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finlywealth · 1 year ago

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Unveiling the Best Canadian Mastercard Options: Your Path to Financial Empowerment

Are you looking for the perfect Mastercard to complement your Canadian lifestyle and financial goals? Look no further! In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the best Canadian Mastercard options that can provide you with unrivaled benefits, rewards, and financial flexibility. Whether you're a frequent traveler, a savvy shopper, or someone who values cashback rewards, we've got you covered.

1. BMO World Elite Mastercard

For those who love to travel and explore new horizons, the BMO World Elite Mastercard is a fantastic choice. This premium card offers an array of travel benefits, including a generous signup bonus of BMO Rewards points, airport lounge access, comprehensive travel insurance coverage, and no foreign transaction fees. Plus, you'll earn points for every dollar you spend, which can be redeemed for flights, hotels, and more.

2. Scotiabank Gold American Express Card

If you're a frequent spender on groceries, dining, and entertainment, the Scotiabank Gold American Express Card might be your ideal match. This card offers lucrative rewards on everyday purchases, including 5x points on groceries and dining, 3x points on gas, transit, and streaming services, and 1x point on all other purchases. The points you accumulate can be redeemed for travel, gift cards, or used to cover eligible purchases on your statement.

3. Tangerine Money-Back Credit Card

Simplicity meets rewards with the Tangerine Money-Back Credit Card. If you prefer a straightforward cashback system, this card offers 2% cash back in up to three categories of your choice (e.g., groceries, gas, recurring bills), and 0.5% cash back on all other purchases. The best part? There's no annual fee, making it an excellent option for those seeking rewards without any additional costs.

4. American Express Cobalt Card

The American Express Cobalt Card is perfect for the modern urbanite, offering a flexible rewards program that aligns with your lifestyle. With a focus on dining and entertainment, this card offers 5x points on eligible eats and drinks, 2x points on travel, and 1x point on all other purchases. The Membership Rewards points you earn can be used for a variety of rewards, including travel, merchandise, and statement credits.

5. RBC Cash Back Mastercard

If you're looking for a straightforward cashback card with no annual fee, the RBC Cash Back Mastercard is a solid choice. This card offers 2% cash back on groceries, up to 1% on other eligible purchases, and an additional 1% on payments made through RBC's mobile wallet. It's a great option for building your credit while earning cash back on your everyday spending.

Before choosing the best Canadian Mastercard for you, consider your spending habits, lifestyle, and financial goals. Each of these cards has its unique perks and benefits, so take the time to evaluate which one aligns with your needs. By selecting the right card, you'll not only enjoy financial convenience but also reap the rewards that will enhance your overall financial well-being.

Conclusion

At FinlyWealth, we understand that your financial journey is unique, and choosing the right Mastercard is a crucial step in that journey. We hope this guide has provided valuable insights into the best Canadian Mastercard options available today. Remember, the best card for you depends on your personal preferences and financial objectives. Explore the features, rewards, and benefits of each card, and take the next step towards optimizing your financial empowerment.

To stay updated on the latest financial tips, news, and insights, be sure to subscribe to our newsletter. We're committed to helping you make informed financial decisions that lead to a brighter and more prosperous future. Choose wisely, and embark on a rewarding financial journey with the perfect Canadian Mastercard!

#credit card processing companies in Canada #best canadian mastercard

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renthony · 10 months ago

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Weird trend I've noticed:

When it comes to Disney-owned television shows, people seem much more willing to recognize that Disney just owns it, Disney didn't make it. The creators, writers, and actors are more likely to be credited and celebrated within fandom spaces, and even people who dislike it will acknowledge that it was made by the individual artists.

Disney movies, though? They don't seem to get that as often. The movies are much more likely to be treated as if the vague entity of "Disney" made it. Fans will say "Disney made a great movie," and critics will say that "Disney made a piece of crap." The directors and writers get mentioned much more rarely.

For example, people know that Dana Terrace created The Owl House and Alex Hirsch created Gravity Falls and Matt Braly created Amphibia, but far fewer people seem aware that Turning Red was directed and co-written by Domee Shi, Encanto was directed by Jarded Bush and Byron Howard, and Moana was Musker & Clements.

I'm sure a decent amount of that is due to the way Disney itself markets the films as part of their brand. Show title cards will list the title and the "created by" credit, but you never see that in film title cards (if the film even has a title card). The company wants you to look at the movies and only see the corporate branding. They want the movies to lead to new theme park attractions and merch deals, where they just don't put that level of marketing into their television productions nine times out of ten.

I do often think fandom spaces could be more diligent in learning the names of the artists behind the films, though. Disney didn't make them, the workers did, and it's the workers who get exploited in the process. At least give them the credit instead of the studio.

#original post #disney

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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“Brand safety” killed Jezebel

I'll be at the Studio City branch of the LA Public Library this Monday, November 13 at 1830hPT to launch my new novel, The Lost Cause. There'll be a reading, a talk, a surprise guest (!!) and a signing, with books on sale. Tell your friends! Come on down!

Progressives: if you want to lose to conservatives, all you need to do is reflexively praise and support everything conservatives turn into a culture-war issue, without considering whether they might be right. Because sometimes…they're right.

Remember early in the Trump presidency, when conservatives all woke up and discovered that America's spy agencies – excuse me, "the intelligence community" – were dirty-tricking psychos who run amok, lawlessly sabotaging democracy? Progressives have been shouting this ever since Hoover's FBI tried to blackmail MLK into killing himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FBI%E2%80%93King_suicide_letter

But millions of progressives forgot about COINTELPRO, CIA dirty tricks and CIA mass spying when this "intelligence community" temporarily set out to wrong-foot Trump. Remember James Comey votive candles?

https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2019/08/30/james-comey-fbi-memo-leaks-trump-inspector-general-report-column/2157705001/

Anthropologists have a name for this phenomenon, in which one side reverses its positions because their sworn enemies have done so. It's called schizmogenesis, and it goes like this: "If they hate it, we love it":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/18/schizmogenesis/

