#turns out I have more to say about this series

[bbokicidal]

So Bitter, So Sweet. .:. SKZ [H.JS]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Han Jisung x Fem!Reader Warnings : Dom!Jisung, Sub!Reader, Hate Sex, Hair pulling, PinV (wrap it, folks), pussy spanking, bruising

Kinktober Day 5 of 10 : Hate Sex w/ Han

Word Count: 4K

This was supposed to be Day 5 of Kinktober 2024 but I had discontinued the series due to personal reasons at the time. So... Here, have it 5 months later.

“I actually have a presentation for media studies I have to work on tonight, so I really can’t…”

Chris blinks at the comment about a presentation. Media Studies? He had that class with you and he was pretty sure you didn’t have a presentation for that class. There wasn’t even class today, what were you talking about? His brow crinkles in confusion and his nose scrunches up as he looks over at you, opening his big fat mouth and blowing your cover. “I don’t think we have a– Ngh!” His sentence is cut short when your hand collides with his abdomen, knocking the wind from him enough to shut him up. It was too late, though; He’d spilled too much.

“..So… you’re lying just to get out of coming to the party.” Minho’s eyes slowly drag from where his friend is doubling over at your side to you instead. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go or are you just one of those types of people?” He knew you weren’t but he asked anyway.. You’d come to parties he had held before so what was keeping you from coming to this one? It was Halloween - Basically the biggest parties of the year, other than New Years, were held on Halloween!

“I don’t like Jisung.” Your answer is plain and simple. You hadn’t liked Jisung since you met him. He played so sweetly with the boys; Kissed their cheeks, helped them with homework, and he was all smiles and laughs when he was with them. But as soon as you came around he would shut down and his precious little eye smile would turn into a glare pointed in your direction - which led you to assume that the dislike was mutual.

Jisung blinks heavily beside Minho, brows both cocking upward as if he’s surprised by the statement. He stares down at his hands, twisting a ring to fit right on his finger. “Let me just go fuck myself,” He comments shortly after and Changbin shifts on the other side of him, eyeing the younger man as if silently trying to get him to back down. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Jisung looks directly at you then, not shying away from the heavier conversation.

You scoff as if finding it ridiculous that he doesn’t know. Is he playing dumb, or is he actually an idiot? “You’re an asshole every time I’m around you. You won’t even look at me half of the time and when you do you just sit and brood. And either way - I don’t need a specific reason to dislike someone. Maybe I just hate your face.” That was… one of the biggest lies you had ever told. Jisung was far from ugly; He has big round eyes, soft cheeks, soft features in general really and he looked like a prince who had stepped right out of a Disney movie. He was gorgeous, actually, but you’d never say that to his face given his ugly personality. All of that, all of his behavior towards you, had simply ruined his image for you. “Remember last week?”

“Last week? Oh, God - You’re still whining about that?” Jisung’s eyes narrow over in your direction, his glare as heavy as your own. 

You scoff once more, anger bubbling in your chest. Chris reaches to rest a hand gently between your shoulder blades, ready to guide you away if the situation turns left. “You poured alcohol on me just because you could - right after I said I was going to talk to a guy I like. That was a dick move, Han!” You point a finger at the man and he smirks at your heated demeanor. Chris’ hand becomes guiding, giving a gentle push to steer you away from the three men before Jisung had a chance to bite back at you. 

He offers a shaky smile to the three, keeping his eyes directed towards Minho and Changbin in hopes he can clear this up at least a little while Jisung calms himself down. Or… tried to. “I’ll.. figure something out with her, okay? Expect us to be there.” Chris chuckles, his voice wavering with uncertainty before he fumbles quietly with the last bit before he walks away with you. “There’snopresentation.”

Minho gives a heavy sigh as his eyes draw to Jisung who seethes between himself and the third, blinking slowly at the younger. Jisung glances up and glares, his snarl looking almost like a pout on plush lips. “She drives me crazy sometimes-! I never poured anything on her on purpose.”

“I can tell,” Minho’s eyes rolled. “You need to tone it down. There’s no reason for you two to have this bad of a relationship with each other. Maybe you should’ve just explained that to her when you had the chance?”

“She never gives me an opportunity to clear it up,” Jisung scowls. “She’s ridiculous.”

Changbin claps a hand on the younger’s back before moving it up to grip at the nape of his neck, giving a subtle squeeze as he pushes Jisung forward to keep walking. “You almost laughed at her anger - right in her face. Don’t think you’re making the best impression.” When Jisung turns to bite back at that comment, Changbin forces him to face forward and keep walking by the grip he had on the other’s neck. “Ah; Keep walking. We’re not having this discussion right now. You two need to talk it out. I’m not involved.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to tie a tie.” Your fingers laced carefully through the small knot you had created with the carefully sewn fabric, pulling it through and tightening it with care. The tie sits neatly against the white button up Chris wore, contrasting so perfectly yet matching with the long coat he had on over top. “Aren’t you like twenty five or something?”

“Twenty-six.” Chris smiles, his lips forming a straight line and quirking up at the corners that makes his cheeks dimple heavier than normal. It makes you smile as well, the sight of his face squishing of its own accord. “And I do know how to tie a tie; I just wanted a pretty girl close to me.” His eyes drop from where they had been looking over your head to peer right at you instead. You sigh out a soft laugh through your nose and give a small shake of your head. Ever the flirtatious one, you knew Chris meant nothing by it; He was always calling you pretty, always sticking close to your side, always protective. You were his best friend so of course he was always going to be showering you with compliments; You did the exact same thing. 

As you take a step back and pivot on your heel to look, Chris lets his head tip in the mirror. “What exactly are you supposed to be, again? A businessman?” Your eyes drag over his choice of clothing and he giggles at the assumption, shaking his head in a manner that makes his hair fall down into his eyes. The one white contact made him a little scarier than usual.

“I’m a sexy vampire!” Chris exclaims as if it should be obvious. He turns to look at you, extending his arms and then giving a little turn just to show off. He giggles shortly after when he realizes you’re laughing at him, one hand pressed over your mouth in adoration. You had the stupidest yet cutest best friend in the world. “Can’t you tell?”

Your giggles subside as you answer him, keeping one hand pressing to your lips while you look him over. “Aren’t vampires usually wearing, like, Victorian era clothing or something? The shirts with the ruffles, the high waisted pants… I’ve never seen a vampire in a suit before, I don’t think.”

“Okay, well then I’m a sexy vampire in a suit.” His head turns back to the mirror and he smiles, pushing the little fangs he wore over his bottom lip with a grin. Stupidest yet cutest. “You’re ripping on my outfit but what are you?”

You had just tugged your jacket on as you looked over, listening to him question your own outfit. “A sexy nun; Duh.” He should’ve been able to tell by the veil you wore but apparently that one white contact took away some of his vision. Which also explained why he nearly walked into the doorway on his way out of your dorm, smoothing his hair back to play it off while you laughed. “Go, go.” You shoo him out into the hallway, turning to shut and lock the door behind you as you took your leave.

The drive to the party is short, given it’s only on the other side of campus - but Chris insists on driving you two because he doesn’t want you walking in the chilled night air wearing that outfit. You’d be cold even with your jacket and he can’t subject you to that! So he hops in the car, heats the seats and carefully navigates his way down a few blocks before finding a parking spot across the street. The two of you peek out the driver’s window to look at the house the party is being held in. Minho had snagged one of the nicer, smaller places on campus and all he had to do to get it was find three willing roommates to move in with him; Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung.

The windows of the house are flooded with lights colored orange, red, white, and green while music pounds at the walls and threatens to bring them down. The outside is decorated with Jack-o-lanterns and leaf bags colored orange with faces on them, a skeleton dressed in red lingerie sitting in a lawn chair (by Hyunjin’s doing) and a fake Ghostface from Scream sitting on the steps leading up to the door just to scare away any kids who might want to approach. The front door is covered in Caution tape in a rather messy manner but… you have to admit, the decoration job isn’t horrible. From afar, that is; As soon as the two of you approach the house you end up finding out that someone had shoved a fleshlight between the legs of the skeleton in the lawn chair, and you aren’t sure if that makes the decorating job better or worse.

Stepping into the house, you shrug off your jacket to carefully drape it over a chair nearby that has clearly been taken over by other jackets, hoodies, and even a few blankets people had just wrapped around themselves and ran in. Chris keeps his on because he swears it’s a part of his costume and important to the outfit - and after a small bicker back and forth about it you decide to give in and just go get a drink to start off the night. You end up meeting up with Changbin and Jisung in the kitchen, Changbin’s hand holding a solo cup full of a clear liquid on ice while Jisung’s double fisting two different beers and sipping from them continuously as they talk. 

“Oh look, it's a discount Rob Zombie. Glad to see you here.” You greet with a sarcastic smile, looking away from Jisung to Changbin who chuckles at your comment on Jisung’s outfit. He’d worn a black and white striped long sleeve under a black tank top that hung off his body and proved to be someone else’s he had stolen and cut up for the costume. His jeans were a bit flashy with their belt chains hanging off of his hips, clinking together any time he moved where he stood. He even threw on a choker and a longer necklace with a pendant hanging off of it. And the stupid, pretty black gloves he wore with the rings all over his fingers… 

“I need a drink. Something, anything.”

Jisung’s gaze lowers and he glares as you already shit on his outfit when you’d only just arrived. “I’m a rockstar, actually? Jesus fuck,” He growls out the last bit, turning away and leaving the kitchen. He rounds the island and wanders off to find other people to talk to, seemingly no longer interested in conversing with Changbin when you are around.

Changbin extends his arm with a small smile, one corner of his lips perking upward. He watches as you take his drink right from him and take a few large sips, grimacing at the taste. “It’s… sour.” 

And Changbin nods, chuckling at your realization. “Yeah, it’s made with sour. That’s the whole point.” He holds out his hand to take it back whenever you feel like you’re done with it, your expression less than pleasant as you click your tongue and hand it back to him.

Yet every time you returned to the kitchen, you found yourself mixing Whiskey and Sour into a cup together to get another feeling of that sweet, sweet buzz. It fucked you up fast and that’s how you liked it, even if you were being cautious and pacing yourself. Though you’d spent the last few hours dancing with Changbin, chatting with Minho in a quieter corner and even finding Hyunjin on the couch and sitting in his lap during a small game of Truth or Dare, you managed to always come back to Chris.

Minho had retired for the night and gone upstairs to his room, Hyunjin was still sitting on the sofa now talking to a rather pretty little blond in a black cat costume that hugged him just right, and Changbin was… well, he was somewhere - all over the place, if you were honest. Chris leaned back against the counter as he watched you sip from the fourth drink. You looked pretty well-off despite having so much alcohol in your system. “You came in here kind of hot earlier.”

“Thank you.~” You coo against the rim of your cup, sipping again from the drink as Chris bursts into laughter.

“No - No. I meant coming in hot as in coming in fiery. You ripped into Jisung right away, you know.” He comments, clarifying his statement with a small shake of his head and a bright, gummy smile that showed all of his teeth. He’s always so smiley around you and he really can’t help it.

Your smile falls. “Oh.” You deadpan the reply and Chris almost regrets even talking about Jisung at all. Though, now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him since you had first arrived - and roasted him like an oven roasted chicken when you walked into the kitchen. “Yeah. He deserves it, though! His costume isn’t even that cool - He just looks like himself. You know, an emo twink.” You set your cup down on the island behind you and sigh out, turning away with a lazy tip of your head. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom.”

“Don’t fall in,” Chris quips with a smile as you walk away from him, unable to help the corny line of goodbye.

Your walk to the bathroom is short, given that it’s right around the corner and just before the stairs. Your hand finds the doorknob after a bit of tipsy fumbling and as you push it open, you’re met with a sight you’d never expected before in your life.

Jisung stood leaning back against the sink, his jeans pushed down to just above his knees while one hand jerked at his cock - hard and leaking and slick with precum that he’d already smeared over his length. His face is flushed and only grows deeper in color when he sees you push open the door to the bathroom, his lips popping apart - slick with spit and drool dripping down his chin as he looks over. “Either get in or shut the fucking door.”

You’re quick to step in - mostly because you panic. Even if you don’t care for him, it’s a little ridiculous to expose his entire cock to the world outside. So you enter the bathroom with flushed cheeks and lingering eyes. Your state of slight intoxication refuses to let you pull your gaze away from the way his hand still strokes over his cock even with you in the room. Your weight shifts to one side and the moment you pull your eyes away he decides to open his mouth. “Fuck, I hate how sexy you look in that stupid costume.”

His comment makes you squirm, your thighs pressing together to try and hide the way your pussy drips at the sight of him alone. And now he was admitting that he thought you looked sexy? You shift against the door and Jisung reaches out to gently pull you closer with his free hand, laying it against your waist while you take the few steps to reach him. He looks you over up close before sighing out, his thumb sliding over his tip just to tease himself a little. “You want it?”

Jisung chuckles at the way you nod feverishly at his question. Yeah, he was fucking annoying, and yeah his face made a bit of anger swell in your chest even if he was really fucking hot in the moment - but he was just straight up offering his dick to you and you couldn’t say no to a guy with big glossy eyes and a leaking cock. He shifts away from the counter and steps in behind you instead, pressing your hips forward to the edge of the sink. You gasp out and reach out to support yourself, your hand laying on the mirror to leave prints behind as Jisung flips up the bottom half of your dress to lay it over your back. He sighs out in admiration at the sight of the black lace that hid beneath it, hooking one finger into it to tug it aside and see what he really wanted to get a look at.

You peek up into the mirror just in time to see Jisung dipping down behind you and a rush of excitement shoots through your veins. You’re under the assumption he might eat you out a little before he gets to the main ordeal - but Jisung isn’t that nice and he still dislikes you even if you look damn sexy in that tight dress and cute little veil. He spits directly onto your pussy after using his thumbs to spread your lips for him, leaning in soon after to use his tongue and make sure you were plenty wet for easy access as if you weren’t dripping already. Jisung stands back to his full height to look down at your hole, both of his hands gripping at your hips as he lines himself up. His spit clings to your clit before dripping onto the floor between your heels just as his cock slips into you with ease.

You sigh out in admiration at the feeling, eyes rolling back into your head with the way he fills you up. It’s unfair how fucking hot he is considering he’s an asshole to you any time he has the chance. Your hand pushes heavier on the mirror as he starts up a steady rhythm, his cock sliding against your gummy walls with the most sinful sounds bouncing off of the bathroom walls; The wet squelch of your pussy forming to his length as he pushes into you harder when he realizes you can take it - that you want to. “Fuck – Mnh, Ji –”

Jisung glances up at you through the mirror, his hair clouding his vision as it fell into his eyes. He peeks down almost immediately after however, reaching down between your bodies to pull up his shirt as it kept falling down and getting in his way from feeling your skin on his own. He tucks the fabric of the striped shirt between his teeth before he chuckles, his eyes turning back down to where the two of you connect - and as you look at him through the mirror you swear you’ve never seen something so fucking hot in your life. His skin was slick and glistening with a thin layer of sweat which meant his hair was beginning to stick to his face, and with his shirt tucked between his teeth his mouth had formed a small scowl. You could’ve swore you heard a couple quiet growls coming from his throat, too, while he fucked into you harder than before.

Your body rocks against the sink as you hold onto the wall to keep yourself steady, moans flooding from your lips that spur Jisung on to fuck you harder, faster. He reaches with one hand to grab onto your shoulder, pulling you with every thrust so you met him halfway and you whined as you felt his tip prodding at your walls, pushing further each time he pushed into you. Jisung used his free hand to grip at your hip, bruising his fingerprints into your skin as evidence he had been there - been in you. His hand slips lower until he can hoist your thigh up, pushing your leg onto the counter so he can stand even closer to you and sink his cock further into your walls. 

“Ohh - Fuck! Fuck, ‘m gonna come –” Your stutters of release make Jisung glance up, dark eyes staring through his hair as he watches your expressions in the mirror; Your eyes closed, head tipped back, fingers curling against the mirror as your orgasm hit. Jisung’s eyes darted back down to watch you squirt around his cock, slowly pulling out before pushing back into your pussy just when you had thought he’d called it quits. He huffs out, his movements rapid but messy now as he chases his own release. He slumped forward a bit and ended up moving his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his fingers tangling in that thin veil to keep a tight grip on you. Well - that, and he’s always wanted to pull your hair when you got on his nerves.

His breathing is labored and ragged as he lets go of his shirt, the fabric falling down while he spills ropes of cum into your walls to claim you as his own. That’s how he thinks of it in the moment at least. Jisung pulls out shortly after, his cum leaking from your slit and dripping down onto the tile flooring of the bathroom. He reaches down, using two fingers to push it back into your cunt while you whine at the feeling. “God, you’re so noisy,” Jisung huffs out, straightening up and glancing at you as his hand meets you again with a slap to your pussy. 

You jolt the first time and relax the second, his hand stilling against your entrance to carefully rub against you and get you to ease up, your body slumping against the countertop in exhaustion. 

He peeks down and watches as both his cum and your slick cling to his fingers as he pulls his hand away, strings connecting his skin to your own. He usually wouldn’t even think to come inside of someone, but with you it was just another form of proof he’d been there. Something for you to think about when he pissed you off in the following days.

And Minho usually wouldn’t care that people had fucked in his bathroom as he often found evidence of it after the parties he held, stumbling tiredly into the room to piss and find meds that would hopefully cure his hangover migraine; But handprints on his mirror? Really?

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The AOC-Sanders anti-oligarch tour is all about organizing

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in CHICAGO with PETER SAGAL on Apr 2, and in BLOOMINGTON on Apr 4. More tour dates here.

It's hard to imagine today, but Barack Obama ran as a populist outsider, buoyed into office by a grassroots organizing campaign that used an incredibly innovative online organizing tool called MyBarackObama.com, which directly connected rank-and-file supporters so they could self-organize, creating an unstoppable force.

But as far as Obama was concerned, MyBarackObama.com was a campaigning tool, not a governing tool. The last thing Obama wanted was a clamorous electorate jostling his elbow while he made the grand bargains that defined his presidency: secret drone killings, immunity for telcos that profited from in illegal NSA spying, impunity for CIA torturers, bailing out bankers, complicity in the foreclosure epidemic, and, of course, unlimited free money for health insurance companies through the ACA.

Obama ran like a populist, but governed like Chuck Schumer. Meanwhile, the GOP of his day was dominated by its own "grassroots" groups, the Tea Party movement that was funded and organized by the Kochs but who quickly slipped the leash and became an ungovernable force that conquered the party. It turns out that the kind of people who get really involved in party activism are, well, passionate (a less charitable term might be cranks – and I say this as a certified, grade-A crank). They really believe in the principles that bring them into party activism, and the only people they hate more than the other party are their own sellout leaders (oh, hi, Senator Fetterman!).

For a leader whose theory of governance involves a lot of back-room favor-trading and Extremely Grown Up compromising, an activated, organized base represents a powerful obstacle. Obama's seeming genius was his ability to awaken a grassroots campaigning force that he could then hit pause on once he attained office, then re-activate on demand (Obama "revived" MyBarackObama.com for his second presidential campaign):

https://www.computerworld.com/article/1532634/barack-obama-s-big-data-won-the-us-election-2.html

But ultimately, I think we have to conclude that Obama's strategy was a losing one. By putting his own organization into an induced coma between elections, Obama lost an important source of discipline and feedback that would have told him when his compromises overstepped the tolerance of the electorate – and the fact that Obama didn't have an organized base meant that his Democratic Party rivals and his Republican opponents could force him into bad compromises, as with the ACA.

Contrast Obama with another "populist outsider" in the Democratic Party: Bernie Sanders. Sanders has never been afraid of his own base or their passion. Members of his staff disproportionately come from community and union organizing backgrounds. Think of the difference between Sanders' "Not me, US" and "Our revolution" slogans and Obama's dotcom URL, "MyBarackObama.com." Sanders' presidential campaigns were always organizing campaigns, and he's kept those going in non-election years.

Since Trump/Musk's shock therapy assault on American democracy, Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez have been made headlines with a series of gigantic rallies across the country. The two Democratic Socialists have turned out vast crowds in Republican strongholds: 11,000 in Greely, CO; 15,000 in Tempe, AZ – and even bigger crowds in traditional Democratic turf: 34,000 in Denver.

Writing for The American Prospect, Micah Sifry describes the larger strategy behind these rallies. According to Faiz Shakur, the Sanders staffer who's organizing the events, the point of these events is to build a massive, grassroots organization that gets shit done:

https://prospect.org/politics/2025-03-26-bernies-fighting-oligarchy-tour-organizing/

The campaign is hiring full-time organizers in "Iowa, Nebraska, Wisconsin, and several Western states," and they're already actively fighting in state-level battles, like a Colorado bill to make it easier to form a union:

https://www.cpr.org/2025/02/03/colorado-labor-peace-action-union-history/

These people-powered movements are mobilizing directly against Musk's dark money operation, like the Wisconsin Supreme Court election where Musk is paying people $100 each to vote against Susan Crawford, a progressive candidate:

https://prospect.org/justice/2025-03-21-wisconsin-court-election-drawing-elon-musks-money/

The campaign is using online RSVPs to build out mailing lists. One interesting fact from Sifry's article: 65% of the signups are from people who are new to Sanders' mailing lists. 107,000 people have RSVPed so far. You can sign up here:

https://berniesanders.com/oligarchy/

Rationalization is easy to slip into and impossible to avoid. Politicians who make themselves beholden to organized supporters who really care about the issues are armoring themselves against the enormous pressure on elected representatives to make compromises. Both Sanders and Ocasio-Cortez have made compromises in their careers that I disagree with. I don't support them because I think they're perfect or immune to self-serving justifications. I support them because they are deliberately putting themselves in a position where it's much harder for them to make excuses and get away with it.

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/2025/03/26/not-me-us/#the-people-no

Image: Matt A.J. (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sanders_rally_Council_Bluffs_IMG_4014_(49036624512).jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[lexiputellas]

"Negative," from the Broken Vows series.

You stare at the test.

Negative.

The word feels like a slap, even though it’s the third time you’ve seen it. The third time you’ve felt the slow unraveling of hope inside you, piece by piece, like something delicate being torn apart with careful hands.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub, the test still in your grasp, as if holding onto it will change something. Your fingers tighten around the plastic until your knuckles turn white. The silence in the bathroom is suffocating, thick with the weight of another failed attempt.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You and Alexia had talked about it late at night, wrapped up in blankets, your voices quiet with sleep. The conversation had started with Nora, with her birthday, with how fast she was growing.

"Would you have more?" she had asked suddenly.

"More what?" you said, kind of oblivious.

"A baby."

You had blinked at her, surprised. "I don’t know. Do you want one?"

"Seeing Nora grow… it makes me miss when she was a baby. It gave me baby fever."

"Oh, and you’re the one carrying this time?"

She had laughed. "I wouldn’t be as successful as you were with Nora. Five hours and a normal birth? You’re a pro."

You had smiled, entertained by the thought. "We could try for one."

And just like that, it began.

Endless appointments. The careful planning. The nervous excitement. It was her embryo in you, a perfect mix of both of you. You would have a mini Alexia again. The thought had made you dizzy with happiness, more than you ever expected.

Until it started to go wrong.

You tried once. Negative.

A second time. Negative.

The third? Today.

Apparently, no baby for you.

You really thought this was supposed to be it. You didn’t even know you wanted another one until you couldn’t have it. The pregnancy test looks at you like it has betrayed you, and that’s when you start to sink.

The grief is quiet at first. It starts in your chest, a dull ache, then spreads through your ribs, your throat, your stomach. You feel empty—physically, emotionally.

Alexia’s voice pulls you out of it.

"Amor?"

She’s standing at the door, already dressed for the day, her hair still damp from the shower. Her eyes land on the test in your hands, and for a second, she doesn’t say anything. Just watches you.

And that’s worse.

Because if she were oblivious, if she made a joke, if she brushed past it, maybe you could swallow this down. Maybe you could get up, throw the test away, and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

But she’s looking at you like she knows.

Like she feels it too.

Alexia kneels in front of you, her hands gentle as they reach for yours, prying the test from your fingers and setting it aside. She cups your face, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks, and only then do you realize you’re crying.

"I’m sorry," you whisper.

Alexia frowns. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I thought this time—" Your voice breaks, and the words die in your throat.

She doesn’t let you finish.

Instead, she pulls you against her, wrapping her arms around you, holding you like she’s trying to keep you from shattering completely.

"It’s not your fault," she murmurs into your hair. "It’s not your fault."

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face into her shoulder. She’s warm. Solid. Safe. And for a moment, you let yourself fall apart in her arms.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

At some point, Alexia moves, tilting your chin up so she can look at you. "We’ll keep trying."

You shake your head. "I don’t know if I can do this again."

She exhales softly, nodding. "Okay. Then we won’t. Not until you’re ready. Or maybe not at all."

You don’t know if you’ll ever be ready.

Alexia your kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your tear-stained lips. She doesn’t rush you, doesn’t tell you to move on, doesn’t try to fix it with empty words.

She just holds you.

Eventually, she shifts, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before standing. She reaches for your hands, tugging you up with her. Your legs feel unsteady, but she doesn’t let you go.

"Come on," she says softly. "Let’s go to bed."

You hesitate, glancing toward the bathroom sink, toward the test that still feels like it’s staring at you. Alexia follows your gaze before gently nudging your chin so you’re looking at her again.

"Leave it," she says. "Come with me."

You let her lead you back to bed, let her pull the covers up around you, let her wrap herself around you like a shield against the world. She doesn’t ask if you’re okay. She doesn’t try to make you talk. She just stays.

And as you lie there, curled into the warmth of her body, feeling her fingers tracing slow patterns against your skin, you realize something—

You don’t know what’s going to happen next. You don’t know if you’ll try again, or if you’ll ever be ready.

But Alexia is here. She’s always here. Or so you thought.

[seospicybin]

COCKY.

FINAL CHAPTER

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (16,4k words)

Author's note: Thank you for patiently waiting and for following Cocky series. Hope you enjoy this one too and don't forget to share your thoughts on it ♡

As the morning sun kisses your bare skin, you slowly stir awake, feeling oddly disoriented. Your body feels heavy, sore in places that make last night come rushing back in vivid detail.

Blinking, you turn your head to the side—and there he is. Chris, lying beside you, his bare chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. His face is relaxed in sleep, hair slightly tousled, lips parted just slightly.

Your eyes drift to the bedside table, where the evidence of the night lingers—torn condom wrappers scattered messily across the surface. Heat creeps up your neck as memories flood in. How Jane had slipped Chris that damn pill. How you got him home. And how you… passed out. During sex.

You groan internally, mortified. Of all the things that could’ve happened, that had to be the way the night ended? You can’t even begin to imagine what Chris must have thought.

Heart hammering, you slowly shift in bed, careful not to disturb him. The last thing you want is to wake up to his teasing or—worse—his concern. You can’t face that right now.

