#and this is how it all needs to be for the timeline to work out and all that

[smoolpotaeto]

Manager Crashout

Pairing: Saja Boys x Manager!Reader

Summary: Overwhelmed with the amount of work you had to do in addition to the boys' constant chaos? Total crashout

**Doesn't exactly follow the movie timeline

[smoolpotaeto] Main Masterlist

"Abby, stop taking pictures of yourself every 5 seconds and help out in here!"

"Stop flirting and get back to work, Romance!"

"Mystery! Come back here!"

"Can you please stop complaining and just follow my instructions, Baby."

"Jinu! Stop smirking and manage your members!"

It was a nonstop chaos in the Saja Boys' studio room as the five were practicing their dance— or well, supposed to be practicing their dance. The four won't even listen to you properly, and their leader didn't even think of lending a hand to discipline them. Jinu was just there, staring at the chaos and you shouting at all of them to get back on track.

The boys had a show they were supposed to be in tomorrow after their 'debut' weeks ago at a street where they had performed their hit song Soda Pop. And you, drawn in by their energy and their undeniable good looks, applied to be the newly founded boy band's manager. Seeing that the five needed someone human to do most of the work for them and act as a "front," they didn't think much of getting you.

So now we're here—

You, an overworked manager who handles their PR, scheduling, idol actvities, as well looking for producers, lyricists, and the likes for their next new song, all the while handling the chaos that the five ensues. It was pretty much an everyday occurrence— Abby's narcissism, Romance's flirting, Mystery suddenly disappearing when curiosity gets the best of him, Baby being a literally man-baby, and Jinu relishing in the chaos.

Normally, it would be fine. While it's only been a few weeks, you've grown quite attached to them. They were nice when they wanted to, and they took good care of you despite their annoying attitude.

However, things have been real hectic lately. You didn't expect how huge the boys would get in such a short amount of time, and now they're being requested left and right in a lot of shows. Naturally, that meant receiving and sending phone calls and emails continuously. Aside from that, it also meant managing the boys' everyday schedules. To say that you were tired is an understatement— you already felt like a walking corpse at this point.

"Guys, please," You groaned, pleading, "Just practice your damn song. You'll be in front of a lot of people tomorrow, and you can't mess up unless you want to get your image thrown off." Your words fell on deaf ears, the five continuing to do their own thing.

It's been like that for the past hour or two— you weren't even sure at this point. What you were sure of, however, was that your anger was steadily rising, and you didn't know how long you can keep it at bay.

Without warning, your phone rang. Displayed on the screen was the name of one of the producers of the show for tomorrow. "Ah fuck, I completely forgot..." With a sigh, you started walking out of the room to answer the call, but not without calling to the boys first. "You guys better be doing something productive when I get back."

...

The call took longer than expected. The producer really wanted everything noted down and clean down to the smallest detail, and that usually meant a lot of reassurance and planning. "Well, time to check to see how they're doing."

The boys are not in fact, doing something productive when you got back. Instead, Abby and Baby were now running around the studio, Mystery was sleeping, Romance is now laughing at Abby and Baby, and Jinu was scrolling on his phone...?— where did get that?

"Oi! Didn't I tell you to—"

You didn't even get to finish what you were saying when Abby crashed into one of the studio lights, toppling and destroying it rendering the light useless.

The studio went into complete silence, and you stood there stunned. Did they really just destroy one of the studio lights? One that you worked so hard on to secure at a good price? One that costed a bit too much compared to other expenses? One that has not even been there for at least a week?

"What. The. HELL?!"

The four turned their heads towards you, and Mystery who was sleeping was now awake. "Do you know how much that thing costs?! How much effort I put in to find you guys nice lights to use for the studio room? Do you have any idea how tiring it has been for the previous days?!"

Sensing that they were about to get in trouble, Jinu quickly stood up from his position and walked towards you, "Hey, (Y/N), I'm sure the two didn't mean to destroy the lights. How about we—" The demon quickly shut up by the intensity of your glare.

"And you!" You pointed at Jinu. "M-me?" "No, it's the wall behind you— of course you! Who else is there, huh?!" The boy gulped at your tone, "How many times have I told you to watch over them? To discipline them? Tell them to get back on track? Make sure that they don't cause any problem?"

You were on a rant at this point. All the anger and tiredness you were trying to keep bottled up for the past days had now come undone.

"Don't you see how much I've been working and handling for you guys? I can't even sleep properly at night knowing that everything has to be perfect so that you guys can keep charting and be on shows. All I ever asked from you guys was to listen to me— get back to practice, behave yourselves, act like fucking adults, but what do I get in return? Nothing! Not even a single thank you!"

Tears were now brimming on your eyes, and while you felt embarrassed from suddenly lashing out, you didn't care at this point. You were tired, and no amount of patience can keep up with this amount of work. "(Y/N)—"

"No. Don't get started right now.... You know what? I'm done. Fuck this. I'm leaving." Without missing a beat, you placed down your Manager ID and clipboard and all related things to being their manager.