Schizmogenesis is an equal-opportunity delusion. Within living memory, white evangelicals supported abortion, because their sworn enemies – Catholics – opposed it. Some of those white Boomer women who voted Trump because abortion was literally the only issue they cared about held the opposite position on abortion not so long ago – and completely forgot about it:

https://text.npr.org/734303135

The main purpose of the culture war isn't immiserating marginalized people – that's its effect, but its purpose is to distract low-information turkeys (working people) so they'll vote for Christmas (the ongoing seizure of power by American oligarchs). For the funders of conservative movement politics, the cruelty isn't the point, it's merely the tactic. The point is power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/09/turkeys-voting-for-christmas/#culture-wars

Which brings me to "woke capitalism." Conservative string-pullers have whipped up their base about the threat of companies embracing social causes. They (erroneously) claim that corporations have progressive values, and that big business is thumbing the scales for causes they despise. The purpose here isn't to sow distrust of capitalism per se. Rather, it's to stampede talk-radio-addled supporters into backing the oligarchy's agenda. Remember when culture war leaders told their base to support being gouged on credit-card junk fees "to own the libs?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

That's schizmogenesis working against the conservative rank-and-file, tricking them into taking the side of a cartel of wildly profitable payment processors who are making billions by picking their pockets (credit card fees are up 40% since the covid lockdowns), because (checks notes), Target pays these profiteers a lot to process its payments, and Target sells Pride merch (no, really):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

It's easy to point and laugh at conservative dopes when they're tricked into shooting themselves in the balls to own the libs. This is not a hypothetical example:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/28/holographic-nano-layer-catalyser/#musketfuckers

But progressives do it, too, particularly when they embrace monopolies as a force for positive social change. Remember 2019, when people got excited about playing loud pop music at Nazi rallies in the hopes that the monopoly video platforms' copyright filters would make any video from that rally impossible to post?

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/07/23/clever-hack-that-will-end-badly-playing-copyrighted-music-during-nazis-rallies-so-they-cant-be-posted-to-youtube/

I warned then that if this tactic worked, it would be used by cops to prevent you from recording them when they're macing you or splitting your skull with a billyclub, and yup, within a couple years, cops were blaring Taylor Swift music in hopes of preventing the public from posting videos of their illegal conduct:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/07/moral-hazard-of-filternets/#dmas

Conservatives are (partially) right about woke capitalism. It is a threat to democracy. Concentrating the power to decide who gets to speak and what they get to say into the hands of five or six corporations, mostly run by mediocre billionaires, is bad for society. The moderation decisions of giant platforms are a form of (commercial) censorship, even these don't violate the First Amendment:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

(The progressive delusion that censorship only occurs when the First Amendment is violated is a wild own-goal, one that excuses, for example, the decision by school book-fair monopolist Scholastic to remove books about queers and Black and brown people from its offerings as a purely private matter without consequences for free speech):

https://www.themarysue.com/scholastic-response-to-authors-and-illustrators-on-diverse-books/

Conservatives are only partially right about woke capitalism, though. Here's what they're wrong about: corporations don't have values. Target isn't selling Pride tees because they support progressive causes, they're selling them because it seems like a good way to increase returns to their shareholders. Individuals – even top executives – at Target might endorse the cause, but the company will only durably support the cause if that endorsement is profitable, which means that when it stops being profitable, the company will stop supporting the cause:

https://www.cnn.com/2023/05/23/business/target-lgbtq-merchandise/index.html

The idea that corporations have values isn't merely stupid, it's very dangerous. The Hobby Lobby decision – which allows corporations to deny basic health-care expenses for women on the basis that a Bronze Age mystic wouldn't approve of an IUD – rests on the ideological foundation that corporate personhood includes corporate values:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burwell_v._Hobby_Lobby_Stores,_Inc.

Citizens United – the idea that corporations should be allowed to funnel unlimited funds to politicians who'll sell out the public good in favor of investor profits – also depends on a form of corporate personhood that includes values:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citizens_United_v._FEC

There are undeniably instances in which corporate monopoly power benefits progressive causes, but these are side-effects of corporate power's main purpose, namely: taking money and power away from working people and giving it to rich people. That is what monopoly power is for.

Which brings me to ad-tech, "brand safety," and the demise of Jezebel, the 16 year old feminist website whose shuttering was just announced by its latest owner, G/O Media:

https://www.metafilter.com/201349/This-is-the-end-of-Jezebel-and-that-feels-really-really-bad

Jezebel's demise is the direct result of monopoly power. Jezebel writes about current affairs – sex, politics, abortion, and other important issues of great moment and significance. When we talk about journalism as a public good, necessary for a healthy civic life, this is what we mean. But unfortunately for Jezebel – and any other news outlet covering current events – there are vast, invisible forces that exist solely to starve this kind of coverage of advertising revenue.

Writing for the independent news site 404 Media, reporter Emanuel Maiberg and former Motherboard editor-in-chief Jason Koebler go deep on the "brand safety" industry, whose mission is to assist corporations in blocking their ads from showing up alongside real news:

https://www.404media.co/advertisers-dont-want-sites-like-jezebel-to-exist/

Maiberg and Koebler explain how industry associations like the World Federation of Marketers' Global Alliance for Responsible Media (GARM) promulgate "frameworks" to help advertisers automatically detect and exclude real news from consideration when their ads are placed:

https://www.peer39.com/blog/garm-standards

This boycott makes use of scammy "AI" technology like "sentiment and emotional analysis" to determine whether an article is suitable for monetization. These parameters are then fed to the ad-tech duopoly's ad auction system, so Google and Meta (who control the vast majority of online advertising) can ensure that real news is starved of cash.

But reality is not brand-safe, and high quality, reputable journalistic outlets are concerned with reality, which means that the "brand safe" outlets that attract the most revenue are garbage websites that haven't yet been blacklisted by the ad-safety cartel, leading to major brands' ads showing up alongside notorious internet gross-out images like "goatse":

https://www.404media.co/sqword-game-dev-sneaks-goatse-onto-a-dozen-sites-that-stole-his-game/

More than a fifth of "brand safe" ad placements end up on "made for advertising" sites, which 404 Media describe as "trash websites that plagiarize content, are literally spam, pay for fake traffic, or are autogenerated websites that serve no other purpose than capturing ad dollars":

https://www.ana.net/miccontent/show/id/rr-2023-06-ana-programmatic-transparency-first-look

Despite all this, many progressives have become cheerleaders for "brand safety," as a countervailing force to the drawdown of trust and safety at online platforms, which led to the re-platforming of Nazis, QAnon conspiratorialists, TERFs, and other overt elements of the reactionary movement's vanguard on Twitter and Facebook. Articles about ads for major brands showing up alongside Nazi content on Twitter are now a staple of progressive reporting, presented as evidence of Elon Musk's lack of business acumen. The message of these stories is "Musk is bad at business because he's allowing Nazis on his platform, which will send advertisers bolting for the exits to avoid brand-safety crises."