Holding your breath, you slip the covers off and carefully climb out of bed, moving as silently as possible. Your clothes are scattered around the room, but you grab the nearest things, pulling them on hastily. You just need to get out before he wakes up. You take one last glance at him—still fast asleep—and then, as quietly as possible, you head for the door.

-

Despite the late start to your morning, you make it to the office just in time. Your heart is pounding, anxiety creeping up your spine. After sneaking out of Chris’s apartment that morning, all you could think about was avoiding Jane. There’s no way she wouldn’t interrogate you about last night, and you are not ready for that conversation.

However, the moment you step into the lab, Jane comes rushing toward you. You brace yourself, expecting the worst.

“You’re finally here!” she exclaims, gripping your arm.

“I—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Check your email. Now.”

She’s not asking about last night? You blink at her, confused. “Wait, what?”

Jane huffs impatiently and practically drags you to your desk. “The company sent out an announcement this morning. Your product? It’s officially launching.”

Your breath catches. Already?

“Go on,” she urges, gesturing at your laptop.

Hands slightly trembling, you open your inbox. Sure enough, the company-wide email is sitting at the top, bold and unread. When you click on it, the subject line says it all:

Official Product Launch Announcement – New Innovations in Health & Wellness

And there, among the listed products, is yours.

Jane claps her hands together, grinning. “This is huge! Congratulations, genius!” She doesn't shy away from placing a kiss on your cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on it.

You force a smile, but your stomach churns. The launch means more than just success—it means presenting your product to a lot of people at the expo. Investors, media, potential buyers… all eyes on you.

Jane notices your expression and narrows her eyes. “Wait. Why do you look like someone just told you your dog ran away?”

You sigh, slumping in your chair. “Because this means I have to present at the expo.”

“So?” Jane tilts her head. “You’re brilliant. You worked so hard on this. You’re the best person to introduce it.”

You groan. “But I hate public speaking.”

Jane scoffs. “Oh, please. You literally had to interview men about their dick sizes for this research. If you survived that, you can survive anything.”

You open your mouth to argue but—okay, fair point.

Jane smirks in triumph and pats your shoulder. “You got this. Just picture everyone in their underwear or something.” Then, she glances at her watch. “Alright, gotta go back to my lab before someone notices I ditched work.”

She turns to leave but pauses. Her eyes zero in on your neck, and her smirk deepens. “By the way,” she says sweetly, “nice hickey.”

Your blood runs cold. “What?”

Jane bursts out laughing when she sees how horrified you look. “Oh my god! You didn’t even notice?!”

You slap a hand over your neck, face burning. “JANE!”

She cackles as she heads for the door. “Good luck explaining that on your presentation.” Then, with one last wicked grin, she disappears, leaving you in utter mortification.

-

You gather in the meeting room with your team, everyone chatting excitedly about the upcoming expo. The atmosphere is buzzing with energy, but you sit stiffly in your chair, gripping your pen like it’s a lifeline.

“Alright,” you start, clearing your throat. “Let’s go over our presentation plan for the expo.”

Your lead assistant, Mark, grins. “We’re finally getting the recognition we deserve. This is huge.”

“It is,” you agree, forcing a smile. “Which is why we need to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

You run through the details—booth setup, product demonstrations, key talking points—but the whole time, one thought lingers in the back of your mind: Chris will be there. He has to be. As the product manager, he’ll be involved in the official launch. And after what happened last night… well, you’re not sure how to face him yet.

“Will you be handling the main presentation yourself?” another team member asks.

You hesitate. “I’ll be leading it, yes. But I’ll need all of you to help with different parts of the demonstration.”

Mark nods and gives you a reassuring smile. “You’ll do fine. Just be confident.”

“Right,” you mutter. Easier said than done.

The meeting continues, and you do your best to focus. But no matter how much you plan, one thing is clear—there’s no avoiding Chris at the expo.

And there's no way of avoiding him in the office no matter how big this building is. As you head back to your lab, still lost in thought from the meeting, you turn a corner and collide with someone. Strong hands catch your arms before you can stumble, and when you look up, air caught in your throat.

Chris. He smiles down at you, his expression easy, like nothing is out of the ordinary. “Hey.”

You force an awkward smile back, hyper-aware of the people moving past you in the hallway. Good. An open space. He can’t bring it up here.

“Congrats on the launch,” he says, his voice warm. “You really did it.”

“Thank you,” you reply, gripping the tablet in your hands a little tighter.

Chris nods, but then, to your surprise, he takes a step closer. The shift is subtle, but the space between you suddenly feels smaller. Your breath catches, nerves prickling as you stare up at him.

He opens his mouth, and for a second, you’re sure he’s about to mention last night. But instead, he says, “Good luck with everything.”

You get taken aback. But the way he looks at you—like he wants to say something else entirely—keeps you frozen in place. Your heart pounds. You don’t trust yourself to respond properly, so you quickly mumble, “Thanks,” before stepping back. “I should, um—get back to work.”

Chris watches you for a beat, unreadable, but he doesn’t stop you. As you walk away, you exhale slowly, feeling like you just dodged a bullet. For now.

-

The expo is in full swing, the grand hall filled with a hum of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the constant shuffle of people moving between booths. Bright banners and LED screens flash promotional videos, showcasing the latest products and innovations. The air carries a mix of fresh coffee from a nearby vendor and the faint scent of brand-new packaging materials.

Despite the excitement buzzing around you, a tight knot of nerves sits heavy in your stomach. Today is a big day—your product is being introduced to the public, and soon, you’ll have to engage with potential clients, answer questions, and confidently present everything you’ve worked so hard for. You exhale, trying to push aside the anxiety.

Jane, walking beside you, nudges your arm playfully. “Relax, you’re going to do great.”

You give her a small, unsure smile, but before you can say anything, she suddenly stops in her tracks and tugs at your sleeve. “Oh, look who’s here,” she sing-songs, pointing toward a booth a few meters away.

Your eyes follow her gesture, and sure enough, there’s Chris. He’s casually checking out a product display, dressed sharp as ever, dark navy with suit with silk tie, exuding that effortless confidence that always makes him stand out.

Jane smirks. “So... about that night. You took him home, right?” She gives you a knowing look. “Did anything happen?”

You quickly shake your head, keeping your tone light. “Nothing happened.”

Jane raises a brow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you insist, glancing away.

You sigh, but before you can say anything else, Jane shifts gears. “Well, whatever. I just hope you’re not looking for a thing with him.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, hands in her pockets. “I mean, Chris would be a lot to handle. He’s not just—” she gestures vaguely, “—big in that way, but he’s also charming, super friendly, and he just knows his way around girls.” She gives you a look. “And you know what they say with guys with big dicks, they're fucking insatiable and I'm talking about him not getting it enough with just one girl.”

You don’t respond right away, but your gaze flickers toward Chris again. There are a few girls gathered around him, clearly drawn in by whatever he’s saying. He’s smiling, laughing at something, effortlessly charismatic. You watch as one of them leans in a little closer, her eyes bright with interest.

Jane turns back to you, tilting her head with a knowing smile. “Do you like him?”

You immediately shake your head. “No.”

Her smirk deepens. “You sure?”

You exhale, rolling your shoulders back. “Chris is just the product manager. That’s all he is to me.”

Jane gives you a long, doubtful look, as if waiting for you to crack under pressure. But you meet her gaze with firm resolve. “What happened between us was strictly professional,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “And even that has ended.”

For a moment, she studies you, as if weighing your words. Then, to your relief, she shrugs. “If you say so.”

Before she can push the conversation any further, her eyes catch on something across the expo hall. “Oh! That looks interesting—come on.” She grabs your wrist, tugging you toward a display booth showcasing the latest advancements in health supplements.

You let her pull you along, glad for the distraction. But even as Jane chatters away about the product, your mind drifts back to Chris. The way he smiled at those girls. The way Jane’s words linger in your head.

He would be a lot to handle. You shake the thought away, forcing yourself to focus. This expo is about your work, not him.

-

You step off the stage, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush of your presentation. The applause is still ringing in your ears, and you let out a breath, feeling a mix of excitement and relief. Months of work, endless testing, late nights—it all led to this moment, and seeing the positive reception fills you with a deep sense of accomplishment.

As you make your way backstage, a familiar voice calls out, “Hey, great job up there.”

You turn to see Chris walking toward you, his expression warm with approval.

“You really killed it,” he praises, his eyes shining with genuine admiration. “I knew you’d do great, but you exceeded expectations.”

You offer him a small smile, still catching your breath. “Thanks… I appreciate that. And, well, thanks for everything. I wouldn’t have gotten here without your help.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t sell yourself short. This was all you.”

Before you can respond, a voice calls out from behind him. “Chris!”

You glance past him to see a woman waving him over, her expression expectant. Chris turns his head, then looks back at you with an apologetic smile. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you later at the party, yeah?”

You nod, keeping your expression neutral. “Yeah. See you.”

He gives you one last smile before heading off, leaving you standing there, still buzzing with adrenaline—but now with something else stirring inside you.

Just as you’re collecting yourself, Jane comes barging in, her energy overwhelming as she practically throws herself at you in a hug. “You did it!” she exclaims, squeezing you tight. “That was amazing! You looked so confident up there, and the way you handled the Q&A—ugh, I’m so proud of you!”

You laugh, hugging her back. “Thanks, Jane. Seriously.”

She pulls away, grinning. “So, are you ready for the party?”

You hesitate, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know… I’m exhausted. I kinda just want to go home and sleep.”

Jane gasps dramatically, grabbing your shoulders. “Absolutely not. You worked your ass off for this, and now it’s time to celebrate!”

You sigh, knowing there’s no way she’s letting you out of this. “You’re really not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Not at all,” she says smugly. “Now, come on! We’re getting you a drink, and you’re going to have fun whether you like it or not.”

In the restroom, you step out of the stall wearing the dress Jane brought for you, adjusting the hem as you take in your reflection. The fabric hugs you in all the right places with a plunging neckline, a little more daring than what you’d usually pick, but Jane insisted on something fun.

Jane grins when she sees you. “Damn, you clean up nice,” she teases. “Now, stand still.”

She spins you toward the mirror, pulling out her makeup bag. You sigh but let her get to work, tilting your chin up as she starts applying foundation.

“So,” she says casually, dabbing at your face, “did you invite Han to the party?”

You blink. “No. Why would I?”

Jane scoffs. “Because he’s totally into you.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t want to lead him on.”

“That’s exactly why you should be dating him,” she argues, moving on to your eyeliner. “Han is fun, he’s hot, and he likes you. If you’re looking for someone, it should be him.”

You chuckle. “I think you just want to live vicariously through me.”

“I know I’m right,” Jane insists, finishing up and stepping back to admire her work. “Now, let’s check ourselves out.”

The two of you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your hair and outfits. Jane rummages through her bag, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, I picked up some fun things from the expo,” she says, pulling out a small bottle and casually dropping it into your purse.

You frown, reaching in to inspect it. “Jane—”

She smirks. “It's edible lube. Watermelon flavor. You’re very welcome.”

-

The company truly knows how to throw a party and it's im full swing by the time you arrive, the venue buzzing with chatter, laughter, and music. Your team is already a few drinks in, celebrating the success of the launch, and Jane wastes no time in dragging you to the bar for a drink.

“To your big night!” she toasts, clinking her glass against yours. You take a sip, letting the burn of the alcohol settle some of your lingering nerves from the day.

As the night progresses, you weave through conversations, occasionally laughing at Jane’s antics as she flirts with someone from another department. The atmosphere is lively, but you can’t shake the slight unease bubbling in your chest.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure—Chris. He’s standing across the room, engaged in conversation with a group of people. He’s relaxed, holding a drink in one hand, his smile easy and charming. There’s a girl next to him, leaning in a little too closely, whispering something in his ear. He chuckles at whatever she says, tilting his head toward her.

Despite your efforts to steer clear of him, you feel his gaze on you from across the room. When you glance up, just for a second, you catch him watching you—his eyes dark and unreadable. The moment your gazes meet, your breath catches, and you quickly look away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever Jane is saying.

You turn toward the bar, ordering another drink just to keep yourself occupied. When you risk another glance, Chris is still there, but this time, he takes a step forward, as if he’s about to come over.

Panic flutters in your chest, and before he can get any closer, you spin around and slip into the crowd, weaving between groups of people, keeping yourself moving.

For the rest of the night, you make a conscious effort to avoid him. Every time you sense him nearby, you casually shift in the opposite direction, always staying just out of reach. You laugh a little too loudly at Jane’s jokes, engage in meaningless conversations with your coworkers, and keep your attention anywhere but on him. But even as you try to act normal, you can’t shake the feeling that Chris notices exactly what you’re doing.

-

The noise of the party fades behind you as you slip out of the building, the cool night air washing over your skin. You let out a slow breath, relieved to finally be away from the crowd—and more importantly, away from Chris.

Pulling out your phone, you open the ride-hailing app and quickly request a taxi. As you wait, you cross your arms, tapping your fingers against your sleeve, your mind still racing from the night's events.

Just as you exhale and glance down at your phone, you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. Your breath catches, and you spin around, startled.

Chris stands there, his eyes immediately locked onto yours. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the slight furrow in his brows. "I'm assuming you were avoiding me all night," he says, his tone light but eyes sharp.

You shake your head a little too quickly. "No, I wasn’t."

He chuckles at your poor attempt at denial, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Right. So it’s just a coincidence that every time I looked your way, you turned and disappeared?"

You press your lips together, feeling caught but unwilling to admit it. Instead, you sigh and change the subject. "Why are you out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be inside celebrating?"

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I could ask you the same thing. The product launch was a huge success for you—you should be celebrating, not sneaking off like this."

You shrug, keeping your tone casual. "I'm just exhausted."

His smirk softens into something more thoughtful. "Then let me give you a ride home."

You open your mouth to refuse, grasping for an excuse. "You’ve probably had a few drinks. You should stay and enjoy the party."

Chris shakes his head. "I only had one drink." Then, with a small smile, he adds, "I was too busy looking for you all night."

Getting no answer from you, he tries again, his smile never faltering. “Come on, just let me drive you home.”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. “Chris, it’s fine. I can just take a taxi.”

He exhales, tilting his head. “You’re really gonna make me go back to the party alone after I spent all night looking for you?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying sincerity in his voice.

You cross your arms. “You don’t have to leave just because I am.”

“But I want to.” He takes a step closer, his voice softer now. “Let me take you home.”

You sigh, knowing he won’t drop it. And truthfully, you’re too tired to argue. “Fine,” you mumble.

The car ride is quiet, the city lights flashing by as Chris drives steadily through the streets. You’re still processing everything—the party, the launch, the exhaustion weighing down on you—when Chris suddenly speaks.

"Are you free next weekend?"

You blink, caught off guard. "Huh?" You turn to look at him, your voice coming out in a stammer. "Why?"

Chris keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. "You’ve been exhausted and stressed these past few weeks. I figured you could use a break, so I want to take you somewhere to relax."

Your brows knit together. "You don’t have to do that."

"But I want to," he says simply, glancing at you with a small smile. "Besides, as a product manager, I have to take care of my hardworking employee."

You narrow your eyes at him. "That’s a lame excuse."

Chris chuckles. "Maybe. But it’s still valid." Then, as if sensing your hesitation, he quickly adds, "And don’t worry—there’ll be no more tests." His voice dips into something teasing, but the reassurance is clear.

When he finally pulls the car to a stop in front of your apartment building, you reach for the door handle, pausing only to turn to him. “Thanks for the ride home,” you say softly.

Chris doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes find yours in the dim light of the dashboard, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes you hold your breath. There’s something in his expression, something that makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not sure how to interpret.

"Goodnight," he finally says, his voice quieter, deeper.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself before replying, “Goodnight.” Then, without another word, you step out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

As you stand there, you watch as Chris’s car pulls away, the red taillights glowing in the darkness before disappearing around the corner. Only then do you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, turning to head inside, your thoughts a tangled mess.

-

The idea of expanding the line has been on your mind ever since the expo, and now that the product is officially launching, it's the perfect time to start thinking ahead. You're deep in your work, staring intently at your computer screen as you run through potential formulas for new product variants.

Just as you’re making notes on potential ingredients, Jane suddenly appears beside you, leaning over your shoulder. “What are you working on now?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

Before you can answer, she gasps, her eyes widening as she spots your screen. “Wait a second—flavored condoms?” She immediately claps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “You should totally make a chocolate-strawberry one!”

You turn to give her a judging look without saying a word.

“Come on!” she cuts in, grinning. “Think about it. It’s classic, it’s romantic, it’s delicious.” She waggles her eyebrows at you. “And I bet Chris would love it.”

Your face heats up instantly. “Jane!”

She chuckles as she leans against your desk, watching you type away. “You know,” she starts, crossing her arms, “most people take a break after successfully launching a product. Maybe go on a vacation, treat themselves, do something fun.”

You keep your eyes on the screen. “I am doing something fun,” you say dryly, adjusting some of your notes.

Jane scoffs. “Oh yeah, I can totally see the excitement radiating off you. You should allow yourself to slack off once in a while.”

You roll your eyes. “Slacking off isn’t going to help me develop new product variants.”

She rolls her eyes at you and then she slams her hands on the table. “I’m suggesting that we take a trip this weekend. We can go to the beach, a spa, or even a nice hotel with a rooftop pool. You need a break.”

Her suggestion actually sounds nice. You could use a weekend away, just relaxing with Jane, free from all the stress of work. But then you remember Chris and his just as tempting offer.

You hesitate, torn between the two options. You don’t want to say no to Chris—especially after the way he looked at you that night, like he genuinely wanted to take care of you. But at the same time, you don’t want to reject Jane either.

As if the thought summons him, Chris walks into the elevator. You tense slightly, caught off guard by his sudden presence. Of all places and times, you didn’t expect to run into him here.

He stands beside you, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as the doors slide shut. The air in the elevator feels thick with unspoken words, but neither of you say anything at first.

Then, Chris finally breaks the silence. “You don’t need to pack a lot of things for tomorrow.”

You blink, turning to him in confusion. “Tomorrow?”

Chris finally looks at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

Your mouth parts slightly, realization hitting you. So he just decided that you’re going with him? No further discussion? Before you can even think of what to say, the elevator dings, reaching the parking basement.

Chris steps out first, turning back just slightly to say, “See you tomorrow.”

-

Saturday morning arrives, and your bag sits neatly packed by the door. You stand a few feet away, staring at it, arms crossed, deep in thought. You haven’t really accepted either Jane’s or Chris’s offer, yet here you are, packed and ready for something. The indecision gnaws at you. If you go with Jane, you’ll get a fun, carefree trip, but if you go with Chris…

You sigh, pressing your fingers against your temples. You don’t even know why you’re hesitating so much. It’s just a trip, right? Just a short getaway to relax, exactly what Jane has been telling you to do. But Chris is the one who planned this. He wants to take you somewhere to relax.

Your phone buzzes on the table, snapping you out of your thoughts. You hesitate before walking over and picking it up. It's a message from Chris.

I’m on my way.

Your stomach flips. So that’s it—he’s already coming. You can still change your mind. You can still text Jane and tell her to meet up instead. But as you stare at your phone screen, you realize you’re not typing. You’re just waiting.

A few minutes later, your phone rings, the sound cutting through the quiet of your apartment. You glance at the screen—Chris. You hesitate before answering. “Hello?”

“I’m outside,” he says smoothly. “Take your time, but I just wanted to let you know I’m here.”

Your heart does an odd little flip at his voice. You walk toward the window, peeking through the curtains. And there he is—standing by his car, dressed casually in a plain t-shirt and jeans, yet somehow still managing to look effortlessly good. He leans against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, his gaze occasionally flickering toward the building entrance as he waits for you.

You swallow. This is really happening. “…Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Chris hums in approval. “See you soon.”

The call ends, and you exhale, glancing back at your packed bag. There’s no turning back now.

-

After two hours of driving, Chris finally pulls into the grand entrance of a luxurious hotel, nestled away from the city’s chaos. The moment you step out of the car, you take in the stunning surroundings—the peaceful scenery, the fresh air, and the sheer elegance of the place.

“You brought me here?” you ask, looking up at the towering hotel.

Chris smirks as he hands his keys to the valet. “Yeah. This is where you can fully relax.”

You follow him inside, still in awe. The lobby is just as grand as the exterior—high ceilings, warm lighting, and a sense of tranquility that makes you realize just how tense you’ve been lately.

At the check-in counter, Chris handles everything smoothly, and before you know it, the two of you are in the elevator, heading up to your suite.

When you enter, your breath catches. The place is massive—spacious living area, floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view, and elegant decor that makes it feel like something out of a travel magazine.

Chris sets his bag down and stretches. “Nice, huh?”

“Nice?” you echo. “This is… way too much.”

He shrugs casually. “Hey, it's okay to spoil yourself once in a while.”

Before you can overthink it, Chris gestures toward the rooms. “Oh, and before you start panicking, I booked a suite with two bedrooms.” He smirks when he glances back at you. “What? Did you think I was gonna make you share a bed with me?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t panicking.”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “Sure you weren’t.”

You grab your bag and head straight for your bedroom, needing a moment to yourself. The suite is spacious, luxurious even, but all you can focus on is the fact that you and Chris are here alone. No Jane, no work, no distractions—just the two of you.

As you unzip your bag and start unpacking, the realization settles in your stomach. You haven't spent this much uninterrupted time with Chris before, not without some work-related excuse to keep things professional. And now, here you are, in a beautiful hotel, just the two of you—

“Hey.”

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice. Turning around, you see Chris leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with an easy smile.

“What do you want to do first?” he asks.

You quickly look away, busying yourself with your bag. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”

He hums, as if considering his options. “We could check out the pool, go to the spa, take a walk around… or we could just stay in and order room service.”

The way he says it, with that teasing lilt in his voice, makes you glance at him suspiciously. He chuckles at your reaction but doesn’t push.

After some deliberation, you and Chris end up choosing the spa. A little relaxation doesn’t sound too bad after the past few stressful weeks.

The spa receptionist greets you both warmly, checking the reservation. “Ah, here it is! A couple’s spa package for Mr. and Mrs. Bang.”

Your head snaps toward Chris, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He only grins, utterly unbothered, and shrugs innocently. “Must’ve been a mix-up,” he says, feigning cluelessness.

You don’t buy it for a second, you tilt your head and narrow your eyes suspiciously at him.

He laughs, placing a hand over his chest. “What? It’s just easier to book that way.”

You roll your eyes but don’t push it. The receptionist leads you both to the spa room, explaining the treatments you’ll be getting.

After a relaxing and rejuvenating massage session, the next thing is to soak your bodies in the hot tub. The water is warm, wrapping around you like a soft embrace, steam rising in delicate wisps around the edges of the tub. Your body feels weightless, your muscles still loose from the earlier massage, but your mind is anything but relaxed. Because right next to you, Chris is lounging, his bare shoulders glistening with moisture, his skin slightly reddened from the heat.

You’re sitting close—so close that your legs occasionally brush under the water, sending small ripples between you. The scent of essential oils lingers in the air, mixing with the faint traces of Chris’s cologne, now softened by the steam. His body, partially submerged, is strong and toned, his chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm. The water laps at his skin, highlighting the definition of his collarbones, the faint flush of heat trailing down his neck and over his chest.

Chris tilts his head back slightly, eyes half-lidded as he exhales a deep sigh. “This isn’t so bad, huh?” he muses, voice low and lazy, like he’s savoring the moment.

You nod, though you’re barely paying attention to his words. The atmosphere is thick—something about the closeness, the warmth, the way the steam clings to both of you, makes it hard to breathe.

Then, he shifts. Just slightly, but enough that your arms brush, and you swear you feel the heat of his skin even through the water. Your heart stumbles in your chest, but you force yourself to stay composed.

Chris glances at you from the side, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You’re quiet.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m just enjoying the peace.”

His smirk widens, and he leans in just a fraction. “So, do I make a good husband?”

You scoff, flicking a small splash of water his way. “I knew you put ‘Mr. and Mrs. Bang’ on purpose.”

Instead of coming up with another of his witty remarks, his hand reaches up. His fingertips graze your cheek as he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

The steam swirls around you, the water lapping softly as you lock eyes with him. And suddenly, it’s there—that pull, that tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Chris’s lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something. But then, just as quickly as it came, he exhales, leans back, and lets the moment slip away. The warmth remains, though—not just from the water, but from the ghost of his touch on your skin.

-

The hotel room is quiet except for the TV faintly playing from the living area, but your mind is anything but still. The warmth from the spa still lingers on your skin, but there’s also something else—something unspoken that settled between you and Chris in that hot tub.

You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress and smoothing out the fabric. A knock on the door startles you and before you can answer, the door creaks open, and Chris steps inside, leaning against the doorframe. His casual stance contrasts with the way his gaze lingers on you, like he’s momentarily forgotten why he came here in the first place.

You shift under his stare. “What?”

His lips parting slightly before he huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Nothing. I just—” He pauses, finally pulling his eyes away to clear his throat. “I was gonna ask if Mexican food sounds good for dinner.”

You nod. “Mexican food sounds great.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, and then there it is again—that look. Soft, lingering, like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t but can’t help himself.

The air thickens between you. But just as quickly as it comes, he straightens, pushing off the doorframe. “Alright.”

You barely get a word out before he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You exhale, staring at the door for a moment before turning back to the mirror. Your reflection looks just as confused as you feel.

It only takes a ten minutes of walk to get to the restaurant. It is lively, filled with chatter, laughter, and upbeat music playing in the background. The casual, fun atmosphere helps ease some of the tension sitting in your chest since earlier, and you’re grateful for it. It feels like a normal dinner—just two colleagues unwinding after a stressful few weeks.

Chris sits across from you, his elbows resting on the table as he scans the menu. Then, out of nowhere, he glances up at you and smirks.

“You look really nice tonight,” he says, voice low but clear over the music.

Your fingers pause on the menu, heat creeping up your neck. “Thanks, Chris,” you murmur, trying to focus on the list of dishes instead of the way he’s looking at you.

The waiter comes with the drinks first and Chris wastes no time to initiate a toast. He lifts his glass, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "To a well-deserved break," he says, eyes locked on yours.

You mirror his action, tapping your glass lightly against his. "To a well-deserved break," you echo, feeling the warmth of the moment settle between you.

Just as you're about to take a sip, a voice interrupts.

"Now, this is a sight I wasn't expecting."

You freeze, lowering your glass as you turn toward the voice.

Han Jisung stands beside your table, hands in his pockets, wearing that signature playful smirk. His gaze flickers between you and Chris before settling on you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Fancy running into you here," Han says, tilting his head. "And with such fine company, too."

You slowly set your glass down, eyebrows raising in mild surprise. "Han?"

Han grins. "What, no warm welcome?" He pulls out a chair from the empty table beside you and plops down like he belongs there. "I mean, I know you’re glad to see me.”

You exhale a shaky, awkward laugh. "What are you doing here?"

Han nonchalantly shrugs. "My favorite musicians are doing this coaching clinic but now..." He looks back at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I believe love brought me here."

