoir!!"

Rook was likely at the doorframe now, calling after him.

"Do NOT follow me under any circumstances," Rollo said without looking, "or I will report you to the proper authorities for violating my personal boundaries."

It’s a wonder why he hasn’t been already.

“Fufufu. A strong rebuttal… however, I won’t admit defeat!” Rook continued, undeterred by the vitriol. Rollo could hear the smile in him. “I promise you, I will capture your smile someday. Le Chasseur d’Amour down not give up on the hunt quite so easily!”

Tch. What a meddlesome man.

Rollo grimaced into his handkerchief as he hurried down the hallway. With each step, Rook’s voice grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared entirely.

Clearing the courtyard, a sense of filthiness set in, clinging to Rollo’s robes like patches of a broken web. Cleaning off the day would have to come second to expunging the memory of the huntsman. The proximity of him.

Rollo wanted to retch all over again.

Rook was of sight, perhaps, but not out of mind.

[theflyindutchwoman]

I trust your judgement and your interpretations of scenes always make so much sense, so here’s my question for you: what was your take on the Tim x Blair elevator scene at the beginning of 6x08? It definitely rubbed me the wrong way and I’m having trouble making sense of it.

Honesty? I'm a bit at a loss… All I know is this scene rubbed me the wrong way too. It painted a picture in my head and I would like very much to have it removed. Fair warning : I'm going to be a tad negative below the cut.

I think it would help if we knew how long had passed between 6.07 and 6.08 or how many sessions Tim had attended… But my guess is, not that long and not that many. So it already felt out of place for him to be suddenly this comfortable with his therapist - especially in light of his behaviour with her in the previous episode. Still, that could have worked and showed his progress. But for him to be flirting like that… I was not prepared. It's not like this is his default mode. Now, I realise that may very well be me reading into things but apparently I'm far from being the only one… so if that wasn't the intent, then something went wrong in the execution.

And that's the thing : I'm still unsure what the intention behind this undertone was. If that was to highlight Tim's progress with his therapy, then there were other ways to depict that. If it was to show how he's still spiralling but pretending that everything is alright, then this wasn't it either. If it was his attempt to find out more about Mad Dog, then that was wrong of him for so many different reasons. If it was to imply he was somehow suspicious of Dr London, then it needed to be more obvious because his face after he left the elevator didn't clear things up. And here's the other issue with this : as far as we know, he didn't have any reason to suspect anything. The fact that Blair was talking with Mad Dog and apparently got into the wrong elevator wasn't a good enough reason for me (not without any prior knowledge of her shadiness). If something had happened during therapy that would make him question her, then we needed to see that. Ironically, this scene could have worked if it had happened at the hospital, when Tim was actually started to get suspicious of a potential leak inside the department… Or towards the end of the episode. By then, you could argue that he was trying to play her. But here, at the beginning of the episode? Not so much. And it it was to show how she was using her position to get information, then she should have been the one to make the move. She should have acted like she did with Aaron so we could catch that pattern.

As it is, without further context, it's hard not to take it at face value and see it for what it is : Tim flirting with his therapist. And coupled with that lingering shot of the door closing in after he entered her office in 6.07 (an image I didn't mind back then), it is sending a very mixed message. One that was absolutely unnecessary in my opinion because it doesn't add anything to the storyline. Maybe next episode will clarify some things on the matter. Maybe it really was unintentional. But at the moment, I'm still baffled by this scene. I just don't like how Tim was portrayed here.

[sambhavami]

Krishna Vaasudeva - Bani Basu - 8

This is just a partial summary and the magic is all Dr. Basu's!

Additional warning: this part has an explicit scene, so judge your own comfort with respect to that. There's nothing fancy in terms of twists and turns, just Krishna marries Jamabavati in the end. If you aren't comfortable with explicit scenes, there's no need to push through, you won't miss much of the story.