This isn't wrong. Musk is a bad businessman (he's a good scam artist, though). Twitter is hemorrhaging advertisers, notwithstanding the desperate (and easily debunked) stats-juking its "CEO," Linda Yaccarino, floats onstage at tech conferences:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/10/11/math-problem-for-linda-yaccarino-if-90-of-the-top-advertisers-have-come-back-but-are-only-spending-10-of-what-they-used-to-how-screwed-are-you/

But progressives are out of their minds if they think the primary effect of the brand safety industry is punishing Elon Musk for secretly loving Nazis. The primary effect of brand safety is killing reality-based coverage of the news of the day, and since reality has a well-known anti-conservative bias, anything that works against the reality-based community is ultimately good for oligarchy:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reality-based_community

We can't afford to let schizmogenesis stampede us into loving things just because conservative culture warriors have been momentarily tricked into hating them as part of oligarchs' turkeys-voting-for-Christmas project. "Swivel-eyed loons hate it, so it must be good," is a worse-than-useless heuristic for navigating complex issues:

https://locusmag.com/2023/05/commentary-cory-doctorow-the-swivel-eyed-loons-have-a-point/

A much better rule of thumb is "If oligarchs love something, it's probably bad." Almost without exception, things that are good for oligarchs are bad for the rest of us. I mean, this whole shuttering of Jezebel starts with an oligarch imposing his will on millions of other people. Jezebel began life as a Gawker Media site, beloved of millions of readers, destroyed when FBI informant Peter Thiel secretly funded Hulk Hogan's lawsuit against the publisher in a successful bid to put them out of business to retaliate for their unfavorable coverage of Thiel:

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2018/02/hogan-thiel-gawker-trial/554132/

This, in turn, put Jezebel under the ownership of G/O Media, who are unwilling to pay for a human salesforce that would – for example – sell advertising space on Jezebel to sex-toy companies or pro-abortion groups. G/O has been on a killing spree, shuttering beloved news outlets like Deadspin:

https://deadspin.com/this-is-how-things-work-now-at-g-o-media-1836908201

G/O's top exec, an oligarch named Jim Spanfeller who answers to the private equity looters at Great Hill Partners, is bent on ending reality-based coverage in favor of "letting robots shit out brand safe AI-assisted articles about generic topics":

https://www.msnbc.com/opinion/msnbc-opinion/ai-articles-disinformation-future-g-o-media-rcna95944

Three quarters of a century ago, Orwell coined a term to describe this kind of news: duckspeak,

It was not the man’s brain that was speaking it was his larynx. The stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words but it was not speech in true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness like the quacking of a duck.

When investors and analysts speak of "content" (rather than, say, "journalism"), this is what they mean – a warm slurry of platitudes, purged of any jagged-edged fragments to render it a perfectly suitable carrier for commercial messages targeted based on surveillance data about the "consumer" whose eyeballs are upon it.

This aversion to reality has been present among corporate decisionmakers since the earliest days, but the consolidation of power among large firms – ad-tech firms, online platforms, and "brands" themselves – makes corporate realityphobia much easier to turn into, well, reality, giving advertisers the fine-grained power to put Jezebel and every site like it out of business.

As Koebler and Maiberg's headliine so aptly puts it, "Advertisers Don’t Want Sites Like Jezebel to Exist."

The reason to deplore Nazis on Twitter is because they are Nazis, not because their content isn't brand-safe. The short-term wins progressives gain by legitimizing a corporate veto over what we see online are vastly overshadowed by the most important consequence of brand safety: the mass extinction of reality-based reporting. Reality isn't brand safe. If you're in the reality based community, brand safety should be your sworn enemy, even if they help you temporarily get a couple of Nazis kicked off Twitter.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/11/ad-jacency/#brand-safety

#pluralistic #jezebel #publishing #brand safety #adjacency #adtech #media theory #censorship #surveillance advertising #dynamic ad placement #quackspeak #Global Alliance for Responsible Media #garm #debated sensitive social issue #Third Party Safety and suitability #schizmogenesis #woke capitalism #duckspeak

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lostintransist · 3 months ago

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Fallen Angel | Something Stupid

AO3

Simon is lounging at the table while you boil some water. You stared at the kettle as you waited. The electric one you had wasn't working, you didn't have the funds yet to replace it and didn't dare mention it to Simon. The last time you mentioned that you needed something he added you to his credit card. That had been a whole thing.

Flicking through the mail you found a plain envelope with your name on it. Bit odd, but might as well check what bill collecter this was from. Sliding the guts from it you are surprised when one side of the folded paper dips with weight.

Concerned now, you flatten it against the counter. Glued to the middle right of the paper is a black credit card with your name on it. Outright worried is now your level of concern.

The letter is generic, here is your card, here is how to activate it, signed from the issuing company.

Thinking this must be some elaborate scam you grab your phone and search for the customer service line of the company. Waiting on the line and dodging the automated system you finally reach a person.

"Thank you for calling *Credit Card Company*. How can I help you today?" The professional voice on the other end chirps at you.

"Hi, so I have a bit of a weird situation that I am hoping you can help me with." You pause for a breath before continuing. "I recieved a card in the mail from your company but I don't have an account with you and I am a little worried that this might be a scamming attempt. A elborate one, but still."

"Oh, that does sound quite odd. Can you give me the number that appears on the card? We will see what I can find," the gentle concern layed over customer service helps.

"Yeah," you provide the number and wait.

A moment of silence is broken by the agent.

"I'm still here, I am just double-checking what I am seeing so I give you all the correct information."

"That's fine, I won't think the call dropped if there is silence." You had a phone job once. Heaven forbid you not be filling the silence on the line or a customer would lose their minds.

"Okay, so it appears that you have been added by a cardholder with us. A Simon Riley has added you and initiated the card being sent to the address we have on file. Is there anything else I can help with today?"

