#small business legal review

[legallotus]

Year-End Legal Checklist for Business Owners 

Ensure your business is legally compliant with this year-end checklist. Review contracts, licenses, taxes, and data security to prepare for the new year.

As the year comes to a close, it’s time for business owners to conduct an important legal check-up as part of their Year-End Legal Checklist for Business Owners. A comprehensive review of your business’s legal standing ensures that you remain compliant, avoid potential liabilities, and set a solid foundation for success in the year ahead. This year-end legal checklist will help you assess key…

[shopwitchvamp]

might as well start warning ya'll now...

[yellow-yarrow]

Riaz Moola, the founder of CoGrammar and Longdue which claims to be making a "successor to Disco Elysium" is so cartoonishly evil, like I can't believe this shit:

- he is currently legally preventing Argo Tuulik from working at Summer Eternal and in the industry until April 2025

- he wanted to be a shareholder of Summer Eternal and was asking SE to promote Longdue and not marked themselves or accept any crowdfunding until April 2025

- he is also teaming up with za/um, and taking Tuulik to court which is insanely expensive, which is why Argo is close to bankruptcy now, and had to set up a GoFundMe

- said GFM was taken down after a day and it's very likely that Moola did this because

- on the reddit post about this GFM Moola has made a comment that has like 300 upvotes, and some negative comments directed at him have a lot of downvotes, which is super suspicious considering other comments don't have even half as much engagement there, (and I think some comments even got deleted somehow!) &

- he is the CEO of Hyperiondev, which infamous for deleteting negative reviews about it's shit quality coding bootcamp

- Moolah's response to Argo was that "come on I'm just a small business owner and you were friendly with me in an email some months ago" (this dude is the CEO of multiple companies and who sues their friend into bankruptcy??)

- Argo Tuulik has said that he is doubtful that anyone from the old disco team is working at Longdue, and Moola could be using the fact that Tuulik was doing something for a very short time at CoGrammar to say that 'former de developers are at Longdue'

In conclusion,

Fuck Riaz Moola and what Longdue is making has nothing to do with disco elysium

[hyper-pixels]

How to Grow Up

A guide on how to grow up. It was originally posted by @/friendliness but half the links were broken. So I took what links weren't broken and added other links and more things to know.

This is USA based resources

Personal

Reasons to Stay Alive – A Tumblr post of 116 reasons to stay alive by @/friendliness.

How to Get Better At Asking for Help – Website is Harvard Business Review. The article is “5 Ways to Get Better At Asking for Help” by Wayne Baker.

What to do if you Can’t Afford Therapy – Website is Psych Central and the article is by Steven Rowe.

How to Quit Smoking – “The 22 Best Ways to Quit Smoking” by Debra L. Gordon and David L. Katz M.D. from the Healthy Digest.

How to Legally Change your Name – Website is Forbes.

Wanna Learn Something New? – A Tumblr post made by @/hamletthedane with various new things to try from language learning to ballet.

Free Harvard Courses – Harvard University’s free online courses.

Getting a New Computer? – A quick and dirty comprehensive guide by WIRED on what to look for.

How to Sew – Website is Autodesk Indestructibles. The article is “How to Sew” by Jessyratfink. Having a small sewing kit (that you can pick up from nearly any craft store) is super handy and has saved my life and clothes.

What to Look For in Clothes A YouTube video by Alyssa Beltempo titled “How to Identify High Quality vs. Poor Quality Clothing | Slow Fashion”. Here’s a WikiHow [x] if a YouTube video isn’t your style.

Dealing with Executive Dysfunction – A Tumblr post made by @/compassionatereminders. It's a list to more links on how to deal with executive dysfunction.

Another List Like this One – A Tumblr post made by a now deactivated account. It's a list much like this one.

Home

What’s a mortgage? – Website is realtor.com and the page is called “What is a Mortgage? Home Loan Basics Explained” by Cathie Ericson.

First Apartment Checklist – A checklist PDF. Here’s another link to a Tumblr checklist [x] 

What to Ask Landlords Before Renting? – “25 Questions To Ask a Landlord When Renting a Home” by Morgen Henderson.

What’s Renter’s Insurance? – Website is Forbes Advisor. The article is by Jason Metz and titled “How to Get Renters Insurance”.

Plant Care – A master list of how to care for plants made by @/difficults

Job

Time Management – Website is Entrepenuer and has 10 time management tips. One I personally recommend is keeping a physical calendar book on hand. I keep mine in my bag with a designated pen.

Finding the right job – Website is The Muse and it has 13 free career assessment tests.

Make a resume – Website is Resume Now. Many hirers look at your name, the middle of the page (where your experience list is) and skim the rest.

Job Interview Tips – Website is Linkedin. The article is titled “10 Job Interview Tips to Land The Career of Your Dreams” by Caren Merrick.

How to Write a Cover Letter – Website is The Writing Center. University of Winsconsin, Madison. It’s titled “Writing Cover Letters” and I can’t find the author.

Money

Couponing! – Website is Coupon Database :: Southern Savers. It has a list of mobile apps for coupons to places.

Call 211 for Help – the website leads to 211.org. It's anonymous and can help you get connected to food programs, paying bills and things like doctor appointments. Here’s a Tumblr post about it [x] by @/poessionisamyth

Groceries! – This is a Tumblr meme post, but scrolling through tags/reblogs/replies and there’s plenty of good tips. The post is by @/charlotten

What To Do if You Can’t Pay Your Bills – Website is Nolo. The article is “When You Can’t Pay Your Bills: Thiings To Know” that was updated by Amy Loftsgordon. 

Are You Paying Too Much for Your Phone Bill? – An article by Beht Beverman titled “How Much is Too Much to Pay for a Cell Phone Bill?”.

54 Ways to Save Money – Website is America Saves.

How to Do Taxes – Website is Wiki-How.

The 70/20/10 Method – Website is Business Insider. The Article is “A Beginners Guide to the 70-20–10 Budgeting Method” by Paul Kim.

Side Hustle Ideas – Website is Forbes. “30 Side Hustle Ideas To Make Extra Money In 2024” by Krista Fabregas.

Emergency

Your Rights When a Cop Pulls you Over – Website is Business Insider. Cops are allowed to lie to you, and they will, so be careful.

Hotline List – The website is DoSomething.org. Depression/Suicide, domestic abuse, child abuse and runaway/homeless/and at-risk youth hotlines.

What to Keep in Your Car – Website is MentalFloss. I live in a snowy area that gets blizzards and bad ice. I keep blankets, water and other aids in my car as well as a knife and road flare. I also own a self jumping car battery and it has saved my ass more than once. Heimlich Maneuver – A one minute video by the Mayo Clinic.

The Heimlich Maneuver on Yourself – A one minute video by The List Show TV.

What to Keep in Your Wallet – Website is PureWow. The article is by Rachel Bowie. Keep your drivers license, medical insurance card, and an emergency contact in your card. If you have a pet home alone make sure that you have a card detailing this. Free printable one here [x]

Traveling

Packing List – Website is Smarter Travel.

Traveling with Little to No Money – Website is Nomadic Matt.

How to Pack a Suitcase – Website is Real Simple. The article is by Thersa O’Rourke.

How to Apply for a Passport – Website is WikkiHow.

Making a Travel Budget – Website is Travel Made Simple. “How to Make a Travel Budget” by Ali Garland

[simply-ivanka]

Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy: The DOGE Plan to Reform Government

Following the Supreme Court’s guidance, we’ll reverse a decades long executive power grab.

By Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy

Wall Street Journal

November 20, 2024

Our nation was founded on the basic idea that the people we elect run the government. That isn’t how America functions today. Most legal edicts aren’t laws enacted by Congress but “rules and regulations” promulgated by unelected bureaucrats—tens of thousands of them each year. Most government enforcement decisions and discretionary expenditures aren’t made by the democratically elected president or even his political appointees but by millions of unelected, unappointed civil servants within government agencies who view themselves as immune from firing thanks to civil-service protections.

This is antidemocratic and antithetical to the Founders’ vision. It imposes massive direct and indirect costs on taxpayers. Thankfully, we have a historic opportunity to solve the problem. On Nov. 5, voters decisively elected Donald Trump with a mandate for sweeping change, and they deserve to get it.

President Trump has asked the two of us to lead a newly formed Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE, to cut the federal government down to size. The entrenched and ever-growing bureaucracy represents an existential threat to our republic, and politicians have abetted it for too long. That’s why we’re doing things differently. We are entrepreneurs, not politicians. We will serve as outside volunteers, not federal officials or employees. Unlike government commissions or advisory committees, we won’t just write reports or cut ribbons. We’ll cut costs.

We are assisting the Trump transition team to identify and hire a lean team of small-government crusaders, including some of the sharpest technical and legal minds in America. This team will work in the new administration closely with the White House Office of Management and Budget. The two of us will advise DOGE at every step to pursue three major kinds of reform: regulatory rescissions, administrative reductions and cost savings. We will focus particularly on driving change through executive action based on existing legislation rather than by passing new laws. Our North Star for reform will be the U.S. Constitution, with a focus on two critical Supreme Court rulings issued during President Biden’s tenure.

In West Virginia v. Environmental Protection Agency (2022), the justices held that agencies can’t impose regulations dealing with major economic or policy questions unless Congress specifically authorizes them to do so. In Loper Bright v. Raimondo (2024), the court overturned the Chevron doctrine and held that federal courts should no longer defer to federal agencies’ interpretations of the law or their own rulemaking authority. Together, these cases suggest that a plethora of current federal regulations exceed the authority Congress has granted under the law.

DOGE will work with legal experts embedded in government agencies, aided by advanced technology, to apply these rulings to federal regulations enacted by such agencies. DOGE will present this list of regulations to President Trump, who can, by executive action, immediately pause the enforcement of those regulations and initiate the process for review and rescission. This would liberate individuals and businesses from illicit regulations never passed by Congress and stimulate the U.S. economy.

When the president nullifies thousands of such regulations, critics will allege executive overreach. In fact, it will be correcting the executive overreach of thousands of regulations promulgated by administrative fiat that were never authorized by Congress. The president owes lawmaking deference to Congress, not to bureaucrats deep within federal agencies. The use of executive orders to substitute for lawmaking by adding burdensome new rules is a constitutional affront, but the use of executive orders to roll back regulations that wrongly bypassed Congress is legitimate and necessary to comply with the Supreme Court’s recent mandates. And after those regulations are fully rescinded, a future president couldn’t simply flip the switch and revive them but would instead have to ask Congress to do so.

A drastic reduction in federal regulations provides sound industrial logic for mass head-count reductions across the federal bureaucracy. DOGE intends to work with embedded appointees in agencies to identify the minimum number of employees required at an agency for it to perform its constitutionally permissible and statutorily mandated functions. The number of federal employees to cut should be at least proportionate to the number of federal regulations that are nullified: Not only are fewer employees required to enforce fewer regulations, but the agency would produce fewer regulations once its scope of authority is properly limited. Employees whose positions are eliminated deserve to be treated with respect, and DOGE’s goal is to help support their transition into the private sector. The president can use existing laws to give them incentives for early retirement and to make voluntary severance payments to facilitate a graceful exit.

Conventional wisdom holds that statutory civil-service protections stop the president or even his political appointees from firing federal workers. The purpose of these protections is to protect employees from political retaliation. But the statute allows for “reductions in force” that don’t target specific employees. The statute further empowers the president to “prescribe rules governing the competitive service.” That power is broad. Previous presidents have used it to amend the civil service rules by executive order, and the Supreme Court has held—in Franklin v. Massachusetts (1992) and Collins v. Yellen (2021) that they weren’t constrained by the Administrative Procedures Act when they did so. With this authority, Mr. Trump can implement any number of “rules governing the competitive service” that would curtail administrative overgrowth, from large-scale firings to relocation of federal agencies out of the Washington area. Requiring federal employees to come to the office five days a week would result in a wave of voluntary terminations that we welcome: If federal employees don’t want to show up, American taxpayers shouldn’t pay them for the Covid-era privilege of staying home.

Finally, we are focused on delivering cost savings for taxpayers. Skeptics question how much federal spending DOGE can tame through executive action alone. They point to the 1974 Impoundment Control Act, which stops the president from ceasing expenditures authorized by Congress. Mr. Trump has previously suggested this statute is unconstitutional, and we believe the current Supreme Court would likely side with him on this question. But even without relying on that view, DOGE will help end federal overspending by taking aim at the $500 billion plus in annual federal expenditures that are unauthorized by Congress or being used in ways that Congress never intended, from $535 million a year to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and $1.5 billion for grants to international organizations to nearly $300 million to progressive groups like Planned Parenthood.

The federal government’s procurement process is also badly broken. Many federal contracts have gone unexamined for years. Large-scale audits conducted during a temporary suspension of payments would yield significant savings. The Pentagon recently failed its seventh consecutive audit, suggesting that the agency’s leadership has little idea how its annual budget of more than $800 billion is spent. Critics claim that we can’t meaningfully close the federal deficit without taking aim at entitlement programs like Medicare and Medicaid, which require Congress to shrink. But this deflects attention from the sheer magnitude of waste, fraud and abuse that nearly all taxpayers wish to end—and that DOGE aims to address by identifying pinpoint executive actions that would result in immediate savings for taxpayers.

With a decisive electoral mandate and a 6-3 conservative majority on the Supreme Court, DOGE has a historic opportunity for structural reductions in the federal government. We are prepared for the onslaught from entrenched interests in Washington. We expect to prevail. Now is the moment for decisive action. Our top goal for DOGE is to eliminate the need for its existence by July 4, 2026—the expiration date we have set for our project. There is no better birthday gift to our nation on its 250th anniversary than to deliver a federal government that would make our Founders proud.

[lovelytsunoda]

the sixth sense | jake "hangman" seresin

summary: after a car accident totals her car and leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, an anxious police desk sergeant learns to live with the ghosts haunting her home, and the crush she has on the hot pilot who lives next door

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

warnings: car accidents, ghosts (but they're very funny ghosts!), sexual innuendos/advances made by a ghost, if you can recognize the names of the detectives/station staff and can correctly tell me what tv show they are from, you get a metaphorical cookie. jake is a very involved neighbour.

author's note: my f1 fics for this collection have been on the struggle bus lately, so here's hoping my top gun one does better

sargeant y/l/n wouldn't say she hated her job, exactly, but there were many days where she wasn't always thrilled with it. take today for example, her desk piled high with requisition forms for fingerprint checks, traffic camera footage, autopsy reports and more.

it wasn't that she didn't like the work. no, she found catching murderers to be most rewarding. it was the people she worked with. detectives who didn't see her as an equal, but as a machine, dropping files on her desk with a demand and an impossible deadline.

"yn, how busy are you for the next few days?"

she raised her eyebrows at the detective across from her. "for you, detective disher? i won't be free until at least the end of the week."

detective disher raised an eyebrow. "how much work are they piling on you? you aren't their servants, you can speak up and tell them you're too busy."

she rolled her eyes, chewing the end of her bic pen. "usually they hightail it out of here before i even have a chance to open my mouth. some of them don't even speak to me or give instructions, they just drop a file on my desk and assume that i know what to do with it."

detective disher frowned. "we really need another desk sargeant."

"you think?"

it was long after sundown when she left the office that night, overtime she probably wasn't going to get paid for. she hoped that leaving at 6:30 was worth it to have a clean desk in the morning, one almost free of files long enough that she could breathe. of course, by the morning, all of the late shift detectives would have dropped all of their files off for her review.

she was about halfway home when traffic started to pick up again, the glow of the led headlights making it difficult to see out of her side mirrors. her glasses claimed to be glare resistant, but what did someone without astigmatism know about glare?

she turned right at the next set of lights, descending down the hill that would lead to her small, cosy neighbourhood. she was still a fair distance away as she watched the light change from yellow to red, taking her foo toff the gas. the car ahead of her seemed to be slowing, but not by much, and the car behind her was uncomfortably close. she sped up slightly, ready to put her foot on the brakes whenever neccesary.

wait a minute, are his break lights out? he's stopping!

she slammed her foot on the brakes, watching helplessly as her car continued to slide forward, her front bumper colliding with the rusted tail hitch.

her head jerked forward from the impact, banging against the steering wheel before it all went black.

she came to in the hospital, where audio was blurry and vision even worse as the doctor explained the symptoms of a concussion to her.

“it was a bad scene all around. you’re lucky you weren’t injured further.” the doctor insisted. “legally, I can’t allow you to drive for the next few days. is there someone we can call?”

realistically, the only name that came to mind was detective dishers. her parents were two cities away, and she didn’t want to disturb them. her sister was on vacation, and she didn’t want to bother any of her friends.

disher picked her up by the main doors, a matchbox twenty song playing on his stereo as she groggily slipped into the passenger seat, a plastic baggie full of prescription drugs in her hands.

“just take me home, randy. I don’t want to talk about it.”

the detective sighed. “okay. But you know you don’t have to come into work tomorrrow, right?”

great. no work meant no leaving the house. no leaving the house meant that her thoughts drove her to the brink of madness.

she simply couldn’t win.

as she slipped into her bed, she must have been slowly losing her mind as she swore that she could hear voices in her room as she was drifting off. she didn't think much of it, chalking it up to exhaustion as she let sleep claim her.

the following morning, she groggily puttered around the kitchen, assembling a light breakfast as she called her captain to explain why she couldn't come to wrok.

"hey captain, i was in an accident last night-"

"i know. randy called me. are you doing okay?"

"no concussion, but the doctor wants me to monitor for signs, so i'm not super hopeful. disher drove me home, and i'm supposed to hear from the mechanics about the state of my car later today."

"well, take care of yourself, yn. if you need anything at all, you have my number, and you have randy's. but don't call adrian, he's probably just going to make things worse."

she sighed, rubbing the skin on her forehead, fingertips teasing the edge of the bandages from where she'd hit her head on the steering wheel. "thanks leland."

"my my, you look a little worse for wear, don't you?" the voice came from nowhere, very thickly british and definitely not familiar.

she spun around, spying a figure in the kitchen doorway. his long hair dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, and his skinny jeans were ripped to oblivion. she screamed, reaching for the metal ladle in her utensils jar.

"how the fuck did you get into my house?"

"your house?" the man looked confused. "sweetheart, i've always been here. i wouldn't throw that at me, if i was you. you'll just damage the wall behind me."

"who the fuck are you?" she stammered. "you're not real, this is just concussion brain, i should call the doctor back and go another scan-"

"you're seeing ghosts, honey." this voice was older, deeper. kinder. and significantly less british. another body materialized in her kitchen, sitting at her breakfast counter. she was round and plump, with a rosy face and sweet, kind eyes. she wore a nun's habit over a white blouse and a long navy skirt. "rick over there died in 1984. i'm sister katherine, and i died in 1961. lovely to meet you properly."

"the fuck do you mean i'm seeing ghosts?!" yn screamed, the sound reverberating through her skull. "you're not real!"

"i understand that this is a lot to take in." sister katherine insisted "but it must have something to do with the accident you were in last night."

"how do you know about my accident?" she pushed, brandishing her metal spoon as a weapon.

rick rolled his eyes. "because we watched that detective bring you home last night. tell me, are you two sordid lovers? if i wasn't dead i would love to get a piece of your-"

"enough, richard!"

"what the hell is happening right now? has he been watching me in the shower?" yn hissed under her breath, starting to pace back and forth in front of her stovetop.

"if you've got a head injury, you should really sit down." the nun kept trying to reason with yn, but nothing in this situation made one iota of sense.

she shakily sat down in one of the ikea chairs in her kitchen, and noted how badly her hands were shaking. she dropped the ladle on the table, clasping her hands together. she refused to look at rick and sister katherine, instead focusing on where her shellac manicure had begun to chip.

she really should book herself in for a fresh one.

"we have visitors!" rick's voice carried, his ghostly body reappearing next to yn. she startled in the chair, refusing to meet his eyes. "he looks annoyed, and he's wearing mechanics coveralls. i wore a pair of those on stage once. ladies love 'em."

"he was in a very unsuccessful hair band." sister katherine clarified.

"i need both of you to stay quiet for a second." she sighed. "he must be from the body shop."

she closed the front door behind her, although that was unlikely to do much against two beings who could walk through walls, but a girl could try.

"are you y/n y/l/n?"

"sergeant y/n y/l/n." she corrected. "san francisco pd. can i help you?"

"i'm from clint's garage, detective disher brought your car in last night."

that didn't sound good. behind her, she could hear a car door slam in her neighbour's driveway. oh good, jake was home. she tried not to let her eyes wander, waiting with bated breath for what the mechanic was going to say next.

"the front bumper was totally smashed, caved in where you hit the trailer hitch. the hood is also bent back a bit from impact. the good news is that the airbags didn't go off, which means your car can be fixed. the bad news is that it's going to cost more than your car is worth."

she could feel her headache coming back, her legs beginning to feel weak. she knew her car wasn't worth much due to it's age. but the city didn't pay her enough for her to be able to take on the payment for a new car outright, even if she was buying used.

she felt unsteady, and her body was starting to list to one side as two strong arms picked her up.

"i've got you, just keep breathing." the smell of cologne was overwhelming. there was no way in fuck that was rick, and it wasn't the mechanic.

she'd know that texan drawl anywhere. and that meant that right now, she was in navy pilot jake seresin's arms.

and that idea made her feel a little more faint that normal.

jake seresin had lived in that neighbourhood longer than her. she'd moved into her rental house just over four years ago, and he'd bene there on viewing day in a tight white tank top and jeans, getting all sudsy as he washed his silverado in the driveway. she couldn't resist watching from the window as he got into his truck in full navy fatigues before he went to work, or when he worked out shirtless on his front lawn since the porch took up most of the back.

she cleared her throat. "can i get an estimate for the repairs? will it cost less than buying a whole new car?"

the mechanic sighed. "look, even at randy's mates rate, it would still be more advisable to buy something new. go to a dealership and look at the preowned lot, anything less than 20k will serve you a lot better than getting this car fixed up would."

she couldn't form words, mind going fuzzy from the feeling of jakes hand on her lower back, and the thought of going back inside and facing the ghosts again.

"thanks, man. she can't drive for a few days anyway," jake started "but i'll bring her to the car lot when she's better and help her find something nicer."

jake helped her back inside, where the ghosts were watching giddily with their heads through the kitchen wall.

"you didn't have to do that." she insisted, avoiding eye contact with sister katherine while she spoke to jake. "i really can't afford a new car."

she could hear sister katherine in the background, whispering to rick. he's a hot one, and a real gentleman too!

"but you can't drive that one either. it's almost twenty years old, yn." jack frowned. "treat yourself. finance if you have to. take the scrap money and run, that's what i would do. you think the navy pays me well either?"

she fought the urge to bury her head in her hands and slump down on the table. "can you drive me to my follow up at the end of the week? he just wants to make sure there's no brain damage. i was going to get detective disher to do it, but if you have the morning off its less hassle."

jake looked puzzled. "why would you want me to do it instead of your boyfriend? shouldn't that be his job?"