Han stays exactly where he is, making himself comfortable as if he was invited. The waiter comes by, and without missing a beat, Han orders a drink for himself before turning his full attention back to you.

“So,” he starts, leaning his elbows on the table. “Are you two dating?”

You almost choke on your sip of water. “No!”

Chris raises an eyebrow at your immediate denial but says nothing.

Han hums, tilting his head. “Really? You’re having a private dinner, in a fancy hotel, after spending the whole day together.” He taps his chin, pretending to think. “Sounds very date-like to me.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice even. “Chris is the product manager. I’m just an employee.”

Han leans back in his chair, grinning. “That so?” He flicks his gaze to Chris, then back to you. “Then I guess that means I still have a chance.”

Chris exhales a small laugh, shaking his head as he picks up his drink. "You're really saying that in front of me?"

Han just smirks, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What? I’d rather be upfront than sneak around.”

You don’t respond, feeling the weight of both their gazes on you. Instead, you take a slow sip of your drink, pretending you didn’t hear the question at all.

Chris doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s watching your reaction closely. The energy at the table shifts, tension weaving itself into the playful conversation. This dinner is turning out to be far more complicated than you expected.

-

After dinner, Han stretches his arms above his head and flashes you both an easy grin. “Alright, since I crashed your dinner, how about another round of drinks? My treat.”

You open your mouth to decline, but Han quickly raises a hand. “Ah, ah. No excuses. I insist.”

Chris exhales through his nose, glancing at you before shrugging. “Guess we don’t have a choice, huh?”

Han smirks. “Exactly.”

And that’s how you find yourself nursing another drink while Han chatters away, switching between teasing you and throwing light jabs at Chris. The atmosphere is playful, but there's an underlying tension—one you can’t quite put your finger on.

After a while, Han glances toward the back of the bar where a pool table sits unoccupied. “Hey, Chris,” he says, nudging his shoulder. “How about a round of billiards?”

Chris barely looks up from his glass. “Nah, I’m good.”

Han clicks his tongue. “Come on, what’s the matter? Scared I’ll wipe the floor with you?”

Chris scoffs, finally looking up. “I just don’t feel like playing.”

Han leans in, grinning. “Or maybe you don’t want to play in front of her because you’re bad at it.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but you can see the challenge sinking in. He takes a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down. “Alright, fine. One round.”

Han’s grin widens. “That’s the spirit.”

And just like that, they both get up, leaving you caught between them. You sit there, unsure whether you should follow or stay put. But then Han turns and gives you a wink. “Come on, you should watch. It'll be fun.”

You stand near the pool table, watching as Han and Chris take their turns. It’s hard not to admire them, each in their own way. Han plays with an easy confidence, spinning the cue in his hand between shots, throwing playful smirks in your direction every time he sinks a ball. He knows you’re watching—thrives on it, even—and winks at you whenever your eyes linger on him for too long. Chris, on the other hand, is completely focused. He lines up each shot with precise calculation, his movements fluid and controlled. He doesn’t notice the way you stare as he leans over the table, one hand bracing against the felt, the other guiding the cue through the gap of his thumb and index finger. His execution is flawless, the sharp crack of the cue ball meeting its target reverberating through the air before the ball rolls cleanly into the pocket.

Your gaze lingers a little too long on the way his shirt stretches across his back as he moves, the flex of his forearms, the quiet concentration etched into his face.

The game becomes more intense as it nears its end, the atmosphere thick with unspoken competition. Chris is leading—by a lot—but Han remains unfazed, leaning casually against the pool table as he watches Chris line up his next shot, stretching his shoulder before finally taking it.

“You’re scarily good at this,” you comment, watching as Chris smoothly sinks another ball.

Chris smirks, straightening up as he twirls the cue stick in his hand. “Just lucky.”

Han chuckles at that, shaking his head. “Bullshit. You knew exactly how that shot was going to play out.”

Chris only shrugs, his smirk widening. “Guess I’m just built different.”

You stifle a laugh, but Han only grins, completely unfazed by his impending loss. He rests his hip against the edge of the table, spinning his cue between his fingers as he glances at you. “Don’t you think Chris should’ve warned me that he’s a pro before I agreed to this game?”

You glance between them, lips twitching. “I mean… you were the one who challenged him.”

Chris hums in agreement as he leans down for his next shot, his muscles flexing subtly beneath his shirt. “Exactly. I was just minding my own business.”

Han tilts his head, smirking. “And yet, here we are.”

Chris doesn’t respond, only focusing on his final shot. The cue ball strikes cleanly, sending the last striped ball into the pocket with ease. The eight-ball is next, and Han watches, unfazed, as Chris lines up the winning shot.

“Make it quick, champ,” Han drawls, stepping back. “Put me out of my misery.”

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle before smoothly sinking the eight-ball. The moment the ball drops into the pocket, he straightens up, placing the cue stick on the table with a victorious smirk.

“Well,” Han sighs dramatically, “I suppose I should’ve known better than to challenge the product manager.”

Chris grins, holding out a hand. “Good game.”

Han eyes it for a moment before shaking it with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. You got me this time.” Then he turns to you, flashing that familiar playful glint in his eyes. “Now, how about a consolation drink?”

Chris holds up a hand at him. “No, thank you. We're heading back to our room.”

Han raises a brow at Chris’s refusal, but the glint in his eyes shows his amusement. “Calling it a night already?”

Chris shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. We’ve got an early morning.”

Han hums knowingly, then glances at you. “What about you? No celebratory drink with the loser?”

Before you can answer, Chris smoothly cuts in, “She’s had enough for tonight.” Then, without missing a beat, he tilts his head at Han. “Are you covering the drinks?”

Han exhales a laugh, shaking his head at the sudden change in subject. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

Chris grins. “Appreciate it, man.” He gives Han a pat on the back before stepping beside you, placing a hand on the small of your back in an easy, natural motion. “We’ll see you around.”

You barely have time to react before Chris is guiding you toward the exit, the warmth of his hand lingering against your spine. You glance over your shoulder to see Han still smirking, watching the two of you leave as if he just lost a game bigger than billiards.

You look over your shoulder at Han and softly mutters, “Goodnight, Han.”

Chris doesn’t look back. If anything, he carries himself like a champion walking away with his prize.

-

Back in the hotel suite, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the exhaustion from the night settle in. Chris locks the door behind him, rolling his shoulders as he stretches.

Just as you’re about to head to your bedroom, you pause and turn to him. “Why did you tell Han we have an early morning tomorrow?”

Chris leans against the back of the couch, looking completely at ease. “Because we do.”

You narrow your eyes. “Since when?”

“Since I decided I’m taking you to look around the town tomorrow,” he replies smoothly.

You blink at him. “You just made that up on the spot, didn’t you?”

Chris grins. “Maybe. But it’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

You exhale, crossing your arms as you study him. He doesn’t seem the least bit guilty about throwing you into plans you didn’t even know existed. Instead, he just watches you expectantly, waiting for your reaction.

After a moment, you shake your head with a small laugh. “Fine.”

Just as you turn toward your bedroom, Chris’s voice stops you. “You couldn’t stop staring at me back there.”

You freeze, then slowly turn to see him smirking, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the couch. “I—what?” you stammer.

“At the pool table,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “You were watching me the whole time. Were you impressed?” His smirk deepens, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Heat rushes to your face. “I—I was just watching the game,” you sputter, trying to sound nonchalant, but you know you’re failing miserably.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Mmm-hmm. Sure.”

You scowl at him, determined to regain control of the situation. “Goodnight, Chris.”

Then, before he can say anything else, you spin around and march into your bedroom, shutting the door a little too quickly behind you. On the other side of the door, you swear you can hear him chuckling to himself.

-

You must admit that you had one of the nicest sleep last night and you wake up feeling so refreshed. You step out of your bedroom, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, only to freeze mid-step.

Chris’s door swings open a moment later, and he walks out, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. His shirtless torso is on full display—his toned abs, the defined lines of his muscles, the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips. And then… there’s the very obvious outline beneath them. Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself.

Chris catches your stare almost instantly, and instead of covering up or acting embarrassed, he grins. “Morning.” His voice is still rough with sleep, lazy and amused.

You snap your gaze up to his face, your cheeks heating instantly. “Morning,” you mutter, pretending you didn’t just get caught blatantly looking.

Chris smirks as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. “You okay?”

“I—yeah, of course.” You clear your throat, quickly moving toward where the phone is to distract yourself. “I'll order breakfast.”

Chris chuckles under his breath as he walks past you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. “Sure. But take your time.” His voice drops a little. “Seems like you need a moment.”

You don’t dare look at him as you pick up the phone to call room service, but you can feel his gaze lingering on you, his amusement practically radiating through the air.

-

The town is lively, filled with the buzz of locals and tourists alike. Cobblestone streets wind between charming shops and cafés, and the air carries the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee.

You and Chris walk side by side through the bustling streets, taking in the sights. He’s dressed casually in a thin black sweater and jeans, hands tucked into the pockets, his sunglasses perched on his nose. Every so often, he glances at you, making sure you’re keeping up, and when the crowd gets too thick, his hand brushes against the small of your back, guiding you through.

“This place is nice,” you comment, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. “It’s got that old-town charm.”

Chris nods in agreement and then he tilts his head toward the main plaza. “Come on. There’s a really good café around the corner.”

The café is small yet cozy, the kind of place that feels warm and welcoming the moment you step inside. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery pastries lingers in the air as you and Chris settle into a corner table. He orders for both of you—croissants, a slice of cake to share, and two lattes.

“Try this,” Chris says, pushing a forkful of cake toward you. You roll your eyes but take a bite, the sweetness melting on your tongue.

Just as you’re about to comment on how good it is, your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you pull it out, Jane’s name flashes on the screen.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Chris, grabbing your phone and stepping outside to take the call.

The cool air greets you as you press the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Jane says immediately, skipping the pleasantries. “You’re not sick.”

You let out a sigh, you should have keep your phone turned off after sending a text to her that you couldn't go on a trip with her because you don’t feel well. “Okay, fine. You caught me.”

“So? Where are you?”

You hesitate before admitting, “I’m… on a trip. With Chris.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then— “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. So, you and Chris are dating?”

“What? No!” You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder through the café window where Chris is stirring his coffee, completely unaware of your conversation. “It’s just... a trip. That’s all.”

Jane hums, unconvinced. “Right.”

“It is,” you insist.

“Mm-hmm,” Jane drags out the sound, then casually adds, “Don’t say I didn't warn you.”

You frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Jane snickers. “I’m just saying, be careful.”

Before you can demand further clarification, she hangs up, leaving you standing there with a million thoughts running through your head.

When you return to the table, Chris raises a brow. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, sinking into your seat. You take a sip of your latte, but your mind is elsewhere, Jane’s words echoing in your head.

Chris is watching you closely, like he can tell something’s off. “You sure?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

The next stop on your sightseeing trip leads you to a bustling street lined with small vendors, each stall displaying an array of handcrafted trinkets, souvenirs, and snacks. The soft jingle of wind chimes mixes with the hum of conversation, and your eyes wander over the colorful selection of charm keychains at one of the stalls.

Chris reaches for a pair of matching ones—tiny silver pendants shaped like crescent moons. “What do you think?” he asks, turning to you with a small smile. “Should we get matching ones?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Why?”

Chris tilts his head slightly, looking genuinely confused. “I don’t know. Just thought it’d be nice.”

You let out a sigh, the question that’s been gnawing at you finally slipping out. “Chris… why are you doing this?”

His brows furrow. “Doing what?”

“This,” you say, motioning vaguely between the two of you. “Taking me on this trip, buying matching keychains—acting like we’re…” You trail off, shaking your head.

Chris doesn’t answer immediately, his fingers still loosely holding the keychains.

“I mean, I’m thankful for everything,” you continue, your voice softer now. “You helped me with the product, you were there for the launch, and I really appreciate it. But I just… I don’t understand why you’re doing all of this.”

Still, he doesn’t say anything. His lips part slightly as if he’s about to speak, but no words come out.

You sigh, feeling a sudden wave of frustration—not just at him, but at yourself, at the situation, at the uncertainty pressing against your chest. “I don’t— I don’t even know why I’m here,” you mumble before turning on your heel and walking away, leaving Chris standing there in front of the vendor, still holding the matching charms.

“I don’t need you anymore, Chris,” you blurt out and it's coming out harsher than you intended to.

Before you know it, you walk away, your steps quick and uneven, as the inexplicable anger coils tighter in your chest. You don’t understand why you feel this way—why the warmth of the day suddenly feels suffocating, why Chris’s kindness is making you uneasy instead of flattered.

You weave through the crowd, barely registering the faces passing by. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your thoughts race in circles. Maybe it’s because Jane’s words are still ringing in your mind. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what Chris wants from you. Or maybe it’s because a part of you is scared to admit that you want something from him, too.

Before you can overthink it any further, you spot a taxi idling by the curb. Without hesitation, you flag it down and slip into the backseat, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

As the taxi pulls away, you rest your head against the window, watching the streets blur past. You try to shake off the tight feeling in your chest, but it lingers, stubborn and heavy.

-

When you finally arrive at the hotel, you step out of the taxi with a heavy breath, your emotions still tangled. You don’t want to go back to the suite—not yet. The idea of facing Chris again, of sitting in the silence of your thoughts, feels unbearable.

So, instead of heading toward the elevators, you make a sharp turn down the hallway, following the soft hum of music and conversation until you reach the hotel bar.

The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the space, the air thick with the scent of aged liquor and citrus. A few patrons are scattered around, some in quiet conversations, others lost in their own world with a drink in hand. You slide onto a stool at the bar, exhaling as you prop your elbows against the counter.

The bartender approaches, offering a polite smile. “What can I get you?”

You hesitate for only a second. “Whiskey, neat.”

The bartender nods before turning away, and you press your lips together, trying to push down the lingering frustration in your chest. You tell yourself you just need a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But deep down, you know you’re avoiding more than just Chris.

The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your body, making everything feel a little too soft, a little too slow. You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had by now—just that when you finally stand up from the bar, the room tilts slightly, and your legs feel like they belong to someone else.

You blink, trying to steady yourself, but before you can take another step, a firm hand catches your arm.

"Whoa there," a familiar voice drawls, amused. "Didn't think I'd see you like this tonight."

You look up through the haze, and for a moment, you think—Chris? But no, there’s something off. The grip is steady but playful, the warmth of the body against yours more teasing than concerned.

Your brows furrow as you sway slightly, and he easily shifts to support your weight, slipping an arm around your waist. "Let's get you somewhere before you pass out on me."

You want to protest, but everything is too heavy, and your tongue feels slow. So you just let him guide you, his body pressed close as he half-carries you toward the elevator.

By the time you reach a room, he’s lowering you onto the sofa, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary before he steps back. You blink blearily up at him, the alcohol making your thoughts sluggish.

"About earlier, I—" you murmur, your words slurred. "I'm sorry, Chris."

You blink a few times, trying to clear the haze in your mind, and when you finally focus on the man in front of you, you realize it’s not Chris—it’s Han.

Han tilts his head, watching your reaction with amusement. “Wow,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. “I save you from stumbling around drunk, and you call me by another guy’s name? That hurts, babe.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. You’re too disoriented, too embarrassed.

Han just chuckles, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room before the product manager turns over this place,” he jokingly says, reaching out to help you up from the sofa. His grip is firm but careful as he leans down slightly.

Just as he’s about to pull you up, there’s a knock on the door. Han pauses. You barely register it before he’s already walking over, pulling the door open with his usual ease. And then—

Chris. He stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze shifting from Han to you slumped on the sofa. His eyes narrow slightly, taking in the situation.

Han leans against the doorframe, an easy smirk playing on his lips. “You’re bothering us, man,” he says, tilting his head slightly toward you as if the two of you had been in the middle of something.

Chris, unimpressed, ignores him completely and looks at you. “Let’s go back to our room,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind.

Han, however, steps forward, blocking the doorway before Chris can step inside. “What, you think you’re the only one with a big dick?” he taunts, arching a brow. "I can satisfy her just fine."

You fumble, shaking your head, trying to deny whatever this conversation is turning into—but your words come out slurred, incoherent.

Han laughs at your attempt. “See? She can’t even say it properly. Must be overwhelmed.” He turns back to you, lowering his voice slightly, his tone teasing. “Mine is better, right babe?”

Chris scoffs, his jaw ticking. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Han’s smirk widens, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know what? Let’s ask her,” he says, looking at you expectantly.

You open your mouth, struggling to string together a sentence, but the alcohol has made your thoughts sluggish. Your gaze bounces between the two men, their contrasting expressions—Chris, standing tall and tense, and Han, relaxed and enjoying every second of this.

Then Han grins down at you. “We both know you like mine better.”

And that’s when it just bursts out of you—louder than you intended, words tumbling before you can stop them.

“I like Chris!”

Silence.

Both men freeze, their gazes snapping to you. Your brain catches up a second too late, and your eyes widen in horror as you quickly scramble to correct yourself.

“I—I mean, I like Chris’s dick better!”

Chris exhales sharply, a sound dangerously close to a laugh, and when you dare glance up at him, you can see it—he’s trying not to smile. His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the situation.

Han, on the other hand, whistles lowly. “Damn. Didn’t even have to try that hard.” He shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “I guess that settles it, then.”

Chris doesn’t waste another second. He steps forward, taking you by the hand—not rough, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. “Come on,” he murmurs, guiding you carefully toward the door.

As he leads you out, Han calls after you with a cheeky grin. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me!”

-

You step out of the bathroom, damp hair clinging to the sides of your face, the cold shower having done its job in sobering you up. As you tighten the belt around your bathrobe, you notice Chris already waiting for you in the suite’s dimly lit living area, a glass of water in his hand.

His gaze lifts the second he hears you, scanning you briefly before he holds the glass out. “Feel better now?” His voice is quiet, careful.

You nod, stepping forward to take the water from him. As you drink, Chris gestures for you to sit on the sofa, and he takes the spot beside you. The room is still, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning, and for a moment, neither of you speak.

Then Chris exhales, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry.”

You put the glass down and hold your hands up at him. “No—I should be the one apologizing. I—”

But Chris shakes his head. “I’m not talking about earlier. Well, not just earlier.” He pauses, shifting slightly so that he’s facing you. “I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Your breath catches, sensing the weight in his words. He watches you carefully, he licks his before saying, “I like you.”

The words are soft but firm, spoken as if he’s been holding them in for too long. Chris lets out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “I liked you before all of this,” he continues, his fingers rubbing against his knee. “But you never noticed me. And I thought... maybe that meant you weren’t interested.” He hesitates, then sighs. “That’s why I took this whole condom thing as an excuse. Just so I could be close to you.”

Inside your chest, your heart stutters and your lips part slightly, but no words come out. You completely taken aback by his confession.

His eyes search yours, waiting, wanting. Then, with more certainty, he says it again—clearer, deeper. “I like you.”

The room feels smaller, like the air has thickened around you, pressing in with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

Chris doesn’t break eye contact, and in the soft glow of the lamp, you see it—the quiet sincerity, the vulnerability he rarely ever lets show. He’s been waiting for this moment. For you.

Your heart is pounding. You don’t know if it’s from the weight of his confession or the way Chris is looking at you—hopeful, expectant, like he’s holding his breath for your answer. So you kiss him. You lean in without thinking, without hesitating, pressing your lips against his.

Chris responds instantly, a quiet sound of surprise escaping him before he kisses you back, his hand instinctively coming up to cup your cheek. The warmth of his lips, the way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, the way he pulls you just a little closer—it’s overwhelming, dizzying, and you don’t realize how much you’ve wanted this until now.

When you finally pull away, your breaths are uneven, your hands trembling slightly against him. Chris watches you, his eyes dark and laced with something unreadable—until a slow, teasing smirk spreads across his face.

“So,” he drawls, voice lower now, “does this mean you like me? Or just my extra large dick?”

Your stomach flips, and you immediately fumble for a response. “I—I like you! Of course, I like you—”

Chris raises an eyebrow, still smirking, enjoying how he can easily tease you.

You groan, realizing your mistake. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like your dick—”

Chris bites back a laugh while you sigh in frustration and run a hand through your hair before forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You look at him, trying to keep your voice steady. “What I mean is... your dick is a part of you. And I like you—all of you. As a whole person.”

Then you realize what you just said, and your face heats up instantly.

Chris grins, clearly enjoying your flustered state. He leans in, closing the distance between you again. “I really like when you get flustered like this,” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.

This time, he kisses you slower, deeper, savoring the moment. And when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, “I like you whole too.”

-

You never thought this was how things would turn out. What started as a professional arrangement—just testing a product, just a temporary thing—became something else entirely. Somewhere between the teasing, the lingering glances, the way Chris always found a way to pull you into his orbit, you fell. Hard.

And now, lying beside him in bed, as you hover over him, your fingers brushing against his jaw before leaning in to kiss him again, you wonder how you ever thought you could keep things casual.

Slowly, his fingers work at the tie of your bathrobe, loosening it with quiet precision. You feel the fabric slacken around you, but he doesn’t push it off just yet. Instead, he looks up at you, his gaze heavy, filled with something you can’t quite put into words.

You pull back just enough to take him in—the way his lips are slightly parted, his hair mussed from your hands, the way his chest rises and falls steadily beneath you.

Chris catches your lingering stare, and a slow grin tugs at his lips. “What are you thinking?” His voice is warm, teasing, but there’s an underlying softness to it.

You hesitate before speaking. “I was just thinking… I never expected this.”

He chuckles as he runs his hand through your hair. “What? That you’d fall for me?”

You briefly look away before shyly denying it. “I didn’t say that.”

He grins, brushing his nose against yours. “You didn’t have to.”

You don’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, you kiss him again, slower this time, letting yourself sink into the feeling of his lips, the way he responds to you so effortlessly.

As your mouths move together, you feel him shift beneath you, his hands finally sliding the bathrobe off your shoulders, letting it slip from your body. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his hands, the way they roam over you with quiet reverence.

Chris hums against your lips, his fingers tracing slow, circular patterns along your back. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

You shiver—not from the cold, but from the way he says it. From the way he looks at you, as if you’re something out of this world, ethereal. And then he’s pulling you down again, kissing you deeper, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.

The tension in the room only intensifies as your fingers trail down his front, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. Chris exhales softly as your hand moves lower, calmly working open the button of his jeans before tugging down the zipper. He lowly groans when you push the fabric aside, his arousal springing free into your waiting hand.

You wrap your fingers around his cock, feeling the heat of him pulse beneath your touch as you start to lightly stroke him. He groans in response, his head tilting back against the pillows, his hands gripping the nape of your neck as he exhales a shaky breath.

“You’re really not gonna take it slow, huh?” he murmurs, his voice roughened by want, but there’s amusement laced in his words.

You glance up at him, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips before you lower yourself further, trailing soft kisses down the ridges of his abs. His muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath uneven as you take your time.

Chris watches you with darkened eyes, his lips parted as you move lower still. Your head is hanging only inches from where he wants you the most and you're looking at him with mischievous glints in your eyes. His hand moves to your hair, not guiding, just resting, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you.

Keeping your eyes locked with his, your tongue glides slowly along his length, tracing every ridge and vein as you take your time tasting him. He growls low in his throat, the sound reverberating through the room, his grip tightening in your hair for just a second before he forces himself to relax.

When you finally take him into your mouth, inch by inch, he exhales sharply, his abs flexing beneath your hands. You try to take more of him, but his sheer size makes it difficult, and he notices immediately.

"Take it slow," he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint. His hand cradles the back of your head, not pushing, just guiding. "You're doing so well."

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock and you lick your lips before you try again, taking him slower this time. You let out a soft, breathy sound against him, sending vibrations through his body. He props himself up on one elbow, glancing down to watch you, his gaze dark and filled with something deeper than just desire. The way your lips stretch around him, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him—he can’t tear his eyes away.

"Look at you," he mutters, slipping his fingers through your hair, brushing it back so he can see you better. His thumb grazes your cheek, his touch almost reverent. "Making me feel so good."

You feel the heat of his gaze searing into you, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch, the way his breath shudders out in ragged exhales. Every sound he makes, every soft praise he gives, spurs you on, making you want to push his control to the edge.

“Damn,” he breathes out, voice strained. His fingers thread through your hair, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “You’re really trying to ruin me, huh?”

Your hand moves in perfect sync with your mouth, gliding along the rest of his length as you work him over with slow, gentle strokes. You can feel him losing his restraint, his fingers gripping your hair a little too tightly as he fights against the pleasure building inside him.

"Shit," he groans, his voice raw, his control slipping fast. You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his dark, hooded gaze, and that alone seems to push him to the edge.

Before he can warn you, his body shudders, and he spills into your mouth with a sharp, choked sound. The warmth floods your tongue too quickly for you to take it all, and some dribbles past your lips, running down your chin.

Chris curses under his breath, quickly sitting up, his hand cupping your cheek. "I'm sorry—I didn’t mean to—" he starts, his thumb swiping at the mess on your chin, but you just softly smile at him in response. Then, without breaking eye contact, you tilt your head back slightly and swallow.

He watches, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips parting in awe before he exhales a rough chuckle. His eyes darken with something deeper than just satisfaction.

"That was so fucking hot," he roughly murmurs before pulling you close and kissing you hard.

Chris pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with something intense, something hungry. Before you can react, he tilts your chin up and swipes his tongue along your skin, cleaning up the remnants of his release with slow, little licks. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours again, deep and consuming.

Then, just as quickly, he pulls away and slides off the bed. You watch, dazed, as he strides across the room toward your bag perched on the chair.

Your stomach twists when you realize what he’s doing. "Chris—"

He ignores your protest, rummaging through your belongings with zero shame. "I know you keep them in here," he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You bury your face in your hands, mortified, as he finally retrieves a condom. But instead of returning right away, his fingers pause, and when you peek through your fingers, you see him holding something else. Something small. Something very, very familiar.

Chris turns around, holding up a tiny bottle and you slightly panic remembering the edible lube Jane slipped into your bag after the expo. His smirk deepens as he examines the label. "How did you know I like watermelon?" He quirks a brow at you.

Your face burns, completely flustered and a little mortified. "I—I didn’t!"

He hums, clearly enjoying your embarrassment, before tossing the bottle onto the bed beside you. Then he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Guess we’ll have to put it to good use, then."

Chris pops the cap open with a soft click, and the sweet, fruity scent of watermelon fills the space between you. His gaze flickers up to yours, dark and amused, before he tips the bottle over your skin.

The cool gel dribbles onto your chest, your stomach, the sensitive curves of your breasts. You gasp at the sensation, your body tensing as he smears it over your skin with his broad hands, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

"Sensitive, huh?" His voice is warm with amusement as he smooths the lube over your skin, making sure to spread it evenly. "I’ll be gentle."

You barely have time to process his words before he leans in, his mouth pressing against your collarbone. His tongue swipes against your skin, slow and deliberate, tasting the sticky sweetness. The heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool gel, making you shiver as he works his way down, following the trail he created with his hands.