Also, it contains very problematic depictions of "tribals-in-general" as well as the concept of consent, both of which I am very uncomfortable with the author's treatment here, so be wary of that as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The younger Vaasudeva’s face fell as he saw Balarama. Did someone insult Revati again? He is trying his level best to fix the situation, but what can he do if the other women won’t listen to him? They all love Rukmini, but that makes his position more awkward with his brother when he sees how Revati is treated in contrast. Krishna thinks to himself, the unwavering loyalty to him of the Yadavas that he had seen in the war, was that all a lie?

Did you call for me brother? What happened?

Don’t pretend you don’t know, Krishna!

Rama didn’t call him Kanu. Krishna replied, a bit annoyed, I really don’t know what you mean.

Why would you? You’ve become such a big man- Dwarikadheesh, after all!

Krishna said angrily, you know that I am not that, brother, and no one else has complained about my attitude so far!

Satrajit maybe a simple businessman, but you can’t take his possessions by force simply because you hold the power!

Krishna balked, who said I took anything from him?

He himself!

After a while, Satrajit walked through the door, trembling….I-I mean, you are the only one I showed that gem, and now I am not finding it…so…

So, you started telling people I’m a thief?!

No, I mean, you identified this gem, when I showed you, as the syamanaka diamond, right?

Yes, and?

Then, you only said to give it up to the royal coffer, and you will give me the equivalent price for it, didn’t you?

I did, but what is your point? Krishna said angrily.

And you also said, that this gem when kept under the ownership of one person, will bring great misfortune to them, didn’t you? So, I figured, for my benefit…I mean, I know you meant well…just in case, you have removed it from my custody, for everyone’s benefit…that won’t be thievery now, would it? You are like a God to us; it is only natural that you will take what you like. You have protected us from such grave dangers; can we keep anything for ourselves without accepting your ownership over it first? In fact, even if you put it on a necklace and parade it around, we commoners should have nothing to say, right? Whatever you wish to have, we must surrender unto you, don’t we, Vaasudeva?

With every word, Balarama’s face grew redder, and Krishna’s paler. Satrajit laughed in him heart. Such a big, strong man this Krishna is…and now look at him! Practically trembling, and he, a mere gold-merchant managed to humble the great Vaasudeva!

Balarama too looked at Krishna. The way he was staring at the man, there had to be some truth in what he is saying, right?

Krishna, meanwhile, was trying his best to control himself. He refused every penny offered to him Mathura, emptied all his winnings from the south into the coffers, travelled over hill and dale to find the money to build this whole city and now the same people dare accuse him of stealing a petty gem? Yeah, I guess the stories about him stealing butter had reached Dwarika, but was that enough to implicate him in this?

Controlling himself, Krishna asked, tell the truth, Mister, was there no other person who knew about the gem?

Satrajit admits, yes, his brother knew, who was supposed to move it to a safer place but recently was found dead in the forest. So, Vaasudeva, he says, weren’t you out for a hunt the same day?

You lost a brother for that gem, then? Didn’t I warn you, Satrajit?

So, that’s how greedy you are? Balarama interjected, making Krishna turn, his mouth agape. You didn’t think twice before murdering someone over this?! Krishna stared at his brother for a second before storming out, heading straight towards the forest.

It is true, that these Yadavas had saved his life, protected and educated him, and then catapulted to the top of their society, but how much more should Krishna pay, until this debt is finally paid in full? How much more insults should he bear, in the same of gratitude? And his brother?! The one who has known him since his birth, the one who has stayed with him like a shadow up until now? Who can he even trust, if Balarama too is not the person that he thought him to be?

Why is everyone so afraid of him? Did they forget about the numerous tribes who reside in these forests and who shoot poisonous arrows at any human they see? Why must Krishna always be the first one to be blamed?

Krishna found Satrajit’s brother’s body quite easily. Beside him, lay a dead lion. No! Just a man, wearing a passable costume of one. The gem was nowhere to be found. Seeing another trail of footsteps, Krishna followed that. In a cave nearby, he saw a boy playing catch with the gem!