"why the fuck does everybody think i'm hooking up with randy?" she shouted. "jesus, jake. he's my fucking boss."

the pilot's face was red as he carded his fingers through his hair. "he just seems to be over here a lot. he drove you home from the hospital last night and i just assumed."

"he's over here a lot because his girlfriend threw him out so sometimes i let him sleep on the daybed in my spare room while he finds a new place. we've been friends for years, we were at the academy together. i could be where he is if i wasn't too chickenshit to go into the field."

jake paused for effect. "well, this is awkward. are you sure you never thought about it."

despite herself, yn laughed. "we hooked up once back at the academy. we were sooo not compatible."

"i fucking knew it!" she heard rick shout in the background. "men and women can't just be friends!"

"richard!" sister katherine cut him off. "let the girl speak and mind your own business."

"lucky for you," jake grinned, totally unaware of the ghosts arguing behind him, every syllable of their argument making yn cringe inside "i happen to have the day off on friday. i'll take you to the doctors, and if everything is good, we can go to the car lot where i bought my truck. the guy will give you a good deal."

"i want a volkswagen. that's non-negotiable." she warned.

"that's fine. we can even stop by the garage and pick up your scrap money to put towards a deposit."

her chest felt tight with everything jake was offering to do for her. it was a slight anxiety, but a positive one. nerves that sprung to mind when she thought that maybe jake was offering to do all of these things for her because he wanted to be more than just her neighbour.

and as incredible as she knew it would feel to have a special place in jake seresin's heart, she'd been out of a relationship for so long that being in one again scared the ever-loving shit out of her.

true to his word, jake picked her up promptly at ten am the following morning. she had stressed about what to wear all morning, dodging criticisms about her outfit choice from sister katherine ('seriously, what on earth are they selling in the clothing shops these days? tops are supposed to go to the top of your jeans! what happened to dressing respectably?) and outdated sex tips from rick (which came with a knowledge of the ghost's kinks that she wished she could erase from her memory).

"just to be clear, you guys are bound to this house, right? you died here and now you can't leave?"

sister katherine nodded. "that is how being dead works, my love. we have to stay here while you go out gallivanting with your fancy man."

she stifled a laugh. "jake is not my fancy man. and neither is randy."

"whatever you say, cutie." rick winked. "and if you ever find yourself being undead in the walls of this house, give me a call and let me rock your world."

shaking her head with a laugh, she closed the front door behind her and headed over the grass to jake's house. he was waiting with two thermoses of hot chocolate and looked like he had just finished vacuuming the inside of his truck.

"good morning sunshine, let's go get you a clean bill of health!"

the wait to see the specialist was longer than the appointment. it lasted no longer than half an hour while the doctor took another brain scan and declared that there was absolutely nothing wrong with y/n aside from some superficial bruising to the skin on her forehead where she hit the steering wheel. jake insisted that her clean bill of health was worth celebrating, ushering her back into the truck and refusing to tell her where they were going.

"you know i'm a serving police officer, right? one call to captain stottlemeyer and there's a all points bulletin out on your truck."

jake laughed heartily. "i'm not kidnapping you, sweets. damn, you really don't like surprises."

"can't say i'm a fan."

minutes later, jake pulled off a secluded country road and into a parking lot lined in mulch. for a place that was so out of the way, the parking lot was packed to the brim and jake had to park the silverado what felt like miles away from the building itself. like a true gentleman, he helped her down from the truck's cab, one hand on the small of her back as they walked towards the large country store.

"a farmers market?" she giggled. "big bad hangman frequents farmer's markets?"

"how do you know my call sign?"

"you have it written on a metal sign in your garage."

jake winked at her, opening the heavy glass door. the country store was in a large refurbished barn, with the hayloft having been fully converted into a small cafe. his hand was warm through her cinnamon colored t-shirt as jake guided her towards the stairs to the cafe.

"do you like cinnamon buns?"

"of course i like cinnamon buns. who do you take me for?"

laughing to himself, jake had a large smile on his tanned face as he guided her towards a window seat. "make yourself comfy, sugar. i'll be right back."

she hated to see jake seresin leave, but she loved to watch him go, shamelessly watching the rippling muscles underneath his tight levis jeans.

he came back a few minutes later, two white china plates in hand, each one with a steaming warm cinnamon bun on top. as he passed her a plate, the cowboy made the bold claim that these were the best cinnamon buns in san francisco.

"i'll be the judge of that." yn said with a laugh, trying to pick up the sticky pastry in her hands in the most dainty way possible. the buns were large, mostly taking up the small plate.

"need a knife for that, sarge?"

"shut up, hangman."

"you know i outrank you, right?" jake joked, a sly look in his eyes.

she stuck her tongue out at the pilot, wishing she had a third hand so she could give him the finger. "bite me."

"all in due time, sugar."

she tried to hide the blush taking over her face, busying herself with taking the first bite of her pastry while she tried to ignore the images that jake's comment had conjured in her mind.

of course, the moan that she let out upon tasting the pastry did nothing to ease the sinful thoughts creeping into her mind. she could tell jake noticed, his breath momentarily catching in his throat despite the smile never breaking on his face.

"am i right or am i right?"

"fine." she playfully rolled her eyes. "you were beyond right. these are incredible!"

she beamed over at jake, wiping up some of the warm glaze on her chin that hadn't fully dried before she'd taken a bite. he was sitting across from her at the small table, and had yet to touch his cinnamon roll.

"you've got a little something..." he started, reaching a warm hand over the table to brush against her lips, wiping up some cinnamon that had been left behind.

her breath caught at the action, her eyes catching jake's blue ones. he truly was a beautiful man. time seemed to slow, jake's eyes slowly moving from her own to her lips and then back up again, her cheeks heating under his gaze.

"yn, can i kiss you?"

"yes."

he leaned over the table, gently rising from his wooden chair as he pressed his lips against hers. he was soft at first, almost apprehensive until she gripped his wrist where he was caressing her face, tilting her head back to give him a better angle and kiss him harder.

kissing jake seresin was everything she'd wanted it to be and more. if this was a movie, there would be fireworks going off behind them, and a sappy pop rock ballad playing as background music. perhaps something by lifehouse or matchbox twenty.

her lips felt sticky as jake pulled away, a goofy smile on both of their faces.

"you haven't touched your pastry." she said shyly.

jake grinned. "that's because you taste a lot nicer."

they stopped at the dealership on the way back, after having picked up the scrap money. yn test drove a volkswagen, fairly new with few miles on it. she decided to make it a point to come back within the end of the weekend, having already fallen in love with the little car. she felt like was, for lack of better words, walking on sunshine as jake pulled into his driveway, one of his large hands resting comfortably on her thigh.

he helped her down, looking forlornly over to her house, almost as if he'd enjoyed himself and didn't want the night to end.

"i have to go into work early tomorrow, and you've probabaly got heaps of work to do as well, so i'll let you get back to it." jake sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. "but, if you're up for it, i can stop by tomorrow and make you something for dinner?"

she smiled up at him, reaching to take his free hand in hers. "i'd love that." remembering her ghostly guests, she hesitated. "but maybe we could do it at your house instead?"

"i would like nothing more, sarge."

"good." she pressed up onto her tiptoes, kissing jake softly.

his hand snaked around her waist, slipping into the back pocket of her jeans as he deepened the kiss. she hummed contentedly, gently stroking his face with her thumb, hand resting on his cheek.

"i can't wait." she winked at him before she cut across her front lawn, backing towards her property. her southern gentlemen saluted her as she unlocked her front door, slipping inside the foyer.

"soooooooo." rick's familiar english drawl began. "how did things go with john wayne over there?"

and despite herself, yn was very much looking forward to sharing details of her budding romance with rick and sister katherine.

things were coming up roses for sargeant yn yln, and she was so excited to see what the future had in store.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Products & Services Worth The Splurge

Fashion:

A great couple of bras in black/nude (your best skin-toned shade)

Comfortable, breathable, and seamless underwear

Outerwear (Coats, jackets, blazers)

The perfect pair of jeans

An LBD that works from day to night

Comfortable, sturdy, sleek, and timeless footwear (a versatile black boot, a black heel, white sneaker, and a black flat/loafer/sandal)

A timeless and versatile crossbody or shoulder bag (a larger one for the daytime/work or school and a smaller one for nighttime/events)

One or two well-made classic jewelry item(s)

A conversation-starting item or accessory

Beauty:

Sunscreen

Any skincare/skin cosmetic products that are game-changers for you

A quality hair brush, comb, and hair towel

Your signature scent

A quality razor/hair removal product

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Reliable hair tools and sturdy nail tools

A quality hair heat protectant/scalp cleansing or conditioning spray

Makeup brushes and beauty tool cleaners

Home:

Lamps/lighting

Couch/desk chair

Everything for your bed: Bed frame, mattress/sheets/pillows, etc.

Knives

Dishwasher-safe and microwave-safe dishes & cups you love

A full-length mirror

Vacuum

Storage solutions/cedar blocks or moth balls

Quality holders for everything: Paper towels, shower storage, hooks, mailbox/key bowls

Name brand paper products/household cleaners

Electric toothbrush & Waterpik

Sound-proof headphones/Airpods

MacBook Air

Health & Wellness:

High-quality lettuce and/or sprouts

Organic frozen fruits and vegetables (if fresh is too pricey)

BPA-free canned goods

Potassium bromate & glyphosate-free grain products

Snacks free of artificial colors

Quality coffee

An at-home massage tool/heating pad

Fur products for skin/hair removal

Vitamin C/Retinol serums

Quality running shoes

Anything that goes near your vulva or into the vagina: Sex toys, lube, condoms, toy cleaners, pads/tampons/menstrual cups, cleansing wipes, etc.

A yoga mat, resistance band, and a pair of small ankle weights

Spotify subscription

Books and audiobooks

Services:

Therapy

A top-tier haircut

House cleaning (even if it's only once every couple of months)

Top-tier hair removal/brow maintenance services of your choice

Best doctors, dentists, OB/GYN, and dermatologists you can get

At least one personal training/styling session in your life

Professional/Social:

Ownership of the domain for your full legal/professional name and/or business name

A CPA/bookkeeper/fiduciary financial advisor

Automation workflow/content management system software

A lawyer for contract review/LLC services

Personalized stationery/"Thank You" cards

Memorable client gifting for the holidays/milestone successes

Niche skill-based certifications (Google, AWS, Hubspot, etc.) or courses made by trusted professionals in your field

Subscriptions in world-leading and industry-authority digital publications

[sophrosynesworld]

Black and Blues (Pt. 2)

Part One:

The elevator ride feels suffocating in its silence. Izuku stares ahead, his normally bright demeanor dulled by the weight of everything happening. It’s just like high school all over again—losing him the first time nearly broke me. How am I supposed to survive this again?

The chime of the elevator interrupts our last moments of quiet, and the doors slide open, unleashing the chaos of DynaCorp. Assistants scramble like ants, buzzing around us with frantic energy.

“Can someone please find Mrs. Bakugo an appropriate outfit?” One assistant barks orders while others scatter. My fingers fidget with the hem of my shorts as camera crews set up equipment, flashes already going off in every direction.

“Mrs. Dynamite, you need to issue Plan C42. Sign here.” A clipboard and pen are thrust into my hands without warning.

Izuku snatches it out of my grip before I can even register what’s happening, tossing it aside. “She’s not signing that. He’s been gone less than 48 hours. Kacchan’s taken spontaneous trips to Spain that have lasted longer than this.”

“What’s C42?” I ask, tugging on his jacket to refocus him. Izuku’s gaze softens momentarily as he gently takes my wrist, pulling me away from the swarm of demands closing in on us.

Before Izuku can answer, an assistant with a phone rushes over. “Mrs. Bakugo, the shareholders’ meeting is about to start. They need you on the call now.”

“Wait, I—”

“Mrs. Bakugo, the PR team needs a statement about Mr. Bakugo’s absence,” another voice cuts in.

“One thing at a time!” I snap, feeling my head start to spin.

Izuku squeezes my hand reassuringly, leaning in so his green eyes are level with mine. “C42 hands over control to the board of directors,” he explains, voice low and steady, trying to anchor me. “Katsuki’s smart. He knows what he’s doing—he’s a shark when it comes to business.”

“Then why are they all acting like he’s already dead?” I mutter, my voice cracking under the pressure.

“Katsuki owns 65% of DynaCorp,” Izuku explains, keeping his focus on me. “As the majority shareholder, he can’t be outvoted. They can’t act without your approval.”

“Mrs. Bakugo, please, the meeting,” the assistant with the phone urges again, sounding panicked.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, still looking at Izuku. “What do I do?”

Izuku steps closer, his large hand resting on my bicep.

“Do you know why Katsuki’s the boss?” he asks me quietly. “It’s because he’s a bully. He doesn’t take orders from anyone. His employees don't tell him what to do—they wait for him to make the call. And today, you’re in charge. You decide when things happen. Everyone waits on you.”

I swallow hard but nod, feeling a small spark of confidence stir inside me.

Just then, another assistant rushes up with a tablet in hand. “Mrs. Bakugo, the legal team needs your approval on these documents.”

Before I can even react, Izuku grabs the tablet out of the assistant’s hands, shooting them a sharp glare. “We’ll review everything later,” he snaps. “You've done things way scarier than this. Bakugo is going to love hearing about this.”

The rest of the day is a whirlwind. Meeting after meeting, phone call after phone call, every second brings new demands, new emergencies. My head is pounding, a constant hum of tension swirling behind my eyes. By the time we finally leave the office, the city has long since gone dark, and exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders.

I never realized how much Katsuki dealt with on a daily basis. The pressure, the decisions, the chaos—it’s no wonder he always seemed stressed. I should buy more plants.

Izuku and I sit in my apartment, surrounded by takeout containers from our favorite restaurant. The scent of fresh rice and fried chicken bites fills the room as we go over stacks of documents spread across the coffee table.

Izuku picks up a dumpling with his chopsticks, his eyes soft with concern as he glances my way. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch, my head tilted toward the ceiling. "I don’t know… I’m not even hungry." My gaze drifts over to the counter, where my cold pancakes still sit, syrup congealed and untouched.

Izuku lowers his chopsticks, setting them aside. “What would Katsuki say?”

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. “That I’m going to get a headache if I don’t eat some protein.” I mumble, rolling my eyes even as I take a small bite from my plate, forcing the food down despite the knot in my stomach.

“Thank you, Izuku,” I say quietly, the weight of the day pulling down on my shoulders. “You didn’t have to stay.”

He gives me a soft smile, his voice equally gentle. “We stick together. Your husband has every pro hero in Japan looking for him. He’d want me here with you.”

I nod, comforted by his presence as we work in silence. The world outside feels distant, almost surreal, until our phones begin to buzz, lighting up with a flurry of notifications. Message after message floods in, urging us to turn on the TV.

Izuku grabs the remote with a frown, switching to the local news channel.

And then everything stops.

“Oh my god.” The words fall from my mouth, barely audible. My hands fly up to cover my face as I stare at the screen, frozen in horror. My legs feel weak, but before I can collapse, Izuku is up, his arms pulling me into a tight cocoon, shielding me from the unbearable images flashing on the screen.

“Recently released footage shows ProHero Dynamite hours after he was reported as MIA. The following footage contains graphic images that may not be suitable for viewers.”

My body thrashes against Izuku's hold as I desperately try to turn around and see the screen. But he holds me firm, locking me in place.

"Katsuki!" I scream, heart racing in my chest. But then I hear his voice, faint but unmistakable through the television speakers.

“Bluejays are born to fly. Are they not?”

I stomp on Izuku’s foot, using his moment of surprise to break free from his grip. I whip around, my eyes locking onto the screen just in time to see the horrifying scene. An assailant with an electricity quirk sends a painful jolt into Katsuki’s body, his face twisted in agony. His lips part again.

“Bluejay...”

My heart shatters at the sight of him—broken, battered... confused. I move toward the TV without thinking, my trembling hand reaching for him.

“Stop! Please!” I cry, my fingers grazing the glass, feeling the cold surface that separates us. Izuku yanks me away, wrapping his arms around me and rushing us toward the door.

“What are you doing?!” I shout in confusion, my voice choked with emotion as our apartment door slams behind us.

“We have to go—now,” Izuku mutters under his breath, his usual calm composure unraveling as he pulls me down the hallway. This isn’t like him. We usually take the elevator, but this time, he pushes open the stairwell door, his eyes scanning for danger.

"Stay low, come on," he orders, and we descend the stairs, our hurried footsteps echoing in the narrow space. The sense of urgency fuels my panic, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

When we reach the parking garage, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward a car, practically shoving me inside. He slides into the driver’s seat, his movements fast and calculated, the car roaring to life as he locks the doors and tears out of the garage.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand, my voice rising with fear and confusion.

Izuku’s knuckles tighten on the wheel, his jaw set. “You’re in danger. We need to move you somewhere safe.”

“What? Izuku, what are you talking about?” I ask.

He spares me a glance. “I don’t know everything yet. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’re going to figure this out—and we’re going to get Kacchan back. I promise.”

The city blurs past us, the streets illuminated by the dim glow of streetlights as we speed into the night, leaving everything familiar behind. All I can think about is Katsuki’s broken face on that screen, and the overwhelming fear that we might not make it in time.

Part Three:

[juvinadelgreko]

a short list of things that happen to gallavich post-canon because i said so:

ian & mickey ditch the yuppy westside after a year and get a small duplex on the south side that's far enough away from either of their childhood homes to not have too many ghosts, but close enough to family and the places they know. it's 3 beds and 2.5 baths, which is the perfect size for them and any guests they may have. franny and freddie love to sleep over, and fiona enjoys staying with them when she decides she's ready to come visit.

the security business grows to the point that they file Real Business Paperwork™️ and start hiring new people. Their services eventually expand beyond just weed. Their clientele mostly consists of small family restaurants and shops that want to cater and deliver but don't have the budget to buy their own vehicles/hire their own drivers. ian and mickey's favorite client is a family run greek restaurant that sends them home with leftovers every time they do a run for them (i'm greek, chicago has a huge greek community, and it makes me happy to think of ian and mickey stuffing their faces with homemade gyros and baklava after a long day).

mickey thrives as CEO of GM Secure Transport. we know he's a math whiz, and his accounting methods, though unconventional, are pristine. he knows the city so well, has a knack for mapping the most efficient routes that keep them on time and cost effective. they set up a website and social media pages that quickly become plastered in rave reviews. he actually comes to enjoy meeting the different people that hire them, getting to know their businesses, getting free samples and leftovers. he establishes a rapport with the business on his route, and would even go so far as to consider himself friends with some of the owners.

things go so well that ian begins to consider stepping back. on the downlow, he starts doing research on a possible path back to working in healthcare. after losing his army dreams, it was the only career he ever felt passionate about. he loves helping mickey, but he misses it so much. he finds a few different legal processes by which he could return to it, and decides he's going to try. he refuses to live the rest of his life regretting not trying. he's nervous to tell mickey about stepping back from their business, but of course mickey is 100% behind ian doing what makes him happy. mickey rallies the entire family behind ian to help with the paperwork and supporting documentation. it takes months, but ian eventually receives permission from the state of illinois to go to paramedic school. he'd loved being an EMT and had always wanted to learn more. mickey draws flashcards for him and helps him study for all of his exams. ian, of course, passes everything with flying colors and graduates at the top of his class. mickey insists on throwing him a big gallagher blowout party after the ceremony. when his shifts start, mickey packs him lunch with goofy (sometimes dirty) notes in the box. (I'll forever be so angry at the writers for taking ian's EMT career from him and i refuse to believe that in shameless's wishy-washy version of the legal system he couldn't find a path back to it).

aside from their business, mickey has a small side gig as an artist. ian always knew mickey was brilliant and creative, and never passes on an opportunity to tell him so. when he went over to the milkovich house as a kid, he'd always pocket mickey's little doodles he left laying around (ian was not as slick about this as he thought, mickey 100% saw him doing it but was way too nervous to bring it up until they wound up in prison together years later). now that he has the money for it, mickey invests in some entry level art supplies, takes some classes, and really falls in love with it. he posts some of it to social media and gets way more love for it than he was expecting. people eventually ask about buying his work or commissioning pieces, leading mickey milkovich, at one time the meanest thug on the south side, to set up an etsy shop.

but what really surprises everyone is when mickey picks up knitting (thank you, @infjgemini for being the originator of this headcanon) he's always liked working with his hands, working with numbers and patterns, and the women in his art classes are always talking about their knitting. when one of them catches him looking at the patterns sticking out of their purse, she offers to share an extra set of needles and some yarn with mickey so he can learn how to do it. ian's a little intrigued when he comes from his shift and sees mickey knitting, but he just encourages mickey to keep doing it if he's enjoying it. eventually, ian stops buying sweaters, hats, mittens, etc. at the store and exclusively wears mickey couture. he can't go five seconds without telling people that his husband made one of the things he's wearing. 'oh you like this hat? my husband made it. he has an etsy store.' and 'this is my favorite sweater. my husband made it just for me, you can't have it.' franny and freddie love their custom uncle mickey sweaters. a year after he starts, mickey's christmas gift to ian is an absolutely massive knitted throw blanket that will actually cover all 6ft of ian plus mickey when they snuggle, unlike the ones at the store. it becomes ian's most prized possession, and they almost always spend their evenings and weekends curled up under that blanket watching movies on their very comfy couch. mickey's knitting of course sells gangbusters on etsy, and he wishes he could go back in time just to tell his 17 year old self that people are paying actual money for his artwork. he continues meeting with his art class friends, with the women who taught him to knit, and finds he really enjoys the low stakes gossip and chatter of their group. ian gets so hooked on all the tea he brings home, eagerly waits up for mickey to relay him the knitting circle drama for the week. he's not the only guy in the group, and there's a good enough age range that he doesn't feel like an oddball. ian enjoys meeting them, is glad that mickey has friends he feels comfortable with. some of them are elderly, and he and ian frequently go to their houses to help with chores and heavy lifting. they accidentally end up with a small cohort of surrogate grandparents, which they both really enjoy after growing up with almost no sane adult presence in their lives.

ian finds his way back to running. it's one of the many things he adds back into his routine as part of his and mickey's agreement to start taking better care of themselves. it had taken a few really loud arguments, but once the dust settled on their first year of marriage, ian insists they're going to start eating better and living healthier now that they can afford it. it takes a lot of convincing, but he manages to get mickey to quit smoking with him, to cut back on drinking, and work some more exercise into his life. mickey hates running but loves lifting (man after my own heart) so they spend a lot of time doing that together. but ian's runs are his quiet solo meditation time. he really missed it. he finds a local queer and trans run club, and once he's sure it doesn't involve caleb or any of the gay jesus kids, he joins up. he ends up getting along really well with the group, and even convinces mickey to go out for drinks with some of them. ian trains a healthy amount, doesn't push himself too hard or obsess over how fast or far he's going or how much weight he is or isn't losing--he just enjoys it. he enters in a neighborhood holiday race with the run club just for shits and giggles, and actually really enjoys the fun competitiveness and goofy holiday outfits. he keeps doing fun little races, enters a local half marathon, and then a full one. mickey always parks himself somewhere along the route with the partners of the other people in the run club and cheers like a rabid soccer mom when ian passes by. he does not care who stares. that's his fucking husband! after a few years, fiona comes home and they run the chicago marathon together. the whole entire family shows up to cheer for them, and the picture of him and fiona in their race bibs and participation medals, surrounded by the entire family at the finish line, is framed on ian's nightstand.

speaking of eating better, ian finds he really loves gardening and cooking. he starts with tomatoes, and when those go well, slowly expands. he finds that mickey's much more amenable to trying new foods if he knows ian grew the ingredients in their yard. ian loves to dig online for recipes, loves to experiment with new ingredients. one of the older ladies from mickey's knitting circle comes over sometimes to help him with new dishes. liam, franny, and freddie come to their house for dinner at least once a week just because ian's cooking is that good. liam especially takes an interest in it, and starts coming over a bunch just to cook with ian. he gets really good at meal prepping for the days he works 12 hour shifts and doesn't have the energy to cook anything when he gets home. he puts everything together beforehand and leaves mickey directions for serving it. mickey always has it ready for him when he gets home. they cook together on ian's days off. in the summer, ian will make spreads of berry pies and have the entire family over for dinner. he always hides one away for just him and mickey. for holidays, everyone pitches in to cook, but ian is the chief executive of it all, with liam as his right hand man. mickey is chief taste tester.

also--they get a dog. a few years on, mickey finds a worse-for-wear boxer-mixed-with-something wandering around one of his delivery routes, and like. he can't just leave it. he takes it to a shelter, but it sticks in his mind for weeks, until he can't resist anymore and has to ask ian about maybe, just maybe getting a dog. ian agrees, because they both really wanted a pet growing up and now they can have one because they're grownups with the space and money for one. after doing some research, they decide to go adopt from the same shelter mickey took the stray to. he's still there, and mickey never believed in fate before, but he thinks maybe he does now. they bring him home and name him Sox, both after the white sox and because his brindle coat is interrupted by four white socks. he is the most spoiled dog in the city of chicago. the 'no dog on the couch or bed' rule lasted about five seconds. he sleeps on the end of their bed every night and flops on their laps during movie time. mickey insists that dog food is dog food and people food is people food, but ian is a softie who sneaks him pieces of meat from dinner almost every night. mickey will sometimes take him on delivery runs because the customers love him and Sox loves to stick his head out the window. whenever his station does a cookout, ian brings Sox and everyone takes turns playing fetch with him. in the summer, he loves to swim with them and the kids in the above ground pool in the yard, and sit in the garden while ian works.

this is so soft, guys, but it makes me so happy to think about these two having a good life.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Cigna’s nopeinator

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me THURSDAY (May 2) in WINNIPEG, then Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), Tartu, Estonia, and beyond!