Chris hums as he licks a stripe up your chest, the vibration sending a fresh wave of tingles down your spine. "Not bad," he murmurs against your skin before he kisses the skin under your navel.

The next thing you know, his lips latch onto your hardening nipple, tugging it between his teeth, sucking at it so hard before finally letting go, leaving your nipple wet and swollen. He does the same with the other one but this time, his hand massaging your ample flesh in reverence, the lube makes his hand glides smoothly across the two mounds before he brings them to the middle, allowing him to take both nipples into his mouth.

You arch under his touch, hands gripping the sheets as he takes his time, licking, tasting, teasing. He’s thorough—almost too thorough—as if savoring every inch of you, dragging the moment out until you’re squirming beneath him, breathless and overstimulated.

Chris finally pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. He grins, voice husky when he says, "I think I might like watermelon even more now."

He watches you with a teasing glint in his eyes as he puts more lube on your most sensitive spot, his fingers moving with deliberate slowness as he smears it all over your pulsating sex. The cool sensation makes you gasp, your body instinctively arching against his touch. His smirk deepens at your reaction, and he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you.

“You know,” he muses, dragging his fingers lazily through the slickness between your folds, “this might just be my new favorite flavor.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his warm mouth pressing against your wetness, his tongue gliding through the sweetness he just applied. The contrast between the cool lube and the heat of his tongue sends a shudder through your body. His hands settle on your hips, holding you steady as he takes his time, savoring every movement.

Chris hums against you, the vibration making you gasp again, and he chuckles at your response. He flicks his tongue over your clit before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. “You taste even sweeter now,” he says, his voice low and playful.

He doesn’t stop until he feels you tremble beneath him, his grip firm yet reassuring as he holds you in place. The tension coiling deep inside you finally unravels, and a soft cry escapes your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you. He doesn’t pull away immediately, instead, his tongue moving gently to prolong your high until you’re left gasping, your body still humming from the aftershocks.

When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is glistening with your essence, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand before crawling up your body, settling between your legs as he hovers over you. There’s a teasing smirk on his lips as he leans in, brushing his mouth over yours.

“Told you,” he murmurs against your lips, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You don’t need to ask what he means—you can taste it for yourself as he deepens the kiss, letting you chase the sweetness lingering on his tongue. It’s intoxicating, the mix of his warmth and the remnants of your release making your head spin. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, slow and indulgent, and when he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing just as uneven as yours. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your hip, his touch gentle in contrast to everything that just happened.

“You good?” he asks softly, his voice laced with something deeper—something tender.

You nod, still catching your breath, and he smiles before pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time. “Good,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

-

Instead of rushing right into it, Chris takes his time. His lips press gentle kisses along your collarbone, your shoulders, down your arms—anywhere he can reach. His hands follow the same path, fingertips tracing every inch of your skin, sending warmth through your entire body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. His gaze sweeps over you, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as if he can’t quite believe this is real.

His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing over your skin, his touch so delicate yet so certain. “I still can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” he admits, his voice hushed, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. “That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, to admire you like this.”

The possessiveness in his words makes your heart stutter, but it’s not suffocating—it’s something deeper, something real. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before finally capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow, unhurried, and filled with so much emotion that it makes your chest ache. “And I get to kiss you like this, as many times as I want.”

He shifts slightly, reaching between you both, and you hear the soft crinkle of the condom wrapper before he rolls it on. When he hovers over you again, his hands slide along your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them. But instead of rushing, he just looks at you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“I want you to remember this,” he whispers, his thumb brushing along your hip. “I want you to know how much I want you—how much I care about you.”

There’s nothing hurried about the way he touches you, nothing rushed in the way he moves. It’s a moment he’s savoring just as much as you are. And when he finally kisses you again, it’s deep and unspoken in its meaning, telling you everything he doesn’t need to say out loud.

Chris intertwines his fingers with yours as he aligns himself with you. His movements are filled with the same tenderness that lingers in his gaze. When he finally presses his cockto your entrance, he does so with utmost care, inching inside you with a patience that makes you hold your breath.

He pauses once he’s settled deep enough within you, not wanting to hurt you. He drops his head, his forehead pressing against yours as both of you take a moment to adjust—to the feeling, to the closeness, to everything unspoken between you. His thumb brushes soothing circles over the back of your hand, a silent reassurance as he waits for you.

When you finally whisper, "More," your voice is breathy, laced with need, he nods. With another slow, measured push, he eases himself deeper, filling you completely. A low groan escapes his lips, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly.

“God... you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice husky with restraint. His praise sends warmth through you, making your body tense in the best way. He draws back just enough before sinking into you again, his movements fluid and controlled.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as pleasure courses through you, and before you can stop yourself, your body clenches around him, the intensity overwhelming. Chris stills for a moment before chuckling softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Already?” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His thumb brushes over your cheek as he smiles down at you, his expression both affectionate and playful. “Guess you really are getting used to me.”

Even as heat floods your face, you can’t help but melt at the way he looks at you—like he’s reveling every second of this moment with you.

Chris stills for a moment, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he breathes you in. His voice is gentle when he asks, “Do you need a moment?”

You shake your head almost immediately, fingers tightening around his. “No,” you whisper, your breath warm against his lips. “Keep going.”

His lips curve into the softest smile before he obeys, rolling his hips with slow, deliberate movements, never breaking eye contact. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters in this moment, like he wants to memorize every breath, every sigh, every quiet gasp that escapes your lips.

Your hands remain intertwined, his grip firm yet reassuring, grounding you in the moment. Each measured thrust is unrushed, filled with something deeper than just desire. It’s as if he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into the way he moves, into the way he holds you, into the way he kisses your knuckles between each lingering gaze.

The world outside fades, leaving only the quiet creak of the mattress, the mingling of breaths, and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You feel everything—his touch, his presence, the emotions lingering between you.

Chris leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek before trailing down to your jaw. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with something tender.

And as he continues, keeping that slow, steady rhythm, you realize that this—being here with him, feeling this close—feels like something you never expected but something you never want to end.

This overwhelming feeling is taking over you. Your fingers tighten around Chris’s as you let out a soft, desperate whine. “Chris… I-I’m close.”

He hastily kisses you, his breath warm, his voice nothing but a soothing murmur. “It’s okay, baby,” he reassures you, his movements steady and unhurried. “Just let go.”

His words wash over you like a gentle tide, grounding you as you feel yourself unravel beneath him. But just as you’re about to fall apart, his pace never faltering, his gaze shifts—turning impossibly tender, reverent even. He looks at you as if you’re something sacred, something he never wants to let go of. His fingers squeeze yours as his lips part, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were made just for me.”

The words settle deep inside you, hitting somewhere beyond the physical, beyond the moment. And as you break apart beneath him, as he holds you through it, you realize—you’ve never felt more cherished than you do in this very moment.

Chris keeps moving, his rhythm growing more erratic as he chases his own release. His breaths turn ragged, his grip on your intertwined hands tightening as he buries his face against your neck. The warmth of his body, the way he clings to you, makes everything feel even more intimate.

And then, with a deep, shuddering groan, he finally lets go. His body tenses for a moment before he sinks into you completely, his weight pressing you into the bed as he collapses on top of you.

You wrap your arms around him instinctively, your fingers running soothingly down his back as he relishes the aftershocks of his climax. His chest rises and falls against yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything. There’s no need to—because right now, in this quiet, tangled-up moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

-

The slivers of sunlight shine through the cracks between the curtains. You stir awake, warmth surrounding you, and it takes you a moment to register the steady rise and fall of Chris’s breathing behind you. His strong arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you close, his body pressed flush against yours.

A slow, lazy kiss lands on your shoulder, then another, trailing up to the curve of your neck. His lips are warm, lingering, as if he’s enjoying the feel of you. His hand moves too—palming your breast with a gentle squeeze, your nipple is caught between his fingers.

You shift slightly, turning your head toward him, but before you can even murmur a good morning, he captures your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss. It’s soft at first, teasing, but then he deepens it, his fingers tightening around you as he pulls you impossibly closer. There’s a tenderness to the way he kisses you, like he’s been waiting all night for this.

As Chris finally pulls away from the kiss, his lips hover over yours, reluctant to part completely. You smile softly, your voice still laced with sleep as you murmur, “Good morning.”

He grins, pressing another quick peck to your lips before whispering, “Morning.”

For a moment, the two of you simply lay there, tangled up in each other, until a thought crosses your mind. “Should we be working today?” you ask, half-expecting him to remind you of responsibilities.

But he shakes his head, his fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns on your bare skin. “Let’s take another day off,” he suggests, his tone light, as if it’s the easiest decision in the world.

You hum in agreement, feeling no urge to argue. Just as he leans in for another kiss, you stop him with a playful, “Breakfast?”

Chris sighs dramatically, his lips curling into a smirk. “We can order it later.”

Before you can protest, his hand slips under the duvet, sliding along your thigh before gently lifting it, just enough to allow him access. A quiet giggle escapes you as you feel his morning wood nestled between your legs, his growing arousal pressing against your core.

“How did that get there?” you tease, your voice laced with amusement.

Chris chuckles, his lips brushing over yours. “It's your fault that I can't get enough of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with affection and something more.

He kisses you again, deep and unhurried, stealing your breath and any lingering thoughts of breakfast. When he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, he grins and says, “Maybe we should take one week off instead of just one day.”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, shaking your head at his playful grin. “One week?” you echo, arching a brow.

Chris hums, nuzzling against your neck. “Mm-hmm. One whole week. Just you and me.” His voice is warm, coaxing, tempting you into believing that reality can wait just a little longer.

And maybe it can.

Because right now, wrapped up in Chris’s arms, feeling the gentle way he touches you, the lazy kisses he presses to your skin, the way his body molds so perfectly against yours—it’s a moment you don’t want to end. A feeling you don’t want to slip away.

So instead of responding, you just sigh and pull him closer, pressing your lips to his once more, hoping that if you hold on tight enough, you can make this moment last forever.

-

You're in the middle of typing your report when the sharp scent of nail polish fills the air. You glance to the side and see Jane casually lounging next to you, legs crossed, meticulously painting her nails a deep red.

“You know this isn’t your personal salon, right?” you say, arching a brow.

Jane smirks, blowing lightly on her freshly painted nails. “Please, I work hard. I deserve some self-care during office hours.”

Before you can argue, your phone buzzes. You pick it up, and a message from Chris flashes on the screen.

Come to my office.

You swallow, already feeling the anticipation stir in your stomach. “I have to go,” you say, standing up.

Jane doesn't even look up as she caps her nail polish bottle. “Oh, I know where you're going.” She gives you a sly smile. “And yes, please take as much time as you want.”

Heat creeps up your neck, but you don’t dignify her with a response. Instead, you roll your eyes and make your way to Chris’s office, trying not to let your mind wander about why exactly he wants to see you.

After knocking on his door, you let yourself into Chris’s office and close the door behind you. He’s at his desk, leaning back in his chair with one hand resting on the armrest, the other scrolling through something on his screen. At the sound of your footsteps, he looks up and gives you a small, knowing smile.

“Come in,” he says, motioning for you to step closer.

You do, stopping in front of his desk, hands clasped in front of you. “You called?”

Chris leans forward, elbows on the desk. “How’s the development going?”

It takes you a second to register that he’s actually asking about work. You clear your throat. “Good. We’re finalizing the flavored variants for the extra-large line.”

Chris hums, pushing back his chair and standing up. “Flavored, huh?” He takes slow steps toward the door, locking it with a quiet click before turning back to you. “Like what flavors?”

“Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate—”

Your words cut off when he suddenly closes the distance between you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of his body, the way his fingers press into your lower back, sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been working hard,” Chris murmurs, his breath fanning over your lips. “Think you deserve a little break.”

Before you can say anything, he tilts his head down and presses his lips to yours, soft yet firm, coaxing, as if he’s been waiting all day to do this. The moment you melt into the kiss, he deepens it, one hand moving up to cup the back of your head and the other hand cupping your clothed ass cheek. The locked door, the office setting, the way he holds you like he can’t get enough—it all makes your head spin.

Chris doesn’t break the kiss as he lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of his desk. His hands settle on your thighs, keeping you close as he kisses you again—slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world.

Against his lips, you murmur, “Chris… we’re in the middle of work.”

He pulls back just enough to smirk at you, his eyes dark with amusement. “You can continue. I’m listening.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but the way he looks at you—completely enamored—makes it impossible to push him away. So, despite everything, you attempt to continue.

“The flavored variants… we’re still testing… different formulas,” you say, your voice slightly uneven as Chris leans in, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

“Mhm,” he hums as he trails down to your neck, his lips warm against your skin.

“We need to make sure… the taste is pleasant without affecting…” You gasp slightly when he finds a sensitive spot on your neck and nips at it. “…the integrity of the material.”

Chris chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “Sounds like important work.”

His lips find yours again, and this time, you don’t even attempt to finish your sentence. You sigh against him, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss, his fingers gripping your hips.

At this point, work is the last thing on your mind so you wrap your arms around Chris, pulling him closer as his lips move against yours, slow and unhurried. His hands explore your waist, your back, his fingers pressing into you like he never wants to let go.

But then, the sharp ring of his landline cuts through the moment. Chris groans in frustration, ignoring it in favor of deepening the kiss, but you pull back just enough to reach for the receiver, pressing it into his hand.

He glares at the phone like it personally offended him but sighs before answering. “Chris speaking.”

Even as he listens to the voice on the other end, his hands remain on you. One slides up your thigh, slipping beneath your skirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin. Your breath hitches when he teasingly brushes where you want him the most, his fingers graze the lacey fabric of your underwear and you grip his shoulders, trying to stay composed.

Chris smirks at your reaction but lets out another sigh before responding into the phone. “Yeah. I’ll be there in ten.”

With clear reluctance, he hangs up, his fingers still tracing circles on your thigh. “I guess work wins this round,” he mutters, his gaze flickering back to your lips.

You try to catch your breath, trying to ignore the way your body still aches for his touch. “You should go.”

Chris leans in one last time, stealing a lingering kiss before finally stepping back. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

And with the way he’s looking at you, you have no doubt that he will.

You smooth down your skirt, still trying to collect yourself as you slide off his desk. "And I should get back to work," you mumble, your voice not as steady as you'd like.

Chris watches you with an amused glint in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest like he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. As you turn toward the door, he calls out, “Oh, and by the way—”

You stop on your track and glance back at him.

His smirk deepens. “We’re testing the vanilla-flavored one tonight.”

Your breath catches, heat creeping up your neck at the implication. Chris simply grins, his gaze unwavering, and you quickly turn on your heel. As you walk out of his office, you swear you can still feel his smirk lingering in the air behind you.

-

The workday drags on longer than usual, but eventually, it’s time to leave. As you step into the elevator, exhausted yet content, the doors begin to close—until a hand slips between them at the last second.

Chris steps inside with his usual confidence, his presence filling the small space effortlessly. Dressed in his button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he looks every bit the professional and the man who has spent countless nights unraveling you.

He glances at you, a smirk playing at his lips. “So,” he starts, leaning against the elevator wall, “are you ready to test the vanilla-flavored one tonight?”

He then eyes your bag and grins, his dimples sunken into his cheeks. “I know the condom is there. In your bag.”

Your body betrays you before you can even form a response—cheeks heating, heart skipping, breath catching. You hate how easily he can do this to you.

Chris tilts his head, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You look away. “No.”

He chuckles. “Liar.”

Before you can defend yourself, he moves closer, his body inches from yours. His fingers brush against your wrist, then trail up your arm, setting every nerve alight. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, “I really like it when you get flustered.”

And then his lips are on yours—warm, slow, and deliberate. The kind of kiss that makes time irrelevant, that makes you forget you’re still in the office elevator. You sigh into it, your body melting against him as his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer.

The soft ding of the elevator chime startles you both. The doors glide open, revealing the lobby, and Chris pulls back just enough to look at you. His hand finds yours, fingers threading together, and with a knowing smile, he simply says—

“Let’s go home.”

-

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[daylighted]

─ SWALLOW THE SMOKE, dad's best friend ! jackles

your dad's best friend isn't the best influence, is he? if he goes down, you're going down with him.

warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this series if you're a minor. hefty age gap. weed mention / weed smoking. slight innocent!reader & corruption arc + slight hurt/comfort. inebriated making out HAHA. word count. 4.3k

sneak into his room here!

THE NEXT MORNING IS AS UNCOMFORTABLE as one can be. the dining table is laden with breakfast, the smell of buttery pancakes and crispy bacon. two plates sat in the center of the table piled high with both, a bowl of assorted chopped fruits in between them. there's a big glass bottle of orange juice lifted between the thick fingers of—

him.

jensen looks better this morning than he had by the end of your time together. his eyes no longer hooded and empty of anything, like he'd buried all of his feelings between your legs and left them there to dry, but rather revitalized. there's a shine in his eyes, now, when they drift up to the kitchen archway you stand in.

"morning, honey," your dad greets, a piece of bacon held between his two fingers. he crunches down on a bite before he offers you a toothy smile. "sleep okay?"

you’d slept like a rock, what with how you’d spent thirty minutes locked away in the bathroom with the man ogling you over the dinner table, and then a couple more hours trying to pretend that you weren’t limping. at least you had the throwaway excuse of jetlag to explain away most of it.

jensen’s head drops to stare at his plate, pushing around the scrambled eggs on it. still, you can see the dimples breaking into the crests of his cheeks. "i slept fine," you say on a breath, dropping into the seat closest to the doorway.

"how ‘bout you, jens?" your father’s attention shifts to the other side of the table, waving the bacon around in gesture. "guest bed treat you alright?"

jensen’s left hand wraps around the glass bottle of orange juice, lifting the rim of it to his mouth. his voice echoes and muffles in the half empty glass when he says, "like a baby."

you pretend to be disinterested. you stab a fork through a strawberry in the fruit bowl, popping it into your mouth, eyes specifically averted from the bob of jensen’s throat as he drinks.

your mother slips a pancake from the hot skillet onto your plate, ruffling your hair when she passes. "mornin’, sweet girl," she says with a hum, "you gonna be okay if dad and i head out for a few hours, or do you wanna come with us?"

you think you must have missed part of this conversation, specifically not watching jensen’s adam’s apple so much that you had shut out the entire else of the world. your face twists in confusion, turning half around in your chair to prop your elbow on its back. "go where?"

"oh, just a few little errands around town," your mother says, punctuated by the click of the stove turning off. "heading down to your dad's work, picking up a few things... a little grocery shopping to keep up stock for our two guests." she flashes you and jensen a smile, and there's something so innocent about it, isn't there? how she lumps you two both in the same equation, unaware of what'd went down under their roof just hours ago?

you swallow thickly, refusing to glance over in jensen's direction. his eyes were still on you. you know what they felt like, like warm honey, dripping down the length of your body as he eyed you up. it takes every ounce of your restraint to not shift under the scrutiny. "i'll be okay," you promise, telling yourself the lie that it was not because you hoped jensen was staying, too.

what was your plan here, anyways? surely nothing good, with the way that you had to ask yourself a question like that. something like this was doomed from the jump, and yet, you chase it anyways.

"keep an eye on her, yeah?" your dad is asking jensen, sighing through his nose as he rises from the kitchen table. he tugs open the stainless steel dishwasher's door and drops his dirty dishes in before he spares you any acknowledgement. "doubtful she'll get into trouble, but—"

"dad." your face is hot, the words stuttering out of your open mouth. "i don't need a babysitter, i'm in college—"

jensen clears his throat, the simple sound enough to stop you dead in the middle of your ramblings. "actually, i've gotta head out for an hour or so, too," he waves his fork around in gesture, a tuft of scrambled eggs impaled on the prongs, "so you're safe from gettin' stuck with a babysitter, pretty thing."

the disappointment is like a double edged blade. you were free from him for a little while, but that also meant that you were free from him. your father sounds just as surprised, though he masks it better than you do. you have to remind yourself to breathe again in your momentary shock. "everything all good?"

"just a few little errands around town," he echoes your mother's words with a charming smile in her direction. when jensen's eyes make their way back to you, the clarity in the depths of the green strikes you speechless all over again. "i'll be back in time to shut down whatever party she throws in my absence."

how boring did it make you that the thought of a party didn't even cross your mind? all of the warning stories you'd heard about jensen's party animal days really had done their number on you. but on the same hand, how much trouble did it make you that you only wanted to stay home to be around him?

"i'm not going to throw a party," you scoff, and it really is that ridiculous to you, because why are they worried that their only child, the one they raised to be good, would do something like that? really, the thing they should have been worrying over was if you would fuck the forty-something guy sitting at your kitchen table. again.

maybe they were valid to worry.

you tune back in to the conversation to your parents up on their feet, clearing up the empty dishes left. you spear another strawberry, much more aggressively this time. as they tend to do, your eyes drift to the left, expectedly finding him watching you still. his hand is around the mostly empty bottle of orange juice, the neck of it in his gripping fingers, his lips to the mouth of it. 

pushing out of the seat you were in, you sidestep around your parents to get to him, shoving the bottle down from his mouth with a finger on the rim. "you shouldn’t drink straight from the bottle."

"my bad, sweetheart," jensen drawls, free hand raising in his surrender, "didn’t know what i did was so heavy on your mind."

"other people could want some of it, you know," arguing just because you could; anything to make it look like you weren’t blatantly ignoring the guest in your house, "and it’s not even your house, you can’t just—"

jensen nods along as you speak, his eyebrows raising as his lips purse in mock understanding. "i get it, sweet girl," he echoes your mother’s pet name back to you, somehow making your face hotter than it already felt, "i’ll be better next time, yeah?"

it was not fair for him to get to tease you like this when he’d been the one who got weird the night prior over his own decisions. it wasn’t fair that he could smirk at you and the memory threatens to erase itself. you feel it twisting in your chest — the irritation and the strange wisps of hurt that you can’t even explain curl around your heart in a vice grip. you lift the bottle to your own mouth, thinking that it’s a power move. dominance asserted in your own house, right?

jensen only smirks, now both of his hands raised in surrender. "if you wanted something from me, you could have just asked."

you barely manage to not choke. again, he’s so shameless in front of your parents, as if the fact that you’d even given into him in the first place wasn’t something detrimental to you. he rises from his feet before you can find a response, his emptied plate in hand, pressing a polite chaste kiss to your mother’s cheek as he slips it into the open dishwasher. "thanks for breakfast, laur."

he’s gone before you can blink, the sound of the front door opening and closing behind him like its own punctuation mark. you don’t even want orange juice. jensen had won whatever game this was, anyways. 

you help with cleaning the rest of the remnants of breakfast back up, getting yourself a proper plate in the process, since you’d been a little too focused on keeping up a stone-faced facade to actually eat. 

"he’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?" your dad draws you from the stupor you’d fallen into, stabbing at the fruit atop your pancakes.

you blink in momentary surprise before you shake your head. "no, why?" 

he hesitates, setting the dry towel back on the counter next to the kitchen sink. his arms cross over his chest, one of those half-baked smiles on his lips. "he’s a good guy, jensen, but he makes a lot of shitty decisions."

"what’s that have to do with me?" you ask, a little unsettled by whatever warning this was playing out to be. it wasn’t you who needed this talking to, you didn’t think; he was supposed to be the responsible one, wasn’t he? 

your father lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "just… don’t take anything to heart that he says. he’s only here for a couple more days, which is more than enough for him to fuck something up." it wasn’t necessarily news to you, considering everything you’d learned growing up about him and his antics, but this seemed like more than just stupid drunken mistakes at frat parties. "tell me if he starts to pester you too much and i’ll handle it."

"dad, i can handle myself." you weren’t a little kid anymore. you may have been their only child, but you were grown up, now.

still, your dad waves his hand dismissively. "i know you can, but i’ve dealt with him longer. i know how to hit him where it hurts." he pats your shoulder on his way out of the kitchen.

you’re not sure how to exactly respond or think of any of that. sure, jensen was a little bit insane for pursuing you at all, but he seemed relatively fine beyond that? of course, you’d only known him properly for twenty four hours, now. the truth was its own sort of blade, held between his fingers, daring you to question its sharpness before it dug into your skin. 

great. just what you needed: more alone time with the stranger in your house that you'd, somehow, let in your pants. at least there were plenty of leftovers from the party last night so you didn't have to try and swindle something to cook out of your parents' notoriously ingredient only household.

jensen hadn't returned yet. the sun was past the crest of setting, the sky deep violet and winking with stars. at least you had that, for now, but it wasn't going to last. eventually, he'd come back from whatever errands took half the day. maybe you'd get lucky and he somehow found out that your parents were at a steakhouse and dropped in.

you sat at the kitchen table again, your phone propped up on the wooden surface, doom scrolling through every social media you had until it bored you and you switched. idly, you pick at the food on your plate, knowing that you were waiting for the front door to open but refusing to acknowledge that fact to yourself.

the second the door does open, though, you drop the fork in your hand in surprise. it had to happen eventually, but it still managed to catch you off guard.

jensen had said he was running errands, and yet the only thing he returns with is a brown paper bag in his one fist.

"your errands was just getting alcohol?" you ask, leaned back in your seat to see him gliding through the entrance room of your house.

his head tilts up as he kicks off his boots, a little smirk on his mouth. "i don't think that's any of your business, little lady." little lady. you visibly bristle at that, and that only makes his dimples deepen in his cheeks. "gotta have somethin' to put up with you, don't i?"

"you weren't saying that last night." the words just slip out, your expression falling the second they are. that was stupid. you were lucky your parents were out of the house.

his face seems to reflect that, too, eyes darting into the kitchen archway as he steps through it, like he was looking for them. "last night was rough." it was, but it was doubtful that you and him were on the same page about what he meant by that. you open your mouth to attest to that, but he cuts you off. "parents not home?"

your mouth zips shut again. then, "obviously not."

"i'd watch that pretty mouth, sweetheart," jensen hums, dropping the brown bag on the kitchen countertop behind him. he rifles through it, the clink of his fingertips on the beer cans inside just proof to what you'd asked initially. "or i'm not gonna share."

your face scrunches up. "i don't want to drink tonight. they're not going to be gone for long, they're just on a—"

"i'm not talkin' about drinkin', babygirl," he says with a scoff, tugging a little ziploc from the depths of the brown bag. if you didn't already know what the rolled up joints inside were, the smell that permeates the small room gives it away. you stare at him, unimpressed. "someone was real pissy this morning when i didn't share, so i decided to try n' make it up to her."

you cross your arms. jensen mimics your stance right back.

so this was the game you were playing.