The boy might drop and scratch it, such a waste of beauty it will be, Krishna thought, as he went and snatched it out of the child’s hand. Immediately, a man wearing a bear’s skin lunged at him. No matter how many times Krishna tried to explain, the man didn’t seem to understand his language as he kept trying to get a hold of Krishna. Sighing, Krishna started to fight back, and soon, had the man lain on his back, defeated. Soon, another man came out of the crowd and spoke in broken deva-bhasha. He explained that the man was their leader, Riksharaja.

Krishna quickly explained the story to the man, who relayed it to his king. The King now looked apologetic and said something to the man. The man turned to Krishna, Our king will return the gem, but you have to first become his friend, promise never to invade us and then marry his daughter. Otherwise, we will consider that you have insulted our tribe!

Krishna swallowed. Marry one of them?! How could he even take her back to the city? And how will the family take to her? Ignoring his protests, they brought out a dark-complexioned, strong looking woman wearing only an animal skin around her waist, and asked her for her consent.

Staring at Krishna for a second, the woman did something unthinkable. In one jump, she climbed on Krishna, her legs wrapped around his waist, and spoke in the same broken dialect, Yes, I will marry you right now, right this second! She said, using the familial ‘tu’ to address him, as she rubbed her face in the nape of his neck.

Krishna coughed a bit, owing to a smell, and then remembered with some amusement at how much time it had taken Rukmini to even be alone in the same room as him, and even then, how scared she had been, and now look at this one in contrast! Then, with some guilt he remembered, she is carrying his child as of now, and he was hit by a pang of guilt for leaving without telling her like this.

Bhadre, Krishna controlled himself, detach from me, please.

Turning to the translator he said, a bit more rudely than he was trying to be, explain to your girl that this is not how the women in our society carry themselves. I cannot marry her if she behaves in this manner.

The woman replied herself, I understand your language, you know? I’ve even seen your rules, hiding behind trees. I hate your customs! But, if I get to marry a strong, virile man like you, then I will learn your stupid rules!

Okay then, Krishna sighed, and immediately he felt like a hurricane hit him in the face. The woman had lunged at him, knocking him on to the ground tearing at his clothes.

Krishna exhaled sharply. He had never known a woman to be so forceful. Lifting her off himself with some effort he asked, don’t you ever bathe?

Why would anyone bathe? She asked incredulously, you’re wasting our time, come on, hurry up and help me…

Um, do you at least brush your teeth, then?

Yes, I do, with the small branches you get.

Okay, don’t you wear clothes other than this…skin?

Where would I get other clothes? I am not rich like your women that I’ll parade around in fancy silks! I get it, you hate me, don’t you? The woman pushed him into the ground once more and pranced away, crying.

Krishna realized with incredulity, that much as he was trying to find an excuse to escape, his body had begun to respond to her advances. He hadn’t felt the same way for a long time. The last time was in fact during one of the raasa dances back in Vrindavan. Krishan sighed, for so long he has been roaming around like a stray dog. He left his friends, family, her, everything behind for this thankless job he has now.

Krishna sighed again, his mind was clear again. He thought to himself, even if he has to fight the Riksharaja, he won’t marry his girl now. He cannot deal with a wife who would go crying to her daddy every time something didn’t go her way. But, just then, Jambavati jumped on him from some corner, knocking the wind out of him both literally and figuratively.

Finally, when she was satisfied with her due that she had taken from him, she sat beside him, dropping kiss after kiss on his cheeks and forehead. Look, now do you like me? she laughed, a twinkle in her eye.

Krishna looked at her. From somewhere she’d found some leaves and weaved them together to cover herself. Fantastic, Krishna admitted, suppressing a laugh.

I even took a bath for you, my body’s still wet, you know, she said, as water still dripped from her locks, as she pulled Krishna’s hands over her limbs and curves. See, she said, I even brushed my teeth, and wore flowers on my head for you.

Krishna smiled in spite of himself. Fine, he said, but for now you will stay here. I will send some maid to teach you our customs, and when you are ready, then I will take you to my house.

Would you remember to come back, pinky promise?

Yes, pinky promise!

After only about a year when Jambavati became the mother to a healthy little boy, only Krishna realized how that happened.