Cigna – like all private health insurers – has two contradictory imperatives:

To keep its customers healthy; and

To make as much money for its shareholders as is possible.

Now, there's a hypothetical way to resolve these contradictions, a story much beloved by advocates of America's wasteful, cruel, inefficient private health industry: "If health is a "market," then a health insurer that fails to keep its customers healthy will lose those customers and thus make less for its shareholders." In this thought-experiment, Cigna will "find an equilibrium" between spending money to keep its customers healthy, thus retaining their business, and also "seeking efficiencies" to create a standard of care that's cost-effective.

But health care isn't a market. Most of us get our health-care through our employers, who offer small handful of options that nevertheless manage to be so complex in their particulars that they're impossible to directly compare, and somehow all end up not covering the things we need them for. Oh, and you can only change insurers once or twice per year, and doing so incurs savage switching costs, like losing access to your family doctor and specialists providers.

Cigna – like other health insurers – is "too big to care." It doesn't have to worry about losing your business, so it grows progressively less interested in even pretending to keep you healthy.

The most important way for an insurer to protect its profits at the expense of your health is to deny care that your doctor believes you need. Cigna has transformed itself into a care-denying assembly line.

Dr Debby Day is a Cigna whistleblower. Dr Day was a Cigna medical director, charged with reviewing denied cases, a job she held for 20 years. In 2022, she was forced out by Cigna. Writing for Propublica and The Capitol Forum, Patrick Rucker and David Armstrong tell her story, revealing the true "equilibrium" that Cigna has found:

https://www.propublica.org/article/cigna-medical-director-doctor-patient-preapproval-denials-insurance

Dr Day took her job seriously. Early in her career, she discovered a pattern of claims from doctors for an expensive therapy called intravenous immunoglobulin in cases where this made no medical sense. Dr Day reviewed the scientific literature on IVIG and developed a Cigna-wide policy for its use that saved the company millions of dollars.

This is how it's supposed to work: insurers (whether private or public) should permit all the medically necessary interventions and deny interventions that aren't supported by evidence, and they should determine the difference through internal reviewers who are treated as independent experts.

But as the competitive landscape for US healthcare dwindled – and as Cigna bought out more parts of its supply chain and merged with more of its major rivals – the company became uniquely focused on denying claims, irrespective of their medical merit.

In Dr Day's story, the turning point came when Cinga outsourced pre-approvals to registered nurses in the Philippines. Legally, a nurse can approve a claim, but only an MD can deny a claim. So Dr Day and her colleagues would have to sign off when a nurse deemed a procedure, therapy or drug to be medically unnecessary.

This is a complex determination to make, even under ideal circumstances, but Cigna's Filipino outsource partners were far from ideal. Dr Day found that nurses were "sloppy" – they'd confuse a mother with her newborn baby and deny care on that grounds, or confuse an injured hip with an injured neck and deny permission for an ultrasound. Dr Day reviewed a claim for a test that was denied because STI tests weren't "medically necessary" – but the patient's doctor had applied for a test to diagnose a toenail fungus, not an STI.

Even if the nurses' evaluations had been careful, Dr Day wanted to conduct her own, thorough investigation before overriding another doctor's judgment about the care that doctor's patient warranted. When a nurse recommended denying care "for a cancer patient or a sick baby," Dr Day would research medical guidelines, read studies and review the patient's record before signing off on the recommendation.

This was how the claims denial process is said to work, but it's not how it was supposed to work. Dr Day was markedly slower than her peers, who would "click and close" claims by pasting the nurses' own rationale for denying the claim into the relevant form, acting as a rubber-stamp rather than a skilled reviewer.

Dr Day knew she was slower than her peers. Cigna made sure of that, producing a "productivity dashboard" that scored doctors based on "handle time," which Cigna describes as the average time its doctors spend on different kinds of claims. But Dr Day and other Cigna sources say that this was a maximum, not an average – a way of disciplining doctors.

These were not long times. If a doctor asked Cigna not to discharge their patient from hospital care and a nurse denied that claim, the doctor reviewing that claim was supposed to spend not more than 4.5 minutes on their review. Other timelines were even more aggressive: many denials of prescription drugs were meant to be resolved in fewer than two minutes.

Cigna told Propublica and The Capitol Forum that its productivity scores weren't based on a simple calculation about whether its MD reviewers were hitting these brutal processing time targets, describing the scores as a proprietary mix of factors that reflected a nuanced view of care. But when Propublica and The Capitol Forum created a crude algorithm to generate scores by comparing a doctor's performance relative to the company's targets, they found the results fit very neatly into the actual scores that Cigna assigned to its docs:

The newsrooms’ formula accurately reproduced the scores of 87% of the Cigna doctors listed; the scores of all but one of the rest fell within 1 to 2 percentage points of the number generated by this formula. When asked about this formula, Cigna said it may be inaccurate but didn’t elaborate.

As Dr Day slipped lower on the productivity chart, her bosses pressured her bring her score up (Day recorded her phone calls and saved her emails, and the reporters verified them). Among other things, Dr Day's boss made it clear that her annual bonus and stock options were contingent on her making quota.

Cigna denies all of this. They smeared Dr Day as a "disgruntled former employee" (as though that has any bearing on the truthfulness of her account), and declined to explain the discrepancies between Dr Day's accusations and Cigna's bland denials.

This isn't new for Cigna. Last year, Propublica and Capitol Forum revealed the existence of an algorithmic claims denial system that allowed its doctors to bulk-deny claims in as little as 1.2 seconds:

https://www.propublica.org/article/cigna-pxdx-medical-health-insurance-rejection-claims

Cigna insisted that this was a mischaracterization, saying the system existed to speed up the approval of claims, despite the first-hand accounts of Cigna's own doctors and the doctors whose care recommendations were blocked by the system. One Cigna doctor used this system to "review" and deny 60,000 claims in one month.

Beyond serving as an indictment of the US for-profit health industry, and of Cigna's business practices, this is also a cautionary tale about the idea that critical AI applications can be resolved with "humans in the loop."

AI pitchmen claim that even unreliable AI can be fixed by adding a "human in the loop" that reviews the AI's judgments:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

In this world, the AI is an assistant to the human. For example, a radiologist might have an AI double-check their assessments of chest X-rays, and revisit those X-rays where the AI's assessment didn't match their own. This robot-assisted-human configuration is called a "centaur."

In reality, "human in the loop" is almost always a reverse-centaur. If the hospital buys an AI, fires half its radiologists and orders the remainder to review the AI's superhuman assessments of chest X-rays, that's not an AI assisted radiologist, that's a radiologist-assisted AI. Accuracy goes down, but so do costs. That's the bet that AI investors are making.

Many AI applications turn out not to even be "AI" – they're just low-waged workers in an overseas call-center pretending to be an algorithm (some Indian techies joke that AI stands for "absent Indians"). That was the case with Amazon's Grab and Go stores where, supposedly, AI-enabled cameras counted up all the things you put in your shopping basket and automatically billed you for them. In reality, the cameras were connected to Indian call-centers where low-waged workers made those assessments:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

This Potemkin AI represents an intermediate step between outsourcing and AI. Over the past three decades, the growth of cheap telecommunications and logistics systems let corporations outsource customer service to low-waged offshore workers. The corporations used the excuse that these subcontractors were far from the firm and its customers to deny them any agency, giving them rigid scripts and procedures to follow.

This was a very usefully dysfunctional system. As a customer with a complaint, you would call the customer service line, wait for a long time on hold, spend an interminable time working through a proscribed claims-handling process with a rep who was prohibited from diverging from that process. That process nearly always ended with you being told that nothing could be done.

At that point, a large number of customers would have given up on getting a refund, exchange or credit. The money paid out to the few customers who were stubborn or angry enough to karen their way to a supervisor and get something out of the company amounted to pennies, relative to the sums the company reaped by ripping off the rest.

The Amazon Grab and Go workers were humans in robot suits, but these customer service reps were robots in human suits. The software told them what to say, and they said it, and all they were allowed to say was what appeared on their screens. They were reverse centaurs, serving as the human faces of the intransigent robots programmed by monopolists that were too big to care.

AI is the final stage of this progression: robots without the human suits. The AI turns its "human in the loop" into a "moral crumple zone," which Madeleine Clare Elish describes as "a component that bears the brunt of the moral and legal responsibilities when the overall system malfunctions":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

The Filipino nurses in the Cigna system are an avoidable expense. As Cigna's own dabbling in algorithmic claim-denial shows, they can be jettisoned in favor of a system that uses productivity dashboards and other bossware to push doctors to robosign hundreds or thousands of denials per day, on the pretense that these denials were "reviewed" by a licensed physician.

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/2024/04/29/what-part-of-no/#dont-you-understand

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Secret Secret Chapter 1

OT8 Straykids x reader, ABO AU

When a new translation position opened up at your dream job, you were quick to apply. You met all the qualifications, had glowing reviews, and knew you were a perfect fit. There was only one problem. JYP only hired beta's. And you were not a beta.

Story Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Eventual Smut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Heats/Ruts, Discrimination, Angst, Slow Burn

Masterlist | Next Part

You looked up at the towering glass building with your heart in your throat. There were people walking in and out of the building with ease, likely workers or personal for JYP who didn’t think twice about their positions, about how much you longed to be a part of them.

You had been gunning for this opportunity for years, but now that you were finally there, your feet refused to move. You turned your focus away from the building and spotted a group of three girls all huddled together with their eyes laser focused on the entrance, whispering to each other.

No doubt fans trying to catch a glimpse of their favorite idols.

You let out a sigh. “Okay, it’s okay. You can do this. It’s fine, you got this.”

With a nod to yourself, you dragged your feet forward and practically stumbled through the front doors. The girls from before giggled loudly behind you, and you refused to look back. You hoped nobody else noticed.

You walked over to the reception desk quickly, giving the receptionist a blinding smile to hide your nervousness. His scent reminded you of sugared candy and smelled of beta, but you of all people knew how deceiving scents could be. After all, it was the entire reason you were here to begin with.

“Ah, hello,” You said. “I’m here for a job interview? For the translator position?”

He nodded his head in understanding. You gave him your name and he pulled out a lanyard with the words ‘VISITOR’ printed on it, handing it over along with a quick explanation of where you had to go. You thanked him with a bow, and made your way to the elevators, repeating the direction to yourself.

Second floor, third door to the left. Second floor, third door to the left.

It wouldn’t do you any good to get lost before you even had a chance to get the job. The elevator was quick, the doors opening smoothly with a ding. There was a mirror at the back of the elevator, and taking advantage of nobody else being in there with you, you quickly adjusted your clothes and fixed a stray strand of hair that was sticking out, making sure your face didn’t give away your panic.

You also made sure to quickly smell your wrists, relieved that the perfume you had put on before leaving the house was still strong. The scent blockers would block out your own scent to the rest of the world, and it would draw too many questions from the company you were trying to interview for. The specific perfume you had on was a lovely jasmine scent, and clearly a beta scent.

It was essential for you, considering you weren’t a beta.

You were an omega.

The elevator doors opened onto the second floor and even though you knew where you had to go -Second floor, third door to the left-, you still took a moment to stop in front of the desk to double check you were heading in the right direction. The beta receptionist up here showed a lot more expressions than the one downstairs, giving you a blinding smile and wishing you luck. You thanked her with a small nod, and made your way to the third door to the left.

You paused right outside the door, taking another deep breath.

“You got this,” You whispered to yourself again.

You knew you were qualified. You had a recommendation from your last company, glowing reviews from your manager who had been disappointed to see you go, but knowing that you had bigger dreams than translating for a legal firm. Working in the entertainment industry was your dream job, and JYP was one of the top entertainment companies in the business. This was a big opportunity.

But you knew the one thing you had going against you, was your presentation.

JYP only hired betas. They had for years, and even as the world pushed for equal rights among Omega’s and Alpha’s, the truth was that so many companies hesitated to hire them due to their stereotypes and requirements. And while JYP openly accepted trainees of all presentations, their staff were held to a higher standard.

Omega’s were too emotional. Omega’s needed protection, staff members were expected to protect. Omega’s had heats and would take time off work. Omega’s would want to start families. Omega’s were more likely to develop romantic feelings.

Omega’s were a liability.

You frowned at your reflection in the mirror. All those harsh words that had been thrown at you every time you complained about all the jobs that turned you down. Words said by strangers, friends, even family. Every person who tried to excuse their own biases and refusing to change anything. You wanted to prove them wrong.

“You got this,” You repeated, nodding to yourself.

You were going to prove them wrong. You had to.

Even if you had to lie to do it.

You knocked on the door, and the woman on the other side called you in after only a moment. You made sure to bow to the three people in the conference room as you entered, sitting down at the opposite end of the table from them. You knew how this was supposed to go, since you had done it many times before.

‘I see here you speak 5 languages. Where did you learn them?’

‘You have traveled and worked in other countries? What was that experience like?’

‘We received a glowing recommendation. Why did you decide to leave your last job?’

And just like always, the questions began to get a little too predictable.

‘Are you married, or in a relationship?’

‘Why not?’

‘Are you interested in a relationship?’

And then came the dreadful question.

‘What’s your presentation?’

They always asked you that. Every time, even though you knew full well that they had your resume right in front of them, that they could see it for themselves. It frustrated you, because it had nothing to do with your work. Because you were still obligated to put down your presentation on your resume by law. Because employers would still discriminate against you because of it.

You forced a smile on your face. “I’m a beta, as you can see.”

It wasn’t a crime to lie about your presentation anymore than it was to lie about your gender. Your old boss made sure of it. He was one of the few employers who fought to have you on his team, even when so many other companies and workplaces advised against it, tried to tell him about the downsides to working with an omega.

He had scoffed at them. “Bunch of old fashions dumbasses.”

You loved your old boss.

So unless the company had access to your medical records (which they didn’t), or somehow found a copy of your birth certificate (which you hoped they didn’t, that wouldn’t make any sense), they had no way of doubting your lie.

Which is why you wore the fake scented perfume you had gotten from a lovely little store near your apartment that specifically targeted trans-presentations. You weren’t unhappy with being an omega (just unhappy at the way the world treated them), but the false scents they sold to help those who were had been a god send in making sure you appeared to the words as what you wanted them to think of you as.

If it helped you get the job, you would be a beta for as long as it took.

And with the forced smile still pulling at your cheeks, you were complimented on your outstanding qualifications and experience, and told that they would call you back soon with more information. You thanked them for their time with another bow, and although you weren’t in the clear just yet, let out a sigh of relief the moment you made it back out into the halls.

The young beta girl behind the desk gave you another smile as you passed, and you made sure to thank her for her hard work as you made your ways to the elevator. The beta from the front desk didn’t even look at you twice as you walked through the lobby, but you didn’t mind him, knowing he was busy and had work to do.

The girls from before were gone, and the doors to the building opened and closed as people entered and existed. Birds chirped from somewhere above you.

You crossed your fingers, and prayed.

-0-0-

“Oh my god! OH MY GOD!” You screeched.

“What?! WHAT?!”

Sooyoung, your roommate, looked up from her phone with wide eyes in a panic at your shouts of excitement. You held out your phone to her, but before she could even make out the words on the screen, you were already pulling it back to stare at it in awe.

“I got accepted!” You squealed.

Sooyoung gasped. “You got the job?!”

“I GOT THE JOB!”

“Ahhhh!” Sooyoung screamed in excitement, throwing her own phone to the side and jumping up next to you, both of you hopping around the room. “Oh my god, do you know what this means?”

“That I’m going to need a whole lot more scent blocker?”

“No- well, yes.” Sooyoung stopped hopping, looking up in thought. “Actually, yeah. You’re going to need a shit ton of that stuff. And more of the perfume, now that I think about it.”

You visibly drooped. “Man, it’s a good thing I’m going to be making bank at this job, because that stuff is expensive.”

“Not the point. I was going to say, we need to celebrate,” Sooyoung concluded with her hands in the air.

You laughed at her. “Celebrate lying to my employers?”

“Celebrate sticking it to the man! You are braver than I am, that’s for sure.”

You shook you head in amusement, but her words did make you want to throttle someone momentarily. Sooyoung had been dealing with the exact same discrimination you had, but as an alpha, her battle was targeted more towards those who questioned her aggression and instability, especially ‘as a woman alpha’, as one employer had put it. Seeing as Sooyoung was desperate to work in education, those harmful stereotypes made it impossible to get anyone to trust her around children.

She was making do working at a community college at the moment, but you knew her real dream was to work with preschool aged children.

“It doesn’t make much of a difference,” She had explained to you once. “I swear most of my students act like children anyways, the only difference is they don’t have the excuse of being literally 5.”

You had encouraged her to keep trying, that there was going to be a school out there somewhere that would see past her presentation, but she had already lost hope. You hoped that your own success might encourage her to do something similar, but you knew that wouldn’t fix the real problem. The deep-rooted issues and the systemic injustice.

But that was a can of worms you didn’t want to open at the moment.

Instead, you agreed to a night out on the town (as Sooyoung put it), and with her encouragement, went to go get ready. She had clicked her tongue at your first outfit, scoffed at the second, and rolled her eyes at the third.

“Babe, are you even trying?”

“What’s wrong with this?” You said with a pout, looking down at yourself.

You had chosen a pair of tight jeans that made your ass look good, and a cute white shirt that had a crisscrossing pattern that hugged your waist. If you threw your hair up in a ponytail and added some dark makeup, you would look like you were straight off the set of a kpop music video. But apparently that wasn’t the vibe Sooyoung was looking for.

“Don’t get me wrong, you look good,” She assured as she dug through your closet. “But we want you to look better than good. I want every man and woman to do a double take when you pass by. I want you to be the best dish at the table.”

You laughed. “I thought we were just going out for some fun. Some drinks, hit up a club or something … you sound like you’re trying to get me laid.”

She winked at you. “Who says we can’t do both?”

Typical of Sooyoung. She had been trying to hook you up with someone since you broke up with your ex a few months ago, but you had been so busy with work and then planning out your interview, so you hadn’t had time to think about sex.

Now having a new job and unknown responsibilities for the foreseeable future, getting one last hoorah before you had to be at work in two days sounded like a great opportunity.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well okay then. Let’s see what you got for me.”

Turns out that while Sooyoung loved teaching kids, she could very well get a job as a professional stylist. You hadn’t even been aware that you had a black dress, but she had pulled it out of somewhere. It was … tight. It looked amazing on you, you would admit that, but it was so short and so tight that you felt like you were going to flash someone if you bent over. Thankfully, Sooyoung managed to pair it off with a slightly longer skirt that blended seamlessly with the dress, giving the illusion that it was longer than it actually was.

“Got to leave something up to the imagination,” She had told you.

With the way that the guys at the club were eyeing you, you weren’t sure that really mattered. You hadn’t cared at first, the drinks you had doing wonders in making you not care about the rest of the world and what they thought, but you had reached a point in the night where you didn’t want to drink anymore, but it didn’t seem like Sooyoung was ready to go home just yet.

Unlike you, she didn’t have a limit. She was still going at it strong on the dance floor, pulling some poor omega guy against her and stinking up the area with horny pheromones.

Although, its was a club. There was a lot of that going around.

The stares your were receiving combined with the heavy scents that were being released was starting to make you feel uncomfortable. It didn’t help that you were free of scent blockers tonight, and you were undoubtedly an omega to anyone who got a little too close. You hated their predatory looks turned downright sinister when they thought you would be easy.

“What’s a pretty little omega like you doing all by themselves?” One Alpha tried, and you bared your teeth at him when he released his heavy scent on you.

Your omega cried out at the thought of an alpha, but you were not controlled by your secondary gender. He obviously wasn’t expecting you to fight back, probably wanting some submissive and breed able omega that would let him do whatever he wanted to them. When you told him to fuck off, he gave you a nasty look, but thankfully did as he was told.

You were grateful he didn’t try to push It farther.

Sooyoung caught your eye from across the room, eyebrow raised in question.

You good?

You gave her a thumbs up.

All good.