"i don't smoke." it wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the full truth. you did it once back in exam week, and the guilt of that impulsive decision had made your high one of torturous anxiety instead of something peaceful to take the edge off.

jensen fishes a lighter from his pocket, rolling the ziploc closed again, waving the both of them in your direction between his two fingers. "i'll be on the back porch if you change your mind," he hums, and the smile on his mouth is infuriatingly gentle. disappointed, even.

there was no possible way that this was the same man who'd fucked you and then didn't look in your direction for the entire rest of the night prior. you'd just assumed that you were one of his aforementioned bad decisions, something that he'd move past.

this was not part of whatever plan you had in your head to get through the rest of this weekend. him actually seeming to at least acknowledge your feelings or how he effected them was not what you prepared for.

the glass screen door to the back patio slides open and then shuts with a light thud. for a few seconds, you sit in silence at the table, gnawing on your bottom lip as the road splits in front of you. go outside, or stay in.

the smell drifts in through the open window above the sink, and your decision is made for you. you jump up to shove it closed, and isn't that just the perfect excuse to step outside and pick an argument? the story continues to write itself.

you push open the glass door, one foot inside, one foot on the golden lit back porch. jensen's sitting in your dad's favorite patio chair, the one closest to the deep blue porch swing that your mom loved.

"you should close the windows before you start doing things you're not supposed to."

jensen doesn't glance in your direction, the joint hung between his two lips as he sucks in a deep breath, the cherry of it glowing red. "didn't know i was on the same tight leash they've got 'round you," his voice is muffled, speaking from the corner of his mouth.

you falter for a second. "i'm not on a leash."

"aren't you?" then, he glances over, eyebrows raised on his forehead. his fingers pluck the joint from between his lips, smoke curling around his words. "what exactly did you learn about me, pretty girl?"

you didn't understand this shift in the conversation. you step fully out onto the back porch, leaning back against the glass when you shut it behind you. "you went to the hospital with alcohol poisoning once? you ate a worm for a couple of bucks?" his lips twitch at that one, which feels like invitation enough to keep going. "that you went to class high as a kite, once, and—"

"publicly humiliated myself, yeah." jensen's hands spread open in an invisible reveal. "what else?"

again, you don't know what he's getting at out of all of this. "um, i know about that time you dated my aunt and—"

"something that doesn't stem from one of my low points," he interjects, cocking his head to the side. "don't got any of those types of stories locked n' loaded, do you?"

you stare at him for a long while, wracking your brain for anything at all. it clicks in your mind, then, that you really don't. you'd thought that jensen ackles was a figment of your dad's imagination, a character created just to warn you off of doing certain things, for a reason: because those were the only things you'd ever been told.

"and did you ever go to a frat party?" the joint is between his lips again, bouncing with each time his lips moved.

you square your jaw, straighten your shoulders. "yes, actually."

"do any keg stands?"

"no, but—"

"probably didn't eat a worm, did you?" again, this one makes him smile, even if it feels a little disjointed.

your face twists up. "absolutely not."

"and i guarantee you've either not smoked before, or you did it and hated it, swore it off, let your parents' little warnings echo in your head in approval at it. definitely didn't date someone just to make your dad happy, considering i bet you've never dated at all."

this wasn't supposed to be how this went. you were supposed to piss him off, pick at him enough to either make him drag you back inside and up to one of your rooms, or pester him enough to get him to spill whatever secrets your dad was talking about. jensen was not supposed to look you in the eyes and tell you all of the experiences you'd, so far, kept away from.

it stung. salt in wounds you didn't know you'd even had until he took the bruises beneath his fingers and jabbed. it must show on your face that he was spot on, even if you'd never admit it out loud, because his expression shifts too.

"so sit the hell down and let loose a little, sweetheart," his voice is softer now, like he recognized that he'd pushed a little too hard and was trying to make up for it, "i'm not gonna bite."

your hesitation is less forced this time. you drop down onto the porch swing, folding one of your legs up beneath you in the process. next to you, jensen plucks the half-smoked joint from his fingers and passes it over to you.

holding it between your fingers, you suck in a slow inhale, the smoke filling up your mouth and seeping down into your lungs. jensen's eyes are on you, they're always on you, watching you with a gaze you wouldn't dare call awe, but something akin to it.

"i mean," he adds as an afterthought, waving his one hand around aimlessly, "i could bite. if y'wanted me to."

right as you make to exhale, you're choking and spluttering on a laugh. he laughs right along with you, keeling half over himself in the process. "seriously?" you ask him, exasperatedly, and all he can give is an answering wheeze.

he coughs a couple of times, shaking his head as the sound of his laughter dies in the growing darkness. "you make it so damn easy."

like you have something to prove, and maybe you do, you give him a look around the dissipating smoke you'd choked out before you take another longer hit from the joint in your mouth. your lungs ache from choking on the last one, so you can't hold it in your chest as much as you wanted to to show off, but you still manage.

"you’re so pretty, baby," jensen drawls, and this time, the awe in his eyes is evident. they’re glittery green, his lips in a lazy smile.

you hate to admit that you like him best like this. all soft smiles and warm laughs and rasping voice. he’s as pretty as pretty can be, even if you don’t fully understand where you fit in his life, or where you’re supposed to fit him.

you give him a look from beneath the dark curls of your eyelashes, unable to resist the eye roll to follow. "shut up." he laughs again in response, but you aren’t done. the high hasn’t hit you, yet, but the placebo that comes from it has you relaxing back into your seat. "you know, i don’t understand you."

jensen folds his hands behind his head. "never asked for you to understand me."

"no, you just kissed me," you argue back, and the laughter bubbles out of you all on its own. "and—"

"i could kiss you again."

you cock an eyebrow at him. he cocks one right back. again, you grin despite yourself, dropping your gaze. "you won’t."

the patio chair creaks beneath him when he leans forward. his index finger tips your chin up, his face close enough that you can see the red outlining his eyes. "is that a challenge, or a lie?"

"i think that’s for you to figure out."

you almost look away, then, not able to withstand the eye contact he’d adamant on holding, but his grin softens, only making it harder to look away. "you’re so pretty, baby," he echoes it with a reverence that can’t he faked, not easily, at least.

"you’re a terrible influence," you manage to whisper, and that’s all that you can say, your voice trailing off before you can say anything else.

jensen shakes his head though, his hand coming up to cup your cheek beneath his palm. his thumb dances across your cheekbone. "i never claimed to be good."

and when jensen closes the distance between the both of you, you don’t move away. it's different than your first kiss, much more tender and slow, too much like he might mean it when you know he doesn't.

still, your hands raise to hold his face between them, the stubble of his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your palms. you raise up from your spot on the porch swing and he curls his fingers around your waist, guiding you into the expanse of his lap. his skin is so hot beneath his clothes as you drag your hands down his chest.

jensen parts your lips with his tongue, meeting yours with the same slow-paced laziness he'd grinned at you with. like he's savoring it, every inch, of the tongue that meets his each time. you try, you really do, to not make any sort of indication that you like this as much as you do, but the little whimper in your throat slips free anyways.

he laughs, and laughs again when his teeth scrape across the inside of your bottom lip, dragging it back with him before he swoops back in to properly kiss you again.

it's just kissing, but something about the drug coursing your system has heat pooling between your legs. it's just kissing, but he's worshiping your mouth, laying down prayers with each sweep of his tongue.

you don't know how long you're like that, sitting in his lap while he laps at your tongue with deliberate slowness, getting to know every inch of what you offer to him with intimacy that can't possibly only exist for these last couple of days.

the headlights from the driveway cast two bright gold beams across the backyard, only a couple feet away from the porch you and jensen are lounging on, one slight angle shift away from exposing what the both of you were getting up to in your parents' absence.

he's the one to pull away, pressing his lips together as if he could preserve the taste of the earth on your breath and staining your lips between his. when his eyes open, there's no mistaking it: a longing that won't be there in the morning, but at least it exists, then.

you're the one to move first, even if he was the one to break it. you smooth out your clothes with hands that you pretend aren't shaking, and now, you don't look back over your shoulder when you pry the sliding glass doors open and step inside.

you make it up to your room before your parents make it inside, the door shutting behind you like a permanent seal, closing you off from them and jensen.

through your open window, you can smell the smoke from his joint, as prominent as it was outside, the only indication that he didn't move.

notes | this was going to be SO much longer and take place over the span of 3 days but i decided ... what's the rush in speedrunning all three days of his stay ! PLUS I HAVE TO BUILD CHEMISTRY OK !!! dont mind me ik what i'm doing </3

become a notch on jensen's bedpost by commenting ☠ !! @soldiersgirl @seven7lee @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @winchestersbgirl @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @lonelylonelybaby @mourningthewicked @ultravi0lence14 @1-imbroglio @hughesinthebox @angels-silhouette @blossomingorchids @chris444evr @cassiecourtemanche @writtenbyhollywood @adrienneleclerc @losers-clvb @bluemerakis @fuckedupfate @legalmente-loca @k-slla @fxckingjo @blueschevy @fitxgrld @viluren @youdontknowe @sizzlingcheesecakepanda @cupidluvzz

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or how reader made a friend in the most unconventional way.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another,, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i hope you guys like this! i'm considering making this into a series; if i do, i think i'd do it the same way this fic is, aka some narration but mostly 'chatting' between rafe and reader. anyway, let me know if you want it to continue!! i've been feeling down for a few weeks now, so something simple and fun like this was a good way to get back into the flow of writing.

i thought about making this a smau, but doing the chats like this feels more authentic to the 2000s chatroom experience y’know

you were sitting on your bed, your laptop open on a website called KildareUChats, a website that was apparently meant for the students of your university to be able to anonymously chat with other students, your friend having told you to give it a try, knowing that it’d be difficult for you to do in person.

you didn't really see the point of it; although your social circle was in no way huge, you were happy enough with it, really. never having been great with new people, you'd made three friends on your freshman year of college and simply stuck to them. it didn't help that whenever you tried to talk to someone new, it felt like someone was choking you.

but this was online. the person on the other side would never know who you are, and you'd never have to actually be face-to-face with them. your cursor moved to hover over the 'REGISTER' button, and you filled the page out with your basic information, name, school email, birth date... but when the website asked for a username, you couldn't help but purse your lips as you looked around your dorm room, from the fairy lights you'd hung up on walls that now glowed in a yellowish hue, to the several books stacked on the floor, to the dead roses on your desk...

but when your eyes landed on your nightstand, you spotted a book of poems by edgar allan poe, and your lips quirked up into a small smile. after you typed the name 'AnnabelLee' into the username field, a green check mark appeared next to it to signify it was available.

after setting a password, you were redirected to a page that said 'WELCOME TO KILDAREUCHATS AnnabelLee! CLICK HERE IF YOU WISH TO CONNECT WITH A RANDOM STRANGER!'. you clicked the button, your cursor turning into a circle for a moment as it loaded, before you were redirected to a chatroom with a pop-up.

KILDAREUCHATS IS CONNECTING YOU TO A STRANGER...

KILDAREUCHATS HAS CONNECTED YOU! REMEMBER TO TREAT OTHERS THE WAY YOU WANT TO BE TREATED <3 SAY HI!

you stared at your computer screen, biting into your lower lip. you had no idea what you were supposed to say; outside of the people you already knew, you were helpless when talking to people, the words always getting stuck in your throat, or vanishing from your mind. angel's white fur blended in with your white sheets as your hand moved to absentmindedly stroke her, the little cat purring in her sleep. but before your hand could dart out to type something on your laptop, a message appeared on the screen.

STRANGER: heyy

taking in a deep breath, you shook your head, as if shaking all doubts and worries out of it. the site was anonymous; that was the whole point. and your therapist told you, that for your social anxiety to get better, you should try go socialize. mingle. you took the bottle of cheap white wine you'd snuck into your dorm, taking a large swig straight out of the bottle before setting it back down, your hands flying to your keyboard.

YOU: hi :)

STRANGER: wsp?

YOU: ...wasp?

STRANGER: lmao no... what's up?

YOU: sorry, i'm not good with that kind of lingo haha. YOU: nothing much. i'm hanging out with my cat.

STRANGER: damn, do you have an off-campus apartment or something?

YOU: nope :) YOU: don't tell my ra.

STRANGER: shit you have a CAT in your dorm?

YOU: if you tell on me, i'm gonna have to hunt you down and kill you.

STRANGER: lucky for you this is anonymous STRANGER: and i'm not a snitch lmao STRANGER: so, what are you doing on this thing at 12am on a friday night? no hot parties?

YOU: honestly, i think i'd rather put a noose around my neck than go to a party. YOU: i'm just in my room drinking wine. decided to try this site after my friend suggested it. YOU: what about you?

STRANGER: damn, kinky STRANGER: i do have a 'hot party' to go to but i also have an essay due in nine hours and the prof already hates my ass

YOU: so you decided to not write your essay and instead procrastinate by chatting with some random stranger?

STRANGER: exactly! you get it STRANGER: if i even have my laptop in front of me, i'm counting that as me writing my essay

YOU: what's it about?

STRANGER: what kind of a role religion has when it comes to politics and shit

YOU: and let me guess, that's not a topic you enjoy studying in your free time?

STRANGER: you know me so well already

YOU: if it helps, i'm also studying. or, procrastinating studying. YOU: i have a chemistry exam on monday :(

STRANGER: ...and you're studying for it on a friday already? STRANGER: i just read for exams a few minutes before they start STRANGER: compared to me you're like a genius

YOU: eyeroll. YOU: and that's why you have trouble writing an essay! YOU: you're probably missing out on a keg stand at your 'hot party'.

STRANGER: i can't believe you're making fun of the art of the stand

YOU: you'll live.

STRANGER: how do you know? maybe i'm the god of the kegstand and every time a human loses faith in me, i grow weaker

YOU: are you? YOU: oh sacred frat god? YOU: shall i make an offering for you at your altar? would that appease your distaste towards me?

STRANGER: you shall

YOU: okay, how about these for an offering: YOU: a white claw, a buzz ball, a red solo cup with a strange mixture of different kinds of alcohols, and a vape pen?

STRANGER: those appease me much, mere mortal STRANGER: also mango-flavored juul pods

YOU: you're so weird.

STRANGER: says the person who's hanging with her cat on a friday night

YOU: how do you figure i'm a her?

STRANGER: oh please STRANGER: no man would disrespect the fine art of the keg stand

YOU: got me there, frat boy.

STRANGER: that's very presumptuous STRANGER: i could just be a tomboy

YOU: please. YOU: if you're a girl then i'm sasquatch.

STRANGER: don't worry, i don't mind a little body hair

YOU: i hate you.

glancing at the clock on your wall, you'd realized that thirty minutes had already gone by. you let out a small sigh, rubbing your eyes.

YOU: i should get going. i can't keep procrastinating.

STRANGER: already?

YOU: what, are you gonna miss me or something?

STRANGER: hey, if i get a pic of bigfoot i'm gonna be making millions, i just have capitalistic tendencies

YOU: fair point.

STRANGER: you should add me as a friend

YOU: you can do that??? i thought this was an anonymous chat.

STRANGER: yeah you can lmao why else would you need to set a username STRANGER: i'll just do it

and soon enough, a pop-up appeared on your screen, with the text 'STRANGER HAS REQUESTED TO ADD YOU AS FRIEND.' along with the buttons 'ACCEPT' and 'DENY'.

you pursed your lips, your finger lingering over the touchpad, first dragging it over the button reading 'DENY', before you let out a sigh, taking a large swig from the bottle of wine, moving the cursor to 'ACCEPT' and pressing it before you could regret it.

the pop-up was now replaced with another one, reading 'CONGRATS AnnabelLee YOU ARE NOW FRIENDS WITH MalachiConstant' and when you read the stranger's name, you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. you clicked the red 'x' that closed the pop-up, and the word STRANGER in your chat logs was now replaced by MalachiConstant.

YOU: really? vonnegut?

MalachiConstant: what? i don't seem like the type to read?

YOU: just surprising!

MalachiConstant: says the girl with the hard-on for poe MalachiConstant: which isn't surprising at all

YOU: har har. YOU: goodnight, weird vonnegut frat boy.

MalachiConstant: goodnight, weird poe girl

YOU HAVE LOGGED OUT OF KILDAREUCHATS.

[monzabee]

pleading the fifth - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: a rather... interesting complication happens when jack’s nanny is called to school by the principal. the only person who can save either of them? it's aaron, of course.  

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings:  yelling (kinda), poor Jack is punished without a reason, other than that none?  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

You’d consider yourself a rather calm person—a pacifist, really. You don’t confront people, you don’t get unnecessarily angry, you can’t even recall a time you’ve raised your voice in public. But right now? Right now, you are trying your hardest not to bash the principal’s head into his desk as he stares you down. It’s a glorified staring contest between the two of you, with Jack as your unwilling audience and referee.  

When the school first called you to tell you should come into the principal’s office, you thought of the worst. The worst being Jack having an accident, or one of the crazy criminals his dad deals with escaping prison and somehow finding him—which should serve as a reminder for you to stop falling asleep to murder podcasts.  

But no. Instead, you find yourself in a situation so utterly ridiculous, so mind-bogglingly absurd, that you’re starting to wonder if Aaron spiked your morning coffee before he went into work as a juvenile prank. “You’re telling me,” you say slowly, pressing your palms against the desk, “that Jack is in trouble… because he didn’t answer a question in class?��� 

“He was exhibiting disruptive behaviour, which hindered the ability of the other students in class to participate.” The principal explains, he’s an aging man with thinning hair and an ever-present scowl, folds his hands neatly in front of him and you find it hard to take him serious due to the absurdity of the situation.  

You blink. “Disruptive? He didn’t even talk!” 

“His silence, Miss Y/LN,” he points out, whilst he’s pointing at Jack, “was disruptive to other students.” 

Jack, sitting beside you, shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His little hands are folded in his lap, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He looks more annoyed than guilty. Your feel for him, for you know he’s not a bad kid, he’s the complete opposite, really. “But still. You called me down here because he didn’t want to answer a question?” 

“Yes,” the principal continues. “His teacher asked the students to share what their parents do for a living. When it was Jack’s turn, he refused to answer.” 

You glance at Jack. He meets your eyes and gives the tiniest shrug, as if to say Yeah, and?You return your attention to the principal. “With all due respect, I don’t see the issue here. Jack’s dad is a federal agent. Maybe he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it.” 

The principal sighs, rubbing his temples as if you’re the one being difficult. “Miss Y/LN, we encourage transparency in our students. Sharing personal details fosters a sense of community and trust within the classroom.” 

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “And you think forcing a child to disclose information about his father’s dangerous job is a healthy way to foster trust?” 

The principal’s scowl deepens. “It sets a precedent. When children refuse to participate, it encourages others to do the same. That’s not how we run things here.” 

Jack finally speaks up, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I did participate. I said, ‘I plead the Fifth.’” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. 

The principal looks unimpressed. “That’s not participation.” 

“Actually,” you say, unable to help yourself, “it’s a constitutional right.” 

Jack nods excitedly. “Exactly.” 

The principal rubs his temples. “Miss Y/LN, this is not a debate. We called you in because Jack’s response was disrespectful and set a bad example for his classmates.” 

“Oh, come on,” you say, exasperated. “He’s a seven-year-old, not a criminal. He didn’t swear, he didn’t insult anyone, he just chose not to disclose personal information about his father. And frankly, I think that’s smart.” 

“Oh, you misunderstood me—he talked about Mister Hotchner’s job.” The principal clarifies, “He refused to tell the class what his mother does as for a living.”  

You blink.  

Once. Twice.  

Slowly. 

Jack is still staring at his lap, clearly uncomfortable. The principal is watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to snap your fingers and magically produce an answer that will satisfy him. You take a breath, steady and slow, before asking, “And did it not occur to you that Jack doesn’t have a mother?” 

The principal’s expression falters for just a second before he recovers. “Well, I—” 

“No, really,” you cut him off, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “What exactly were you expecting him to say? That she passed away? That she’s not in the picture? That it’s none of your business?”Jack’s fingers tighten around the hem of his shirt, his small shoulders hunching. “Because all of those things are true, and dare I say, this is just a great ground for a lawsuit.” 

“I—” The principal clears his throat. “We didn’t realize—” 

“Oh, you didn’t realize?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re an educator, and you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe, forcing a child to talk about a subject he’s uncomfortable with might be a bad idea?” 

The principal shifts uncomfortably. “Miss Y/LN, we were only trying to encourage openness. Jack could’ve explained it to class—” 

You’re done. You pull out your phone and hand it over to Jack. “Go out and call your father, tell him to come here as soon as he can.” 

And Jack, being the sweet and smart kid that he is, doesn’t hesitate for a second. He takes the phone with a small but satisfied smile, hops off his chair, and walks out of the office, pressing the call button as he goes. Once you’re satisfied he’s out the door, you turn back to the principal.  

The principal watches him leave, his jaw tightening. “Miss Y/LN, I don’t think involving Agent Hotchner is necessary—” 

You arch a brow, crossing your arms. “Oh? You don’t? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you want to discipline a child for not wanting to discuss his dead mother in front of his classmates.” 

The principal shifts in his chair. “That is not what I said—” 

“It’s exactly what you said.” You let out a slow breath, reigning in the urge to throw his stapler at him. “Look, Jack is a kid. A good one. He’s polite, he does his work, and he keeps to himself. If he chooses not to answer a personal question in class, that’s his right. And you know what else? If Aaron were here, I guarantee you he’d be saying the same thing—but with a lot less patience than I am.” 

Aaron Hotchner is used to walking into tense situations. In fact, he thrives in them. He’s spent years profiling criminals, negotiating with hostage-takers, and dissecting the minds of the most dangerous people in the country. But right now? Right now, as he takes in the scene before him—his son looking uneasy, you standing rigid with barely contained anger, and the principal sitting behind his desk with an expression that’s quickly morphing from smug authority to barely concealed nervousness—he knows exactly what kind of situation this is. 

It’s one that will not end well for the man in front of him, and not because he’s about to chew the principal out, but because you’re just as angry as he is.  

“I’d like to hear why my son was called in for disciplinary action.” His voice is calm. Even. But it has the weight of authority behind it—the kind that makes grown men break eye contact and shuffle in their seats.  

The principal straightens, clearing his throat as if that will make Aaron any less unimpressed. “Well, Agent Hotchner, I assure you this is simply a misunderstanding,” the principal starts, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Jack refused to participate in a classroom discussion, which we found to be disruptive.” 

Aaron’s jaw tightens. “Disruptive,” he repeats flatly. He’s aware that the look he gives the man is quite off-putting, but he couldn’t care less given that his son has been put on the spot. 

“Y-yes,” the principal continues. “We encourage transparency in our students, and when Jack chose not to share what his mother does for a living—” 

Aaron hears you scoff at the flimsy excuse the principal offers. He also hears the faint shuffling of clothes, and he doesn’t need to turn around to see that Jack has tucked himself over to your side. It’s a comforting thing that he does whenever he feels overwhelmed, and though the two of you have tried very hard to help him overcome this, he feels glad that Jack has you at the moment to bring him relief.  

“He doesn’t have a mother.” Aaron’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. Sharp. Final. He’s also very aware of the fact that your lips are curling in an unapproving way, and of the fact that this can be an uncomfortable topic for most. But why should his child be put in an uncomfortable situation by the very people who are supposedly tasked with his well-being. 

The principal falters. His mouth opens, then closes, before he manages a weak, “I wasn’t aware.” 

Aaron’s expression remains unreadable, but his tone drops, making his displeasure crystal clear. “Then maybe you should have been.” 

Beside him, you shift slightly, and when Aaron looks over the shoulder to you, you have your arms protectively around Jack as you level the principal with an unimpressed look. “That’s what I said.” 

Aaron almost smirks. Almost. But the sight also tugs at some of the strings of his heart. 

The principal stammers, scrambling to regain some semblance of control. “Agent Hotchner, I assure you—” 

“Assure me what?” Aaron interrupts smoothly. His voice remains even, but there’s a razor-sharp quality to it now. His annoyance is amplified due to the fact the he is back at looking at the middle age principal instead of his son and you, but he tries to remain as stoic as he can. “That you failed to consider the emotional well-being of a child under your care? That you thought coercing him into sharing deeply personal information was an acceptable way to foster ‘transparency’?” 

The principal swallows. “I—” 

Aaron doesn’t give him room to recover. “Jack is a child. A good child. If he chose not to answer a question, there was a reason for it. And instead of respecting that, you decided to make an issue of it. You called in his guardian, wasted her time, wasted my time, and most importantly, made my son feel like he did something wrong when he didn’t.”The principal’s face is rapidly losing color, and you find it highly amusing to watch Aaron tear him a new one as you absentmindedly stroke Jack’s hair. Aaron takes a step forward, just enough to make the older man shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Jack will not be receiving any disciplinary action for this. Furthermore, I expect a formal apology from both you and his teacher.” 

“Agent Hotchner, I—I don’t think that’s necessary—” 

“I do.” 

The silence in the room is suffocating. The principal, realizing he’s backed into a corner, nods stiffly. “Of course.” 

Jack may be young, but he isn’t oblivious. He understands things far too well for a child his age—has seen too much to be anything but painfully aware of the way the world works. And right now, he understands that the adults who were supposed to protect him in this environment have let him down. 

Aaron takes in a slow breath and releases it just as steadily. He won’t let this moment define Jack’s time here. He won’t let this school—this principal—become another source of stress in his son’s life. 

He turns his attention back to the man in front of him, watching the principal squirm under his gaze. “I trust this won’t be an issue again.” 

“No, sir.” The principal nods quickly, his hands folded tightly together on his desk. 

The final look Aaron gives the man is cold, and you’d be lying if it isn’t at least a little bit satisfying to watch. With the matter settled, Aaron turns to Jack, his face softening. “Let’s go.” 

Jack doesn’t hesitate. He hops off the chair and moves toward his father, but not before looking up at you. There’s something in his gaze—relief, maybe, or gratitude—and your heart clenches at the sight. 

You ruffle his hair playfully. “Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here before your dad arrests someone.” 

Aaron sighs. “I don’t arrest people for incompetence.” 

You smirk. “Pity.” 

[wren--bee]

These points don’t *need* expanding on, they’re great as is but I’m going to expand on the second and forth anyway!

Slavery- Lorelei specifically says that she was working in textiles. She was likely in a factory, potentially more comparable to sweatshops and other similar forms of modern slavery or abusive labour practices. People complaining about slavery in the game have a very specific idea of what slavery looks like, I think, and I think it’s important that there’s a character there like “it doesn’t always look like that, it might look more familiar than you think”. Which is important to recognise! And chilling.

Lyrium- okay, lyrium does seem to have been nerfed compared to lore. Lore before this has lyrium be really dangerous- a mage would have been a wreck from the Deep Roads we have access to in this game. But that’s also not new. You could climb all over red lyrium in DAI, even with all the discussions of how dangerous even a tiny bit of it could be, and has to venture through places crammed with it. DAO has a whole thing about lyrium being addictive which continues on to be A Whole Thing through the series but the player character can chug them like water and is fine. The games have never been consistent about lyrium, is my point! It’s story and gameplay segregation. Hawke picks the lyrium idol itself up in 2, and some of the glove options result in them having bare hands (especially mage gloves which are apparently more susceptible to effects from lyrium)- and I think Varric does and I’m 90% sure Bertrand does- which means the lyrium dagger was handled with bare hands before it was even cleansed! Potentially by Hawke but also Varric and Bertrand. If you want to complain about inconsistency about lyrium you need to apply that to the entire series. Or you could recognise that it’s just… not that big of a deal overall. It either is significant enough to be an issue throughout the series or it isn’t.