"I...no..I guess that is everything I needed. Thank you for your help," you stare at the counter as you try and process what you learned.

Staring at the spotted formica of the counter you lean forward on your hands. The shock had started to wear off, you couldn't decide if what you were feeling was nausea or rage. Why the hell did he add you to his credit card? You barely knew each other!

Yes, you lived together but the man was gone 80% of the time and you hardly spoke the other 20. The only thing you could think is that you happened to mention needing deodorant and that having to wait because of when payday occured.

Calling him seemed the best option. You knew he was still in the country. Said he would be home in two days and had to finish up some overnight training at a nearby base.

Your call reaches voicemail after two rings. Calling again it hits voicemail immediately.

"Fucker you cannot avoid talking to me about this," you growl at your phone. Your case bites into your fingers where you grip it tight. "Fine, let's try John."

John picks up on the third ring.

"Price."

His work voice makes you smile.

"Hi John, is Simon around by chance?" You ask sweetly.

He must turn the phone to his shoulder as he shouts for Simon by his call sign.

"Phone's for you."

A shift in the silence tells you Simon has put the phone to his ear.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" You snap into the phone.

"'bout what?"

"The credit card?" You can't prevent yourself from slashing your hand through the air even though he can't see you.

"It's easier."

These short responses are making you madder.

"Simon Riley who does this make things easier for?!"

"Me."

"Explain that," you growl into the phone. You start to pace the length of the kitchen.

"Keep the food stocked and yourself cared for. Price, here is your phone."

Agast you can't keep your mouth from dropping open.

"What's that about?" Price's voice draws you back from the edge of madness.

"That is about Simon adding me to his credit card without talking to me about it and expecting me to use his money responsibly and keep food in the house. If he doesn't show up to his next assignment it's because I've killed him, John. That man takes too many liberties with my life and I don't know how to make him stop."

"Well, first off don't threaten him. I can almost guarantee he likes it," John muttered into the phone.

"That is not helpful John," you snap.

"Sorry, don't know how to be helpful in this kind of situation. Call me if there are more issues though." He ended the call without a goodbye.

When you stretched your jaw to work some of the tension out of it the joint popped.

The whistle of the kettle drew your attention from your memories. Filling one cup had you turning the green kettle nearly vertical and still not having enough water to finish filling the large mug.

Without thinking about why it would be a bad idea you pull the top off to refill it. A puff of boiling steam rushes up and over both of your hands. You drop the kettle to the stove with a hiss.

"Well, that was stupid," Simon comments.

Rolling your eyes you stick your hands under cool running water. "Don't you ever do something stupid without thinking about it?"

His head appears before you, lips pressed to yours. His eyes are soft as he pulls back.

"Yes."

You glare at him.

"I'm not going to take offense that you think kissing me is stupid. Nope, not taking offense at that."

You slam the water off and aggressively dry your hands, tossing the towel on the counter instead of neatly returning it to its home.

A few hours of avoiding him later you overhear a conversation on speakerphone from the living room.

"Simon you are the stupidest smart man I've ever met. And that's saying something, we both know Soap," John chastises Simon.

Simon chuckled dryly, "Still don't understand how he can do the math to blow an oil rig sky high but can't figure out a budget."

John chuckles in reply.

"Don't know how to explain to her that it was the kissing that was stupid, not the kissing her," Simon says quietly.

"Can't help you there, if she's mad at you she is more likely to agree to go on a date with me," John points out sounding smug.

Is that what they have been doing asking you on dates, trying to win? You can't decide if you should be offended or flattered.

"I could take her on a date if I wanted but I like spending time with her here."

"I like spending time with her too, but I can also get a cool activity out of it at the same time," John counters.

Okay so maybe they weren't all trying to date you, just spend time with you and only have the language to call it a date. Hmm. Looks like you will be hearing from John soon then about a date.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

#Fallen Angel COD #cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #price x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #roach x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader

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sturnmeovr · 3 months ago

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City of Love - Matt Sturniolo

Requested by anon Part Two. Part three Pairings - Matt Sturniolo x fem!Reader Warnings - strong language & a lil fluff 😇 W/c - 2536 Summary - You move back to your hometown, Boston, after a bad breakup. When your takeout gets dropped off next door, your neighbor comes by to give you your food, already paid for. A/n - Thank you for requesting ❤️ I had a lot fun with this one!! Kinda gave me some inspiration so I might do a mini series about it?? Let me know what you guys thinks!! I wrote this off my phone but edited most of it on my computer so hopefully there’s no typos 🤦🏻‍♀️ Requests are always open! Check out my masterlist for my most recents!! Also dividers & photos are not mine - all credits to owners. Update - edited. Thank you for reading!!

"Over there is fine," you point to the mover you had hired. After ending things with your high school sweetheart, nearly four months ago, you decided to make the move to one of your favorite cities. The only romantic relationship you've ever known was gone, it left you feeling lonely. Instead of dwelling on the situation, you decided to make light of it, accepting a new job, and moving across the country. Call it crazy, but you couldn't bear living in the same town as the man who broke your heart.

It was a proximity thing - no matter how many times your brain told you to stay away, your heart wouldn't allow it. So, the only way to finally wash your hands of your shitty ex, was to get the fuck away from him. And that's exactly what you did.

Boston has always held a special place in your heart. Your parents were born and raised here. They graduated, meeting after college, and having you a couple years later. Unfortunately, your family moved to Seattle before you hit age 12, due to your dad's busy work life, but you always made it a point to come back.

Your parents referred to Boston as the 'city of love', being that's where their relationship began to really flourish. The love they had for each other inspired you. It was nothing you had ever witnessed, or experienced, before. To this day, they still act like teenagers in love. One of your main goals in life was to find a love like theirs. It was raw and real.

"Okay, looks like that's the last of it," your head snaps to the man standing in the doorway of your new home. You shake your head, almost like you're trying to push the thoughts out of it.

Clearing your throat, "thank you so much, Tony," walking over to your purse, and scavenging through it. You pull out a fresh hundred-dollar bill, holding it in front of you, "I appreciate you guys so much!"

Tony's eyebrows raise and a confused, yet surprised look takes over his face, "you already paid by card, Ms. y/l/n."