Satisfied, Sooyoung went back to dancing with … you weren’t sure. It was a girl this time, but you couldn’t tell her presentation from this far away. Whoever it was, they looked like they were having fun. You downed the rest of your drink, and making sure Sooyoung saw you gesture towards the bathrooms, you went to get a break from all the lights and noises.

The hallway leading to the bathroom had a few patrons loitering around away from the loud music and chatting, but it was far less crowded than the main room. The bathroom itself was empty, and you just took a second to breathe.

After two hours out, you were starting to get tired. Sooyoung had a lot more stamina than you did, and she wouldn’t hesitate to end the night right now if you asked her too. But although she had used your new job position as an excuse to go out and have some fun, you knew that this was a night off for her just as much as it was for you. She needed this, and you didn’t want to end her fun just yet.

Besides, you had a plan of your own.

You had downed enough glasses of water and spent enough time off to the side that you had sobered up, and with your mind and thoughts clear, you decided it was time to go get some. You pushed your dress down a little to where your cleavage was on display, fixed your hair, and gave yourself a wink in the mirror.

“You got this.”

You exited the bathroom with the full intention of heading out to the dance floor and looking for someone to have a good time with, but you practically ran out and straight into someone else who was leaning against the wall right next to the door. You nearly knocked them over, and immediately reached out to steady them.

“Shit. I’m am so sorry.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” They reassured you, mouth muffled by the mask they were wearing. “I should have realized standing next to the bathroom door was a bad idea.”

“Oh no, that was all me,” You said, giving the guy a look over.

He wasn’t very tall, but not that short either. His mouth was covered by a black surgical mask, the kind most people in Korea wore when flu season made its rounds, or when the air quality wasn’t very good. It was odd to see someone wearing that kind of mask in a club, but not entirely unheard of.

Besides his black mask, he also wore an entirely black outfit. A black shirt, black sweatpants, and a black hoodie that his most of his hair, although a couple of dark strands could be seen from the sides. He looked more like a college student on their way back home from long hours of studying than someone who was out for a night on the town, like he would be more comfortable at home with friends than a club in the middle of the city.

“Ah, no worries. I guess you can say I fell for you.”

The guy chuckled at his own words, an awkward laugh to a stupid pick-up line that normally would have you rolling your eyes, but the way he said it, like an offhanded joke, had you giggling along with him. His scent wafted over to you in the narrow hallway, a mix of floral and fruity. It reminded you of the beach.

You bit your lip, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Well, what can I say. I guess I just have that effect on people.”

His scent grew stronger at your words, and though his eyebrows raised in surprise, there was a pleased hint to his scent. It smelled like alpha, and your omega perked up her metaphorical ears in interest.

“Ah, I don’t doubt that,” He mused, leaning against the wall and tilting his head at you, eyes darting down your figure.

Your stomach flipped under his gaze, your own scent undoubtedly giving away your interest, so there was no reason to play coy. Instead, you gave him a flirtatious smile, deciding to shoot your shot.

“So, what are you doing hanging out outside the woman’s bathroom?”

It was only once you had spoken that you realized how accusatory your words sounded, and you wanted to wince in embarrassment. The men’s bathroom door was directly in front of the woman’s bathroom. For all you knew, he was waiting for a friend, or maybe the stalls were all occupied, and he was waiting for someone to leave, or literally any other reason.

He let out a laugh. “That does look a little bad, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” You tried to explain, feeling like you had just completely vanished any energy that had started to build.

“No, it’s okay.” He giggled to himself. “I guess I was just waiting for a beautiful lady to fall into my arms.”

“I guess you’ll have to keep waiting, because I’m not exactly in your arms,” You shot back.

“Well that can be arranged.” It was your turn to raise your eyebrows, and the guy backed down immediately with an embarrassed laugh, hands reaching up to hide his face. “I’m sorry, that was a little much.”

Your legs moved forward on instinct, hands reaching up to grab his own in a soft grip. You pulled them away from his face until you could see him clearly, the small expanse of skin that you could see behind the mask turning red, dark eyes staring into yours. You swallowed, giving him a nervous smile of your own.

“Not at all,” You said, softer than before. Your eyes darted down to his masked face, and you wished you could see beneath it. “I … I wouldn’t mind.”

“Being in my arms?”

“Or anything else you offered,” You said.

The energy way back as if it had never left, a heavy haze falling over the two of you. His skin was warm, pupils dilating, and his scent became heavy with arousal, your body immediately reacting by pushing out your own vanilla scent in hopes that it would attract the perfect mate. From in your head, your omega was practically begging for you to make this man your own.

You were finding it hard to argue.

He flipped your grips around so that your hands were now in his. One of your hands was pulled up to his face, your arm twisted so that your wrist was now next to his mask, and you wondered just how much of your scent he was able to pick up from behind the mask. It must have been enough for him to understand because his eyes crinkled as if he was smiling.

“Anything I offered, huh?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” You said shyly, batting your eyelashes at him.

He let out a huff of laughter, and you used the position of your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling your body close to his. His grip dropped from your hands and to your waist, stopping you from moving closer.

“And if I said I wasn’t interested?” He asked.

You froze. “Well then this would be very awkward.”

“Ah, don’t worry.” He pulled you up against him completely, one of your knees hitting the wall behind him, a thigh slotting perfectly in between your legs, your chests pressed together. Your face was so close to his that you could feel the cloth of his mask brushing up against your nose. “I’m interested.”

“Great,” You replied, voice breathy.

“There is a bit of a hiccup, however-“

“Is it the mask?” You interrupted.

His eyes crinkled again. “Ah, am I that obvious?”

“I don’t mind,” You reassured him.

You didn’t care why he had the mask on. There were tons of reasons for it, from privacy to insecurities, that were none of your business. You told him as much, and his body seemed to relax slightly against your own, the tropical mix of his scent showing he was relieved at your acceptance. You found your nose drifting close to his neck, to the scent gland in front of you.

This close to him, his scent was thick enough you could practically taste it.

“We can make it work,” You told him, head feeling fuzzy from the sudden onslaught of alpha pheromones. Your omega was embarrassingly close. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” He didn’t even hesitate.

And that was how you found yourself pushing yourself into the crowd to get to Sooyoung, letting the alpha stranger that you just needed to give a heads up to your roommate. It wasn’t until she spotted you, letting out a yell of excitement and pulling you towards her, that you realized you didn’t even know the alpha’s name.

Whatever. I wasn’t like you were planning on marrying the guy.

You didn’t even need to explain much to your roommate, the face she made when she got a whiff of you telling her everything she needed to know. She yelled at you to wear protection and you flushed when the eyes of everyone around you turned in your direction, so you made a quick retreat shortly after.

It wouldn’t be until later the next day that you would explain the entire interaction to Sooyoung over a late afternoon brunch. She congratulated you for finally getting out of your rut (pun intended), and you found out that Sooyoung had managed to snag not just the omega she had been dancing with for half of the night, but also the cute beta girl who had joined them later on.

All in all, it felt like a successful night out.

-0-0-

It was only your first day, and you were already feeling a little overwhelmed at the sudden change in your environment. It wasn’t your first time translating in an official business setting, but law firms were much different than a kpop agency, and all the new rules and regulations made your head spin. Thankfully, you were used to doing paperwork, so the sheer number of NDAs you had to read through was familiar for you. It took nearly three hours of your time just to finish signing things, going through an orientation of sorts, and to be introduced to the office where you would be working. You understood why you had been called in so early.

Park Jeonhui, the head translator for JYP entertainment, sat you down around noon to explain the situation to you.

“The past few years, we’ve kept up pretty well with having only a few translators, only hiring extra when necessary, but recently we’ve had more groups to manage, which means more material, more opportunities, and unfortunately, more demand. Specifically, it’s no longer possible for the few translators we have to constantly be jumping from group to group when they are needed.”

You nodded in understanding, and she handed over a folder to you.

“Due to this increase in demand and the multiple world tours that are planned for the near future, it was the companies decision to hire translators who would focus on a specific group. Due to the languages you speak and your experience, we have decided to place you on the team for Stray Kids. Have you heard of them?”

You had, indeed, heard of them. While you weren’t a huge fan (you were much more of a Once than a Stay), you had heard their music and watched their music videos. You probably wouldn’t be able to recognize any of the members if you saw them on the street, however.

“You’ll be meeting with Stray Kids manager and their leader today to go over their current projects and your work expectations.”

“Sounds good.”

“Before that, however, I was wondering if you had any questions?”

It seemed like the perfect opportunity. You physically had to bite your tongue to keep from asking her why the company didn’t hire omega’s or alphas, knowing it was neither the time for that kind of question (you didn’t need to put yourself under scrutiny so soon), nor was it the person you should be questioning. Jeonhui was just the translation head, she didn’t decide company policy.

Even if it was a stupid policy.

“Well in that case, I’ll let them know we’ll be finishing up soon.”

When an older man knocked on the conference door to ask for Jeonhui’s help with something, you took the opportunity to pull out your phone and quickly check out yourself in the front camera, making sure you looked presentable. Your old boss had drilled into you enough time the importance of looking professional in front of clients, and while neither the manager nor leader of Stray Kids were your clients (if anything, they were your bosses), those old habits were kicking in. You were thankful that you decided to at least wear your best professional shirt, a casual white button down.

Jeonhui thanked the guy, and while the first man bowed and left the doorway, Jeonhui remained at the door. She stepped forward and bowed to someone else you couldn’t see, and after a quick exchange of words, she moved to the side.

Two men walked in.

The first one was a dark-haired guy who seemed young, but older than you. His beta scent was stronger than most people, but calm enough that it didn’t bother you. He seemed laid back and easy-going, wearing comfortable clothes as opposed to the professional outfit you had seen other managers use. He bowed at you, introducing himself as the Stray Kids manager, and as you stood up to bow at him in return, he took his seat at the head of the table.

And from behind him appeared a younger man, closer to your age. He was handsome with dark hair and soft eyes, his smile revealing dimples as he chatted briefly with Jeonhui. The normally stoic and polite beta woman seemed to melt in the stranger’s presence, a soft smile on her face. It was jarring. The young man then turned to you, and you once again bowed, but when you raised your head, all you could see on his face was shock.

You were confused, worried if you had accidentally done something you shouldn’t have, but then his scent reached you.

Floral and fruity, like sunscreen and pina colada and the hot sun on sand.

You froze, sharing the wide-eyed gaze with this complete stranger, who wasn’t actually a complete stranger.

Soft moans, fingers brushing up against your thighs as you were filled deliciously from behind, another moan forced out of your mouth as he wrapped his fingers gently around your throat, lips brushing up against the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re so tight.”

You nearly chocked on your spit.

The man you had unintentionally had a one night stand with two nights ago was the leader of Stray Kids.

Your boss.

“Alpha, please!”

“Just a little longer,. You can hold on just a little longer, cant you? Hmm? Don’t you want to be good for your Alpha?”

You were so close. Your body felt like it was on fire and your head spun, the darkness that seemed to engulf you left your nerve endings so sensitive, and you couldn’t see him, could think, couldn’t do anything more than accept the pleasure he was giving you. He seemed to know that you were at your breaking point, because as a whine began to build in your throat, he pulled away.

His fingers pressed right where you needed them most, and you found yourself spiraling.

“Cum for me, Omega.”

And he knew your secret.

[oosa3x]

secret moments (rd3)

ii. begin again

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

pairing: rúben dias x f! celebrity! reader word count: 10, 910 warnings: feelings of anxiety/doubt author’s note: again i don’t want to butcher the portuguese language so the conversations between rúben and his agent that are italicized are meant to be them speaking in portuguese

Almost a week later, Rúben was in the middle of his post-training routine when his phone buzzed on the bench beside him. He glanced at the screen, seeing Pedro, his agent's name flash across. He wiped the sweat from his brow, grabbed the phone, and answered.

“Hey, Pedro. What’s up?”

There was a pause on the other end before Pedro’s voice came through, slightly confused but amused, "Rúben, care to explain why I’ve been sent an NDA from Y/N L/N’s lawyers?”

Rúben froze for a second, the words catching him off guard, "Wait… what?”

“Yeah,” Pedro continued, clearly enjoying this a little too much, "Just got an email from her team, with a non-disclosure agreement. They want me to review it. Something about you having dinner with her?”

Rúben groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, "Ah, right… that.”

Pedro laughed, "So you’re casually having dinner with Y/N L/N now? And you didn’t think to mention it?”

Rúben shifted, feeling the heat rise to his face, "We met at 6lack’s concert the other night, we hit it off, and I asked her to dinner. That’s all.”

Pedro hummed thoughtfully, "And now I’m handling NDAs for you from the biggest popstar on the planet. I have to say, Rúben, this is a new one.”

Rúben sighed, "Look, I wasn’t expecting all the paperwork. But, you know… her level of fame. I guess it’s just how things are done.”

Pedro chuckled, "You’ve dealt with high-profile situations before, but this… this is different.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rúben admitted, "But it’s not a big deal. Can you just handle the NDA for me?”

“Of course,” Pedro replied, still sounding amused, "I’ll look it over. Just remember to stay focused—you’ve got training, and I’d hate for this dinner to become a huge distraction.”

Rúben smiled, appreciating Pedro’s concern, "Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control.”

Pedro laughed again, "Alright, Rúben. I’ll take care of it. And good luck with your…dinner.”

Rúben shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. You had followed through with your promise, and the reality of it all was sinking in. Now, all he had to do was prepare for dinner. But no pressure, right?

Pedro’s voice crackled through the phone again, his tone a mix of amusement and seriousness, "Oh, and by the way… It says here that if you breach the contract, you could be fined for anywhere between $1 million to $10 million, depending on the severity.”

Rúben blinked, sitting up a little straighter, "How much?” he asked, his heart skipping a beat. He knew an NDA was standard for someone as famous as you, but the stakes suddenly felt much higher than he’d anticipated.

Pedro chuckled softly, clearly entertained by Rúben’s reaction, "Yeah, that got your attention, huh? They’re not playing around. This is serious business, Rúben. I’ve seen tough NDAs, but this one takes it up a notch. She’s got great lawyers.”

Rúben groaned, rubbing his forehead, "Ten million dollars for breaching it? What am I supposed to do? Not breathe during dinner?”

Pedro laughed, "Look, it’s more about protecting her from any unwanted attention or leaks. I mean, she’s a huge star, and I’m guessing she’s been burned before. As long as you don’t spill any secrets to the media or post about it on Instagram, I think you’ll be fine.”

Rúben sighed, "Yeah, I get it. Just wasn’t expecting this much... legal pressure.”

“Well, that’s the price of dating a megastar, huh?” Pedro teased, "Just don’t breach the contract, and you’ll avoid that $10 million bill.”

Rúben chuckled, though the weight of the NDA lingered in the back of his mind, "I’ll be careful. No talking to the press, no social media, no problem.”

Pedro’s voice softened slightly, "Good. It’ll be fine, Rúben. Just keep things low-key, enjoy the night, and don’t worry too much.”

“Thanks, Pedro,” Rúben replied, grateful for the advice.

“Anytime. I’ll finalize the NDA and get it back to her team. Now go focus on your game—and your dinner,” Pedro added with a smirk in his voice before ending the call.

Rúben sighed, leaning back on the bench, staring at his phone. Dinner with you was going to be a little more complicated than he’d imagined, but he couldn’t help the flicker of excitement building inside him.

You had also told your manager and publicist about the date, obviously, expecting the usual reactions—some cautious excitement, maybe a few questions about who this guy was. Instead, they immediately shifted into full-on research mode, typing away and cross-referencing like detectives uncovering a hidden scandal. It was the same routine they went through for anyone who got close to you. Being her meant that even something as simple as a dinner invitation required a background check.

Of course, you’d done your own research, too. After all, you couldn’t afford not to. You’d agreed to the date with Rúben, intrigued by his easy charm and genuine interest in music, not just your fame. A quick search confirmed what you knew: he played for Manchester City and Portugal. He wasn’t exactly an unknown, but all you could find were mostly details about his professional career. You had scrolled past images of him on the field, mid-game action shots where he looked like a force of nature. There were a few interviews, some charity work, and a couple of awards for his defensive skills, but nothing screamed “media circus” like the ones you were used to dating. 

Now, the sound of the makeup brush softly sweeping across your skin was almost meditative, a steady rhythm in the otherwise whirlwind of activity that surrounded you. You sat in the makeup chair, script in hand, though your mind kept wandering away from the lines. The trailer was buzzing with the quiet hustle of your team: Amelia sitting across from you, iPad in hand, rattling off a list of tasks that seemed to grow by the second, and your makeup and hair stylists.

"…and we need final approval on the cut for the music video. The director sent over two options for the final edit again, so you'll have to choose one today," Amelia said, scrolling through her screen without missing a beat. “Plus, the feature you did for Elijah’s track. His label's asking for approval on the single artwork. I said we’d get back to them, but the deadline’s coming up.”

You nodded, barely registering the words. The past week had been a blur of early mornings on set and late nights running through lines. This new film—your first big role in over a year—had consumed most of your time since arriving in Manchester, but somehow, it wasn’t the movie that kept pulling at the edges of your focus.

Amelia continued, “And, of course, there’s the perfume. They sent over the final concept for the bottle. We have to let them know by tomorrow if you want to make any other changes, because they’re going to start production soon.”

You glanced up from the script, meeting Amelia’s eyes in the mirror. “Yeah, I liked ‘Option A’ for the music video, I loved the artwork, and I love the bottle, no changes needed.” you replied, more distracted than usual.

Amelia nodded, tapping her screen and continuing her list. “Right, and Rúben’s agent sent back the signed NDA we sent him yesterday.”

That caught your attention.

You looked up from your notes, surprised. “Wait, he sent it back already?”

Amelia nodded, not even glancing up from her phone. “Yep. Signed and everything. Got it in my inbox this morning.”

A mix of relief and curiosity washed over you. Rúben hadn’t even hesitated. “Huh. That was quick.”

“He’s efficient, I’ll give him that,” Amelia said with a small smile, still not looking at you. “I think he’s serious about seeing you.”

You took a breath, trying to process it all. It was a good sign, right? He understood the importance of protecting your space, your career, your life. “Yeah, that’s... good,” you said softly, the reality of the situation setting in.

You let the script rest in your lap, your fingers curling around the pages as you tried not to look too obvious about the way your pulse quickened. It had been a week since the 6lack concert, a week since Rúben had slipped into your life with that casual confidence, asking you out like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it had been, in that moment—natural. You hadn’t thought twice before saying yes. 

Now, though, with the space of a few days and the reality of your world crashing back in, things felt more complicated. The layers of your life—the NDAs, the contracts, the eyes always watching—didn’t just disappear because you wanted to have dinner with someone who wasn’t in your industry.

Amelia glanced at you then, her expression softening. “He even suggested a place in the city for dinner. Low-key.” She paused, gauging your reaction, “He seems really genuine.”

You bit your lip, thinking it over. Rúben had been nothing but considerate since the moment he texted you the day after the concert—he’d gotten your number from Ricardo—checking in to see how your schedule was going and making sure you didn’t feel pressured. It was refreshing, really. He wasn’t pushing for some grand, over-the-top date, just something simple. But you knew that even a “simple” date in your world required layers of preparation.

“Do I have time?” you asked, glancing at Amelia’s iPad where your schedule was probably packed to the brim.

She tapped at the screen, scrolling through your appointments. “If you don’t mind having dinner after an eleven-hour shoot day, we can squeeze it in tomorrow night.”

“Eleven hours?” You sighed, leaning back in the makeup chair as the artist moved to your eyes. 

“Welcome to the glamorous world of filmmaking,” Amelia said dryly. “But seriously, if you want to go, we’ll make it work. I’ll get security to check out the location Rúben suggested. I can handle it.”

You thought about it for a moment, considering. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him—you did. But even the thought of it came with the weight of everything else: the media attention, the inevitable gossip, the protocols. And Rúben… he didn’t really know what that meant. Not fully.

You were famous-famous. The kind where one blurry photo could send Twitter into a meltdown, where rumors could spread with a single comment taken out of context. Rúben was a footballer, sure, and not an unknown one, but his world wasn’t consumed by the same level of public obsession. He lived a life with a little more freedom, a little more room to breathe. You weren’t sure he understood how little of that you had left.

But the thought of him waiting for your reply made something flutter in your chest—a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a while.

“I want to see him,” you said finally, keeping your voice calm, like it wasn’t a big deal. “But let’s keep it discreet. No paparazzi, no fanfare. I’m talking top-secret here.”

Amelia smiled, nodding, her fingers already moving to make it happen. “Consider it done. I’ll update you once everything’s confirmed.”

The makeup artist finished, stepping back to give you a final look in the mirror. Your face was flawless, but even the layers of foundation couldn’t hide the anticipation building under your skin. Tomorrow night, after the cameras stopped rolling and the lights of the set faded, you’d step into a different kind of spotlight—one where it wasn’t your career on display, but something far more personal.

You thought about what it meant to potentially do this to Rúben, your mind wandering as Amelia's voice faded into the background. You’d stalked him on the internet more than once over the past week, trying to piece together a better picture of him. Amid the match highlights, interviews, and charity appearances, one thing was made clear to you: how private he was. He talked about it with such ease, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to guard your personal life like a treasure. There was a certain calmness in the way he spoke about it, like he knew exactly where to draw the line between the field and his life outside it.

Could you really do this to him? Could you tilt his entire world on its axis?

You’d been down this road before. You knew what would happen the moment a photo of the two of you surfaced. The whirlwind of speculation, the invasive questions, the opinions—oh, the opinions. Everyone would have one. From football fans to the music industry, people who knew nothing about either of you would have something to say. They always did. You could already imagine the headlines: Man City defender Rúben Dias and global pop sensation Y/N L/N spark dating rumors! And once the narrative started, it wouldn’t stop. Not for a long time. 

It didn’t matter that he was already in the public eye—this was different. He wasn’t the kind of athlete whose personal life fed the media machine. He wasn’t out there for show; he kept his circle tight, his private life nearly impenetrable. And here you were, potentially about to obliterate that. 

A wave of guilt swept through you. You knew what the attention could do to someone, especially someone who wasn’t used to it on this scale. It could be suffocating, relentless. And it wouldn’t just be the paparazzi. Social media, gossip sites, random strangers dissecting his every move, his every interaction with you. The noise was constant, and it was exhausting. You’d learned to live with it, but could Rúben?

You shifted in your chair, your grip tightening on the script in your lap. He hadn’t asked for this. He’d asked you out, sure, but he couldn’t possibly know the avalanche that came with it. You wanted to be selfish—you wanted to see where this could go. But at what cost? Was it fair to bring him into the chaos that surrounded your life? 

You could already picture the look on his face when the cameras started following him to training, reporters asking him about you instead of his performance on the pitch. You didn’t know if he’d signed up for all that, and that uncertainty gnawed at you.

You felt Amelia’s eyes on you, sensing your hesitation even as she ran through the call sheet, “You okay?” she asked gently, breaking through your thoughts.

You forced a small smile, nodding. “Yeah… just thinking.”