But with the lyrium dagger and Harding specifically… I think it’s notable that she was the first non-blighted individual to handle it after it was soaked in dwarf blood. If Rook was a dwarf and picked it up first, would it have affected them instead? I’m of the opinion that it’s likely! (Which also raises some really interesting questions about what it could be used for, with the dwarves, but it’s all conjecture.) It’s possible that Harding was special in some way but I think the fact that Rook doesn’t get to touch the dagger first is important. (Watch the scene again if you can- the way it’s animated seems significant to me.) It’s not unusual for things in the series to not be made explicit for how they work until later- or not at all! So we can only theorise about why Harding, but it definitely seems that the dagger was always relatively safe to handle (aside from being red lyrium) but also that what the games say and what the games show about the dangers of lyrium has never been consistent anyway.

That turned out far more rambling than I expected!

This game has been out since Halloween.

In that time, there have been numerous Veilguard positive posts in which patient, loving, wonderful, insightful and intelligent individuals attempt to impart lore onto a fanbase which doesn't deserve their time and attention.

I can't believe I'm running across posts made within the past five days which express disgust and frustration towards the devs over things which have been explained in great detail multiple times on this site, BUT IN THE DAMN GAME.

AND Y'ALL KEEP COMPLAINING THE GAME TELLS BUT DOESN'T SHOW. AND YOU DON'T EVEN LISTEN OR WATCH.

"the crows are presented as wholesome" - they are not. this site has a crow fanbase which has run off and lionized Viago as Daddy, conveniently ignored all the in-game details which either hint or baldly state things Definitely Aren't Cool, and generally fetishized what it means to be a Crow because of Zevran and Lucanis. Then the same people, or others who weren't paying proper attention, whined when the headcanon crowded out the actual in-game material, and they said "Antiva is whitewashed." There have been multiple posts about this.

"slaves are meant to be everywhere in Tevinter and we don't see that" - we aren't everywhere, we're specifically in Docktown which is poor and people generally can't afford slaves there, but we do see evidence of slavery, and we run around with abolitionists and help save people from fascist slavers and free people who will either be slaves or victims of blood magic so IDK what to tell you, there have been multiple posts explaining this too, maybe leave your slave or savior fetish somewhere else.

"Racism is supposed to be rampant" - fuck off. I actually will not be explaining this because for once it was nice not to be called a slur. If you need this to feel "immersed" or to feel there are actual problems, I need you to check yourself fucking hard. If you want to masquerade what it feels like to experience bigotry, go play one of the prior games. This has also been discussed in multiple posts.

"Handling pure lyrium is fine now" no handling the dagger is fine Solas cleansed it, the dagger woke something up in Harding specifically she talks about how some dwarves are connected to the stone, she previously had not been one of them and maybe the dagger woke something up in her, or did you need a pop up explaining this? Were you paying attention during cut scenes and dialogue?

"Adult Dalish without vallaslin" - in the 10 years since Inquisition/Trespasser, doubtless some dalish have come to adulthood and found out what assholes their gods were and made the decision not to go through that specific cultural rites. Or maybe city elves joined the Dalish. Who knows who made up the elf population at that ritual site. Elves are not a monolith. We've made multiple, multiple posts about elves not being monoliths.

"Solas' opinion on blood magic went from neutral to negative" SOLAS FUCKING LIES. We've made multiple posts about Solas lying, if you need this explained further I suggest you play the game all over again, he lies to you throughout the entire game.

"Re-write of the after credits scene in Inquisition to recontextualise the Flemeth and Solas interaction" it's recontextualized because now we know who and what they were to each other. Learning new information does that. This is literally what happens all the time in science and history. You recontextualize what you thought you knew with new information. You're supposed to change your position, not whine about how the new information makes everything different.

These are just some of the things I pulled from a list on a post in which someone was really just upset about everything. Everything. Varric, Morrigan, Solas, everything. But I can't take their criticisms seriously, because they're upset that "too much was told" and "not enough shown" and yet didn't even pay attention to DA lore or in-game dialogue or context clues around the world of Northern Thedas to answer their own questions.

Everything in this game makes complete sense if you use lore from prior games and a single iota of imagination to see how it fits. We've had many delightful posts discussing this, seeing how things could be explained, when approaching the game from a place of curiosity rather than being upset because personal headcanons weren't satisfied or long-held expectations weren't met.

[cherryw0n]

NOCTURNA — enhypen

chase atlantic inspired series

each of the seven parts is based on a chase atlantic song that provides the feeling throughout the whole story, taking you on an emotional journey and showing the real raw side of each character's struggles.

CAREFUL, this series contains some sensitive and serious topics. Read at your own risk!

CONTAINS: profanity, drug abuse, drug addiction, mental health problems, family problems, toxic relationships, organized crime, infidelity, smoking, violence, alcohol consumption, explicit sex description

MDNI!

Lee Heeseung — The Walls

pairing: dabbler!heeseung x addict!reader (afab)

synopsis: the world of intoxication and ecstasy was something you never thought could be so enchanting, so tempting. until you went spiraling into it, unable to suppress the inner cravings and strong thirst for something so forbidden but so euphoric.

"Everybody's leaning on the walls,

I don't think they're ready for the fall

Had a little, now she wanting more

Told her that I gotta make some calls"

read here

Park Jay — Moonlight

pairing: downbad!jay x grumpy!reader (afab)

synopsis: having a pain in the ass at your heels all the time was not on your bucket-list for this semester. but still he was chasing you, not giving up even if you said it to his face, every time.

"Busy on the weekend

Caught up in your own small world

Well, I might wanna see it then

Call it hesitation, girl"

read here

Sim Jake — DEVILISH

pairing: toxic!jake x toxic!reader (afab)

synopsis: the relationships was falling apart, no thing could salvage the damage it faced, not when you keep drifting from him every chance you get and he is always up for the payback.

"Devilish, fucking with my guys, yuh

I make sacrifices you make lies up

Heaven lost an angel when I signed up

I might fuck your friend, I made my mind up"

read here

Park Sunghoon — OHMAMI

pairing: druglordsson!sunghoon x frutera!reader (afab)

synopsis: fast and luxurious lifestyle wasn't anything spectacular to sunghoon, and it can't be when he grew up bathing in it's glory. who knew that just by stopping at the random frutería in puerto vallarta would be the moment he spotted his next target, you.

"Ooh, Mami, I got blue molly

I throw Louis V, Supreme on top of Murakami

Bitch, I'm fuckin' styling, yeah

I might say I love her, but I'm lying, yeah-ah-ah"

read here

Kim Sunoo — Tidal Wave

pairing: boyfriendsfriend!sunoo x friendsgirlfriend!reader (afab)

synopsis: he shouldn't be doing this. you shouldn't be doing this. you both can't be doing this, but the tension and connection was something you didn't feel with anyone before, not even with your own boyfriend — but his friend was there to make up for it.

"Throw another stone at a glass house

He might kick my ass if he finds out

I don't wanna share, it's a damn shame

I'll still play it fair, won't drop no names"

read here

Yang Jungwon — Right Here

pairing: desperate!jungwon x done!reader (afab)

synopsis: you were done. done with this empty game of leading on. he was like that, everyone told you that but you didn't listen, only ended up being hurt and feeling like the only right thing you could do was finally walk away, and you did just that. but he was not done yet.

"It's happening again

Well, I don't give a fuck about your friends,

I'm right here"

read here

Nishimura Riki — Numb To The Feeling

pairing: addict!riki x goodgirl!reader (afab)

synopsis: who knew that the accidental encounter in a campus library would be such a turning point in your life. was is destiny? or something else?

"I need you to show me love

'Cause I'm getting numb to the feeling, yeah

I need you to ride me harder when we fuck

'Cause I'm getting numb to the feeling, whoa"

read here

COMING SOON...

! this is all work of fiction. in no way this is a representation of enhypen members nor do I believe this is how they behave in real life or condone these actions!

©cherryw0n

[multiharlot]

honeymoon phase // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: your friends cannot stand you and your newlywed husband

warning: so much fluff and sweetness you might need to see a dentist and a doctor after reading. hope u have insurance or live in a country that cares about you. wanted to give you guys this after the drama.

series masterlist || main masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD I'VE BEEN GOING THROUGH SO MUCH IN MY PERSONAL LIFE BUT I'M HERE NOW. HERE'S SOMETHING SWEET BEFORE MORE OF THE DRAMA

the morning after your january wedding was cold. but the morning after you'd returned from your island resort honeymoon was even colder. which was to be expected since it was only just the beginning of february. but you were the warmest you'd ever been, including the time you spent in the warmer climates of thailand, which you and your husband had just returned from. you laid entangled in silk sheets, his arms woven tightly around you, holding you close to him as he slept soundly.

a soft smile emerged on your face and you lifted your hand, bringing it up to his face and placing your hand softly on his cheek. stroking the stubble with your thumb.

"your hand. is cold." he mumbles, his eyes still closed and his mouth barely moving.

"and your face. is warm." you tease, tucking your other hand under his other cheek, sandwiching it between his face and the pillow and giving him a quick peck on the nose.

"leave my face alone." he groans, pushing your hands away.

"that's no way to talk to your wife." you pout playfully, and he opens one eye, peaking over at you and smiling softly before closing his eyes again.

"my wife. i like that." he hums, re-wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest, bringing the blankets up to your shoulders as he tucked his face into your chest.

you just smile, raking your fingers through his hair and cradling his head against you as he hummed happily.

"how do you feel about-"

you were interrupted by the door being thrown open, you feel your spirit leaving your body as matt shoots up, pushing you behind him.

"WELCOME BACK HONEYMOONERS" foggy shouts through the loft, making matt relax, a sigh leaving both of your lips.

"i'm gonna kill him." matt shrugs nonchalantly, and you just shake your head, pushing his arm slightly as you lean down, grabbing matt's sweatpants from the floor beside you.

"no you're not." you roll your eyes, standing up out of bed and pulling on his pants and throwing on his columbia hoodie.

" i could." he frowns, throwing on some clothes, his frown still etched onto his face as you slide open the bedroom door.

"hi fog." you smile, and foggy excitedly wraps you into a hug.

"if it isn't my favorite murdock!" he exclaims, rocking the two of you side to side.

"first, you break into our house. then you tell me that you like my wife more than me, your best friend." matt frowns, pulling you from foggy's hold and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest and tiredly placing his head into your shoulder.

"sorry to break it to you matt, but i'm pretty sure everyone likes your wife more than you." karen responds as she walks into the loft, a bag of bagels and a tray of coffee cups in her hands.

"that's what i'm saying! it's like you didn't listen to my speech at your wedding." foggy smiles, throwing his arms up.

you throw your head back as you laugh, matt grumbling into your neck.

"i'm touched. truly." you smile, placing your hand on your chest.

"i'm not" matt pouts, and you roll your eyes, turning around and placing your hands on in chest.

"you're my favorite murdock." you smile, leaning forward and pressing a short peck on his lips.

"that makes me feel a little better." your husband smiles against your lips.

"okay enough being gross. karen brought bagels and coffee and we have a new case we need to discuss." foggy quickly interrupts, pulling you from matt's grip and plopping you onto the couch.

"you relax. and you, sir, come to the table." foggy directs matt as he throws a blanket over your lap.

your smile widens as karen hands you a cup of coffee, the latest seasonal drink and an your favorite bagel (with enough cream cheese to drown yourself in, of course. you're sophisticated)

"you're an angel" you sigh as you stare at the coffee and bagel in your hands.

"you owe me a lunch date. i wanna hear all the honeymoon deets" she smiles at you as she walks towards the table where foggy was forcing a pouting matt to sit down.

"absolutely!" you agree, tucking the blanket under your legs and reaching forward to place your coffee on the table so you could dig into your bagel.

****

the next day you found yourself perched on top of matt's lap in his office. soft giggles emitting from your lips as he placed gentle kisses along your neck and collarbones.

"how'd i get so lucky?" he says softly against your lips

"i'm actually a government plant" you shrug, and he snorts, leaning in to place his lips on yours.

"oh jesus, seriously?"

you jump, pulling your lips away from matt's and turn to see foggy frowning in the doorway.

"hi fog, sorry" you say as you sheepishly sink into matt's chest.

"when will the honeymoon phase be over? i work here too ya know!" he groans, shutting the door behind him.

"if it helps, i brought coffee?" you say, nodding your head over to the counter where the large coffee traveler sat.

"it does" foggy frowns before walking away momentarily to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"maybe i should go?" you whispered to your husband, and he frowned, dramatically pouting at your suggestion.

"no."

"y/n i love you so much, you two disgust me." foggy smiles sarcastically before sitting down in front of matt's desk.

"i know" you say proudly, standing up from matt's lap.

"where're you going?" matt frowns, and you lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"leanne's. i'll see you at home?"

matt nods his head and you say bye to foggy as you walk out of the office.

"i love my wife." matt smiles proudly, making foggy roll his eyes.

"you're gross."

"i'm happy you think so"

************

taglist:

@luvr-bunnyy @glowstick-lesbian @anothersworld @Mrbillymontgomery @inas-thing @fuck-goes-oneddiemvnsonss @nia_um @multibishh @takeyour-pants-off @Afootnoteinyourhappiness @slut4murdock @multibishh @alexxavicry @drunkangels @desert-fern @caseket @dvredevil-s-initivls @thychuvaluswife @scoliobean @babyblue0t7 @lewd-alien @Yourbane @lucienofthelakes @mcueveryday @chaoticcoffeequeen @dustyinkpages @garden-of-bri

[always-just-red]

Super self-indulgent addition to the poly series for my birthday!!! (Works as a standalone fic!) If you see this today you have to reblog, as a gift to me! And this fandom 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ *gets struck by lightning for my hubris*

Breaking Point

L&DS Boys X Reader

(No Caleb yet! I'm not confident in writing him and I wanna make sure I do it right! He'll be joining this series later though, for sure for sure...)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 / ?

Summary: I can't spoil the plot because it's a surprise but just trust me, ok? Look into my eyes! Right here! 👁️👁️ You want to read this. You really do.

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, platonic-ish! poly, some flirting, swearing, all the guys come with health warnings in this because like I said, it's self-indulgent! (I'm giving me everything I want 😌)

| Word count: 4.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You only have one life, and it’s Sylus’s to take.

He’s stalled. Denied himself the pleasure of snuffing it out, like he was always supposed to. You thought it was sentiment: a fondness that saw him shoot you with nothing more deadly than a wink or a smile, not that those weren’t their own, trivial little murder attempts. Now, he wants something permanent. Something that’ll stick.

His gun is pressed into your back, but you can’t resent him for it. If your gun was at his back, you would have already pulled the trigger.

“It isn’t too late to stop this, Sylus,” you mutter quietly, because the sentiment is there— no matter how deep he’s buried it. You’ll show it to him, even with raw hands and dirt under your nails.

You try to turn but the gun presses harder, urging you forwards like every other time you’ve attempted to slow or reason with him. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetie,” he says with a smile in his voice, and you wonder which one it is: that slow, nostalgic one, or the one he saves for his enemies. All teeth. All sharp. “You understand, don’t you?”

This is all your fault.

The dark, narrow corridor you’re being paraded down is coming to an end. It opens up into a larger room with abstract furnishings: block-like pillars and walls, lined with spidery strips of neon lights. They glow a weak purple, some flickering eerily. It’s still dark, and there are shadows everywhere.

Sylus swings you under a faint spotlight in the centre of the space. “I know you’re there,” he announces to the darkness, one hand on your shoulder, possessive.

There’s no response from the void. Can he hear something? A baited breath, somewhere out in the shadows, or a heartbeat, tripping over itself on adrenaline? You can’t hear a thing; the silence is too thick. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps—

“What do you want, Sylus?” a voice calls out from behind a pillar— Zayne. By the time you look over, he’s pressed himself back against cover, out of sight, out of range.

“Let’s talk about this, yeah?” Rafayel, from behind a low wall.

Sylus tugs you closer: wraps you in a heavy arm so his gun is in front of you, angled inwards at your heart. He’s always loved a dramatic irony, even if it’s private— just for the two of you. “A Deepspace Hunter for a Deepspace Hunter,” he bargains. “More than fair, wouldn’t you say?”                                                                      

“You don’t have to do this, Xavier!” you shout.

“Ah, ah,” Sylus tuts, his warm breath tickling your ear: “Don’t be a hero, sweetie.”

More silence follows, but you know your fate is being decided in the dark. Amethyst eyes are pleading with peridot. Fire is trying to thaw ice. You can imagine the artist gesturing wildly, mouthing arguments, and the doctor solemnly shaking his head— ever trying to solve an unsolvable problem.

None of it matters, because Xavier is already stepping into the light. Hands up in surrender, weapon stowed at his side. His face is a storm and the flickering neon betrays it like lightning. Look— it warns. Divine violence.

Sylus’s hand tenses, ever so slightly, on your shoulder. You look at Xavier. He looks back at you.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” he says softly, and you’re in the centre of the storm, where it’s safe and it’s quiet and nothing outside can reach you, let alone hurt you. It won’t last, but it exists. You’re glad it exists.

“It’s okay,” you speak on a whisper.

You know how this has to end. Sylus can’t see it. Rafayel and Zayne— both peeking their heads out of cover— can’t see it either, but you? Of course you do. It’s an instinct: Deepspace Hunter to Deepspace Hunter, like Sylus said. Two edges of the same sword.

When Xavier draws his gun at light speed and shoots you with it, you’re the only one not surprised.

“What?” Sylus gasps as red spills over you.

But Xavier doesn’t stop. An onslaught: he fires relentlessly, aim not letting up for a second. His gun flashes over and over again and the sound is harsh on your ears as he closes in, indifferent.

“Sorry, sweetie,” you hear Sylus murmur, and then you’re shoved forwards— limp and useless— into the arms of your attacker.

Xavier catches you, his gun finally falling silent. The air had gone thick for a moment. Time had slowed. Space had twisted. A few, glistening crow feathers waltz around you, and you glance down at your vest. The lights on it have stayed red.

That was your last, stupid life. The digital counter on your gun is stuck at: ‘000’.

“Thanks,” you say to Xavier anyway, because you wouldn’t have struck the floor quite so gracefully as the feathers.

He’s frowning— staring after Sylus— but your voice brings him back to you. He looks down with a devastatingly handsome smile. “You’re welcome.” Then it’s gone. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“Wha—?” is all you manage to get out before you’re flung into another pair of arms. Xavier is running away; you can hear him. You can see him, in the corner of your eye: a pale shadow, giving chase after Sylus. Slipping into the labyrinth of spaceship-like corridors.

“Cutie?” Rafayel’s calling, and it must be his arms around you, squeezing you.

You want to answer— you’re going to answer— but then he drops to his knees, the fall making your head spin. You feel sick. “Cutie?” he tries again, and oh, him shaking you really isn’t helping.

“Raf, please— please stop.”

He doesn’t. “Stay with me, okay?” he urges, the red lights on your gear reflecting in his desperate eyes. He looks up at an encroaching figure. “Zayne! Do something!”

The doctor strides towards you, casting a nonchalant gaze over your body. When he speaks, it’s a bleak prognosis: “Last life?”

“Yep! Sylus already got me once. And before that, Raf—”

“Shhhh shh shh,” the man cradling you hushes, “don’t speak, cutie. Save your strength.”

“Shot me. He was pretending to be a spy,” you finish.

“I wasn’t!”

You huff. “Really? So I was just imagining you posing every time you rounded a corner? The forward rolls, all the spinning around and stuff— that was all in my head?”

“Guess so,” he shrugs. “It’s not my fault you fantasise about me being some kinda action hero, you freak.”

Your face is dark. “Zayne?”

An electronic gunshot rings out, and the lights on Rafayel’s vest flash red. He gapes down at himself, then glowers at Zayne as they return to their normal, lives-to-spare blue. The doctor shrugs guiltlessly, a slight tug at the corner of his lips.

Footsteps approach and your allies react: Rafayel cradling you tighter (definitely not using you as a human shield) and Zayne levelling his gun at a pitch-black corridor. The weapon drops as Xavier stalks out of it, his pace brisk and his presence commanding. “Status?” he asks, checking his Hunter’s Watch pointlessly. It’s a force of habit. You do it, too.

“We’re one hunter down,” says Zayne, his tone equally pragmatic. “Sylus?”

“Could be anywhere.” Xavier toes a crow feather with what you can only describe as disgust.

Okay… Rafayel’s grip is getting a little much, now. You feebly tap at his hand, but he’s too busy glaring up at your team leader to notice. “How could you?” he mutters under his breath, deliberately loud.

Xavier spares him a glance. Then you, finally. “I did what I had to.”

“What you had to?” Rafayel’s voice is dangerous. “What you had to?”

Just as you’re thinking about how touching his loyalty is, he drops you the rest of the way to the floor. You lie there, stunned, staring up at the ceiling. The artist stands, then— yep! Steps over you completely. “You’ve gone too far this time, Xavier! You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies.”

He’s thrashing about in an uncaring ocean. Xavier’s eyes are calm. “Don’t I?”

You didn’t know challenges could be issued so softly. Rafayel stares in disbelief, then looks to Zayne for back-up: are you seeing this?

The doctor is quiet as he diagnoses the situation, trying to find the path of least resistance. There has to be a middle ground. A way to appease fire without burning his hands.

His hazel eyes fall on you, and you get the feeling you’re the answer. He comes to stand over you. Crouches down beside you, head low in respect as he takes your hand and squeezes it gently, like he’s savouring a warmth that’s ebbing away.

“Zayne…?” you breathe. You don’t quite know what’s happening.

He releases a breath too, for your voice is a memory and he’ll treasure it, always. His spare hand lifts to cup your cheek, and he meets your eyes with unequivocal devotion. It isn’t innocent. It’s dark.

“We will avenge you,” he vows.

…

It’s nice, being dead.

You can meander aimlessly. You can hum to yourself recklessly.

You don’t have to poke your head around each corner, giving signals that the coast is clear or unclear because Xavier decided— worryingly early in the game— that it was you who should always go first. Step into the open, maybe even a firing line. Sylus will hesitate, he’d insisted, his hands on your shoulders and his eyes boring into yours intensely. You’re his weakness. Exploit it.

You’d nodded, wide-eyed, unsure of what else to do with someone gripping you like that.

What would Xavier say now, you wonder, if he saw you— Sylus’s infamous weakness— watching the man with a tender smile? His scarlet gaze is distracted. He hasn’t noticed you yet. Well, he has, but he’s pretending he hasn’t. He’s busy: crouched behind a wall, peering over it cautiously.

You saunter over. “What’s the plan here, Mr Lone Wolf?”

“Quiet.”

“Mr One Man Army. Mr ‘I don’t need a team, sweetie, I could beat you all with my hands tied.’”

Sylus gifts you a sideways smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Come on, Sy—” you perch back on the wall he’s using for cover— “death can’t keep us apart. Y’know what that makes me?”  

“Insufferable.”

“Nope. A ghost,” you correct, and the man smiles more widely. It’s still nowhere near enough attention, so you wiggle your arms at him, adding an “ooooooooh!” for good measure.

“You don’t scare me, sweetie.”

Oh really? You study your nails. “You ever think about how if you’d died before you met me, Luke and Kieran would’ve had full creative control of your funeral?”

Sylus’s smile fades the more that image sinks in. “Fine,” he shrugs, “you scare me a little. Now—” he stands to his full height, giving your head a pat— “off to heaven with you, ghost.”

You’re interfering with his mission, you know.

He strides away purposefully, and you can tell he’s enjoying this. The unfair odds. The chance to show off. At last, some enrichment for the wanted criminal who holds your bags while you’re shopping. (Not that he doesn’t enjoy that, too.)

He’s checking over his gun with a customary glance, and the way he moves is addictive; what he’s wearing doesn’t help. A black compression shirt stresses each muscle of his arms and back— the fabric fighting for its life. If you could buy it a drink for its service, you would. You’d buy it ten.

“Yeah…” you exhale, head sideways, gaze low. “I don’t think heaven’s quite where I’m headed.”

Sylus stops.

He turns with a follow-up question, but it never needs to be asked. You’re still shamelessly staring— explaining yourself with faraway eyes and a bottom lip that’s trapped by your teeth. It’s deliberate, of course. Just like you know that shirt was deliberate.

The man’s head tilts in warning. “Careful, sweetie.”

Were his tone a blade he could pin to your throat, he’d know just the right pressure to make your heart stutter. Not too much. Not too little. But he needs to push harder, these days; you’re awfully comfortable at the edge of that knife, and there’s sin in the way you watch him, like you don’t care if you’ll bleed for it.

It pulls him back to you, tantalisingly slowly. A finger lifts your chin, forcing your gaze back to his eyes. “I said, careful,” he repeats, making every word drag.

That gaze sinks low again. An act of defiance; it doesn’t quite reach his body. It stops at his lips.

He leans in closer.

There’s a sound somewhere down the corridor, and a gunshot rings out. Sylus’s arms are around you— a swirl of his Evol stealing you both from reality. You rejoin the world a loud heartbeat later, in a different room, far away from the last. Crow feathers tumble. The scarlet mist dissipates.

Sylus’s vest is flashing red, and he looks at you, betrayed, as it turns back to cobalt.

That’s two lives down, one to go; you’d stolen the first when he’d taken you hostage. “All’s fair in love and war, Sylus,” you smile, untangling yourself from his grasp. “You understand, don’t you?”

You go to leave, but his hand is on your wrist. He pulls you back, and it would be much more threatening if he wasn’t chuckling so fondly. “My team next time?” he asks, kissing the very top of your head.

You sidle away, his hand forced to surrender you. “Maybe,” you grin at him over your shoulder. “I’m in pretty high demand.”

…

“Raf, Raf, Raf!” you chirp, skipping over to the lilac-haired artist.

“Cutie, cutie, cutie!” he chirps back. “Afterlife’s fun, huh?”

“Even more fun now you’re here.” He’s sat on a fallen pillar, arms by his side, legs stretched out. His face is lit by the glow of his vest: a faint but vivid red. Like an ember. “My condolences, fishie.”

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“Gonna tell me what happened?”

Rafayel rolls his head back— a listless sort of stretch. “Xavier shot me. Said I’m a ‘liability’,” he shrugs.  “That I ‘compromised the integrity of the mission.’”

That was a lot of air quotes. “Pretending to be a spy again?” you hazard.

“Nah.”

Ooh! “A gunslinger!”

He’s still staring at the ceiling, but he sighs dreamily, eyes closing. “You know me so well.”

You take a seat next to him, trying not to giggle at the thought of him strutting about in front of Xavier, tipping an invisible hat while the Hunter slowly raised his gun. Gods, how brutal; you hope it was quick. A tiny laugh breaches your lips, and Rafayel opens an eye in suspicion.