You shake your head at him, "it's a tip. I had a lot of stuff to move, and you guys were available last minute. Here, Christmas is coming up soon." Knowing Tony had three young children at home, it was the least you could do. He had only talked about them the whole time he was moving all your belongings in. He ran a small moving business with his brother and father-in-law, and honestly you called all over the city, trying to find a moving company who would accept your proposition last minute. Tony was the only company with the availability, and that you were grateful for.

Knowing money was never a problem for you, you went out of your way to help others in need, whether it be giving a homeless man a hot meal or volunteering at the local food drive. It warmed your heart every time you did a good deed, hoping your act of kindness would go a long way for somebody, someday. Tony gives you an appreciative nod, taking the tip, and goes on his way.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

It was almost seven o'clock at night. You decided unpacking was too much of a bother, so you ordered Chinese take-out instead. There you were, sprawled out on the floor of your empty living room, waiting on your dinner. You were still in the process of furnishing your newly bought home. A bit of a perfectionist, you'd sit on the floor for months until you found exactly what you wanted. Even though your financial state was never a problem, your parents still taught you the value of a dollar, which you were thankful for. Along with your father's amazing money management skills, you were set for life at the ripe age of twenty.

A loud knock on the door brings you back to reality. You knew your ring doorbell wasn't set up yet, so not being able to see who was knocking on your door made you feel uneasy, until you remembered your Chinese take-out. Not caring that the delivery man was going to see you in your superman pajama pants and a cropped tank top, you make your way over to the door, slinging it open. You don't make eye contact with him, instead you reach for your purse, fishing for cash again. Once you pull out a twenty-dollar bill and hand it to him, your eyes finally meet.

What a fine delivery man.

"I already paid for it," he croaks out, his voice getting stuck in his throat for a second. A confused look makes its way across your face as you and the strange delivery man, who apparently pays for people's food, look each other up and down. He clears his throat, "it got delivered to my house. Delivery guy seemed like he was in a rush,” he states, letting his eyes wonder around to the atrocious setting behind you.

“Oh shit, here,” you tell him shoving the twenty-dollar bill towards him, “thank you,” with one hand on the door, ready to grab your food, and close the door in his face. You didn’t care how handsome he was. You wanted to be by yourself, and also save yourself the embarrassment of your cute neighbor seeing you this rough looking. Spiderman pajama, c'mon.

“I was actually gonna eat it,” you watch as his face twists in amusement, “kidding. I’m Matt,” he introduces himself and holds out the brown paper bag your food is in.

“Y/n,” you tell him before taking the bag. Thankfully, it looked untouched. You didn’t know what it was but there was definitely something about this strange, adorable man, joking with you like he knew you already. It brought comfort to your night.

“I like that,” he shoots out, almost like word vomit. Before you can say anything, a cringe-like look spreads across his face, “I mean, it suits you.”

“Thanks,” you let out a giggle. A sudden wave of silence takes over both you, so you awkwardly come up with something to say, “I just moved in.”

“Yeah?” He asks, but it was obvious he already figured that part out. Considering that fact his eyes kept drifting to the empty living room behind you. Matt lets his eyes drift once again, but they finally fall on yours, locking you in. The two of you stay stuck in a trance for a moment, not saying a word.

A blush creeps up, heating your cheeks up a dark shade of red. You let your eyes fall to the floor and back up at him, only to see that his face matches yours. You clear your throat, “come in?” It’s a suggestion, but it comes out as a question.

Matt sucks in a sharp breath, nodding, as you step aside to let him walk in. You turn around and make your way to the kitchen, knowing the only furniture you have is the barstools, your bed, and a couple miscellaneous items. Setting the brown paper bag on the island, “sorry for the mess. It’s been a long day,” taking out two plates out of a box nearby. The only thing you had the energy to unpack earlier was your silverware drawer, so you open it and fetch two forks. Spinning around, and making you way to Matt, little did you know he was already watching your every move.

“I don’t have my furniture yet so we’re eating in here like real adults,” you joke, trying to break the ice. You quickly open the takeout containers of chicken lo mien and general tso’s chicken.

“I was just kidding,” he tells you, eyeballing the food like a starved man. “You eat,” he looks up at you. Those blue eyes had you drawn to him for some odd reason.

“Well, that’s the only reason I invited you in. You said you’re hungry, now eat,” you playfully order. He starts to say something, but his mind decides against it. He gives you a warm smile and nods, “thanks.”

“Any time,” you return the warm smile and take a seat next to him. “One minute,” you hold up a finger at him before running to the living room to retrieve your laptop.

Taking your spot next to Matt and setting your laptop in front of you. Big Mouth plays on the screen, but you don’t bother to change it. Probably the worst decision you made all night because the show was extremely perverted. You and your new neighbor sit in a comfortable silence while the tv show plays in the background.

“So,” he stretches out, “you’re from Boston?”

You shake your head, making sure to swallow your food before speaking, “well, yeah. I was born here but I’ve lived in Seattle since I was 12.”

“What made you move back?” The tone in his voice made you wonder if he was being genuine or just nosey. It was melancholy, that’s the best way to describe it. Like something was missing in his life, like he didn’t have anything to live for.

Taking a deep breath, you had to brace yourself every time he spoke. You didn’t know what it was or why it was happening, but Matt had a certain vibe to him, a vibe that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. All you knew is that you needed to figure out.

“It’s the city of love,” the words rolling off your tongue before you even realize you said them aloud. Matt looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to read you. You match his energy, staring him down like he was doing to you, making Matt blinks a few times, attempting to look away but his mind won’t let hm.

“You really want to get your tongue underneath hers, too. Yeah, you want to get in there like a Claritin to just dissolve,” one the characters from Big Mouth sounds thru the kitchen, a bit too loud. Matt’s head snaps towards to screen, his face heats up dark red as he looks from the screen to you, basically snitching on himself.

For the millionth time tonight, your face matches his - red and flustered.

You and Matt chat for a while, making small talk about the love you both shared for Boston. He vowed to take you out to get more familiar with the city since you hadn't visited in years. Small talk turned into an hour's long conversations about everything under the sun, moon, and stars. You felt like you were catching up with somebody you had known for years. Eventually, Matt's eyes fall to his phone. 10:53 pm. He watches as you yawn, your elbow still propped on the table, and your head resting on it lightly. Big Mouth still plays across your computer screen, the perverted animation wasn't such a bad thing, you had forgot it was even playing. Matt gets up, taking your dishes over to the sink to rinse them off. The small act of kindness impresses you, taking him for the gentleman he truly is.