Abby was the first to recover from the shock. There was no way you were actually leaving now right?

"(Y/N), hey, wait." With a scowl and tears on your face, you faced Abby. "What?" "I know we messed up, but you can't be serious about leaving us, right?"

With a scoff, you turned on your heel. "Yeah... goodluck with finding a manager that can stand all of you."

The boys stared at the door that you just left in. "We fucked up big time didn't we?" "Yep..."

[ssivinee]

「 Timeline 」

b. manon x f reader ! ✎𓂃 Ever since you were young, you have begun to plan your life for success. somewhat even obsessed with the idea that led you to being unintentionally self-centered at times. You believed your plans were coming to fruition... when Manon decides to throw your entire timeline off.

word count ! 18.5 k

tags ! cheater manon, virgin reader, mirror sex, a bit of degradation, dom reader, tiny praising kink, reader being confused SO much.

author's note ! you guys are literally insane. THANK YOU FOR THE 1K FOLLOWERS. it literally almost makes me wanna cry. but in celebration, im giving yall another long katseye smut.

ehem i will be doing my reqs after this so everyone BARE WITH ME PLS AND TY!

Working in the corporate scene had always been your life goal. It was eye-opening to realize that some of the jobs you once dreamed of wouldn’t have provided a stable income. Especially since you were the kind of person who planned out your entire life before it even truly began.

From a young age, you carried this almost narcissistic belief that you were destined for more—an idea born from growing up in a middle-class family surrounded by people you considered painfully average. You were seven when ambition first took place, and you never let it go ever since.

You remembered living in an old modern house, playing soccer as an after-school activity, and watching how often your mom and dad worked. At first, you believed that anyone who worked hard was destined for success. But over time, you learned it wasn’t that simple. When your parents returned home at ungodly hours, their arguments about money and time were heard through the walls of the house.

One particular fight ended with your father slamming the front door and heading out for a late-night drive to clear his head. That night, you started thinking about what success really meant and how to attain it. There were so many variables like education, finances, and even luck. But what if you didn’t have luck… how could you build a future without relying on something not everyone had?

While your parents worked their night shifts, you began journaling every idea, every goal, every backup plan, all within your childhood bedroom.

You had always been gifted with numbers, so you figured that a career in accounting would be a good career to look into. By the time you reached high school, you spent every summer interning at various companies. It was taxing for a teenager, but you figured if you couldn’t handle it now, you wouldn’t survive whatever you planned for college, so you pushed through.

During your first two years of university, you focused entirely on finishing as many classes as possible. At the same time, you took a job as a remote financial analyst, balancing work and school to keep progressing at a good pace.

You even poured everything into finishing four years of education in just two. Once you graduated, you worked multiple jobs until, at twenty-four, you finally had the proper resume to apply for an opening at a telecommunications company called Zuno.

Using the smartass brain of yours, you assessed the company’s future potential and determined the odds were in your favor. You applied for an internal auditor position and figured that climbing the corporate ladder would be easy enough.

Turns out, you were right since, by twenty-five, you’d been promoted to Head of Financial Planning and Analysis. The new position allowed you to pay off your parents’ bills and mortgage, purchase your own loft in the city, and be financially stable for a very long time.

You were perfectly on track with your ‘perfect’ timeline, but that was until you weren’t. The next step would’ve been becoming CFO, but with your age and experience, it was now all about the waiting game. You’d need a few more years before you could realistically take over your boss’s position.

The problem was, this well-thought-out plan hadn’t accounted for the momentum to pause. And now that you were facing it, the thought made you sick. Life had been too smooth for you to accept this kind of dilemma.

But that wasn’t something you could dwell on now, especially not while sitting in the conference room, furiously typing away on your laptop.

“What’s the budget, forecast, analysis, and planning for the upcoming project?” asked Gary Dinapoli, your CFO. He addressed his entire team, but you knew the question was mostly for you, like usual.

“For Project Sierra,” you began confidently, “the current working budget is estimated at $27.3 million, with a ten percent buffer. Of that, roughly 42% is for the infrastructure and network expansion in Tier 2 markets, 31% to product innovation and internal R&D, and the rest split between marketing, onboarding, and operational overhead.”

The room grew quieter as a few heads turned in your direction. You continued in a steady tone, “Forecasts for Quarter three show a projected 14.6% increase in user acquisition if launch dates hold and marketing sticks to the current schedule. Momentum from Project Romeo exceeded ROI expectations by 23% last quarter, bringing in $11.2 million above initial statistics.”

Gary raised an eyebrow, but you continued, “Analysis of customer behavior over the last six months shows a 19% uptick in cross-platform engagement. Based on trajectory, we can expect net revenue impact to peak by mid-fourth quarter with breakeven happening around month five, possibly sooner with the right moves.”