But the guilt lingered. Could you really drag him into your world, knowing what would happen? Would he be able to handle it? Or worse—would it change him, warp the private, grounded person you’d come to admire in such a short time?

You didn’t know. And that uncertainty hung over you, making the decision feel heavier than it should have.

He had this calmness about him that completely unarmed you. That was, without a doubt, the scariest part. Your walls were usually impenetrable—years of living in the spotlight had taught you to keep your guard up at all times. But with Rúben, it was different. You found yourself talking to him like it was nothing, like you were letting him inch closer to parts of yourself you typically kept hidden from the world.

And you couldn’t figure out why. 

Maybe it was because Ricardo, someone you trusted implicitly, had vouched for him. He’d spoken so highly of Rúben when you’d first mentioned him after the concert, describing him as solid, down-to-earth, the kind of person who didn’t need to be the center of attention. That had reassured you. But that wasn’t all of it.

No, it was Rúben himself. There was something about him, something that felt like a breath of fresh air in the middle of the chaos that usually consumed your life. His easy smile, the way he had listened to you more than he spoke, the way he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you—not the version of you plastered on billboards or dissected by the media, but the real you. 

That calm confidence of his was disarming. It made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could let your guard down for a second. And that scared you because every time you did that in the past, it hadn’t ended well. You knew better. You were supposed to be better. You told yourself you’d be better. 

But then Rúben would text you, or you’d think back to that night after the concert, when he’d talked about music with a kind of passion that matched your own, and all the caution you’d built up over the years seemed to fade, just a little. 

He didn’t deserve the dark cloud that always seemed to loom over you. 

So, again, you found yourself wondering: should you put an end to this before it ever really starts?

It would be the easiest option. You could send a polite message, thank him for the lovely conversation, and tell him that your schedules just didn’t align. You had plenty of reasons to fall back on—your filming commitments, the relentless pace of your career, the complexities of your world that someone like Rúben shouldn’t have to navigate.

It would be so simple. Clean. You could move on without guilt, without dragging him into the whirlwind that was your life. He would return to his own, continue as the quiet, private man he was, and you’d both walk away without the inevitable chaos that would follow if you continued down this path and the general public would be none the wiser. 

And yet, even as you toyed with the idea, something inside you resisted. Because a part of you wanted to see where this could go.

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Rúben was a breath of fresh air, something different, something real. He didn’t seem fazed by your fame, didn’t want anything from you other than your time. There was no pretense, no hidden agenda. He wasn’t trying to leverage your celebrity, and that alone felt rare and valuable in a way you hadn’t expected.

This was the difficult part about dating you. The weight of it was almost unbearable at times—the way one simple dinner could spark a wildfire of speculation. You couldn’t possibly be spotted on a first date without headlines appearing the next morning, suggesting marriage plans, analyzing every glance, every smile. The assumptions were always dramatic and relentless, as if you were navigating life with a script already written by the world.

At least with the men you’d dated in the past, they’d understood the rules. They knew the game because they played it, too. Fellow singers, actors, people in the same industry—guys who didn’t flinch when a camera flashed or when their names trended on Twitter for a day. They knew what they were getting into because they lived it, too. Even when things went south, at least they knew the stakes going in. The pressure, the speculation—it wasn’t foreign to them.

But Rúben? He lived in the spotlight, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Football had its own level of fame, but he hadn’t been subjected to your level of scrutiny. He’d been able to maintain that sense of privacy, to keep his personal life tucked neatly out of the public’s reach. How could you expect him to be okay with what was waiting for him on the other side of one dinner with you?

Even now, just the idea of going the extra mile for privacy—just for one date—felt overwhelming. And it wasn’t even about what the press might think; it was about the reality of your life. You’d have to go through so many hoops to keep it under wraps. NDAs, a carefully vetted location, your security team on high alert, making sure no one could snap a photo or overhear a conversation. It was exhausting to think about. And all of this… just to see if there was something there, if this thing with Rúben could even get off the ground.

The stakes felt so high for something that was supposed to be simple. You weren’t even sure if the chemistry would translate beyond the concert, beyond the texts and the flirty exchanges. What if you went through all this trouble, all this effort, and then… nothing? You’d have pulled him into your world for a fleeting moment, made him part of a spectacle that would haunt him for weeks, maybe months, for no reason.

You sighed, your fingers tightening around your phone. That was the hardest part, wasn’t it? The what ifs. You couldn’t move in your personal life without thinking ten steps ahead, without calculating every possible outcome. It was how you’d learned to survive in this world, but it also kept you from taking risks, from just living.

The reality was, even if you could keep this date under wraps, it wouldn’t last. You couldn’t keep a relationship hidden forever. The media would find out eventually, and then it would be everywhere. And what would that do to him? To both of you?

You glanced down at your phone as it buzzed, Rúben, of course. It would be so easy to back out, to save him from the inevitable. But the truth was, you didn’t want to. Not yet.

Maybe that was selfish. Maybe it was reckless. But for once, you wanted to see where something could go without overthinking every consequence before it even began. Maybe you owed yourself that much.

My god.

You couldn’t believe you were doing all these mental gymnastics over a guy you spent, what, an hour with backstage? One hour of conversation, some texts, and suddenly you were spiraling, weighing the consequences of a first date like it was a life-altering decision. It was pathetic, really. You should’ve been able to shrug this off, to compartmentalize it the way you did everything else in your life. But here you were, running circles in your head, trying to predict the future and safeguard both your world and his.

And for what? A guy who—while undeniably attractive, grounded, and charming—was still a relative stranger to you. It wasn’t like you were head over heels. This wasn’t some whirlwind romance, not yet. It was just… potential. The spark of something new. 

But the spark of something new had the power to completely change everything. You’d been here before. You knew that once the public got wind of a new relationship, there was no turning back. Your life would become theirs to dissect, and his—someone who wasn’t used to that level of attention—could be pulled into the chaos, whether he liked it or not.

You exhaled, leaning back in the chair, suddenly feeling the weight of it all press against your chest. Why was it so hard to just… go out with someone? Other people seemed to manage it just fine. But with you, it was always this dance of “what if” and “how bad could this get?”

You glanced at your phone again, the unread message from Rúben staring back at you. It was probably something simple. He wasn’t asking you to commit to anything monumental, wasn’t trying to force you into anything. It was just a date, a moment to see if there was something real between the two of you. But you already knew there was no such thing as just a date when you were involved.

You thumbed the screen, finally opening his message.

I found a place. Really private, no one will bother us. I spoke with the owner. Let me know if you’re still up for it.

Your stomach twisted the second you read it. Rúben had been nothing but patient—gentle, even—and here you were, doubting yourself. Part of you knew you should’ve been excited, but instead, all you could feel was that familiar pull of hesitation. Do you really deserve this? the voice in the back of your head whispered through your mind, uninvited. You tried to shake it off, but the guilt had a way of lingering.

Still, you typed your response, fingers moving almost mechanically.

Let’s do it. Tomorrow night works.

 You hit send before you could second-guess it. But as soon as the message went through, that tightness in your chest returned. You were agreeing, but the wall was already halfway up, built from everything you couldn’t bring yourself to admit.

The next day was grueling—a relentless 11 hours on set, with every scene and every line feeling like an uphill battle. By the time you wrapped, exhaustion clung to you, both physically and mentally. The thought of the date lingered at the back of your mind, but you pushed it aside, trying to focus on getting through the day. When it was finally over, there was no time to unwind. You went straight from set to getting ready, slipping into the role of someone who wasn’t completely spent.

Standing in front of the mirror, you stared at your reflection, feeling disconnected from the person staring back. Your makeup was applied with precision, but it felt like armor more than anything else. As you brushed through your hair, a part of you wondered if it even mattered. Would he notice how tired you were? Could he sense the hesitation you were trying so hard to bury? You added a spritz of your favorite perfume, hoping the familiar scent would bring some comfort, but even that felt a little distant tonight.

You pulled on the dress you had picked out, one you thought would make you feel confident. But now, it felt like just another layer between you and what you were really feeling. Despite your best efforts, the weight of the day—and everything you were holding back—clung to you like the exhaustion in your bones. You exhaled, taking one last look as you slipped into your heels. 

The sound of your footsteps echoed softly in the hallway as you made your way downstairs. At the bottom of the staircase, Amelia was waiting, her phone in one hand, an encouraging smile on her face. She knew it had been a long day—longer than most—and her presence was a quiet reminder that you didn’t have to go through the motions alone.

“You look amazing,” Amelia said, her eyes scanning your dress before landing on your face. “Rúben’s lucky.”

You gave a tight smile, still feeling the weight of everything from the day pressing on your chest. “Thanks,” you murmured, fiddling with your necklace, trying to shake the nerves. But before you could say anything else, Amelia stepped closer, lowering her voice gently.

“You know… you can still cancel, or reschedule,” she offered, a knowing look in her eyes. “He’d understand.”

“That would be so rude to do so close to the reservation,” you replied quickly, though the thought of canceling lingered for just a second longer than you wanted it to. You sighed, straightening up, determined to go through with it.

Amelia didn’t push further, but her gaze was soft as she squeezed your hand. “Okay. Well, we’ve got everything arranged. Mark has spoken to the restaurant, and NDAs have been signed by the staff. You’ll go in through the service entrance, and the private dining room is ready. No one’s going to bother you.”

You rubbed your temple, feeling the weight of it all. “God, when did this become my life? This is so ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath.

Amelia chuckled lightly. “You want to walk in through the front? Be my guest.”

You laughed, despite yourself, shaking your head. “Yeah, maybe not.”

As if on cue, Mark appeared, his expression serious but reassuring. “We’ll drop you at the back. Eric and Jason will escort you in, but it’ll be quiet. Everything’s been triple-checked.”

You nodded, feeling a small wave of relief wash over you. They had thought of everything, as they always did, but there was still that part of you that wondered if you could get through the night without letting your walls slip.

“Don’t be nervous, he’s just a guy,” Amelia added, her voice light, trying to bring some levity back into the moment. She smiled one last time before stepping aside, allowing Eric and Jason to escort you out the door and into the car.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet. The low hum of the city streets outside passed in a blur, but inside, your thoughts were loud. You fiddled with the edge of your dress, glancing occasionally at Eric, who sat up front, focused on the road ahead. You wondered what Rúben was thinking right now—if he was as calm and collected as he always seemed to be, or if he had any idea how much of yourself you were trying to keep hidden.

Eventually, the car rolled to a stop. Eric and Jason were quiet as they opened the door for you, guiding you toward the discreet back entrance of the restaurant. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you stepped out, the cool night air doing little to settle the nervous energy swirling inside you.

The service entrance was exactly as Mark had described—hidden away, out of sight. You glanced around, half-expecting someone to recognize you, but no one even blinked as you slipped past the kitchen staff and through a narrow hallway. A host appeared almost immediately, offering a polite smile. He gave you a slight nod, his fingers adjusting his collar almost unconsciously as he spoke.

“This way, Miss L/N,” he said, his voice steady but just a touch quieter than you expected. You barely noticed, preoccupied with your own nerves, as he led you through the hallway. His steps were quick and professional, though there was something a little rigid in the way he moved. Maybe it was the fact that Eric and Jason were standing nearby. 

When you reached the private dining room, he paused in front of the door, his hand resting on the handle for a moment longer than necessary before he turned it and opened the door for you. “Mr. Dias, your guest has arrived. Your waiter will be here soon. Enjoy your evening,” he said, his smile lingering a bit too long before he quickly stepped aside to let you pass.

You offered a quick smile before he slipped away, leaving you standing there for just a moment. You stepped into the private dining room, the warm glow of the low lighting greeted you, casting long shadows across the intimate space. It should have been calming, but instead, your nerves buzzed under your skin, making every step feel heavier.

And there he was—Rúben. Standing at the head of the table, locking eyes with you the moment you entered, his eyes softening with that familiar warmth. Even after your insecurities sunk their teeth in you, his presence was striking, but tonight, there was something more. He seemed relaxed, yet focused, as if he’d been waiting for you all day. His smile was warm, a subtle reassurance that everything was okay. He smiled a little more deeply when you approached, the quiet confidence in his posture reminding you why you’d said yes in the first place.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady, that smile on his lips as he took you in. 

“Hi,” you replied, offering a small smile in return, though the tightness in your chest remained. He pulled out your chair, the gesture thoughtful as always, but even as you sat down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were about to step into something you weren’t quite ready for.

The reality of what this meant had settled in over the past few days, like glitter that had fallen to the ground after the initial rush. It was the same glitter that used to make you feel alive, back when you thought fame was everything. But now, it was just dust, settling into all the cracks of your life.

You suddenly felt the need to keep him at arm’s length tonight. Maybe it was your instinct to protect yourself—or worse, protect him. The walls that usually kept people at bay were fully up tonight, and despite how charming Rúben was, how easy it had been to talk to him the first time you met, something was stopping you from letting go and enjoying the moment.

You sat down across from him, nodding in acknowledgment as the waiter poured water into your glass. Your fingers played with the edge of your napkin, your body stiff, your mind a million miles away. 

The baggage that came with dating you was impossible for you to ignore. Your fame was always there, an elephant in every room you stepped into. The weight of it pressed against you now, reminding you that this wasn’t just a date—it was a potential headline, a potential disaster. 

All the men you’d dated before had told you as much. They might’ve tried to play it cool, but eventually, the truth always came out: it was exhausting to be with you. The constant attention, the scrutiny, the lack of privacy—it was too much for anyone to handle for long. The reporters who called their jobs, their families, digging for details, crossing every line just to get a story. It wore people down, and no one deserved that. Especially not Rúben.

Looking at him from across the table, his features warmed by the glow of the low lighting in the room, it affirmed what you already knew. He was… normal. At least, as normal as someone in the public eye could be. You imagined he could still step out and grab groceries if he wanted to. Maybe fans asked for a photo, but that was probably the extent of it. He wasn’t hunted by photographers the way you were, he didn’t have rumors about his love life splashed across tabloids every week. His life, while public, still had space for normalcy. Space for peace.

You couldn’t remember the last time you did something as mundane as buying groceries. That wasn’t your life anymore. Every moment was calculated, planned, protected. You couldn’t just “date” someone, not without it being analyzed, picked apart, and turned into a circus. You’d seen it happen before—one photo of a first date, and suddenly it was the start of a romance the whole world was invested in. And when it inevitably fizzled out, the headlines would make it seem like you were heartbroken, a mess of emotions over something that had barely started.

“Hey,” Rúben’s voice broke through your thoughts. His eyes were on you, concern softening his features. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked, realizing you hadn’t said much since you sat down. You were here, but your mind wasn’t, and clearly, he’d noticed.

“I’m sorry,” you said, offering a weak smile. “I’m just… distracted, I guess.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Is it something I did? If you don’t want to be here, it’s okay. We don’t have to do this.”

There was no hint of judgment in his voice, just understanding. And that only made the guilt twist deeper inside you. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve the weight of your internal battle. 

“No, it’s not you,” you assured him quickly, offering a small smile in an attempt to brush it off. “It’s nothing, really.”

Rúben raised an eyebrow, giving you a look that said he wasn’t buying it. He didn’t have to say anything right away—his silence was enough to gently coax you into continuing.

You sighed, glancing away briefly before meeting his eyes again. “Okay, maybe it’s not nothing,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping you. “It’s just… complicated, you know?”

“What’s complicated?” he asked, his voice soft but direct, his gaze steady on yours. He wasn’t pushing, but you could tell he wasn’t going to let you hide behind the word either.

You hesitated, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of your water glass as you carefully considered your words. “I’ve just… been here before,” you said slowly, trying not to give too much away too soon. “When people see me with someone, they make assumptions. And then it snowballs into something it’s not. I don’t want that for you.”

Rúben was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady, and then he leaned in just slightly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “People are going to assume what? That I’m on a date with a beautiful, talented woman that I’d really like to get to know?” His smile grew warmer, more sincere. “Because that’s exactly what this is.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his statement, how direct yet lighthearted it was. A quiet laugh escaped you, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. He wasn’t dodging the weight of your words, but he was reminding you what was real, right now.

Rúben’s eyes softened as he watched you. “Look, I understand what you’re saying. I know what could come from this, but we don’t have to worry about what everyone else thinks. Right now, it’s just us. I want to be here with you.”

His words hit you in a way that made it hard to resist smiling. You weren’t used to someone meeting your fears with such calmness, with no rush to make promises or minimize how you felt.

You smiled, a real one this time. “You make it sound so simple.”

He shrugged lightly, still smiling. “Because it is simple. Let’s just… have dinner, and see where it goes.”

You exhaled, some of the weight lifting from your shoulders as you nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

His calmness once again disarmed you. Maybe he was right. Maybe it didn’t have to be as complicated as you were making it. Rúben’s smile widened, his eyes soft with reassurance, and for the first time that night, you felt a little bit of the weight on your shoulders begin to lift. You hadn’t realized just how tightly you were holding yourself together, but now, in the quiet of this private room, with Rúben’s steady presence across from you, it felt a little easier to breathe.. 

The waiter returned to take your order, and you both exchanged polite words with him. The moment he left, the silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. You felt Rúben’s gaze on you, not in a scrutinizing way, but more like he was waiting for you to relax, to meet him halfway.

You took a sip of your water, letting the coolness calm the lingering nerves. “How do you handle it? The public attention, I mean.”

Rúben leaned back slightly, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Honestly, it’s different for me,” he said after a moment. “Football comes with attention, sure, but people care more about what happens on the pitch. If I’m playing well, everything’s good. If I’m not, well… they let me know,” he added with a small smile. “But my personal life? It’s not under the same kind of microscope. It’s not like it is for you.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. For athletes, the focus was often on their performance, their game. But for you, every part of your life—on stage and off—was up for public consumption. “That must be nice,” you said softly, almost wistful. “To have some part of your life that’s still just yours.”

Rúben’s eyes softened as he watched you. “It is,” he admitted. “But I get that it’s not the same for you. I’m not naive about it.” He leaned forward slightly, his forearms resting on the table. “I know the pressure on you is different. But it doesn’t have to be something we figure out all at once. There’s no rush.”

His calm, steady voice had a grounding effect on you, like he wasn’t trying to fix things or demand more than you were ready to give. He wasn’t expecting you to map out your entire future right here and now. He was just present, in the moment, willing to take things one step at a time.

You smiled a little, shaking your head. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, do you?”

Rúben chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Maybe not,” he said with a shrug, “but I’d like to find out.”

The waiter returned with your food, and for the next few minutes, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—football, music, your time in Manchester. It was easy. It was light. And the more you spoke, the more you realized that this was exactly what you needed—a break from the heaviness of your life, a moment to just be a person sharing a meal with someone interesting. It reminded you of why you’d said yes to this date in the first place. 

You caught yourself relaxing into the evening, the initial nerves and hesitation melting away little by little. You laughed when Rúben told a story about a chaotic team practice, and he asked thoughtful questions about the movie you were filming, genuinely interested in your answers.

By the time dessert arrived, you almost forgot why you’d been so hesitant in the first place. It was nice, being around someone who wasn’t trying to impress you, who wasn’t intimidated by your fame or overwhelmed by the attention that came with it. Rúben was just himself, calm and steady, and it was a welcome contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded your life.

At some point, you glanced around the room, the reality of your private setting sinking in. The service entrance, the NDAs, the security—it all seemed so distant now, like you’d left that part of yourself outside the door when you’d walked into the room. You weren’t just Y/N, the global superstar in this moment. You were a woman on a first date, with a man who seemed genuinely interested in knowing the real you.

“Thank you.” you said quietly, catching his gaze across the table.

He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For being… sweet,” you said with a soft laugh, though you meant it. “I’m not used to that.”

Rúben smiled, his eyes warm. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that.”

You smiled back, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to just be in the moment without worrying about what came next. Maybe, just for tonight, you could forget about the fame, the pressure, the inevitable headlines. Maybe, for once, you could just be you, and not her.

Rúben leaned back in his chair, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve never seen someone have an effect on people like you do.”

You furrowed your brows, curious but trying to play it cool. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters,” he began, leaning in slightly, “I think I have permanent hearing loss from when you came on stage the other night. The crowd lost it.” He chuckled softly. “And the host who led you in here looked like he was about to pass out. The waiter? His hands were trembling as he took your order, barely even noticed me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. You weren’t exactly unaware of the effect you had on people, but it always caught you off guard when someone described it so plainly. To you, it was just part of your life—people’s reactions had long since become background noise. You’d gotten so used to it that you sometimes forgot how overwhelming it could be for others.

“That can’t be true,” you said, smirking as you tried to downplay it. “They were probably just having an off night.”

Rúben laughed again, shaking his head. “You seriously didn’t see it, did you? You walk into a room, and it changes the energy entirely. People react to you—they can’t help it.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little bashful despite your best efforts to stay composed. This was the part that always felt strange—the acknowledgment of your impact, how larger-than-life you could seem to others. It wasn’t something you did intentionally, but it was a reality you had learned to live with.

“And what about you?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could overthink it. You tilted your head slightly, genuinely curious now. “Do I have an effect on you?”

Rúben didn’t hesitate, his expression softening. “I’ve been nervous all week waiting for this.”

His honesty catches you off guard, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice steady but genuine. “But not for the reasons they’re nervous.”

You blinked, feeling the air between you shift. “Yeah? What’s the reason then?”

He held your gaze, his eyes unwavering, and for a second you felt the world around you slow down, like this moment existed outside of everything else. “It’s not your fame making me nervous,” he said, his voice lower, more intimate. “It’s how absolutely gorgeous you are.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, a blush creeping up your neck before you could stop it. His words, so direct, so unaffected by the world you usually navigated, hit you in a way that felt... real. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you blush like this.

A soft laugh escaped you, more out of nervousness than anything else. “I don’t usually get nervous on dates,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands before looking back up at him, “but… you’ve managed to make me a little nervous too.”

Rúben’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with warmth and amusement. “Good,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “That makes two of us.”

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself sit in that feeling—being nervous, being unsure, but also feeling something real and genuine. The walls you’d been so careful to keep up tonight were starting to crumble, piece by piece, and it didn’t feel like it was such a bad thing.

Rúben looked at you thoughtfully, his gaze steady as the conversation quieted. “Why’d you say yes? To this date, I mean. You could have said no.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t something you’d really considered, not in those exact terms. Why had you said yes? You’d had plenty of opportunities to turn people down in the past, often with good reason. But with Rúben, something had felt different that night.

You laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Have you seen yourself?” The joke slipped out easily, and Rúben chuckled, but there was a sincerity behind his question that lingered in the air, making you feel like you owed him a real answer.

You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts, and then your voice softened. “No, I… I said yes because it was easy to talk to you. You didn’t seem intimidated by her. ” You gestured vaguely, indicating the version of you the world knew—the celebrity, the public figure, the icon. “It seemed like you were more interested in getting to know me.”

Rúben’s smile was soft as he nodded, clearly understanding what you meant. “That’s because I am.”