“Thanks for hanging out with me. I don’t know a lot of people here,” you tell him. In the beginning of the night, you wanted to stay in your solitude. It was an overwhelming day for you, and you weren’t expecting company. When Matt showed up at your door, you had no intentions of eating dinner with him, but you’re glad you did. His company gave you some type of comfort. Even though there wasn’t a lot said between you two, besides random chit-chat, you were grateful he interrupted your night.

Matt leans against the counter, “thanks for having me. I’m right next door so if you ever want to hang out,” he trails on, indicating he had a good night too.

“It’s the least I can do,” you tell him, “especially since you paid for it. Thanks again, by the way.” You weren’t used to having anyone, except your dad, pay for things. Even when you were with your ex, it was a routine you always paid for everything. It didn’t matter if it was dinner and a movie or something more expensive. Hell, you even got his car out of impound before, and that was easily seven hundred dollars. It all went unnoticed with him.

“Well, I seen you moving in earlier. I wanted to come over, but I didn’t want to be a bother,” he tells you, honesty lace through his voice. You walk over to him, leaning your body against the opposite counter. Superman pajamas pants and your cropped tank, you fold your arms over your chest to cover yourself from exposure. Not having a bra on made matters very noticeable.

Matt’s eyes trail over your body, taking in every inch of you. “So, you just wanted a reason to talk me?” your whisper-like tone sends chills down his spine, peppering his arms in goosebumps. He clears his throats and nods. A flirtatious smirk pulls at your lips, “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah, me too,” the mood becomes softer, and he searches your face with his eyes.

Courage sparks through your core, and you decide to test the waters, “you want to kiss me, don’t you?”

Your questions take him by surprise, and you watch as Matt fixes his posture, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. He makes sure to keep his eyes locked on yours, “only if you want me to.”

You press your lips together, “do you think I do?” Being a tease was one of your many talents, you were best at it.

Matt’s eyebrows furrow together, and he thinks for a split second. “Y-yea, I think so,” he stutters over his words. It obvious you have a certain effect on him that makes him nervous. Or maybe it was the moment.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

That’s all you have to ask him before his hands shoot out, finding your waist, and pulling you towards him. Your face is inches away from his, and he leans in for a quick, yet hesitant, kiss. It only lasts a split second before Matt pulls away. His soft lips made you want more, so you smash your lips into his, a little rougher than anticipated. Matt snakes a hand around your waist, and the other travels up to cup for cheek.

Your lips move against his like two waves that had been separated for a lifetime. You make a fist of his shirt, trying to pull him in closer to you. This was the closest you had been to someone romantically since your ex. The kiss was something you had never experienced before, being with your ex for so long made the spark die out. You hadn’t been kissed like this in years and you were loving every minute of it, but you knew it had to end soon. You were running out of breath and trying to breathe through your nose with his face so close to yours was sucking it right out of you.

Matt is the one to break the heated kiss, finally pulling to look at you. “Woah," he's absolutely flustered, and you loved to see it.

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madelynraemunson · 19 days ago

Text

CALL OUT MY NAME ♛

(Book #2 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Series)

CEO!bachelor!steve × fem!college grad!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 • 18+ | BOOK #1 (e.m.)

Chapter 004: Encore

You have needs. Steve has needs. Given your two friends’ complicated history, you both know can’t be together — but that’s the thrill of it all.

↳ 001 (PROLOGUE) // 002 // 003 // 004 // 005 // 006 // 007 EPILOGUE

cw: slight age gap (sweets is 23, steve is 31), mutual pining, sexual tension, SMUT, p in v sex, soft!dom steve, pls wrap before you tap thanks

card suits divider: @cafekitsune 🃏🧡

“THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER.”

♛

3.1k words

“I’ll take a black coffee, please. Hot.”

“What size?” the barista inquires.

“Largest one you have.”

Go big or go home. You’re going to need it anyways.

Last night was a clusterfuck of emotions, all of which you had no idea how to process. But you figured that, with Isabelle being the heavy sleeper she is, that you could get away from her and the room you shared and clear your head for a bit. Coffee and contemplation.

“You can put that on my tab.”

Following the direction of the voice, you're surprised to see Steve, up as bright and early as you are, just a mere few inches away. Except he looks more presentable than you, dressed in creaseless neutral-toned athleisure, hair neatly kept with pomade into a sleek swish.

You want to curse under your breath. Fuck. When didn't he look hot?

"Well I'll be damned," you mutter with a gentle smirk.

“I knew I’d get you back eventually,” Steve winks. “Course I didn’t think it’d happen eight hours later.”

“Good morning."

“Now it is.”

Steve slips in beside you and greets you with a warm smile. His eyes remain glued to yours as he extends his credit card to the cashier, placing his order before motioning you towards some elevated bar tables. It doesn't slip your mind to be in his company.

"Did you sleep well?" you ask him.

"Yeah," he nods. "I did, actually. Did you... sleep well?"

Steve seemingly searches for an answer in your eyes. A specific answer it seems, quite possibly pertaining to the events that unfolded the night before.

"Yeah," you chuckle. "Given everything."

“I'm so sorry about last night," he exhales. "Didn’t mean to put you in the middle of all this."

“Yeah…” you shrug unsurely. "But I figured that by association, I'd get sucked into it somehow."

He laughs softly. “Isabelle your friend?”

“What’s it to you?” you cock a brow.

“Just curious.”

“She’s more like a big sister to me,” you explain. “We met in college.”

The drop in Steve’s face was something you couldn’t decipher. Or something you didn’t want to at least.

All morning, this dark cloud of uncertainty has been festering over you, making you more and more anxious because you couldn't seem to grasp what the hell was going on. Judging by the vibes of it though, it doesn't seem good.

"Eddie's a good guy," Steve sputters, almost spastically. "I don't know what your best friend told you, but based on our collective experience with him, Eddie's nothing like the monster Isabelle's painted him to be."

"Isabelle hasn't said much about him actually," you counter. "Until lately."