You smile innocently. The eye closes again, satisfied. “You’d make a hot cowboy. Or spy.”

“I know,” he breathes out. That was never up for debate. “Which is hotter, though?”

Hmm… You scooch away from him, making a viewfinder with your fingers so you can squint at him through it. His eyes flicker open and he catches on, flashing a smile as he shoots you with a finger gun. “Spy,” you conclude.

“Noted.” His chuckle is warm and wistful.

“So… got any good intel for me, super spy?”

He hums like he has to think about it. “Xavier’s got some big plan to beat Sylus. Wouldn’t tell me what it was, on account of the whole ‘liability’ thing? But yeah, it’s big.”

“How big can it be? It’s laser tag.”

“I think I can shed some light on that matter.”  

It’s a third voice, and the intrusion makes you jump. Rafayel, too, but he’d never admit it. You both glance outwards, to where Zayne is wandering over to you. His walk is relaxed. His gear is red.  

“That line would’ve been way cooler from Xavier,” Rafayel whispers.

“So cool!” you whisper back. Zayne can clearly hear every word, so you’re quick to deflect with a: “Hey, Zayne! What happened to you?”

You know what happened— there’s an obvious, kinda horrifying pattern emerging— but you still need to hear it. Zayne shifts on his feet, looking down at the ground as he finds the right words. “I… was a liability,” he says at last.

“Oh, nice!” Rafayel’s hand shoots out. “Join the club!”

Zayne stares at it blankly, but gives in eventually. His hand meets the artist’s in the least inspiring high-five you’ve ever seen.

“How were you a liability?” you chase up, because it’s harder to picture your stoic doctor prancing around like a secret agent.

Zayne rests his gun back on his shoulder. “I was trying to be a voice of reason.”

There’s a low, sympathetic whistle from Rafayel. “That’ll do it! There’s no reasoning with those levels of crazy.” He looks at you. Interrupts before you can leap to your partner’s defence: “Like, how invested are you in Sylus?”

What the hell’s that supposed to mean? “… A lot?”

Rafayel winces, drawing air through gritted teeth. “Yikes.”

He’s messing with you. He’s messing with you, right? You look up at Zayne— calm, cool, collected Zayne— your anchor in all this insanity. He meets your gaze, and you wait for that smile of reassurance: the one he always manages, even when you’re bleeding out before him, courtesy of a Wanderer you underestimated. Everything will be fine.

He shakes his head discreetly.  

Everything won’t be fine? Oh.

…

“Sylus!”

You sprint down a corridor, your teammates hot at your heels and your breath ragged from running. This place really is a maze, and it’s not like Sylus wants to be found. No— your red-eyed damsel-in-imminent-distress is still marching around out there, oblivious. Avoiding you? Probably.

That’s when you see it. You skid to a stop, Rafayel almost crashing into you.

Perched on a nearby ledge, Mephisto is watching you, head cocked. His mechanical eyes narrow, and there’s no usual caw of greeting. You’re witnessing a professional at work. A crow on a mission, just like his master. You wander over, looking up at him. Then you snatch him down from his pedestal.  

“Listen to me, Mephie,” you conspire as he squawks and wriggles. “Get Sylus, okay? It’s urgent. We have to speak to him.”

You set the bird free, launching him up into the air so he can take forth your message, but he nosedives to the ground, landing in a sorry-looking heap, instead. The little pile of feathers moves. Seems to find its feet, then… keels over sideways with a final squawk. Huh.

“You killed it,” Rafayel observes from behind you.

“I did not!” You crouch down, giving the frozen crow a poke. “C’mon, stop being dramatic! Get up.”

No reaction. Rafayel sings eerily: “Deaaad…”

You scoop Mephisto into your hands and he melts into them. A wing hangs down, and his head hangs backwards, too. You give him a shake. Nothing happens. Standing up, you turn, “Zay—?”

“I’m not a mechanic.” The doctor’s arms are folded.

But you’re looking at him, hope in your eyes and a faint— absolutely not fake— wobble to your lips, so he takes the crow reluctantly. He lifts the fallen wing. Examines the sharp black feathers and plates of metal. “Is there an off switch you might have pressed?” he ponders aloud. “Or…?”

“It’s at the back of his neck,” a voice that isn’t yours answers.

You’re suddenly clutching feathers; Zayne has shoved Mephisto back into your hands. “I don’t—” you try to resist— “no, don’t give him to—!” You try to hand him back, but Zayne is stepping away.

There’s a presence, looming. “Hey, Sy!” You spin around with a smile.

The man you’ve been searching for stares at you, an eyebrow raised. “Killed Mephisto, did you?”

“Uhhhh, no? It was Rafayel.”

A squeak from behind you: “What!?”

Mercifully, Mephisto springs to life— fluttering away so he can perch on Sylus’s shoulder. He coos, leaning in to nuzzle the finger that lifts to stroke at his beak. Then he caws at you, over and over, like a manic sort of laughter. That stupid bird’s been spending too much time with the twins.

Sylus looks between the three of you, his eyes falling on each red vest in turn. He smiles languidly. “Been playing spy again, little artist?”

“Nope.”

“Cowboy,” the older man guesses again.

Rafayel is silent, his arms crossing defensively. Sylus chuckles, and just as you’re about to scold him, he holsters his weapon with… flair? And tips an invisible hat in the artist’s direction. Rafayel smiles. “How might I be of service?” Sylus asks you, still roleplaying.

Adorable. Focus! “We came to warn you, Sy. Xavier’s—”

“Totally lost it,” Rafayel cuts in. You glare at him and his eyes protest: What!? It’s true!

“We should stick together,” Zayne says. “At least until we can figure out what he’s—”

The lights around you go dead.

No more spotlights, no more stripes of neon; you’re submerged into darkness. The only remaining glow is your vests— three red, one blue— all ominously still. Afraid to move. As your eyes adjust, you can just about make out the others’ faces. Rafayel and Sylus are glancing around, wary, but Zayne’s uneasiness is different.

“Phase one,” he mutters gravely.

You don’t like that. “What’s phase two?”

Please know. Please know. He looks at you. Gives another one of those little head shakes.

At the far end of the corridor, a spotlight flickers to life. You all watch, caught in a spell of suspense as it illuminates nothing— an empty space where you half expect some spectre to be. It goes dark a second later. Then the next spotlight lights up, closer. It goes out. The next one lights. Goes out. Lights.

Light. Dark. Light. Dark.

“What the fuck?” Rafayel murmurs, standing closer than before. His hand finds yours, and you’re actually grateful. You hold it, tight.

“Stay behind us,” Zayne directs at Sylus.

A much, much closer spotlight turns on.

Xavier stands beneath it, deathly still. Every bit the spectre you’d imagined: you can’t quite tell if he’s of heaven or hell. He might have walked out of either. He might drag you to either. It’s that look again: the one he wore before he killed you. Inevitability. It lives in his gaze. There’s no running from it. No pleading with or changing it.

“Enough,” Sylus growls, pushing past you, raising his gun. He pulls the trigger, and the sound of the shot rings out. Nothing comes of it, though. The weapon doesn’t flash. Xavier’s vest doesn’t flash.

The Hunter tilts his head— another challenge, soft as sleep.

Sylus presses the trigger a second time, then a third, a fourth, a fifth. Though his weapon looks like a gun— pierces the silence like a gun— it isn’t one, is it? It’s a vessel. For infrared light.

Now you think of it, this game was rigged from the start. It must dawn on Sylus, because he stops. He tears the gun from its cord and lets it skitter across the floor, no more useless there than it was in his hands. Energy crackles around his fingers, thick like sticky, red blood.

“Sylus,” Zayne warns, but there are tentative snowflakes at his fingertips, too.

Xavier steps closer, mirroring Sylus— throwing his gun aside with a crash. A delicate twist of his hands and a blade is unsheathed from the darkness. Pure light, holy and sharp. He spins the sword with a practiced elegance and it’s admittedly mesmerising. You can’t not watch.

Rafayel wriggles his fingers free of yours, then steps in front of you. You’d never tell him, but his hand had started to burn.

You hadn’t missed this— this tension. So full of tempered things, meant to hurt.

White light floods everything, everywhere, and you have to shield your face with your hands. The others are doing the same, groaning, hissing curses; even Xavier is wincing as he stares at the ceiling.

This isn’t his doing. Isn’t his light.

…

“Who needs that place?” Rafayel grumbles, plucking a fry up from Xavier’s plate and poking it past his lips so he can chew on it with his thoughts. “I mean, I’ve got a private island!”

“And I’ve got guns,” Sylus smiles.

You look up. “Laser tag guns?”

He blinks at you. Nods agreeably: “Sure, sweetie.”

“I’m sure we can buy some.” Zayne is stirring a chocolate milkshake, and he stoops to take a sip.

The four of you are huddled around a table outside a fast-food place, conveniently next door to the laser tag place you’ve just been kicked out of. There’s a board in there, now graced with colourful mugshots of you all, and not everyone looks miserable in them. Sylus is smirking in his, an old hand at notoriety. Rafayel is winking, making finger hearts.

Xavier is still inside, arguing your case with the manager— appealing the whole ‘lifetime bans’ thing— and his food is getting cold. You slap away Rafayel’s hand as it goes in for another fry.

“You’ve got your own, Raf!”

“So?” His hand is quicker this time, dodging yours and whisking three fries away from their friends before you can stop him. “They taste better stolen. Everyone knows that.”

Sylus hums in accordance as he steals a fry for himself. Vultures.

They all nibble away at their food— sometimes Xavier’s food— and you know you’re all thinking about the same thing. That corridor, those flickering spotlights, and the Hunter commanding them. You’ve not really talked about it, yet.

“Y’know,” you muse, “I’ve never seen Xavier like that before. Don’t you think it was kinda…?”

Rafayel bonks your head with a rolled-up menu. “Stop.”

Zayne snatches it from him gently. Flattens it out again and sets it neatly down on the table. “He is right though,” he sighs. “Stop.”

You giggle. “Hear me out, though—”

“Ah! There you are!”

Two figures approach your table, and the voice is very familiar. Twenty minutes ago, it was yelling at you.

It’s the manager of the laser tag place, and he stands before you, hands on his hips and a smile on his wizened face. “I’m glad I found you,” he continues, “your friend and I have just been talking. He explained everything. Who’d have thought, huh? An invisible Wanderer, messing with the lights like that! Destroying my equipment! Anyway, it was so kind of you to get rid of it.”

He pats Xavier’s shoulder, praises: “What a nice young man!”

“It was our pleasure, sir.” Xavier tips his head in respect as Sylus sniggers.

The manager’s too enamoured to notice. “Anyway,” he turns to the rest of you, “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. It goes without saying that you are welcome back, anytime! My treat, of course!”

You all glance between each-other as Xavier thanks the man for his kindness, then waves him goodbye with a genuine warmth. The manager trundles away, leaving your little banquet in peace.

Xavier smiles so fondly, his gaze an azure sky. There’s not a cloud in it, just a bright, radiant sun.

Your budding support group is speechless.

“So,” Xavier beams at you all, “who wants to go again?”

[sillyzeta]

die your daughter.

yandere! batfamily x neglected!reader

sipnosis: Your own desires were alien to your family, to the point where you are determined to commit an atrocious act but suddenly everything is 7 years ago when you were only 12 years old. Something has changed and you're not sure what it is.

She danced, danced and danced until she was exhausted until she finally managed to have his full attention, in her eyes he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, she didn't want money, she didn't want fame, she just wanted to spend at least one night with him, talking perhaps, everything she desired in her broken mind.

And in her mind, she wanted to at least tell him that secret she kept for a year, the secret she was so afraid to tell him because she thought he would let her go and never want to know about it. So at least she wanted to get a good life for you, a life where you eat without worrying about her eating, a life where you could sleep warm, yes... That was all she wanted.

But the tragedy happened and at least she wanted her last words to be you, her beloved daughter.

So she finally spoke to him, whispered in his ear afraid the world would hear her, in a voice that was quiet and soon faded until finally it did, she vanished into his arms. He sighed, a lump in his throat prevented him from saying a few last words to his beloved and with all the regret in his body, he got up, heading to the changing rooms in the back, in search of his little treasure.

Everyone had left due to the commotion except him, he had to find you and he did, you were hidden in the clothes of the one who was now your deceased and beloved mother, Your body was shaking even with all the layers of clothing you had on you, it seemed like it wasn't enough.

Then he held you in his arms, his expression one of pain and exhaustion as he buried his face in your hair and whispered.

‘im sorry... please forgive me...!’ he says.

You were too young to understand so you just accepted the warm embrace of the man, a man you had never seen again in your life.

After that you had been adopted, it turns out that you were his daughter all this time but it seems that he forgot it and suddenly you were left in the shadows along with the memories of your mother.

You really didn't understand how he, your father, couldn't love you? Was that even possible? And to add to your loneliness, your siblings soon ignored you, so focused on their own lives that for a moment in your life, you wanted to be selfish.

After a few years, another child came, he who was truly your almost flesh and blood brother, You thought you could at least get along with him but you found out the hard way that you could never bond with him. The wound on your back still hurts, as a reminder of your entire family's ignorance, you hated that.

More and more scars stuck to your body, one more painful than the other, and the only way to avoid feeling it was to sleep in a strange dream, so strange that when you woke up, you forgot about it.

That was your salvation.

But they say good things don't last forever, and so it was. The dreams were even crueler, you woke up with even deeper wounds, and you felt like it was no longer helping you at all. The desperation was so great that you simply decided on a last attempt of faith to get closer to your siblings, you failed miserably.

The years passed and you became so dependent on your family that you hated it, you hated it so much that you wished you were dead, and yes, it was the best.

You did it and now you're back to relive the same nightmares.

NEW SERIES LOL i feel so evil (⁠+⁠_⁠+⁠).....

fated to pretend It will only have 4 chapters, I don't have many ideas except for a few things... But nothing more than that.

And this, well, I don't have a plan for when it ends.

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Do you think Scarlet/5am Pearl ever truly returned in any season after double life?

Honestly? No, not really. The only exception is the murder camel.

In short every time Pearl has broken out the Scarlet Pearl skin since DL she has failed to be the PERCEPTION of what Scarlet Pearl is. She hasn't been a cold blooded killer, hunting down players ruthlessly and taunting them as she does. Again, this is with the exception of the murder camel, which frankly only adds to my idea that Pearl was just bending to other players' perception of her. In DL they saw her as dangerous and unhinged so she became that. In SL, Gem knew who Scarlet Pearl was and wanted to see it, so Pearl performed the persona for a brief time. But that wasn't really Scarlet Pearl, just Pearl putting on an act to show off to a friend.

I don't think Scarlet Pearl CAN exist in any other season, and that's for a few reasons (warning that this is long and probably rambling)

The first reason being the literal time change of when they record. I believe it’s around 8-9 am her time now, rather than 5 am. So actual CC!Pearl isn’t sleep deprivation loopy.

The second is that I think the fandom perception of Scarlet Pearl as someone who is like, cool and crazy and dangerous, is only really true in the last session of Double Life, after the reds tricked her and tried to kill her and after a bunch of her dogs had been killed. That is when she gets violent. When she breaks out the axe and starts quoting Macbeth. She hunts down Impulse and Bdubs out of part revenge and part because they are just the only people left other than the other members of the Divorce Quartet who, while she isn't allied with, she can't just attack. When they are gone, she doesn't even hunt down Cleo and Martyn. They go to her and attack her first.

In every other session besides the last (if you're watching Pearl's POV), you would see that it's mostly someone who's very lonely and trying desperately to make friends with people who just Don't Want Her. She is crazy, don't get me wrong, in the sense that she keeps going to Scott even after he says he wants nothing to do with her, and that she doesn't care about taking damage. She also decides a dog is her soulmate, which is crazy depending on who you ask. But mostly it's someone who wants connection and can't get it. Even in moments of community, like the 'pool party' at Impulse and Bdubs' house, she stands away from the main action, because when she does get involved things tend to go wrong. She watches up in her tower as the reds hunt down Grian and Scar and narrates the action to the air because she doesn't have anyone to talk to.

The other reasons are more about the fact that Double Life Pearl was just in such a different circumstance than Pearl has been in in any other life series. She had no allies, which changes her whole way of playing in later series. Pearl is always trying to get her allies the win, and you can't go around antagonizing people if you want BigB/Bdubs/Joel/Impulse to survive. She tries to mess with people for one session in Limited Life and it falls flat because as it turns out, everyone else was busy also being unhinged. And you can't take damage on purpose if you want to get to the end so your ally can win. She also doesn't want to take damage on purpose because the only one it's hurting is herself and the whole point of not caring about it in DL was to bother Scott.

It's also why none of her other pets have been as impactful as Tilly. Tilly was her only friend, her soulmate. She was who Pearl talked to in lieu of another player. And, importantly, Pearl brought her into battle. She was by her side constantly. Froggy wouldn't have been useful in battle anyways, and with her other wolves, Pearl just sat them down at the base in what she thought was a safe place. When you have allies, wolves are actually dangerous because they might accidentally hit you. The reason she was able to build such a large wolf army in DL is because there was no one around to risk accidentally setting them off.

[markantonys]

3x05 thoughts! (book spoilers)

i loved all the character & relationship moments in this episode! it was nice to take a breather and just spend time with the characters and get to see how much they mean to each other. wotshow continuing its trend of doing a great job balancing character work vs. action across the 8 episodes!

against all odds, randgwene clung on by a thread for yet another week lmao but the breakup is 100% coming next week, and surely it has to be just about the first thing to happen in the episode given the cliffhanger. i'm reaaaaally curious (and anxious) about how they'll frame it, because right from day 1 after the first trailer etc i said "i really hope they make it clear that randgwene's breakup is mutual because they just aren't right for each other, and don't frame it as the only reason they broke up is because rand is ~cheating~ with lanfear and egwene feels betrayed". it was my biggest point of worry with the whole rand-egwene-lanfear situation, and it seems like it might be coming true! but we haven't actually gotten to hear rand talk about the whole lanfear situation and his feelings on it, so hashing it out with egwene might give him a good opportunity to do that and maybe whatever he says will make it clear to the audience and egwene that he's been manipulated and it will help ease things a bit. i just really hope rand and egwene will be able to end everything on decent footing with each other; i know there has to be big tension between them at the end of the series, but imo that would be cheaper and more emotionally shallow if it's leftover tension from a bad breakup rather than the more platonic tension between two conflicting world leaders who used to have a close personal relationship and grew up together but now must both put their greater duties first. not to mention that we HAVE to get egwene's signoff on avirandlayne if we want the audience to accept that relationship, so she has to end the season in a decent place with rand!

as of now, we're obviously on the verge of high drama, but i have faith that maybe rand & egwene's conversation will end up going in a good direction that allows them to go "look, lanfear might be the catalyst for forcing us to talk about it, but we've both known for a long time that we just aren't right for each other and THAT is the real reason we need to end things" (plus, surely egwene will tell rand that lanfear's been behind her dream torture and rand will be horrified and take her side and turn firmly against lanfear, right? right??). it's also interesting to consider how much control rand had over his dream; in the past rand-lanfear dream convos, he's always seemed "conscious" (though asleep of course) and fully in control and aware of what he's doing, but in this sequence, egwene is entering the other friends' dreams and it's clear that it's just their subconscious minds coming up with scenarios and they aren't doing anything on purpose. is rand fully in control of himself in this dream? or is it a somewhat subconscious dream on his part with lanfear consciously influencing the direction? it IS interesting that the new location could, maybe, imply that this is rand's own natural dream, at least to start, vs. past randfear scenes that seemed like lanfear pulling rand somewhere to talk to him. but we really can't judge anything for sure until we've heard what rand has to say about it next week.

sticking to the waste plot, the avirand scene!! 10/10 no notes! rand learns about polyamory, avi tries to feel out whether wetlanders are down for it, and they bicker <3 and rand playing with the little girl, my HEART let him be a stay-at-home dad!!!!

as i suspected, rhuarc-bair-lian is yet another balanced triad where everybody is equally married to each other with no mention of any sibling-spouses. alanna-maksim-ihvon was the same, so it does really feel like they're setting up for the Main Character Polyship to be a balanced triad where everybody is equally romantically involved and there are no metamours, aka avirandlayne only and min not involved at all. further to this point, there was no particular min-elayne interaction in this episode beyond sharing a group conversation and they didn't react in a noteworthy way to each other, but i'll keep an eye on further developments there in the remaining episodes! if no focus is given to the min-elayne individual dynamic in tanchico, i'd say that's the final nail in the coffin for min being involved in the polycule because at that point they would have blown past MULTIPLE opportunities to tie her together with elayne or rand.

continuing on with polycule thoughts, i was glad to see an acknowledgment of avilayne in elayne's dream! one of my problems with the way it was done so far is that it was so extremely casual as to have no impact on either character outside of 3x01 itself, but i'd suspected that might change later in the season with some kind of Reminder That This Happened, and sure enough, we did get that here. this kind of small but notable acknowledgement is striking just the right balance for me: it's making sure to keep avilayne in the audience's thoughts and signaling to them that there's more to come here, but without emphasizing it as a monogamous romance so much that people will be blindsided or upset when rand joins in the future. we can see that elayne is still thinking about avi, but she's not pining and yearning for her every waking moment of the day (if she was doing that and then if avi started falling for rand more clearly before elayne rejoins them, the audience would feel indignant on elayne's behalf, so it's good that they're not going TOO hard on elayne's feelings for avi just yet; especially with avi's line this episode derisively saying "that's too much to ask of one person" implying that she doesn't have monogamous expectations with elayne, it's good that elayne doesn't strongly have those expectations either, so they're both more or less on the same page as of now).

my wishful thinking was that it would've been nice to have rand crop up in elayne's dream too sort of the way faile did in perrin's, nothing overtly romantic but a sign that he's lingering in her thoughts just like aviendha is. but of course, that couldn't happen in this context because egwene might feel weird or betrayed about seeing rand pop up in her BFF's dream because randgwene are still together. man, i don't want to be a hater but the extended randgwene is 100% to blame for the dynamics i DO want to see getting repeatedly punted off and put on the backburner! gawene didn't get to even meet, and the avirand stuff we've gotten has been perfect but it still kinda feels like they're being shafted in THEIR OWN ARC; this is the biggest time they spend alone together in the whole series but we can't even treat it as a notable focus of the season because we have to keep the focus on randgwene (and randfear) and don't want to risk tainting avirand with cheating implications by drawing the audience's attention to them too much before randgwene has broken up. and i don't know how likely it'll be for avirand to get a little moment during the cold rocks hold attack next week as i'd hoped they might, because the breakup has been dragged out yet another week so they'll be too busy giving the emotional focus to the randgwene fallout and it might STILL be too soon to let rand share any kind of little moment with avi (and in that BTS shot of sammael, he was alone with rand and egwene in a potential cold rocks hold-y set, so i wonder if rand will be sticking with egwene during the battle and avi will just have separate fight scenes).

but all i can do is wait and see how it goes down! it's obvious that avirandlayne IS coming, so i have to trust that rafe has a plan even if i can't quite see it yet haha my fear is that randgwene lasting so long in s3 will mean avirand & randlayne couldn't get as strong setup as they might have otherwise will mean them coming together in s4 will end up feeling rushed (and then gawene too which i've been looking forward to almost as much as avirandlayne, god knows what might even happen there since they are now so SO far past the date of their book meeting). why the show is choosing to fastburn the getting-togethers of endgame romances but slowburn the breakups of non-endgame ones is beyond me, but i will trust that rafe has a plan and that it will all make sense once i'm able to see the forest instead of just the trees!

returning to the dreams, i loved this sequence of egwene visiting her friends' dreams SO MUCH probably one of my favorites of the season so far!! she got so much joy out of seeing her friends happy 🥺🥺🥺 and it was such a beautiful way to show us a little bit of each friend's inner life; nynaeve's lost daughter is still weighing on her and she still dreams about a happy life with her, elayne takes such joy and wonder in learning new things and dreams of a carefree life following her heart outside the confines of duty, perrin's happy place is being at home with his forge and hopper (my heart!!) and he's starting to take faile into his heart too, and MAT!!!! mat's dream killed me dead!!! he has often been played for comic relief this season, so i was really thrilled to get this beautiful reminder of his layers and depth and the good, selfless heart he has underneath the bravado, and particularly glad to get this scene for donal!mat who hasn't had much chance to get the family stuff that barney!mat had so much of in s1 - it really helps keep up the consistency between the two versions and connect our present mat back to s1 mat. all he wants is to give his sisters a good life and hear his mom tell him she's proud of him!! which is such a gutpunch after her death in this episode!

can somebody PLEASE tell mat he's a good boy and they're proud of him!!! my Show!Mat Has A Praise Kink agenda grows stronger every day. man, between mat's dream and rand being so happy playing with the child, my s1 show-only observation that rand and mat would be each other's ideal partner in domestic family life remains spot-on. let them be dads!!

anyway, mat's mom! i was SO not expecting her to die, what a shock! and a good decision, it adds some stakes to the two rivers plotline and gives perrin even more of a reason to want to fight back instead of giving himself up and giving into the whitecloaks. and it seems we're getting the book arc of bode being able to channel! since the girls are twins in the show, i wonder if they can both channel or only one. and i also wonder how big or small of a plot point this might end up being; it's pretty small in the books, but the show has placed more emphasis on mat's family, so maybe they might do a little bit more with it? his sisters are still definitely tertiary characters, though, so i don't know. my biggest wish would be for a full wonderboy reunion in s4 so that perrin can tell mat about his mom and we can see mat react to her death (and i can get a cauthor hurt/comfort fic scenario out of it, priorities priorities haha), and ideally bode & eldrin traveled with perrin and mat can reunite with them at least for a moment. because we know that, if the books are followed, perrin and the cauthon girls will cross paths with rand soon after the two rivers arc (so likely s4), so if they can just get mat back in rand's plotline for s4 to do his TFOH dragon's general plotline, then we could get mat coming into contact with perrin and the girls as well. but as i've speculated before, this might depend on how many total seasons they anticipate getting and whether they have time to send mat back across the continent for a season or whether they need to jump into his west coast seanchan plotline immediately in s4.

good stuff in the two rivers plotline this episode! i loved perrin and faile's battle couple moment <3 and the perrin-dain face-to-face reunion was just as messy and delicious as i'd hoped! "i thought you were a good man" "i was, before you" okay okay

my one complaint about this plotline is, i have to embarrassedly put on my bookcloak hat, but i am really feeling the "alanna and her warders are getting too much time" complaints this season haha i didn't mind in the first 2 seasons, but now they're overstaying their welcome for me. it might not actually be true, but it feels like we've spent more time on alanna and maksim's relationship than perrin and faile's this season! however, i am almost certain that maksim will die in the two rivers battle, especially now that he and alanna had a mini arc of working out their problems and realizing that they're stronger when they stick together - surely that's GOT to mean maksim has to die in order for alanna to lose it enough that she does what she does in LOC next season. and if that happens, then i'll be fine with them getting so much time this season to build up to that death and make us understand why alanna loses it so badly. another thing where i'll have to reserve final judgment until i've seen the forest instead of only the trees!

speaking of people who may or may not be on Death Watch, moiraine and siuan! i really loved their scene together and thought it was so beautiful. as for predictions, i'm split 50/50 on whether them getting to mend fences and share a happy moment and a bittersweet goodbye means this is the final curtain call for their relationship and one or both of them will be dead-dead by the end of the season, or whether the "i'll find you in every lifetime" "and i'll wait for you every time" is foreshadowing of siuan going to find moiraine in finnworld at the end of the show. i just don't know!

i loved the lan and moiraine scene of them sharing a drink. perfect!

tower plotline: it was fine, got the job done

tanchico crew: bringing the comedy as always! i loved the opening scene with bickering matlayne and seasick nynaeve, absolutely impeccable vibes, and then min officially joins the gang (i loved the "raise your hand if you've been personally victimized by liandrin" moment between the four of them lmao). as somebody who's been starting to feel oversaturated with the mat-min dynamic, i was disappointed that he left elayne and nynaeve's scene so quickly to wind up hanging out alone with min yet again, but we did get some great stuff between the trio and the quartet nonetheless! still, at this point it's kinda feeling like mat was lifted out of the waste storyline purely to hang out with min for the second season in a row (and arguably to act as a support piece in HER storyline about learning how to find agency in her visions, more so than having his own storyline get focused on), but i'm sure in ep6 that will change and mat will get more time to shine and more chances to interact with non-min characters since tanchico is slated to be the A plot. i'm very excited to see this plotline lead an episode, it's been a long time coming!

we did finally get a reference to the s2 rand viewing and we learn that mat's takeaway is that min's viewings aren't even accurate because she said he would kill rand and he didn't. and then in the ep6 preview it showed mat trying to pump some tanchico citizens for info about the male a'dam collar, so i just might get a little cauthor crumb next week with mat being worried about rand getting collared and wanting to help protect him!

i think that's everything off the top of my head for this episode!