There it was—that calmness again, the way he didn’t flinch or overreact. He was steady, present, and focused on you, not the image the world projected of you. You appreciated that more than you could put into words, and it was why you felt so disarmed around him.

“People… people don’t always see me anymore,” you continued quietly, feeling more vulnerable than you expected. “They see what they want to see. The fame, the persona, the things they read in magazines. It’s exhausting sometimes, you know?”

He nodded again, his eyes never leaving yours. “I can imagine. But that’s why I wanted to ask you out in the first place. I wanted to get to know you. Not the version of you everyone else thinks they know.”

There was something about the way he said it, with such honesty, that made you feel safe—like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to carry the weight of your fame with you all the time. 

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you, the kind that came from being truly seen. “I’m glad I said yes,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Even if I was nervous.”

Rúben’s smile grew, and he leaned forward slightly. “Me too,” he said, his voice low and steady, and for the first time tonight, you felt like the weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on you. It was just the two of you, sharing a moment, getting to know each other in a way that felt real.

“For the record, though,” he added with a playful glint in his eyes, “I still am intimidated by you. Look at you.” He leaned back slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Have you looked at yourself?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading across your cheeks betrayed you. "Oh, come on."

“No, seriously,” Rúben continued, his expression shifting into something more sincere, but still playful. “I mean, you walk into a room, and it changes. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t throw me a bit.” He shrugged, a little self-deprecating. “But the part that matters—the part that got me to ask you out—is that it’s you behind all of that. And that’s what I’m here for. ”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. “Your job, what you do—it’s huge. I get that. People are obsessed with your work, with what you represent. But at the end of the day, it’s still just that—a job. And everyone has a job.” He paused, meeting your eyes with a soft smile. “It just so happens that yours comes with a lot more attention. That doesn’t change who you are.”

His words hit you like a punch, a force that knocked the wind out of you.

God, what the fuck. He’s perfect.

You blinked, trying to recover from the feeling, but the way he looked at you, so matter-of-fact, so sure, made it impossible. You weren’t used to this—someone seeing past the glamor, the spotlight, the fame, and just… you. The real you. No pretense, no agenda.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched for something to say, anything that wouldn’t make you sound completely floored by his simplicity and depth. But all you could manage was a soft, “That’s… wow.”

Rúben’s brow furrowed slightly, a small grin forming at the corner of his lips. “What?”

You shook your head, exhaling softly as you let your guard drop just a little more. “You just… get it. I don’t know how, but you do.”

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’m just being honest. I don’t think it’s all that complicated. You’re more than the job, just like I am.”

That did it. Your chest tightened, a strange mix of relief and disbelief swirling inside you. How did someone like him—calm, grounded, and yet so sincere—make you feel so seen? You bit your lip, fighting back a smile, wondering if he even realized the effect he was having on you.

You sighed, shaking your head again with a mix of amusement and gratitude. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Rúben grinned, leaning forward slightly. “I’m just a guy on a date, trying not to say the wrong thing.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job so far,” you teased, feeling more relaxed than you had at the start of the evening. 

The tension you’d been carrying with you since the moment you walked in was slowly unraveling, bit by bit, and as you looked at him, you realized you were glad you’d taken the chance. Maybe this wasn’t the simple, carefree date most people got to experience, but for tonight, it was close enough. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like your fame was the only thing defining you.

You found yourself leaning in slightly, the conversation between you flowing with an ease you hadn’t expected. He wasn’t looking at you like everyone else did, as if you were some untouchable figure. Rúben saw past the glitz, past the brand. He was here for the woman sitting in front of him, and that was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was refreshing, almost grounding, in a way you hadn’t known you needed.

Just as you felt the lightness of the moment settle in, the waiter discreetly placed the check on the table, offering a polite “Take your time,” before stepping back. As soon as the black leather folder hit the table, your hand instinctively reached for it, but before you could even touch it, Rúben’s hand was already there, swiftly grabbing it and pulling it out of your reach.

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-annoyed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He looked at you, his expression a mix of playful disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to split the bill,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Rúben laughed, shaking his head as if you’d just told him the most ridiculous joke. “You’re funny. Absolutely not. That’s not at all happening. I’m paying.”

You leaned forward, playfully trying to push back. “Come on, let me at least pretend I had a chance at paying. I need to keep my dignity intact.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart flip, and shook his head firmly. “No. Absolutely not. This is my treat. I asked you out, remember?”

You sat back, crossing your arms with a half-pout on your lips. “You’re making this difficult, you know.”

He chuckled again, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You can get the next one,” he teased, his tone light and casual.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of a “next one,” but you tried to play it cool. “Next one, huh?”

Rúben raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Unless you’re already planning on bailing on me?”

You shook your head, the playful tension between you lightening the mood even more. “Not bailing,” you said softly, the truth settling in as you looked at him. “I guess I’ll just have to let you pay this time.”

“Good,” he said, sliding his fingers across the edge of the checkbook. “Because that’s how it was going to go either way.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. It was moments like these, little glimpses of ease and lightheartedness, that reminded you why you’d said yes to this date in the first place. Even with all your initial anxiety, Rúben had managed to make the night feel lighter than you expected, and for once, you didn’t feel weighed down by the complications of your life.

He took his card out and paid without even glancing at the amount.

You took a small sip of your water, watching as the waiter thanked both you and Rúben and disappeared once more, leaving the two of you alone in the soft lighting. The atmosphere shifted subtly, quieter now, almost expectant. Rúben stood up first, reaching for your coat, and you followed suit, standing from the table.

When he held out your coat, you turned, feeling the light brush of his hands as he helped you slip it over your shoulders. The touch was brief but deliberate, his fingers grazing your arms in a way that sent a shiver through you. He took his time adjusting the collar of your coat, his movements slow, like he was savoring the moment.

You could feel the shift between you, an unspoken tension building, something that had been simmering beneath the surface. His hands lingered a second longer than necessary, and you felt your pulse quicken as his gaze met yours, his eyes darker than they’d been before. There was no denying the spark now, that quiet, magnetic pull that seemed to tighten the air between you.

He leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours, the warmth of his presence drawing you in like a current. His eyes flicked down to your lips for just a moment—long enough for you to notice, but not long enough for him to make a move. You felt a tug in your stomach—a longing, an anticipation—and you knew where this was headed. You wanted to kiss him, of course you did. He was sweet, attentive, calm, and his scent—a mix of something clean and warm—wrapped around you, making you want to melt into him. 

And God, did he look good. He looked so good, that much you could admit to yourself when you walked in, despite the cloud of doubt that had loomed over you. 

But you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

You leaned back ever so slightly, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t kiss on first dates, you know,” you whispered, your tone playful but firm, just enough to keep him on his toes.

Rúben paused, a small smirk played on his lips. “No way I can convince you?” he asked, his voice low, playful, but with a hint of challenge in it.

His hand rested gently on your waist, the warmth of his touch steady but restrained. It wasn’t possessive, but more like a promise—one that made your heart skip a beat. The way he looked at you, with that quiet intensity, made it harder to stick to your own rules, but you weren’t going to let him win this easily.

With a soft laugh, you reached up, letting your hand brush against his arm, the touch light but deliberate. “You’ll have to try a little harder than that,” you said softly, your lips curving into a smile.

His brow arched, amusement flashing in his eyes as he leaned just a fraction closer, his voice dropping lower. “I can be patient.”

The desire was there, simmering between you, but neither of you were rushing to give in. It was like a game, a slow dance where neither of you wanted to be the first to step forward.

You felt the spark, the undeniable tension, but you liked the way he wasn’t trying to force it. He was letting it build, savoring it just as much as you were.

“I guess we’ll see,” you teased, pulling back just enough to leave him wanting more, the playful glint in your eyes matching his.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You’re trouble,” he murmured, though the smile on his face told you he wasn’t complaining.

You grinned, feeling the lightness between you grow, the chase still very much alive. As you both stepped out of the private dining room, you noticed Eric stationed just outside, always quietly observing but never intrusive. He gave you a small nod before turning to Jason, who stood a few feet away. “Bring the car around,” Eric said quietly, his voice low and efficient.

Rúben placed his hand gently on the small of your back as you began to walk through the same service hallway you had entered from. The soft murmur of kitchen sounds echoed around you as you passed through the bustling space, the warm scents of food lingering in the air. You felt a strange sense of calm wash over you, as if the weight of the outside world hadn’t quite caught up to you yet.

As you reached the end of the hallway, you slowed, noticing Rúben pause. He caught the attention of the restaurant owner, who had been discreetly overseeing the kitchen’s final tasks. With a quiet, purposeful gesture, Rúben handed him a small envelope—an unexpected but thoughtful gesture. The owner looked momentarily surprised, but Rúben’s words were warm, genuine.

“Thank you for everything,” he said, his voice steady but filled with sincerity. “The food, the dessert—it was perfect. But more than that, I appreciate how quiet and private the evening was. Your attention to detail, and everyone’s discretion… it meant a lot to us.”

The owner’s face softened into a grateful smile as he accepted the envelope. “It was our pleasure, Mr. Dias, Miss L/N. We’re happy you enjoyed your evening.”

You watched the exchange, feeling a quiet admiration for Rúben. He didn’t have to do any of this—personally tipping the staff, speaking so kindly to the owner—but he did it anyway, without hesitation, with the same quiet thoughtfulness he’d shown all night.

With that settled, Rúben guided you toward the back exit. As you approached, one of the restaurant employees stepped forward to hold the door open for both of you. You offered him a small smile, murmuring a quick “Thank you,” as you passed, and Rúben did the same, his voice calm and polite.

Stepping outside, the cool night air greeted you, a welcome contrast to the warmth you’d felt in the restaurant. The faint sounds of the city buzzed in the distance, but here, in the quiet alley behind the restaurant, it felt like you were in your own world. You took a deep breath, feeling the tension from earlier in the night dissolve a little more with each passing moment.

Just ahead, your SUV was already waiting, its black frame gleaming softly under the dim alley lights. Eric stood nearby, his posture relaxed but alert. As you approached, you fully expected Eric to open the door as he always did, but before he could move, Rúben was already a step ahead.

With smooth, instinctive grace, Rúben reached for the door handle, pulling it open for you. It was such a simple gesture, but it caught you off guard. You paused, looking at him for a second longer than you intended. You weren’t used to this. So few of the guys you’d dated before had ever bothered with the smallest acts of respect—holding doors, offering real consideration—and yet here was Rúben, doing it effortlessly. He wasn’t making a show of it, and it wasn’t an act. It was just who he was, and it took you a moment to process that.

You stood between him and the open door, the moment suddenly feeling more intimate than it had a right to be. As you adjusted your coat, a cool breeze brushed past, loosening a strand of hair from where it had been tucked behind your ear. Before you could reach for it, Rúben’s hand was already there, gently brushing the stray hair back into place. His touch was soft, tender, and the simplicity of it made your breath catch.

“I appreciate you coming tonight, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice warm and genuine. “I had a lot of fun. I’d like to keep getting to know you, as long as you’ll let me.”

His words were so sincere, cutting through any lingering tension with their honesty. You felt your heart flutter slightly at how real this all felt. Rúben wasn’t pushing for anything more than you were ready to give, but he made it clear that he wanted more, when you were ready for it.

You smiled up at him, your voice soft. “I’d like that, too.”

Before you could stop yourself, you rose on your tiptoes—despite the heels you were wearing—and gently placed a soft kiss on his cheek. His skin was warm against your lips, and you felt him lean into the touch, just slightly, like he was savoring the moment.

When you pulled back, his smile was gentle, his eyes still holding yours as he helped you up into the SUV with that same quiet grace he’d shown all night. You noticed how his hand covered the grab handle above the door, making sure you didn’t bump your head as you slid into the seat. It was another small detail, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

Before closing the door, he leaned down slightly, his voice low but gentle. “Please, let me know when you get home safely.”

You smiled, your heart warming at his thoughtfulness. “I will. Good night, Rúben.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

He smiled, giving you one last look that made your stomach flip before turning to Eric. There was a polite nod exchanged between them, a silent acknowledgment of respect from both sides. Eric returned the gesture before stepping aside.

As the door closed and the SUV pulled away from the restaurant, you sank into the plush leather seats, sighing softly, dreamily. A small smile tugged at your lips as the city lights blurred outside the window. Rúben had been… well, everything you hadn’t expected but had secretly hoped for. 

Eric slid into the front seat, glancing at you in the rearview mirror with a knowing look. “Good date?” he asked, though you could hear the teasing in his tone.

You couldn’t hide your smile as you nodded, sinking further into the seat. “Yeah… it was.”

As the car rolled through the quiet streets of the city, your thoughts drifted back to Rúben, to the way his hand had felt on your waist, the way his gaze had lingered on yours. You weren’t sure where things would go from here, but for the first time in a long time, you felt excited about the possibilities. And for tonight, that was more than enough.

author's note: sorry for making y'all wait for so long! let me know what y'all think :)

[levisolace]

[6] Expendable Hearts (Levi x F!Reader)

Chapter 6: Busy Nights

WC: 6664 Chapter Warnings: just angst again Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do. Note: Levi POV in this chapter !! ^^ Oh, and unfortunately, there will probably no update until after the 17th of October. I have uni exams and my study schedule is clashing with work so I probably won't time have time to write until then. See you until then! (We're gonna get more angsty and a little steamy(?) when I come back, I promise.) check out the expandable hearts playlist here!

story masterlist | prev chapter > next chapter

Over the next few days, you found yourself checking your phone more than usual, a small flicker of anticipation stirring each time you saw a new message. On Wednesday afternoon, Kuchel finally texted you the details of the dinner, and to your surprise, it wasn’t at the restaurant.

Would dinner at my place this Thursday be good? 7PM. Just us. Don’t bring anything—just yourself. See you then. —Kuchel

You stared at the message for a moment, blinking. Kuchel’s home? You hadn’t expected something so personal, but it made sense. After all, this wasn’t just any casual dinner. It was a reunion, an intimate moment to reconnect outside the hustle and noise of her now-bustling restaurant.

A mix of emotions bubbled up as you responded with a quick response.

Sounds perfect. I’ll be there.

As the dinner date drew closer, you found yourself thinking about Kuchel more than you expected. Memories from the time you worked at her small, then unassuming restaurant resurfaced—late nights closing up, chats over coffee while you helped her organize orders, Levi’s rare moments of humor in between his sharp instructions. It all seemed so distant now, like a chapter of your life that belonged to someone else.

A couple of minutes after confirming the dinner with Kuchel, another message buzzed on your phone, pulling you from the stack of legal documents you’d been reviewing. You glanced at the screen and saw Hange’s name pop up and you remember she has been pestering you about her bachelorette party. She kept sending the same message everyday for the past week.

Heyyy! Guess what? You’re invited to my bachelorette party! 🎉🎉 It’s going to be WILD. Be there, or I’ll hunt you down!! This Saturday at 8 PM. The details are attached here. Can’t wait to see you!!

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you read the message. Hange hadn’t changed one bit. She always had this vibrant energy that could light up any room, and apparently, she was bringing that energy to her bachelorette party. The thought of attending the event tugged at something inside you—an old camaraderie, a time when things were simpler, messier, but undeniably fun.

The idea of being surrounded by familiar faces again—of slipping back into that old rhythm—both excited and unsettled you. But Hange’s invitation was impossible to refuse. She had a way of pulling people into her orbit, and you knew this wouldn’t be any ordinary night. Besides, Levi won’t be there anyway.

As the day unfolded, the prospect of Kuchel’s dinner and Hange’s bachelorette party loomed closer, each event pulling you back into the life you once had here. It felt as though the city, with all its memories and relationships, was welcoming you back in layers—one familiar face at a time. And you don’t even know if you deserved it. 

—

When the evening finally arrived, you made your way to Kuchel’s home, which was tucked into a quiet neighborhood just a few blocks away from the restaurant. The walk there felt almost surreal, the streets of Stohess now familiar yet filled with memories. When you arrived, you found the house just as warm and inviting as the woman who owned it.

Kuchel’s home was modest, but there was a charm to it—plants lining the windowsills, warm lights glowing from inside, and the faint scent of cooking wafting out the front door. You took a deep breath and knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately, and there she was, smiling as though no time had passed at all.

“You made it,” Kuchel said, her voice bright as she stepped aside to let you in. “Come on in, the food’s almost ready.”

You stepped inside, taking in the cozy, lived-in feel of the space. Photos lined the walls, some of Levi as a boy, and others of what seemed to be old family gatherings. The warmth of the place wrapped around you, instantly putting you at ease.

“I haven’t been here in so long,” you said softly, looking around.

Kuchel smiled as she led you into the kitchen, where a simple but delicious-smelling meal was simmering on the stove. “I figured it’d be nice to have dinner somewhere quiet. We can talk without the restaurant noise, and besides, I’ve been meaning to catch up with you for a long time.”

As you took a seat at her kitchen table, Kuchel poured you a glass of wine, her movements graceful and familiar. “It’s been too long. You’ve done so much since you left, and I want to hear everything.”

You smiled, settling into the moment. “There’s a lot to catch up on,” you admitted. “But I want to hear about you, too. Kuchel’s has grown so much—I couldn’t believe it when I saw how busy it was the other night.”

Kuchel laughed softly as she joined you at the table. “Levi deserves most of the credit for that. He’s been the driving force behind the expansion. I never imagined we’d get this far, honestly. But enough about work—for tonight, let’s treat each other like the old times.” 

You took a sip of your wine, feeling the warmth of the room and the comfort of Kuchel’s presence sink in. “It’s been a whirlwind,” you began, knowing that this evening would be one of reconnection, not just with Kuchel, but with the parts of yourself that you’d left behind when you moved away. You began to tell her what happened like how you tell it to everyone, how you left the city, moved your grandma, went to law school, how your grandma died, and how you began to work in Trost. 

And as the night unfolded, with laughter and stories shared over a lovingly prepared meal, you realized how much you had missed this—missed her, and the sense of home that Kuchel had always provided.

As the dinner with Kuchel neared its end, the conversation had drifted from light-hearted reminiscing to more personal territory. You both shared a bottle of wine, laughter mixing with memories, but there was a point where the ease of the evening gave way to something deeper. Kuchel, always observant, seemed to notice the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes, the way you hesitated before answering certain questions.

She set her glass down, her expression softening as the last bit of warmth from the meal filled the quiet space between you. “I’m really glad you’re back,” she said, her voice gentle but with an edge of seriousness. “You were with someone else when I first saw you but it’s been plaguing my mind so I came to ask you to meet me. I’m sorry, dear… I have to ask, how are you really doing?”

You looked down at your plate for a moment, the weight of the question settling in. Kuchel had always been able to read you, even when you didn’t want to be read. She wasn’t one for surface-level small talk—not with you.

“I’m fine,” you started, instinctively offering the answer you’d given everyone else. But Kuchel’s eyes didn’t waver, and the sincerity of her gaze made you pause. She wasn’t letting you get away with that.

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table, her voice a little softer now. “I know it’s been a long time, and I don’t expect you to spill everything right now… but I can see it. You’ve been through something. So, how have you really been?”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time all night, you felt exposed. You hadn’t planned on opening up—not tonight, maybe not ever—but something about Kuchel’s quiet persistence, her maternal presence, made you feel safe enough to let the guard down.

“You know—and don’t tell Levi I told you this but… when the breakup happened, Levi didn’t take it well. And I never got to talk to you about it. But if Levi experienced that… it was probably bad for you too, wasn’t it?” She reached for your hand across the table, placing a comforting hand on yours, and caressing it with care and love of a mother. 

It took all of you to control your emotions right there and then. For Kuchel to say this, the curiosity of what Levi endured during those times that you broke things off and what happened to everyone after you left only became stronger, accompanied with greater guilt that you have always been carrying. You look away and take a deep breath, setting your own glass aside. “I… it was hard for me too, I admit.”

Kuchel nodded, not interrupting, just listening in that patient way of hers. It encouraged you to continue.

“When I left, it was all I could think of doing. But it feels like I just ran. Away from here, from everything. And now that I’m back, it’s like… all of it is catching up to me, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

You hadn’t meant to be so honest, but once the words started spilling out, it was hard to stop. Kuchel listened intently, her eyes filled with understanding, but she didn’t say anything right away.

“I knew there was more under the surface,” she said softly. “You’ve always been strong, but sometimes it’s okay to stop carrying it all alone. I can see it’s hard to tell what really happened and I—we can wait. There’s still people that love you here. You can find your way back to them.”

Her words hit deeper than you expected, and for the first time in a while, you felt a small sense of relief—a release of the tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. It was comforting, having someone like Kuchel, who knew you before the layers of adulthood and responsibility piled on.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “I guess I just needed to hear that.”

Kuchel smiled warmly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. But don’t keep it bottled up either. You’ve got people here who care, people who are still part of your life—whether it’s me, or Hange, or whoever else. Don’t be a stranger.”

You nodded, feeling the sincerity in her words settle over you like a warm blanket. There was something about the way she said it that made you believe it.

The evening ended on a note of quiet understanding, Kuchel walking you to the door with a promise to see each other again soon. As you stepped out into the night, the weight on your shoulders felt just a little lighter, knowing that at least here, in this corner of your past, you had someone who understood—someone who saw through the cracks and cared enough to reach out.

—

After saying your goodbyes to Kuchel and leaving her cozy home, the cool night air greeted you as you stepped out of the cab in front of your apartment. The streets were quiet, only the occasional flicker of distant headlights passing by, the buzz from your dinner still lingering in your mind. Kuchel's words played over and over in your head—her gentle insistence that you didn’t have to carry everything alone. You felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had been lifted, but also heavy with the realization that coming back to the city meant dealing with more than just the people from your past. It meant facing the reality that this is the present–your current situation, something you can no longer run away from. 

As you rounded the corner of your street, something caught your eye—a familiar silhouette, leaning casually against the building. At first, you thought you were imagining it, the streetlights casting long shadows that distorted the figure. But as you approached, the figure became clearer, the unmistakable stance of someone you hadn't expected to see, but somehow weren’t surprised by.

Levi.

He stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was a tension in his posture that told you this wasn’t just a casual visit. His dark eyes flicked up as you approached, locking onto yours with the same intensity you remembered. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words.

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than you intended, but firm enough to mask the sudden rush of emotions swirling inside you.

Levi pushed off from the wall, standing straighter as he took a few slow steps toward you. 

"How was the dinner?" he asked, the words falling out more out of habit than genuine curiosity. He didn't need to know about the dinner, not really. He just needed to say something.

“You knew?” You blinked, surprised that he even knew about it. Then you remembered, of course—Levi was always aware of things, especially when it came to Kuchel. He probably knew you'd be seeing her tonight even if she didn’t tell him. 

"It was nice," you said, carefully, as if you were trying not to give too much away. "Kuchel’s doing well."

Levi nodded, his gaze shifting for a second, as though considering whether to say something more. But instead, he settled on something simple. "Good."