Steve is almost shocked. "She didn't?"

"She doesn't really talk about her past," you elaborate. "I'm assuming it's because she's traumatized by it. I did know she was married though. And that she cheated on Eddie."

It's not something Isabelle is proud of. In fact, when you met her, Isabelle had been embarking on a journey towards redemption, taking you with her to local humanitarian events, and even to church with her folks every Sunday during second year.

Because your parents had been unavailable in every way your whole life, Isabelle believed you needed to be surrounded by good people. A good deal of the woman you were shaped to be was from Isabelle's influence. You don't know what to feel now.

"Wow," Steve reflects. "She at least owned up to that, damn."

"Yeah, but given the layers of the story..." you shrug. "It all just sounds so complex and confusing. I never knew this about my best friend. Never knew she danced... maybe she was ashamed."

"I'd like to think that's why she didn't tell you," Steve kisses his teeth. "But I have a very hard time believing that's the case."

They were high school sweethearts, Isabelle and Eddie. And according to Steve, they got married right after graduation. Starting from scratch with his money he made from dealing, Eddie built his own business, the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club, a strip club in their small town with a nerdy Dungeons & Dragons theme.

"Eddie has always respected women," Steve elaborates. "Even when they didn't respect him. Never laid a hand on a lady, treated them like queens... Eventually he had me hop on board, with my business. We've always been... for the girls."

"I believe you," you grin up at him.

It got ugly pretty fast, according to Steve again. Before everyone knew it, Isabelle was running the show. Calling the shots. And the dancers, who all seemed to have the hots for Eddie, jumped to his defense and tried to run her out the club. Eddie ultimately ended up sending Isabelle to another club across town to ease the tension.

"Terry's club..." you start to piece it all together.

"Precisely," Steve nods. "And unfortunately... that's where the lines start to blur."

"STEVE?!"

You both shudder at the sudden exclamation, and Steve is quick to retrieve your coffees from the bar. You two then resume the story-telling with a brief 'cheers'.

“Childish beverage you got there,” you nod towards Steve's cafe mocha with whip cream.

“Keeps me young,” Steve shrugs.

You gaze at him flirtatiously as you sip your black coffee. "I'm sure."

You fawn at his hands, the thick veins on the canvas now brought to life by the warmth of his drink. He takes mental note of your observation, clearing his throat, and shifting slightly, but notably more towards you as opposed to further away. He wants you too, there's no denying.

"Listen, Sweets," Steve sighs. "It kills me to say that... even though I'm very much attracted to you, I don't think entertaining this any further is a good idea."

"I'm very much attracted to you too," is all you say.

You hope he takes the bait. If Steve wants you enough, he's sure to choose batty lashes over logic any day.

"I mean, I feel a connection, I really do," Steve adds. "But with all of this 'he said', 'she said' bullshit, it's only a recipe for disaster."

"I totally agree," you nod along. "It's messy."

"Spicy, if you will."

"Almost forbidden," you bite the fruit.

"Tempting..." Steve's tone darkens, complementing your previous statement. "But because of Eddie and Isabelle, I feel like we just need to leave it at that. Because they're our best friends, we shouldn't pursue anything with each other. We can't carry all this drama back home with us."

It seems like Steve was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you. His gaze drifts to the ground for a bit, then back up at you, a mix of both hesitation and resolve in his eyes.

"Right..." you concur once again with a firm, respectful, tight-lipped smile. "Gotta stay away from each other. For the sake of our friends."

It's a good thing whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

"Jesus, fuck."

A scream furls at the base of your stomach as you fuck yourself onto Steve's stiff and heavy cock, the back of your thighs red from how aggressively they were slapping against his hips. Shock spreads across your body as you muster yourself up to accommodate him, the exhilaration and intensity of his pumps both euphoric and ruinous at the same time.

"How do you hit it so good every. fucking. time?" you cry out as you take every single one of his blows.

Steve smiles to himself in amusement while you unravel beneath him, brushing his soft lips against the crook between your neck.

“I jus' pay attention,” Steve whispers as he rubs delicate circles against your clit. “And you have every bit of mine, baby.”

"Oh I feel it," you say with a joke-filled whimper. "Goddd...damn..."

"Ha. Funny and cute," Steve huffs, digging himself balls-deep into you. "Guess I won the jackpot."

Hooking your ankles with Steve's now as you reel him in, you begin to clasp at the sheets for both security and leverage. His rock-hard cock and heaving pants are sure to spring you into an eye-scrunching, lip-biting, toe-curling release. And just when you thought you had a good couple of minutes left in you, you feel Steve's fingers sink into the pleasure points of your neck.

He shoves your face down into the mattress.

"'my fucking god I'm cumming!" you scream as he relentlessly fucks himself into you.

Your orgasm splashes against Steve's quads as he fucks you out, his continuous prowling despite BOTH of your evident climaxes turning your legs into a quivering mush. And hitting the sweet spot every fucking time? For a stranger, he knows your body very well. Of course, he might have 'experience' to thank for that.

You're never going back to the college boys again.

A gentle slap on the butt snaps you back from your lust-filled trance. You turn to look at Steve, whose now got a boyish smirk on his face.

"Good morning," you giggle, repeating yourself from earlier.

"Now it is," Steve joins in.

You toss the fluffy comforter over your body while Steve goes to dispose of the condom. While you wait, you take a moment to soak in the elegance of the Encore suite, comparing it to that of yours at the Venetian.

Before you know it, Steve is back at the bedside, reaching into his wallet as he glances periodically over at you.

"What do you want for graduation?" he questions.

"Huh?" you respond blankly.

"On me. I insist."

"Steve..." you chuckle nervously, bringing the comforter further up towards your bare chest. "You really don't have to.''

"I insist," he repeats.

"It makes me feel like your gift is some sort of payment."

Steve's eyes widen suddenly.

"I did not mean for it to be that way, I'm sorry," he gulps. "Gift-giving is just my love language, I've learned."

"Well I'm fine with the anti-roofie bobby pin you gifted me," you blush gesturing towards your purse where it's neatly kept. "That is enough in my book."

"But not enough in mine," Steve counters. "Matter of fact, take a look at this."

You watch as the handsome CEO scrambles across the room in his boxer shorts, all just to retrieve a pen that he graciously hands over to you.