[quickestgold]

Goodbye, My Lover | Part 4 | The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Chapter 4: Thank You

Synopsis: The three of you finally confront the unspoken truths of your past and present, leaving no room for guilt or regret. Nothing is left unsaid. It's a goodbye to the love that once was, but also a hopeful beginning for what might be.

Warnings: Age gap is around 18 years >>> congrats, you've made it, it's comfort time, bestiees

Word count: 1102

A/n: Last chapter of this series (for now...) I might write for Jack and Robby individually if I feel like there's a story to be told. Maybe even a backstory to this, who knows???

Previous Chapter (3): I Forgive You

With steady hands and a clear mind, you feel like you’re finally finding your rhythm again.

Something within you feels more grounded, less haunted by the past.

You're sat next to a bed, working on removing pieces of glass from your patient's leg. They're sedated, allowing you to sit in peaceful silence.

Something in the corridor catches your attention.

Your eyes flicker to Robby standing outside the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching you execute the procedure with meticulous care and attention. He hasn’t had the courage to enter yet.

"Robby?" You ask gently.

He steps in, arms crossed.

"Looks like you've got it", Robby mutters. A sense of pride in his voice. He was your attending. And he taught you well. Though he always insisted he'd learned just as much from you.

"I could use a hand?" You wouldn't. But you offer anyway, willing him to stay.

That's all he needs, as he grabs a new pair of gloves, instantly finding his place next to you.

He gives you a soft smile before turning his attention to the patient's battered leg.

You sit there for a while, enjoying each other's company.

"Thank you", you say sincerely. "For everything."

Robby's eyes grow wide, before he drops his head, shaking it softly. "You've been through a lot."

"We all have", you acknowledge, a flicker of hope flashing in front of your eyes.

He gently nudges your leg. You reach out, grabbing his thigh without thinking, the instinct still alive. He takes your hand, the sensation still raw but familiar.

Robby looks at the patient’s chart, then shoots a quick look at you, a familiar smirk forming, one you hadn't seen it in a long time.

"Apparently, I need to be more approachable if I want my patient satisfaction scores to go up." He hesitates, but goes for it anyway. "How would you rate my performance, Y/N?"

A laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You quickly glance around, suddenly aware of the inappropriate timing.

Shaking your head, you laugh again, the sound warm and genuine. "You’re ridiculous, Robby."

Robby looks satisfied. "What? Too soon?"

You roll your eyes. "I hope I'm never one of your patients again", a smirk forming on your lips now.

"That makes two of us, my friend", he exhales deeply, feeling like he's finally able to let go.

In this warmth, you both remember. The way love used to be.

You and Jack find yourselves in the break room, still in scrubs, sitting next to each other on the small sofa. The chaos of the ER has died down. No critical patients, no urgent calls, just the two of you in this moment.

Jack cracks open a can of soda, handing it to you without looking. You take it, feeling the warmth of his simple gesture.

He feels you eyeing his sandwich too, but pretends he doesn't. "Jack..." You pout. He slowly shakes his head with a smile.

You put the can down, crossing your arms dramatically.

He glances over at you, still chewing slowly. "You ever think about how we always made it back?" The subject change gives you whiplash.

You hesitate, then give a slight nod. "Every day."

"Yeah." He lets the words hang in the air, not needing to elaborate. Somehow you two always found a way to survive. To come home.

Jack looks at you, his eyes softening before a familiar smirk forms on his lips. “I’m still not giving you my sandwich.”

You laugh, the kind that makes your eyes crinkle. “Oh, come on. I’m starving.”

“You’ll live.” He shrugs nonchalantly, his stoic expression cracking slightly.

You both let out a quiet chuckle. And for the first time in a long time you both realize that this is how it’s meant to be.

With a groan, he finally offers you a bite. You accept, taking a big one. He drops his mouth in disbelief.

As a thank you, you offer your lap with a familiar gesture. Without hesitation, he leans into you, his head resting lightly on your thighs.

And when you softly run your fingers through his greying curls, Jack allows himself to close his eyes, letting his walls down with each calming breath.

For a moment, there’s no history between you. No heartbreak, no regret, just peace. A new kind of love between two people who found their way back.

You push through the metal doors, finding two familiar figures standing on the edge of the rooftop, this time on the appropriate side of the railing.

You hide a small giggle. Progress.

"Thought I'd find you boys up here." You shout over.

Their heads turn instantly, as if they've been waiting for you.

They make room for you between them, before you all turn your gaze back to the sunrise.

You close your eyes and for a brief moment, you swear you can feel their eyes on you. Maybe you will all be okay.

You blink, taking a step back to look at them, their gaze already fixed on you.

You fling your hands around their shoulders, pulling them into a comforting embrace. The three of you stand there for a long moment, holding each other in a way that’s healing, not broken.

You're still here. Together.

You smile at the prospect of this new beginning.

The minutes tick away.

You begin to wonder who's gonna let go first, but quickly realise it won't be them. Not out of fear of what would happen, but out of pure bliss.

So you decide, it has to be you.

You smile, before letting go swiftly. Their hands still on you, even as you step back.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow. Or today. Whatever...", you tease. Robby always insists that just because one shift ends, it doesn't mean it's a new day.

Robby groans. "Today", shaking his head, unable to hide the smile creeping in.

"Dr. Abbot. Dr. Robinavitch", you tease looking at them individually, before you turn around and finally disappear through the doors.

Robby and Jack stay for another beat, not wanting the moment to end.

"You know she still loves you, right?" Jack breaks the silence.

"What?" Robby laughs nervously.

"Come on, brother." Jack tilts his head. "You're good for each other."

"I don't know. I really fucked up."

Jack nods. "So fix it", his voice firm as ever.

The sincerity in his voice makes Robby think. Jack gives him a friendly pat on the chest, as he heads for the door too.

"See you tomorrow", Jack grins.

Robby laughs, like he's finally able to breathe again.

Well well well. This is it guys! I hope you enjoyed this four part series inspired by the 'Four Things that Matter Most': I Love You, Thank You, I Forgive You and Please Forgive Me. Pls pls lmk your thoughts below!! I love reading your comments!

Taglist: ♡

@queenslandlover-93 @sp00kylesley @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sqrlgrl22 @imonmykneessir @gabsgabsvaz @nowandajenn @cannonindeez @sydney-m @persistent-mango

[thewidowsledger]

Secrets Behind Our Dreams

Chapter 15: Dance For Me | 3.9k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You are a club dancer; a stripper. Natasha is a respected notorious mob boss. What would happen if your paths happened to cross one night? The only thing you knew about each other was your dreams, and neither of you knew what the other was.

Pairings: Mob Boss Natasha Romanoff x Stripper Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: Wanda x r (only for this chapter), angst, panic attacks, slapping, blood, dubcon (kissing), Wanda being an obsessive creep and getting on everyone's nerves

Author's Note: A veri beri rushed chapter, idkwtda...

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

"So, how many gifts have you received now? I swear, every day there's something new. It's like Christmas over here."

Xialing turns to you, her voice softer now that you two have grown more comfortable with each other. She watches as you carefully unwrap another box, revealing yet another expensive dress. She rolls her eyes, taking a tiny box beside you and examining the contents.

"These are Clé de Peau Beauté…" she trails off seeing another yet girly stuff inside, "concealer, radiant corrector, cream brushes fu—what are you gonna do with all these?!" she asked unbelievably, if you didn't look at her with that kicked puppy pout face of yours she would've thrown that box across the room.

You know these are worth a fucking fortune since you cannot even pronounce the brands properly. Any other girl would be jumping for joy...but what good are heels, silk gowns, make ups, and lingerie sets against assault rifles and a room that never sheds you sunlight?

None.

You would actually appreciate it more if you were given a pen and a paper.

You carefully tuck the last dress back into its box, there is no use pretending these could ever matter more than being stuck in this place. You packed away those expensive gifts you had received and put it neatly in your own corner without any trace of excitement or greed along with the rest that you have been receiving the past few days you have been here.

"No girl here has received as many gifts as you have."

Maybe the princess thought that fact would make you feel better, but instead, it makes you feel more isolated. Like a target.

"Why me?" your whisper is barely audible, almost lost in the buzz of the room lights. Your lips quiver slightly, betraying the fear you're trying hard to hide, "W-why me?" You repeated defeatedly, your voice cracking as you sob lightly.

The princess didn't have an answer to that either.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trembling slightly. You don't want these gifts. No pretty clothes or fancy shoes—you want out…and to be back in Natasha's arms. And these gifts only made you feel like whoever has been sending them to you is expecting something in return. Like they're trying to soften you up for something worse.

"I'm scared."

The admission hangs in the air, raw and vulnerable. Xialing's expression softens immediately. She walks over to your bed and sits down beside you, her presence both comforting and hesitant.

"We all are. Scared, I mean. It's impossible not to be in a fucking place like this." She says with bitter understanding as she leans in closer, her shoulder brushing against yours. Xialing leans in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Think about it. You've got the perfect weapons hiding in those pretty boxes of yours."

"H-huh?" You ask dumbfoundedly.

"We could take them by surprise, stab them using your heels." She chuckles, already imagining the scene.

"You're ridiculous," your laughter is soft and shaky at first, but it grows a bit more genuine as the tension in your shoulders begins to ease. "We're going to be okay," you say softly, almost like you're trying to convince yourself. You almost believe it, thanks to her unshakeable presence.

You wouldn't deny that her determined expression and confident demeanor always manage to reignite a spark of hope within you, even when you've given up on the situation. She's the one dragging you out of the bed every morning when you don't feel like moving at all, the one scolding you when you tried talking to other girls when it is strictly prohibited or after you glared at Agatha during dinner telling you it would have cost you your life. She is the one looking after you—picking after you. She's like a beacon of strength in the darkness, inspiring you to hold on…just a little longer.

"We're going to be okay."

⧗

Now, you are seated back at a long table again. Over time, you've grown accustomed to the touch of the plastic spoon and fork against your lips and skin. The food is always bland, carefully measured out to keep you thin and 'presentable' just as what Agatha demands. It feels like having silent meals with robots, each bite feels like a chore, performed without thought or enjoyment and knowing that a single stray word could earn you a day without food.

But you know that these robots are just as hopeless and frightened as you are.

"Stripper," You glance up from your plate as Agatha, the woman seated in the center, calls out to you.

It's the name she's only used a handful of times, always dripping with disdain and mockery. Like eating with these robots, you've grown used to it as well.

"Enjoying your gifts?"

You didn't know whether to answer or not. Whether it's a trick to make a word fall out of your mouth for her to get a punishment for you. Xialing once told you to only speak when spoken to but your mind flashes back to the girl from your row who had answered Agatha's question way back, you never saw her during lunch and dinner that day, you only got to see her in the morning, shuffling weakly with the guards almost dragging her withered body.

Your survival instincts started kicking in full force lately with your roommate igniting that little fire of hope within you and you can feel it right now. So, you chose to keep your head down, shoveling the tasteless food into your mouth like a good little robot.

"You've got some visitors later."

And there, your world paused. Your fork freezes before you can bring it to your mouth. Your eyes widen almost imperceptibly while still staring at your plate. Your mouth slightly agape, feeling a rush of adrenaline cause your heart to pound rapidly in your chest.

Your eyes started to water involuntarily in fear and confusion. You've been here too long to know what visitor could mean, but visitors?

"You're a big time stargirl."

And with that Agatha claps loudly, signaling the end of the mealtime. Before you can even finish your food, plates are being removed from the table and so are you. Rough hands yanked you up from your seat. Your hyperventilating starts uncontrollably as panic surges through you. The other girls remain frozen in their seats, their expressions blank—robotic. You can only look at Xialing, her eyes are filled with helpless anger and fear as she watches you struggle silently.

You thrash and kick feebly against the guards' grip, your body language the only form of resistance left in you. Your struggle is almost pathetic, letting out broken whines and sobs being grown accustomed to silence that even now, facing unknown danger, you don't scream or fight with words.

The guard's brutal grip squeezes your arm harder as he drags you forcibly down the hallway you've never been to. His fingers dig into your flesh with painful intensity, making you wince since you're still trying to fight back. Without warning, he throws open a heavy wooden door and shoves you inside, letting you stumble awkwardly.

Through your blurred, tear-filled eyes, you make out a figure sitting in the dim light of the room. As your sobs gradually quiet, you blink, trying to focus. It was the man from the club, his cold eyes fixed on you, a cruel smile tugging at his lips—the one Natasha beat to a pulp over when he tried forcing himself to you. He's sitting in a plush armchair, looking disgustingly the same as far as you can remember him, but the difference now is he's got some scar on his right cheek.

Probably from the punches Natasha threw his way that night.

"Well, well. That's 'er uncle." He chuckles, looking at the old man sitting behind him, who stares at you with cold, beady eyes.

You stand trembling in front of them, your clothes disheveled. The old man's beady eyes rake over you, taking in every detail of you, finally seeing you in person. The man from the club grins wider, enjoying your confused, exposed state.

"I see." The old man says, breaking the silence. "I didn't know Alexei's daughter would be into a cheap whore."

Cheap whore? That you understand, but who's Alexei's daughter?

You're confused, scared, and utterly lost as you watch the two men exchange glances and words. You feel like a small, helpless creature caught in the crossfire of two predators.

"Well, she's not reserved to anyone so that means I can…have her." The man from the club suggested hesitantly, then, all of a sudden the more he spoke the more his voice sends waves of recognition through you. You stiffen, your mind racing. You knew that voice, the same voice of the man who was with Penelope.

Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Memories flood back unbidden—being thrown at the dark room, the slap that made you kiss the ground, and that burning feeling in your skin.

That night your nightmare started.

"Someone got an eye on her already and I believe you being spoiled a lot, yea?"

You're too overwhelmed, still too confused and frightened to even begin to understand what the old man is asking now you're suddenly included in their conversation. Spoiled? Someone got their eye on you? The words swim in your head, making no sense.

Nothing makes sense at this point.

"I can beat whoever that is." The man from the club challenged, with a smirk that made you shiver.

"If you can beat that Maximoff twin, sure."

Before you can even attempt to process what they had just said, strong arms suddenly wrap around your waist and you're abruptly dragged out of the room. The sudden movement makes you stumble, your feet barely touching the ground as you're half-carried, half-dragged down towards the door of the room.

As you're being pulled away, you catch sight of the man from the club once more. His hand casually waves in your direction, that smug smile never left his lips.

"Nice to see you again."

You thought you're going to be brought back to your room but when you were led to another hallway you're not familiar with, you started thrashing against the guard's grip but it was once again, futile.

The door slams shut behind you, leaving you alone in the opulent room. Your eyes dart around nervously before settling on the king-sized bed and a table and two chairs that are solely placed inside. Without hesitation, you make your way to the farthest corner, hugging your body tightly, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Even a bed won't give you comfort right now.

As you sit there, hugging your knees to your chest, the dam breaks. Tears stream down your face, sobs wracking your body as you finally allow the overwhelming emotions to surface. You feel lost, scared, and completely alone, trapped in this strange room with no answers and no escape.

You wonder if Natasha is out there somewhere, searching to look for you. You were the last piece, she has protected you long enough for the Red Room not to find you—she's powerful.

Or

Maybe Natasha isn't looking for you. Maybe she did look for you but gave up one point or maybe she didn't, at all. Maybe she's moved on now and back to her business without you in her life.

Your sobs intensify at that thought, each one tearing through your chest as if ripping your heart apart.

Your brain feels foggy, unable to process the jumbled puzzle pieces of information you have. It's too much, yet not enough. Perhaps, in its own way, your brain is trying to protect you from the overwhelming reality of the situation. By refusing to process the information, it spares you from the harsh truth that's too much to bear. It's a defense mechanism, shielding you from the pain and fear that threatens to consume you.

Now, your mind races back with the questions again, each one more confusing than the last. Is the man from the club the reason why you're here? Did he get back at you? Who was that old man? Who is Alexei's daughter? And most importantly, why are you suddenly being thrown around this room like a pawn in some twisted game?

Well, you are actually a pawn and you are in a twisted game.

"Someone got an eye on her already and I believe you being spoiled a lot, yea?"

"If you can beat that Maximoff twin, sure."

The gifts. You're being spoiled with lavish gifts. And it was…it was from that Maximoff twin.

Before you can even begin to sort the horrifying realization, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoes through the room. The door swings open, revealing a tall, imposing figure standing in the doorway.

That Maximoff twin, Wanda.

Her eyes lock onto you immediately, a mixture of intensity and something else—something almost tender—flickering across her expression. She steps in slowly, carefully, like a predator approaching its prey.

You try to move, to escape the corner that has become your prison but it's already a dead end. Either way you are still trapped with this woman in this room.

Instead of closing in on you, Wanda surprises you by dragging a chair across the room. She sits down, legs spread, her eyes never leaving your tear-stained face. She's close enough to see you clearly, but far enough that you don't feel suffocated by her presence.

You try to shrink into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest and burying your face in your arms, as if you can disappear from her sight. Wanda watches you intently, her expression unreadable as she studies your desperate attempt to hide from her. But she lets you. She watches your shivering shoulders, hears your quiet sniffs—she knows you're crying. Instead of ripping you out of your protective shell, she gives you space, letting you hide like a wounded animal.

She liked it. That sight of you stirred a strange warmth in her chest. You're so small, fragile…

Completely at her mercy.

"Stand up," she suddenly orders.

At the sharp commanding tone, you flinch violently, curling into an even tighter ball.

"Please, detka? Stand up." She leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees as she waits, holding her breath, hoping against hope that you'll obey.

You heard the change in her tone clearly now—the harsh lines softening. Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your head, your tear stained eyes meeting Wanda's. Your survival instincts kick in once again, whispering that you should obey her to avoid pain. You don't know what this woman can do but you know she's powerful enough to hurt you. You slowly uncurl your trembling body, pushing yourself up on shaky legs. You stand there, hunched over, arms wrapped around your middle protectively, eyes darting between Wanda and the floor.

Her eyes slowly rake over your body, taking in every trembling limb. She leans back slightly, her voice steady and calm as she speaks, "I heard you're a dancer." She pauses, letting the words hang in the air between you.

She's aware of the seedy clubs and the pole you wriggle around on nights. Yet, she calls you a dancer.

You're shocked at her words of choice. You're a stripper, someone who spreads your legs for cash. But Wanda, with her soft voice and gentle eyes, makes it sound like you're some kind of professional artist.

She watches with interest as your cheeks flush a deep red. She sees the way you fidget, suddenly self-conscious under her intense gaze. A small, satisfied smile plays on her lips as she realizes she's gotten a reaction out of you.

"Dance for me."

The fear is back in your eyes, the color draining from your flushed cheeks. You stumble back a step, wrapping your arms protectively around your midsection even more as if trying to make yourself smaller. Your breath hitches, and you look at Wanda with wide, terrified eyes, like a cornered animal. A breathy sob escapes you, making your small frame shake. You shake your head slightly, dark hair cascading over your shoulders and hiding your face.

"I'm waiting."

You shut your eyes close as you slowly start moving, your body remembering the choreography from countless strip club nights at Valkyrie's. Your arms lift gracefully over your head, your hips circle seductively. The absence of music makes the atmosphere even more eerie. There's no beat to guide you, no rhythm to follow—just the sound of your own sobs echoing through the room. Each movement feels awkward and exposed.

You're dancing out of fear, not desire.

As you continue dancing, your sobs mingling with the graceful movements of your body, Wanda leans back in her chair, drinking in the sight. Each tear that slides down your cheek, each shuddering breath that escapes your lips, seems to bring her a twisted pleasure. She bites her lower lip, a low groan rumbling in her throat. "That's it," she murmurs, her eyes dark with a hunger that has nothing to do with food.

Without warning, Wanda shoots up from her chair and grabs your wrists, stopping you and pulling you towards her with a force that catches you off guard. You're suddenly pulled onto her lap as she sits back down on the bed. Your eyes snap shut, a gasp escaping your lips.

"P-please…don't hurt me, please." You croaked, your voice almost failing you from not talking since the morning you're being dragged around.

She wipes your tears away with a gentleness that belies her previous actions. Her touch is surprisingly soft against your skin as she cleans the wet tracks from your cheeks. "I won't hurt you, not yet at least," she says, her voice almost tender as her eyes search yours.

As soon as you try to squirm away, her strong hands immediately tighten around your waist, holding you firmly in place. The gentleness in her voice hardens. "Not so fast, kotenok. Don't make me change my mind about hurting you now." She chuckles, "Did you like my little gifts? You're not wearing any of them." You're wearing a silk duster that Xialing lends you, it's enough to cover your body to your knees.

"I don't want your gifts!" You spat in her face before you could even think.

Without warning, her open palm connects with your cheek, the sound echoing through the room. You can taste the coppery tang of blood where her ring caught your lip. She slapped you hard enough to make your head snap to the side.

You let out a cry as you rub your cheek. Wanda curses under her breath, remembering the rule, the one that's been drilled into her by Agatha because she knows the sadist tendency of her—no one can hurt any of the girls. No one can leave marks on the girls, at least not yet. Not until the night the clients can finally own them, you included.

"Fuck, I'm sorry…" she started to murmur apologies, her voice softer again now, almost gentle and it's making you crazy. Her hands gripped your waists, pulling you closer. "I'm sorry, bunny. I didn't mean to hurt you," she whispers, her hot breath ghosting over your skin.

Before you can even process a thought, she grabbed your jaw and her tongue swirls around your lip, lapping up the blood that had gathered there. She sucks on your lower lip gently, pulling it into her mouth before releasing it with a soft pop. With a low growl, she kisses you again, this time with a fierceness that borders on desperation. Her lips mash against yours, her teeth scraping against your lip as she deepens the kiss. She kisses you breathless, ignoring your whimpers and cries as she consumes your mouth.

Her lips leave your mouth, kissing down your jaw, your neck. She suckles softly on your pulse point, making you shiver. Her hands slip down your back possessively.

"You smell so fucking good, fuck. You smell the same like the last time I saw you..."

"P-please no. I don't want this…"

She freezes instantly at your plea, her lips still pressed against your neck. She pulls back slowly, eyes glinting in the dim light as she searches your face. She watches you catch your breath, your chest heaving with sobs.

"You don't want this?"

You were scared if you said no and much worse if you said yes. But still, you managed to nod and her expression falters briefly when you did it. She taps your inner right leg with two fingers and surprisingly releases you. You scramble off her lap, wiping at your tears and trembling lips.

"I will accept that for now, but one thing you have to know is you'll be mine soon. And no is a word that cannot be spoken around me." She says as she stands, while you crawl your way to the corner.

"But I-I don't want you."

"Well, that is something that I will not accept."

⧗

As you're escorted out of the room, Agatha was there, her sharp eyes immediately falling on your bruised lip. She steps forward, gently grasping your chin and examining the damage with a heavy sigh. "What has she done now?" Agatha murmurs to herself before addressing the guard sternly. "Take her to her room."

Her face turns red with anger as she storms over to Wanda, sitting in front of her office table. "I specifically told you not to touch the girl! No marks! And she got a busted lip and God knows what else! What is wrong with you?"

Wanda shrugs nonchalantly, spreading her legs wider as she lounges back in the chair. "Who cares? She's gonna be mine soon so I can do whatever I want to her." She grins mischievously, running her tongue over her teeth.

"You forget, Wanda, you didn't ask the Red Room to have her taken for you. They took her by themselves so she's not reserved. Anyone can claim her, not just you. You're not the only one interested in that stripper!" Agatha's eyes narrow dangerously, a vein pulsing in her temple. "What did you do to her?"

"She was being a brat to me, so I slapped her a little."

"A little huh? That her lip is bleeding? You've got lots of money but your rings are fucking rusty. You're lucky Dreykov and Walker gotta see her first." Despite her being ruthless and strict, Agatha maintained a peculiar sense of strict care for the girls under her control. Even those tasked on taking, more like abducting the girls received stern warnings from her not to leave a single mark or bruise, arguing that the merchandise needs to look pristine.

"She was able to see Dreykov?" Wanda asks, genuinely curious that she didn't even realize the bashing comment of Agatha with her favorite rings.

Dreykov's been a ghost since Natasha, his own goddaughter, torched his empire—the Red Room. Natasha thought she did, but the business still operated and no one's seen the man himself in years.

"Yes, I think. Walker is the only one that has direct contact with Dreykov. And I think that stripper might have pulled off what half the underworld hasn't."

"She's a dancer." Out of everything Agatha just said, Wanda corrected her for calling you a stripper before she stood and made her way out of her office.

"Oh c'mon. She dances for money that's a fucking whore!" Agatha shouts for Wanda to hear.

"Didn't you pimp your own son for money too?" the redhead turns, her voice steady and so sure of her blunt accusation. A smug look creeping in her face that made Agatha shiver.

"F-fuck you, Maximoff!" Agatha's face turns an ugly shade of red, her eyes bulging as she shouts.

"No, thank you." She snickers, "And Agatha? Make sure I've got no competition with that girl on the bidding night."

Secret Behind Our Dreams: Masterlist