Another silence stretched between you, longer this time. It was clear he wasn’t going to explain why he’d really come. Maybe you didn’t need to ask—maybe it didn’t matter. But the tension between you felt thick, almost suffocating. The years apart hadn’t erased anything. You can still feel the immeasurable amount of love he has for his mother. In honesty, you’d expected him to be angry that you reconnected with Kuchel. But of course, this was Levi. If it’s mother’s happiness or want, he would never question or fault her for it. 

Levi nodded, staring down at the ground for a beat, shoving his hands back into his jacket pockets. There was no reason for him to stay, but he lingered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of the city around you both.

"You didn’t have to come all the way out here," you said, breaking the silence, your voice soft but carrying a note of hesitation. You didn’t ask him outright why he was there, but it was implied.

Levi shrugged, his eyes meeting yours briefly before drifting off again. "Maybe I did."

You swallowed, not sure how to respond to that. For all of Levi’s usual bluntness, there was always something deeper that he never quite let show. Something that made it impossible to fully walk away from him, even when you thought you had. 

“Get some rest,” Levi said after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost softer. “You look awful.”

He gave you a curt nod and turned to walk away, leaving you standing there, feeling like something had just shifted between you. Something unspoken, unresolved, and maybe destined to remain that way.  

—

The night of Hange’s bachelorette party arrived with the kind of energy that made the air feel electric. You stood outside the venue, a trendy rooftop bar in the heart of the city, the neon lights of Stohess Street reflected in the glass walls behind you. The place had been transformed—streamers, lights, and enough champagne to fill a small pool. You took a deep breath before stepping inside, knowing that wherever Hange was, chaos was sure to follow.

As you entered, you were immediately hit by a wave of laughter, music, and the unmistakable sound of Hange’s voice ringing out over the crowd. The space was filled with friends, both familiar faces and new ones, all gathered to celebrate. You spotted her almost immediately—Hange was at the center of the room, a crown of flowers on her head and a glass of champagne in hand, already in full party mode.

“There she is!” Hange’s voice rang out as she spotted you from across the room, her face lighting up as she waved you over. She was wearing a sash that read “Bride-to-Be” in glittering letters, and her energy was contagious. “I thought you’d never make it! Come here!”

You smiled, weaving through the crowd of partygoers to reach her. Before you could say a word, Hange pulled you into a tight hug, nearly spilling her champagne in the process.

“I told you it’d be wild!” she laughed, stepping back to take you in. “Look at you! You clean up well.”

“Thanks, Hange,” you said, unable to help but smile at her infectious enthusiasm. “This is… a lot.”

“Only the best for my bachelorette!” she declared, spinning around to show off the venue. “We’ve got drinks, food, and games—oh, and don’t forget the karaoke later.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Karaoke?”

Hange grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah, it’s happening. And you will sing, my friend.”

Before you could protest, Nanaba appeared beside you, already holding a glass of champagne for you. “She’s not kidding about the karaoke. Start thinking of your song now,” she teased, handing you the glass. “Long time no see, girl.”

You took it, laughing softly. “Oh my god, Nanaba,” you greet her with a hug. She hugs you back.

Everyone began to greet you. Out of all the attendees, you only knew Nanaba who thankfully treated you kindly like it hasn’t been years since you’ve last seen each other. Tonight, it will all be about Hange, that’s what she said. 

The party was in full swing, with drinks flowing and people chatting in every corner. You settled into the crowd, reminiscing about college days with Nanaba and meeting new girls, but the chaotic energy of the evening was starting to grow on you. Every time you glanced at Hange, she was in the middle of some new adventure—whether it was a game, making an impromptu speech, or trying to rope someone into a dance-off.

As the night went on, you found yourself at the bar, taking a moment to breathe. That’s when Hange sidled up beside you, a mischievous glint in her eye. “So,” she started, leaning on the bar, “I heard you and Levi ran into each other recently.”

You froze for a second, surprised she’d brought it up. Of course, Hange would know. “Yeah… he returned something I forgot in his car,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Hange raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual tone. “Oh, just a handkerchief? Interesting.”

You gave her a look. “It was nothing. We barely talked.” While we were having dinner, that is, you thought. 

“Sure,” she said with a teasing grin. “Well, just so you know, I mixed that drink myself.”

You stared at her, caught off guard. “Of course you did.”

She laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What? It’s my party! I want everyone to have fun. Besides, it’ll be fun for everyone to let loose. Don’t worry, it’s not as dangerous as the ones I made from college. I’ve practiced a lot over the years.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Hange always had a way of stirring the pot, even when she didn’t mean to. Before you could respond, she was pulled away by a group of friends, leaving you to your thoughts for a moment.

The night wore on, and as promised, karaoke eventually took over the party. You found yourself dragged into a group rendition of some 90s throwback song, with Hange leading the charge and everyone laughing so hard they could barely keep up with the lyrics. It was chaotic, messy, and exactly what you’d expected from a night like this.

As you looked around at the familiar faces, the laughter, and the whirlwind energy of the party, you felt a strange sense of belonging—a feeling you hadn’t realized you’d missed until now. It was like stepping back into a part of yourself you’d left behind, and for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be back. Or maybe that was the alcohol in your system. You feel like you’re about to crash out soon. 

The party didn’t start winding down until the early hours of the morning, when even Hange began to show signs of exhaustion. You were one of the last to leave, standing on the rooftop as the city stretched out beneath you, barely alive with the hum of nightlife. The reason you didn’t leave yet is because your alcohol tolerance betrayed you. You fear that if you go home alone, you’d pass out on the street and wake up god knows where.

Hange caught up to you once more as you stood, leaning on the tall railings. “Hey,” she said, her tone more serious now, though still light. “Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me, you know? Having you back here.”

You smiled, feeling the sincerity in her words. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Good,” she said, giving you a lopsided grin before pulling you into one last hug. “Now get home and sleep. We’ve got more partying to do at the wedding.” 

“Actually, can you grab me a cab? I don’t think I can book a ride on my phone at my state.” Your words are slurring off with a soft laugh as you talk, trying to pull out your phone out of your pocket only to find it empty. “Oh, other pocket,” you murmured incoherently as you finally had your phone in your hand.

You look up to already see Hange grinning at you, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the night. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Already taken care of.”

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

Hange gave you a look that was somewhere between mischievous and knowing, her eyes twinkling with that signature glint she always got when she knew she was meddling in something. “I called someone to pick you up.” 

Your stomach dropped, and a sense of foreboding crept into your drunken haze. “Who?” you asked, dreading the answer. 

“For fuck’s sake, Hange.” 

For one good second, you sobered up, chills filling your entire body when you heard his voice. You look in his direction, already walking up to the two of you. He’s wearing a black jacket and jeans, his hair a little tousled by the windy air of the rooftop. 

“I thought you’d know better than drinking Hange’s mix,” he directly spoke to you now, arms crossed in disappointment. Him standing in front of you hit you like a splash of cold water. You blinked a few times, as if you don’t believe what you’re seeing in front of you. 

“Levi? You called Levi?” is what you would’ve said if you could even make some words out of your drunken mouth. You let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the situation settle in your already tipsy mind. The way Levi is seeing you right now—drunk, disoriented, and in this state—is too humiliating, but it was too late to argue. Hange had made her decision without consulting you, and there was no undoing it now, with him already standing in front of you.

Hange laughed, patting you on the back. “Welp, here’s your designated driver. Moblit’s on his way to fetch me so you two go on ahead.”

With that, Hange left the two of you alone by the railings. The two of you stood there in silence. The long-sleeved shirt you wore does nothing for the chilly night, you wrap your arms tightly around yourself as the cold night air sobered you up just enough to feel the awkwardness building. Your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned on the railing, trying to steady yourself.

He approached you closer, his usual unreadable expression giving nothing away. “You good to go, or do I need to carry you to the car?” he asked, his voice dry but not unkind.

You blinked, trying to pull yourself together, but you could still feel the alcohol buzzing in your system. “I can walk,” you muttered, feeling heat rise in your cheeks despite the cool air.

Levi’s lips twitched ever so slightly at your response, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Sure you can.”

You huff, trying to walk away from him. You swayed slightly on your feet, your mind racing with a mixture of embarrassment and dread as you head to the elevator. Levi followed closely behind you. Whenever you feel like you’re about to lose your stance, you’d feel a slight graze of a hand on your back. He never touches you. But you’re awfully aware of his presence behind you. 

The two of you waited in front of the elevator in silence. You don’t look at Levi. You feel like your face is going to be redder than it already is if you look at his handsome face. And what was he wearing? Did he go somewhere? Why does he look like that? It’s so unfair. He’s so hot. The all black fit always hits you differently, the alcohol is not helping either. 

Just as the elevator doors open, something draped on your shoulders. Levi’s jacket. “Wear it. You look like you’re gonna freeze to death.” 

As the two of you go in, due to actually feeling like you’re going to freeze to death, you don’t complain and wear his jacket. The smell of his cologne fills your nose and you bury yourself in the warmth of it. 

"You look like you’ve had a rough night," he said, his voice flat but with a hint of dry amusement.

You huffed out a breath, leaning your elbows on the railing again. “It wasn’t supposed to end with you showing up.” You paused for a moment. “Thanks for coming… but you didn’t have to. I could’ve called a cab.”

Levi shrugged, glancing over at the view of the city in front of you. “You were drunk, and she called me. Simple as that.”

You sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing with him. “Yeah, I guess.”

He glanced at you, taking in the way you leaned a little too heavily against the wall, the faint pink flush on your cheeks. As the two of you stood there, the awkward silence between you grew. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an underlying tension—one that neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

You made it to the lobby  and then outside of the building, the cool air of the outside world hitting you like a fresh wave of another cold. Levi led the way to his car parked just outside, and you hesitated for a moment, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and reluctance.

When you reached the car, Levi opened the passenger door for you, motioning for you to get in. You do as he says, slipping into the passenger seat.  The ride was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound between you as he drove through the city streets, which had quieted down in the late hours. You stared out the window, watching the lights of the buildings blur as you passed by. 

Levi finally broke the silence, his voice soft but steady. “Hange said you were having fun tonight.”

You let out a small laugh, still feeling the god-awful drink swirling in your veins. “Yeah, I was… surprisingly”

He glanced at you briefly. “Parties weren't really your thing.”

“Neither are late-night rescues,” you replied, shooting him a half-smile.

Levi’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him all night. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence, the weight of the night settling over you as your eyelids grew heavy. The rhythmic hum of the car and the gentle motion of the drive lulled you into a deeper state of relaxation. The alcohol in your system had finally caught up with you, and despite your best efforts to stay awake, your eyes grew heavier with each passing minute. You leaned your head against the cool window, the blur of city lights fading as your consciousness began to slip.

You barely registered Levi glancing over at you from the driver's seat. His expression, ever unreadable, softened slightly as he noticed your slow, even breathing. He kept driving for a few more minutes, but when he pulled up in front of your apartment building and turned off the engine, you didn’t stir.

—

Levi sat there for a moment, staring at you, your body curled up in the passenger seat, completely oblivious to the world around you. The faint rise and fall of your chest was the only sound in the quiet of the car. He let out a small sigh, looking around the area of your building as he considered his options. There were still some people outside in the streets. The underground never slept, filled with drunktards and no-good doers. 

After a moment of hesitation, Levi made his decision. Getting you inside your apartment, trying to find your keys, and getting you up the steep and unpaved stairs—all of it seemed like too much for someone in your condition. 

Without another word, Levi drove off your apartment and to his own home where you’ll be more comfortable. After he parked his car, Levi got out of the car and came around to your side. He opened the passenger door quietly and leaned down, carefully sliding one arm beneath your legs and the other around your back. You stirred slightly as he lifted you, your head resting against his chest as he effortlessly carried you out of the car. The smell of alcohol fills his nose but it didn’t bother him one bit.  His movements were slow and deliberate, making sure not to wake you as he adjusted your weight in his arms. 

You murmured something incoherent, your head shifting slightly as you nestled closer against him. Levi froze for a second, his gaze flickering down to you, but when you didn’t wake, he continued walking toward his building.

Once inside, Levi carried you up the stairs to his apartment. It was quiet and dark, the only light coming from the street lamps outside. He shifted you gently in his arms to open the door, then stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. He made his way through the familiar space, heading toward his bedroom.

Levi laid you down carefully on his bed, pulling back the covers as he positioned you comfortably on the mattress. You stirred again, this time more aware, your eyes fluttering open briefly as you tried to figure out where you were. Your vision was blurry, your mind still fogged with sleep and alcohol, but you recognized the familiar scent of Levi’s apartment. 

"Levi?" you mumbled, your voice hoarse with sleep.

He was already adjusting the blanket over you, making sure you were covered and comfortable. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said quietly, his voice unusually soft. “Go back to sleep.”

You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the situation, but exhaustion pulled at you like a weight. Your body relaxed into the bed, the warmth of the blankets lulling you back to the edge of unconsciousness. “This isn’t… my place…” you muttered, but even as you said it, your eyes were closing again.

“I know,” Levi replied, stepping back slightly as he watched you. “You fell asleep in the car.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, you let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Yeah…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as sleep finally overtook you.

As Levi carefully tucked the blanket around you, making sure you were comfortable, he turned to leave the room. But just as he was about to pull away, he felt a gentle tug on his arm.

In your half-conscious state, your fingers had wrapped around his wrist, holding him in place. He froze, staring down at you, his heartbeat quickening unexpectedly. Your eyes were still closed, your breathing slow and steady, but your grip was firm—gentle, yet desperate, as though some part of you, even in sleep, didn’t want him to leave.

“Stay… please…” you whispered, your voice barely audible but enough to make Levi’s breath catch.

He wasn’t sure if you were dreaming or fully aware of what you were saying, but the soft plea reached him. You shifted slightly, your hand sliding up his arm as you pulled him closer, nestling into the blankets. “hold me…” you murmured, the vulnerability in your voice tugging at something deep inside him.

Levi’s body went rigid, his mind torn between his instinct to distance himself and the raw emotion in your voice. He had never been good with moments like this—moments that demanded more than what he was used to offering. But the way you clung to him, even unconsciously, made it difficult to simply pull away. It reminded him of old, easier times. 

With a quiet sigh, Levi gave in. He gently sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb you too much. His movements were slow, uncertain, but deliberate. He stretched out beside you, keeping a small distance at first, though your hand never let go of him.

As you sensed his presence closer, you relaxed, instinctively shifting so that your head rested lightly against his chest. The tension in your body melted as you let out a soft, contented sigh, your hand still gripping his shirt as if afraid he might disappear.

Levi lay there, still and silent, staring up at the ceiling, his heart beating faster than usual. He didn’t know what to do with his free arm, but eventually, he let it settle around your shoulder, holding you with a gentleness that surprised even him. The scent of your hair and the warmth of your body against his was oddly calming, despite the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind.

The room was quiet, save for your slow, steady breathing. Levi glanced down at you, watching the peaceful expression on your face, the way your brow had unfurled and your lips parted slightly in sleep. You looked vulnerable, and yet completely at ease.

For a brief moment, Levi allowed himself to relax, too. He wasn’t sure what this meant—this sudden closeness but as you snuggled into him, your body warm against his, he let himself be present in the moment.

Just for tonight, he told himself. Just for now.

As the minutes passed, Levi found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you. Your face was serene in sleep, the tension from the day and the alcohol completely dissolved. He hadn't seen you like this in a long time—peaceful, unguarded. There was something deeply comforting in watching you like this, something that stirred memories he had long buried. Only now was he able to stare at your face without fearing he’d crumble in front of you. The darkness under your eyes tells everyone that you’re tired but the years have painted a maturity in your face that didn’t take away your beauty. 

His eyes traced the familiar lines of your features—the way your lashes rested softly on your cheeks, the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of your breathing, and Levi’s thoughts seemed to drift along with it. He wasn’t one to dwell on the past, but here, beside you, he couldn’t help but think of everything that had happened between you two—what you had been, what you could have been.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but a deep, unspoken longing began to rise in his chest, a feeling he had been trying to ignore ever since the night he had shown up outside your apartment without a reason. The closeness of you, the way you had unconsciously reached for him, pulled at something deep inside him.

His gaze softened, lingering on your parted lips, the way your hair spilled across the pillow, framing your face. Slowly, as if drawn by some invisible force, he found himself leaning in closer. His heart began to pound louder, an unfamiliar rush of emotions building within him, making his movements feel almost inevitable.

He told himself to stop, to pull back before he crossed a line. But as his face hovered just inches above yours, he was overwhelmed by the quiet intimacy of the moment. The warmth of your breath brushed against his skin, and his pulse quickened. You were so close, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like—to close that final distance, to press his lips against yours once again. 

He hesitated, his breath hitching as his eyes traced your sleeping face. You looked so peaceful, so trusting, curled up against him. And yet, in that moment, the weight of what was unsaid between you—the unresolved tension, the memories, the regrets—hung in the air. 

Levi’s hand, which had been resting lightly on your shoulder, twitched as he fought the urge to touch you, to run his fingers through your hair, to let his guard down completely. But just as he was about to give in to the moment, he stopped himself.

A faint sigh escaped him as he pulled back, his forehead creasing with conflict. He couldn’t do it—not like this. Not while you were asleep and unaware. It wouldn’t be fair to you, and he knew better than to act on fleeting impulses, no matter how strong they felt in the moment.

With a deep breath, Levi settled back onto the pillow, keeping his arm around you but maintaining the distance between your faces. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing, the weight of the unspoken emotions pressing heavily on his chest.

As you shifted slightly in your sleep, your hand still clutching his shirt, Levi closed his eyes, trying to push away the longing that had nearly overtaken him.

But the truth lingered, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it: after all these years, he had never really let you go. 

He ran a hand through his hair, a mix of concern and something else flickering in his eyes before he carefully stood up from the bed, turned and quietly walked into his bathroom. He got two things, a cleanser and some cotton. 

He walked back to the bed, seeing you sleeping soundly. Gently, he sat down beside you and began to wipe the makeup off your face. He’s careful not to wake you, not applying too much pressure. He’s seen you do this back in college, telling him that makeup should always be removed before bed. If he could change your clothes he would as well. But you looked comfortable enough in his jacket. 

Levi walked back into the living room when he was done, his mind oddly restless despite the quiet of the apartment. He sat down on the couch, staring out the window at the city lights outside, knowing that tonight had been different. He didn’t know why he had brought you here instead of waking you up or why he had come to fetch you in the first place. He didn’t know why he didn’t refuse Hange’s call knowing that you were together. He didn’t know why he even dressed up and ran to your side without question. There were a lot of things he didn’t know and didn’t understand. Most of all, he doesn’t understand how you still have a hold of him like this all over the years you were gone. And to be honest, it angered him but mostly, it scared him. 

But as the minutes passed and the apartment remained still, he figured maybe it didn’t matter. And whatever questions you have, he'll figure it out tomorrow. For now, you were safe. And that was enough.

© levisolace. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only on my ao3 account. thank you.

[ohnococo]

Eyes On You | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x F!Scientist Reader

Summary: Sukuna takes a keen interest in you after a meeting discussing having him promote the protein powder you helped develop.

Notes: A one shot within the mma!au, though this isn’t part of the main canon of Fight Night. A request for @rosemaydone321

Warnings: public sex, mutual masturbation, rough sex, cum shot

You hated being dragged along for these sponsorship meetings. It wasn’t your thing: sucking up to clients, listening to them negotiate fees, nodding the approval you’d already detailed and reviewed with legal in emails over the product claims in the ad copy. That didn’t stop you from getting dragged along though. Kusakabe, the company’s marketing lead, absolutely insisted that you added an air of legitimacy to the product just by sitting there. You drew the line at his suggestions that you wear a white lab coat to these meetings. There was no need to give some performance of your job, because it was simply something you did and did well, not needing to add niceties or fakeness to bolster your accolades. Not like most of the other people in this room laughing louder than they needed to, smiling wider than necessary.

Not the subject of this meeting though. In lieu of making conversation and underhanded suggestions of sponsorship requirements or costs, his focus was on you through most of it, face unamused by his manager’s banter. He seemed much more interested in watching you squirm under his gaze. You aren’t exactly sure what it was he seemed to get out of it, brows raised, peering down his nose at you as he leans on one hand and waits for your side of the table to agree to what he wants without even having to be the one to ask for it. It feels like he’s judging you, staring into your mind at every little thing you were thinking. It makes it hard for you to listen, not that you really needed to. All they asked was that you “look smart” and “use some science-y words.” All your years of education and experience to be told to look smart when you were smart. It almost made you regret getting into the health and fitness business.

The only thing making these meetings semi-tolerable was at least knowing Kusakabe was good at dealing with these people, having done press management for fighters himself in the past before deciding it was too much stress for the pay. He had to put out less fires this way, now he just helped the company push protein powder via sponsorships and deals. Or in this case, a very important brand deal with a highly sought after man like Sukuna. His being reliable, and doing most of the talking, made up for you being forced to be here rather than where your costly degrees had given you access to. It still didn’t make his client-facing persona any less grating though.

Sukuna leans forward, picking up his glass of water on the long table separating you and your coworkers from him and his management, and Kusakabe makes a show of acting impressed by him to pay him a compliment. It was usually what these men liked most.

“God, look at the size of his hands! No wonder you’re a menace on the ground.” Kusakabe mimics wrenching an opponent’s arm back, but Sukuna seems to be too concerned with watching you intently to be plied by the praise. Though from how disinterested he seemed the entire meeting you were beginning to think flattery wouldn’t work on him anyway. Kusakabe nudges you, encouraging you to join in, “Can’t claim that’s because of the protein powder, can we?”

Sukuna’s lip curls into a sneer, and you feel a small sense of camaraderie that he was just as put off by the charade of it all as you were, though you note this was the first time someone hadn’t been taken in by Kusakabe.

You’d have to tease him for it later when he lets the facade slip on your way back to the more comfortable lab-based aspects of your job. He knew the product inside and out. Not on a chemical level like you, but he was knowledgeable.

You found his penchant for playing dumb exhausting though, and since Sukuna seemed to as well you take the chance to speak your mind for once. “Don’t be stupid.”

For the first time since this meeting had started, the large man across from you actually looks amused, lifting his head from where it was resting atop his hand with the smallest hint of a smile.

“Don’t mind her. You know how brainy types are, right?” Kusakabe deflects, trying to recover from his parried compliment.

That wipes the smile off of Sukuna’s face, and he turns his steely gaze to the man next to you. “She’s right. You were being stupid.

Kusakabe looks frightened for a second, with your new client’s ability to intimidate even without threats, then his business brain kicks in, forcing that fake smile back onto his face as he laughs nervously. “Of course I was!”

He was, really. A claim like that would be preposterous. It was already a stretch for them to try and act like any of the considerable musculature before you was due to your product anyway. A body like that wasn’t built by a year’s worth of free product and the promise of a sizable check…

From the corner of your eye you can see Kusakabe deflate a little, before redoubling his efforts with Sukuna’s management, having noted they were much more receptive than the brooding man who was the guest of honour here.