"It's not just any pen," he explains. "It's the audio recording pen."

"Wow," you remark. "It's giving... Russian Spy."

Steve chuckles. "Well when you put it that way..."

"Maybe you are a spy," you shoot him an insinuating wink. "Did someone send you to watch my every move?"

"Mmm, I think you cracked the case," Steve smirks, matching your energy almost immediately. "Can't have a bad girl like you walking around with no supervision."

You feel him melt into you...

"Or consequences," he strains, leaving some delicate kisses at your neck.

The opening of a nearby door interrupts your foreplay for round three. Almost like it's a defense mechanism, you shift instantly, attempting to sink further into the sheets to cover yourself up.

"Morning!" comes a voice. "We're all gonna go get some donuts at the Excalibur do you wanna come wi—JESUS CHRIST!"

Eddie's wife. Taken aback by another presence in the room, Steve damn near collapses onto you to make sure you stay concealed.

"Oh god," Shy Girl remarks. "HAHAHA. This is hilarious."

"Munson," Steve whines, attempting to bury his face in his forearm. "How did you get in here?"

"Uh, joint rooms remember?" she responds. "Also... if you didn't want any visitors you should've made it obvious. Your DND sign was also not on at the main door."

Shy Girl cranes her neck over to you. When she registers who you are, there's a glisten in her eyes; and a profound, wry smile she is merely unable to hide.

"Hey stranger!" she chirps. "Get some good sleep after last night?"

"As much as I was able to," you mumble.

"Ah," she pouts. "It seems like your morning fix made it better though. The invite's still open. Doughy goodness at pretty castle awaits."

Shy Girl turns her head to ensure your clothes are on when your gazes meet again. While she waits, she takes a stroll around Steve's single room, playing around with his hair products and fancy looking e-razor.

Knowing there's absolutely nothing to say, you toss your sweats on and quickly grab your purse. After bidding Steve a silent goodbye, you start towards the door, maintaining your head in the lowest possible position.

"Really?" you hear Steve say to Shy Girl in the room, the ruffling in the background presumably him tossing his clothes on as well.

"What?" she tuts. "She's a cutie pie."

To ensure you don't lose your way, you open Maps to route your walk back to the Venetian. You also take a moment to look at your messages, your heart nearly plunging to your ass when 10 texts from Isabelle await you.

All of them asked where you were.

Frozen in place, you gulp as your trembling fingers think of what to say. And before you can craft your response, the entry door to Steve's room cracks open.

Your body remains paralyzed as Shy Girl emerges from the room, only to walk herself directly one door over. Before you two officially part ways, she says to you,

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Your secret is safe with me."

“Where have you been?!” Isabelle demands the moment you get back to the room.

“Coffee run…” you vaguely reply.

“For two and a half hours?!”

Her agitation is evident. You meander cautiously around the hotel room, careful enough to not make any eye contact because you know Isabelle can crack you like that. But soon, her constant prying makes you agitated.

"I don't know anyone who takes three hours to get a coffee."

“You’ve taken shits longer than that,” you roll your eyes. “And plus you were out like a light, I needed to get some form of a Hot Girl Walk in.”

"At the Encore, huh?"

The air turns cold. Bitter.

"Excuse me?"

You and Isabelle have each other's locations for safety purposes. But now you realize that it seems she checks it more frequently than you thought.

"At 8:04 AM, your location pinged at the coffee shop outside, between the Venetian and the Encore," Isabelle reports, as if you weren't aware. "And then by 9 AM, you were inside the Encore where you remained until now. It's about to be noon. Must've been quite some line for you to stay in that area for so long. Unless you were with somebody."

"What if there were some shops I wanted to check out in the Encore?" you challenge her.

"Like which shops?"

"The shops we don't have here."

"Cute..."

It had been a while since you and Isabelle had an exchange this hostile. Isabelle always speaks to you kindly. But with all of this unraveling, she's feening for just survival. Or an escape. From what though?

Buzz!

Your phone buzzes with a text. Opening the protected message, a smile creeps onto your face when you see who it's from.

Maybe: Steve

When can I see you again?

You:

You free tonight? Maybe we can meet by the gondolas at the Venetian.

Maybe: Steve

👍

You giggle at the simple text. Older men and their vagueness.

“What are you laughing at?” Isabelle pries.

“A meme…” you fib.

You don’t know why you keep lying. Friends don’t lie. But something in your gut tells you you’re trekking dangerous waters. And a part of you, strangely enough, doesn’t want to be rescued.

“Can we talk about last night?” you request, yearning for a civil conversation.

“What’s to talk about?” Isabelle snaps.

“THIS," you explain, gesturing up and down. "You just seem…very shaken up about seeing your ex-husband."

“Anyone would be!”

“Okay I get that, but you don’t have to take it out on me…"

Isabelle is quiet, which allows you to finish your statement.

“Especially because I don’t know the whole story.”

“Eddie just…” your best friend sighs. “Really fucked me up. That’s all I have to say about that.”

"I really wish you would give me more details," you mumble. "I don't have much to work with here."

"Asking your best friend to revisit her TRAUMATIZING past when she's still healing is a little fucked up, don't you think?" is what Isabelle fires back with.

"It's not like that at all! I thought you'd know my intentions by now."

"Touché," she snarkily responds.

"Oh," you exhale sharply.

It's become nearly impossible to deal with. All you've wanted was honesty and all you've gotten was rage. Before it escalated any further, you decide to temporarily remove yourself from the equation.

"I'm gonna step back out for a breather."

You didn't expect your best friend to deflect. "I think that's a great idea."

Refusing to acknowledge Elle any further, you yank the room key off your shared bedside table, shoving it into your purse, and pulling the purse over your shoulder. You take one last glance over at Elle, arms crossed by the window, her current mask now that of a stoic one—no trace of the rage that had filled the air just minutes ago.

But the silence is deafening. Finally, after seemingly like an eternity, she turns to you.

"By the way," Elle snarls. “If you're gonna do what I think you're doing, I don't think it's a good idea. I don't want you to regret it."

It's hard to take her seriously given her current state. But somehow, what she says next finds a way to vex you somehow.

"There’s a reason why Steve Harrington can’t bag a chick his age.”

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