The meeting wraps up without further incident, except for you spending the majority of it trying to look unbothered by Sukuna’s unwavering gaze. As Kusakabe walks you back to your little hideaway many, many floors down from the fancy meeting room, he places a lollipop into his mouth in lieu of heading outside for a cigarette to calm his buzzing nerves.

“If I didn’t respect you so much I’d have asked you to show a little leg to make that whole thing easier for me.”

It catches you off guard, “Firstly, if you respected me you would have kept that little thought to yourself. Secondly, what are you even talking about?”

He twirls the sweet by its stick on his mouth, pulling it out to gesture at you broadly. “I’m talking about the sexy eyes you were getting the whole damn time. Typical meathead, thinking with his dick.”

“Sexy eyes? Do you mean scary eyes? He looked like he was going to eat me alive.”

Kusakabe laughs as he leans against the wall while you press your keycard to the sensor for the entrance to your floor, “Yeah he wanted a taste of you, all right.”

The door beeps, then the locks click signifying your entry was permitted. Kusakabe’s, however, is not, so he waves at you over his shoulder as he heads back towards the elevator, “I’ll let you know when they decide on the deal.”

“I don’t care.”

It was all the same to you, and while your interest might have been piqued despite the brutishness of being ogled for nearly an hour and a half, your job there was done. Whether he promoted the protein powder or not, or made an appearance in a few commercials or print ads, had nothing to do with you past this point. Hell, it technically didn’t have anything to do with you before, but Kusakabe was adamant your quiet presence made a difference.

When Kusakabe approaches you in the lobby three days later, walking alongside you as you make your way to your car to head home, you think maybe you might care just a little. Enough to see it through at least. He looks serious, disappointed even, feigning having to deliver bad news, before he’s breaking into a smile and patting your back the way he always did when asking you to celebrate a victory that wasn’t yours.

“We did it. Sukuna’s team is signed on.”

“You did it.” You assert. No amount of money would have made you go on all the networking luncheons and meetings he spent his time in to soften people up. One was your limit, agreed to after a lengthy begathon from your coworker, so you let him ask you to come to a celebratory meal with the rest of the marketing team as usual, so you can also shoot it down as usual.

“Well, how about food and drinks tonight to celebrate, eh?” He acts like he might make it sound appetising by phrasing it like that for the dozenth time. But then he adds, “Their team is coming too. Sukuna insisted on paying. He asked us to bring everyone from the meeting too, and that includes you.”

This was a little unusual. It was a rarity for anyone other than the direct lead to be invited out, even if it was his company card getting thrown on the table for it. You can’t say you aren’t interested, even if the thought of being watched through the whole meal intimidated you. So you say yes, and Kusakabe is taken aback, smiling wide and patting you on the back like it was some feat to actually get out of either your lab, your office, or your home.

—

The meal is as insufferable as the meetings usually are. The ass kissing is somehow even more intolerable now that you know the contracts are signed so it was all even more unnecessary theatrics. Sukuna seems more focused on people in the room other than you, bordering on outright ignoring you, save for a few glances down at you in your seat across from him at the table.

It forces you to reckon with the fact that you had possibly been a little self-indulgent, coming to this meal to see him, to see if he was as interested as Kusakabe had seemed to think. You did trust his judgement after all, he had a good read on people, but now you’re just confused. It closes you off from the room even further, starting to feel awkward as your coworkers are drinking fast, bordering on making themselves a nuisance with their boisterous talking and laughter in the little reserved room of this restaurant.

Once they’re shuffling round seats, talking to each other, taking shots, cheersing again and again to a supposedly great fortune this year long contract - with a hope of renewal - would bring, you’re just sitting quietly at your seat in the corner, waiting for Kusakabe to finish his loud story to one of Sukuna’s team so you can say goodbye and leave.

Then, your interest is piqued again, as Sukuna breaks off from the few people he was speaking with, coming to sit down next to you. He peers down at you and you find yourself sitting up a little straighter, blinking when he speaks as if he’d made some sudden frightening movement.

“Are you always so quiet?”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be rude or not, but you answer honestly. “Yes.”

It surprises him that you don’t come up with some defence, and that you were comfortable with your quietness, his brows raising gently as he appears to be scanning you head to toe all over again. It has you feeling tense, swallowing hard as he’s silent, though not in the same way you were.

He catches that, smiling with a predacious twinkle in his eye before he leans a little closer than necessary. “Don’t be scared. I only hurt people who have it coming.”

You don’t know if it was supposed to intimidate you, but it worked. It made your hairs stand on end, your mouth feel dry, but it also made a familiar heat pool low in your stomach. He’s caught onto something that lets him know that too, flashing his teeth at you.

“I said don’t be scared.” He says it like an order, leaning back in the seat he’d taken, looking out at the room and you take the opportunity to try and calm yourself a little without being obvious about it.

He crosses one leg over the other, putting an arm over the back of your chair. “They’ll be shitfaced by the end of the night. Half of them already are.” He swings his head slowly to look down at you, “Why aren’t you?”

You shrug. Because it didn’t interest you, maybe. Because you were bored enough that it couldn’t even help anything and would leave you with a hangover that wasn’t worth it tomorrow morning. You don’t tell him any of that though, deciding that you didn’t want to volunteer any unnecessary information right now.

So you answer with the same question, “Why aren’t you?”

There it is again, that smile that would be outright terrifying if you were one of those people that ’had it coming.’ Then, he tempers the smile, running his tongue over his teeth before relaxing into a more neutral expression.

“If I’m partying I’m not holding back, and this is technically business. But,” he leans in, close enough that you’re holding your breath, eyes wide, “maybe we can have our fun some other way…”

You lick your lips, trying to keep your breathing under control, trying to temper whatever had clued him in to his effect on your body before because by now you were absolutely soaked. He doesn’t let you have that control though, bringing a hand up and brushing your lower lip with his thumb and tilting your head up towards him. He’s so close you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but instead he speaks.

“You need to do something with all that nervous energy, or you’ll wind up passing out.”

He’s mocking you, you know he is. You don’t exactly like to feel so frail in front of him but you can’t deny how your body was reacting, or that you might just be considering letting him kiss you within eyeshot of several of your coworkers. But he doesn’t. He pulls back and stands, eyes barely visible with how low he has to look to gaze down on you.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

Then, he just walks away, leaving you blinking, unsure of why he’d announced his departure with such weight. You catch up to his thinking as he stops at the entryway to the little private room you’d all been dining and drinking in, and quirks his head to the side, raising his brows in a face that wordlessly communicates, ’well?’ before he’s walking away.

It leaves you blinking again, swallowing hard, looking around the room as if to ask what you should do. No one was looking back, all involved in their own discussions. You take a breath, wondering why you suddenly felt the need to confer over something you very much didn’t want anyone else here to know you were even considering. Then, you realise even as you stand to follow along the path Sukuna had taken, it was because you knew it was probably a very, very bad idea.

When you reach the bathroom, you see it’s unlocked. You grab the handle and take a deep breath, half hoping he’d been joking, that he hadn’t even come into here and instead walked outside to get some air and laugh at the dirty little scientist who really thought he was inviting her to fuck in a public restroom. The door is only open a little before Sukuna is in view, very much waiting for you as he’d said, and very much stroking his frankly intimidating cock.

With the way your blood rushes downward between your thighs you almost feel lightheaded, and it’s as if your legs are moving of their own accord as you enter the bathroom and shut and lock the door behind you.

“Anyone could have come in here and seen that.” He laughs at the way you refer to his monster of a cock as that, but it doesn’t stop his slow strokes.

“But you came in here.” He’s still mocking you. And you’re still taking it, responding by grabbing at his shirt, and looking up at him. It spurs him on to release his grip on his cock and kiss you, one hand in your hair the other on your hip.

The force of his kiss borders on painful, teeth clashing with yours, tongue pushing into your mouth like it was his to claim. Then he’s gripping your ass, hoisting you up onto the sink, and only parting from your kiss once his hands migrate downward and feel how wet you already were. He spreads your legs wide, shoving your sensible grey dress upward to unveil the wet patch on your panties and smiling wickedly.

“Were you this wet in that meeting?” His eyes flick upward to meet with yours, and you feel defensive, like he was accusing you of being unprofessional.

“N-no.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He tugs your panties down, hard enough you have to reach behind yourself to grip the sink and keep yourself from sliding off. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

That doesn’t help the defensiveness bubbling up inside you, competing with the arousal. “I am.”

He gives you a pitying look, like he wasn’t so sure anymore, “Then be a smart girl and get that cunt ready for me.”

He takes a step back, resuming his slow strokes on his cock, waiting for you to perform for him. Your fight is gone with the way his words have you letting out a horny little whine at the sight of him touching himself. He lets out a pleased groan at that, and if you hadn’t already cast caution and logic aside for a moment you’d be embarrassed at how enthusiastically you begin moving your fingers through your wetness for him. He nods approvingly, picking up his pace a little as his silent encouragement only makes you go further, bringing a knee up to perch one of your feet on the sink, giving him a better view as you circle your clit and let out a stifled moan.

He doesn’t let you work your way up like that for long though, “Go on, fuck that cunt open for me.”

His words are only getting filthier, and it makes your head spin, letting a louder moan slip out as your mind goes blank and you do just as he says. You didn’t know you could be so needy so fast, knuckle deep with two of your fingers, rocking your hips into your movements the best you can without slipping from your precarious position. He flicks his wrist, twisting his hand as he strokes his cock, and his deep groans have you sliding a third finger in, knowing your fingers will hardly approximate his girth. The obscenity of it all is getting you close, breath hitching, eyes struggling to keep focused as your legs get shaky.

Then he’s got you by the wrist, pulling your hand away, and replacing your fingers with his cock in one steady push. You wrap your arms around him, moaning and clutching at his back, squirming until he has to hold your hips still to bottom out inside of you properly.

You’re so full that it’s like you can’t think, mind needing to reset as your body takes over all the work for you, rocking against him, begging him with soft whines until he’s chuckling at your desperation.

“All of your little coworkers are going to hear us if you don’t keep quiet.”

His words are undercut by his actions, as he starts fucking into you in long, deep strokes, only speeding up to snap his hips against yours just as he’s bottoming out, and you find yourself taking it happily as he hits all the right spots inside of you.

The force of his thrusts has his pants slowly shifting from his hips and down his legs, heavy belt buckle hitting the tile floors with a clang as they pool around his ankles. His pace is unaffected, the more pressing matter being your pussy squelching obscenely around his cock.

“Oh- oh my god, oh my god…” you’re clinging to him, despite being in no danger of falling now that he was gripping you so tightly, mouth open and incapable of stopping the little whines coming out with every thrust.

He puts a hand over your still open and panting mouth and chuckles, low and breathy, “Not such a quiet little mouse now, hm?”

You’re still talking now, babbling into his palm about how good it feels, how bad you need him to make you cum. Even with how muffled it is you can still feel how it’s making him throb inside of you, and you clench around him. His hand on your mouth, large enough that he was gripping your entire jaw, and the other hand firmly locked onto your hip, are the only things keeping you from being a fucked out puddle on the floor, too close to do anything but take it as your moans get higher and louder.

As he starts climbing towards his end as well, he doesn’t even pretend to hold those sounds in anymore, releasing your face to have his other hand on your hip, and you resume your desperate talk unrestrained as he fucks you hard enough your head is left lolling. You’re lucky enough to have him obliging your every request, namely because they all centre around begging him to keep fucking you. He does it happily, until he’s growling his approval as you grip him tight, creaming around his cock as he fucks you right through your orgasm until he’s right on that edge himself. Suddenly he pulls out, pulling your dress higher and out of the way as he pumps himself roughly til he’s cumming hard, coating your pussy and thighs.

You lean back, until you’re against the mirror with the faucet uncomfortably pressed into your back, catching your breath, watching him squeeze out the last of his cum as he takes in the view of his handiwork. Then, when the stars behind your eyes have dissipated, and you look down at the mess, the reality of what you’ve just done settles in.

“Oh God…”

Sukuna only smiles at you and helps you off of the sink onto your shaky legs to begin cleaning yourself off. As you both make yourselves look presentable, something you’re putting much more effort into than him, he offers you a playful, “You’re welcome.”

You shoot him a look, much less warmed up to him now that the haze of lust has worn off.

He pats you on the back, then runs his hand down until he can squeeze at your ass. “You look much more relaxed.”

He takes a final look in the mirror and gives you another smile, still hungry despite having his appetites satisfied. “Looking forward to working with you.”

[majimatime]

Do What You Want (Roman Roy x Reader)

A/N: I had the idea for this at like 2am right after the newest episode came out, and I finally put it into writing!! This is my first ever Succession fanfiction and of course it had to be about Roman, I adore him this season. (Also, a warning for weird business/power dynamics.)

You sit at a small desk in a poorly lit office in Waystar’s LA office building. There’s an email displayed on your laptop from Joy Palmer, an executive at Waystar’s film production company, and you’ve read it about fifty times now. One more scan won’t hurt.

‘Your CEO terminated my employment over lunch this afternoon. You will be hearing from my legal team shortly.’

As the head of entertainment coverage at ATN, you’ve worked pretty closely with Joy Palmer over the past couple years. Your department reviews all the films that flow through her production company, and you cover (and sometimes attend) the premieres of all their atrocious superhero movies. It’s a fruitful business relationship—that’s just been totally shattered.

You ball your hands into fists and rest your head against them, squeezing your eyes shut. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told you that Roman was meeting with her? Why hadn’t Roman told you? This is just…dumb. It’s so, so dumb.

It’s not like Roman hasn’t come to you about business stuff before—you’re actually pretty close. When you were promoted to the head of entertainment coverage, you were sort of initiated into the inner circle—with the old guard, Tom, the kids, and Logan Roy himself. You were completely and utterly out of your element, attending board meetings, cross-country business deliberations, and all the other fancy shit that comes with the territory. Roman almost instantly latched himself onto you when you entered his sphere, making weird jokes at your expense and then watching attentively for your reaction with those big, expressive eyes. You found all his stupid comments pretty funny, and you liked the way he lit up when you laughed at them, and so a bond was created. Right now, though… He’s taken the stupid thing a bit too far.

Just as you’re about to look back up at your laptop and start drafting an extremely apologetic response, there’s a knock at the door. “Yeah?” you call.

“It’s your boss—open up,” comes a reply from one Roman Roy.

You exhale heavily as an exasperated, slightly amused grin stretches across your face. What exactly is he looking for, coming to you after he royally fucked your job? “Yeah, come in.”

Roman opens the door and steps inside, and Christ, does he look upset. You’re a little taken aback by this; you sort of expected him to be in good spirits, high off the power trip of firing a crucial member of the Waystar machine. In true Roman fashion, he forgoes the chair in front of your desk and sits on the small table across the room, swinging his legs lightly back and forth. “Ken told me where you were holed up,” he explains. His tone is casual enough, but he looks nauseous. “What the hell are you doing in this weird little shitty office anyways?”

You laugh a little, shutting your laptop and folding your hands across the desk. “It’s a pretty normal office, Roman,” you reply, “and it’s one of the furthest points in the building from where your brother’s set up shop. I was working near him for like an hour, but all I could hear was blocking and dialogue planning and set designing…” Roman rolls his eyes, and you grin. “It was like sitting backstage at a community theater rehearsal.”

Roman laughs shortly at that. “Ew. That sounds horrific.”

“Yeah, it was.” Your voice trails off, and the two of you fall into silence. Your eyes are fixed on Roman, but his are bouncing all over the place—from you, to the corner of the room, to his hands that he’s been wringing nonstop since he walked through the door. He’s obviously thinking about the monumental fucking mistake he made earlier, and you certainly are too. “…So. Joy Palmer, huh?”

His demeanor changes instantly, and he snaps his head back like he’s been poised to move this whole time, just waiting for you to bring her up. “Yeah, that was—it’s sad,” he says loudly, uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not cool. But really, it was necessary. She’s not a good fit with what Kendall and I—what we’re trying to do.”

“Huh.” You lean forward a little, ducking your head so he can’t see the scowl that flashes across your face. “…Not a good fit. Okay.” She has everything, really: experience, connections, a willingness to produce shitty movies just to make Waystar more money. Sure, she had been a little shaky recently about Waystar’s politics, but that issue could’ve easily been resolved with a bit more money offered in the right way. But that’s all thrown out the window now, and you hope Roman realizes how bad that is.

You’re not sure he does, so you emphasize it. “I mean, I’ve been kind of working her for the past few months,” you offer, looking up to meet Roman’s gaze. “I know her big issue is dealing with the political side of ATN, which I mean—sure, no one wants to work with the Jeryd Mencken Fan Club. But…in the last week I was actually making some progress with her. There was potential there—“

”There was potential?” You freeze when Roman interrupts you; his voice is low but his tone is venomous. “Okay…” He sucks in air sharply through his gritted teeth, and he glues his gaze to the floor. “I guess—I guess I’m just wondering, what fucking good is potential when she’s sitting there complaining to me across the table about this thing that you’ve apparently worked out already?”

You bite your bottom lip hard and breathe deeply through your nose. “…I don’t know, Roman. So you fire her? That’s the move? You fire her so that we have to get someone else who has less connections, less experience, who is fucking lesser in every way—just because you got mad?”

“Oh my God,” he breathes, jerkily running a hand through his hair, “fuck off. Why are you doing this?” You frown; did he think you were just going to let him off the hook? Congratulate him on his first big independent move as CEO? But then his head sinks into his open palms, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and you realize suddenly that that is exactly what he’d expected. Or hoped for. He’s still for just long enough that you get nervous; when you’re about to ask him if he’s alright, though, he raises his head and locks eyes with you.

Your phone dings, and you break eye contact to quickly check the notification. It’s one of your writers; she’s sent you a text about the Joy news, and by the tone of her message, she’s extremely freaked out. When you look back to Roman, he’s still staring at you with that same angry disappointment—disappointment that you won’t just lay down and tell him he did the right thing. “Listen, Roman,” you begin, holding his gaze, “it’s my job too. I mean you’re the new CEO, you’re fuckin’ stretching your legs—good for you. But if we lose the movie side of our operation for a while because of this… That’s abysmal for me.”

His eyes widen a little, and you’re shocked to see, for just a second, an apology forming at his lips—but before he can finish mouthing “sorry” he stops, pressing his mouth into a hard line. He stares down with furrowed eyebrows at his hands, lightly clasped together in his lap, and he’s silent for a long time. As you watch him, he takes a deep, labored breath. “Well, in that case…” He’s barely audible. “Why don’t I just fire you too? Since you failed to convince a chief executive to stick with the company and tanked your department.”

The shocked grin that pops onto your face is completely involuntary, and you breathe an exasperated, “Oh my God.” You turn away and shake your head, taking a steady breath. What the fuck’s gotten into him? You’ve already seen that he’s not afraid to make horrific business decisions; firing you would come as easily to him as breathing right now. But you’re not going to beg Roman Roy, your only friend in this morally bankrupt circus, for your job. You refuse to. So, you fold your hands across your desk, and you reply as evenly as you can. “Technically, Roman, you don’t fire me. Tom Wambsgans does.”

He raises his eyebrows, and you can practically hear the “um, actually” before he even opens his mouth. “Yeah, I know,” you continue, smiling ruefully, “you can just fire Tom, and fucking—eat him alive and become him, and then… You can do whatever you want with me, right?” This has almost become amusing; you feel a weird compulsion to laugh.

That feeling vanishes when you see the look on Roman’s face. It’s like you flipped a switch; his gaze instantly disconnects from yours and he looks straight down like he’s trying to stare a hole through his shoe. You frown a little as you peer over at him, trying to figure out what the hell he’s thinking, when you fully realize what you just said. It’s an invitation, a statement more intimate than anything you’ve ever said to each other before, and he knows it. Roman slowly stands up from his seat and you watch him, look closely at the expression on his face—and the darkness in his eyes confirms your thoughts. It’s not like you’ve never thought about him in that way; frankly, he’s the only human connection you’ve made since you started at Waystar. You’ve often wondered (or perhaps hoped) if he was ever going to make a move on you, and a long time ago, you decided that if he ever did, you’d reciprocate it. You’re going to do just that. He wants a win, and you want him—everyone gets what they need.

He takes a few measured steps towards you and you feel yourself lean just a bit closer to him; just as you’re about to stand, he bends down, snakes his arms around your waist, and practically yanks you up to meet him. With a forcefulness that you’ve never, ever seen him display, he kisses you, disregarding gentleness and letting everything run on pure, unfiltered instinct. Your hands quickly find him, and you place one firmly against his cheek while the other slides through his hair. He holds on for a bit longer, trying to put as much as possible into that first, fantastic kiss, and then he has to pull away.

As you part, both reeling, he whispers, “Say that again.” When you don’t respond—you’re still catching your breath—he mumbles, “Please. Please say it.”

You’re more than happy to oblige him, and you stare right into his dark eyes as you speak. “You can do whatever you want with me, Roman.” Your words coax a full body shudder from him, and his lips are right back on yours, hands running over every part of your body they can access. His fingers skirt under the hem of your shirt and there’s a loud fucking knock at the door—and you both freeze exactly where you are.

It’s Kendall. Great. “Hey Rome, I saw you come in here, buddy. Uh—we’re, uh, crunching some big ass numbers out here, and I would love to have your eyes on these maximizations to the user-facing stock plane.”

“What the fuck does that mean…?” you breathe, and a short, high-pitched laugh escapes Roman.

As you both try to suppress your laughter beneath wide grins, Kendall calls, “What was that, bro?”

Roman quickly clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec, Ken.”

“Cool. Fantastic.” And you and Roman both stand there, listening to his footsteps as they grow fainter and more distant.

The rush of the moment has faded severely, and even though you acknowledge how fucking amazing that felt and would like nothing more than to continue, you know it’s not the most practical thing to do. “…You should probably head out there, right? Make sure he doesn’t just start making up figures?”

Roman snorts as he untangles himself from you. “Yeah, he would do that, wouldn’t he?” He stands before you, looking wonderfully disheveled, and you reach out to fix his collar and smooth his hair.

He practically melts under your touch as you comb through his hair with your fingers. You half expect him to kiss you again, but it seems the tension was sucked out of the room by Kendall and his corporate bullshit speak. You wish he would kiss you again. After one last sweep of his hair, you propel yourself forward and kiss him gently, sweetly; he kisses back, but he makes no attempt to move closer to you, so you take a step forward and close the gap.

“…I’m fucking this up,” he mutters, quiet and dejected, after you part. “I’m doing it all wrong and I’m being stupid.”

He’s not necessarily wrong; you try to ignore that thought as he turns and walks to the door. “Just take care of your brother,” you say with a little smile, and he gives a muted grin and a thumbs up back.

He’s so bad at this and he’s so sad. You sit back down and crack open your laptop, and within seconds about thirty emails flood into your inbox—it’s Joy’s legal team, just like she promised. You groan, and lean back, and try to get your mind off the feeling of Roman’s lips on yours so you can draft a decent apology.