You finally glanced up from your laptop, locking eyes with Gary. “As for planning,” you added, “we’re currently finalizing phase timelines with cross-functional leads. Finance-wise, I’ve already mapped out cash flow pacing to avoid strain, and risk assessments are clean unless the market peaks unexpectedly.”

It was silent for a second, until Gary let out an impressed, loud exhale through his nose. “Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “Guess I don’t need to ask if you’re ahead of schedule.”

You just offered a faint smile, fingers already typing again.

Before he could end the meeting, you heard another voice speak up from the opposite end of the room.

“Well, some of that’s just projection,” Chase said, casually adjusting his cufflinks. “Market response isn’t guaranteed, especially when user behavior fluctuates from time to time. We saw the same thing with Romeo before you adjusted your forecast.”

Chase always had a habit of inserting himself when he didn’t feel seen, which, to his disdain, was often. He’s five years older than you, has been in the company longer, and was your competition for your current position. 

The keyword is ‘was’ because getting the position before him wasn’t something he got over, even after a year since the announcement.

Gary didn’t even bother turning his head to the man, just keeping his eyes on the papers instead, “Yes, Chase. And I read your report this morning. Everything she just said? Already in it—just with fewer run-on sentences.”

A few coworkers stifled a laugh, but you stayed quiet. Glancing at the older man, who looked embarrassed at the boss's words, you could only shake your head at the sight. Gary turned his attention back to you, “Finish up your work by four,” he said. “Then head upstairs to his office at five and give him a report, please.”

You give Gary a tight-lipped smile at his kind tone as he dismisses everyone. Going to the thirty-eighth floor, you waited with coffee in hand to go to your own office. Having your own space also kept you ahead of schedule, so the promotion was a blessing, not only for your path in life but for the sake of your mental health as well.

Gary spoke of him as if he were the biggest secret of the business, but that was only because he didn’t always get along with the CEO. Marcos Gosse, the founder and CEO of the company.

You could sit in your office every single day, thinking why the two didn’t get along, but you didn’t understand it, as both are kind men. Marcos was one of the youngest CEO’s you were even aware of, standing at the same age as you. He’s an intelligent man who treated his employees well.

Maybe Gary was jealous? 

You shook your head, not liking to assume anything unless they were backed up with any kind of evidence. Now heading into your office, the cool air hit the sleeves of your black portefino shirt once you opened the door.

Settling into your chair, you take another sip of the coffee as you set the silver laptop on the surface of the glass desk. Then, staring at the standing whiteboard which had multiple check marks on it, all the work needing to be done today was seemingly finished even before the meeting you just had. All you had to do was sit and wait until five.

Which meant an annoying hour and twenty minutes of nothing to do. So instead of lounging around, you took out the thick notebook from your leather briefcase-shaped bag. Taking a red pen from the black pencil holder on your desk, you open the book and begin writing the plans for this month.

While writing down a bunch of meetings, deadlines, and events, another woman exited the elevator. She took in the large buildings, giving herself an unofficial tour of the place as she took it into her own hands. 

Every employee heard her expensive heels clacking down the hallway, most of the rooms sectioned off by large walls of oak wood that seemed to be painted in a dark stain. She hums, impressed with the modern look of the space, while others stare at her as she struts to the opposite end of the building.

She begins reading the plaque of each room, seeing that she has found people in higher positions in the department. Through a big enough window, she finds Gary, who seems to be taking a phone call.

He catches a glimpse of the woman, giving a kind smile and a wave. They had met the week prior during a meeting Marco had prepared. She knew the older man didn’t have the best relationship with her husband, but Gary looked like a cuddly bear in her eyes, which made her love him.

Next, she walked over to the room beside Gary’s to find the plaque engraved with ‘Head of Financial Planning and Analysis’ and ‘Y/n L/n,’ right below it. She looks into the room through the glass, not showing her complete face, where she finds you deep in your notebook. 

She watched as your gaze moved to a phone, then you wrote swiftly with your red pen. Your glasses hung from the bridge of your nose, sliding down due to looking down at the paper. So engrossed, you didn’t even notice her staring at you.

Instead of seeming like a creep to the rest of the workers on the floor, she decides to take her leave to the top floor, where she would hang around until the night ends. Luckily, the hour went by quickly, and you had time to grab a snack from the breakroom. After storing your laptop and notebook back in your bag, you bring them with you and enter the room that smells like food.

You stand in front of the vending machine, thinking a small Rice Krispies treat would help your stomach since you would be home right after giving your report. As you pay with your phone, the snack drops, and you unwrap it to eat.

“I must have to worst luck to see you everywhere,” You hear Chase’s annoying voice say, and you take a bite out of the snack, giving him a smile along with it. “Still salty, old man?”

“It’s been a year, and yours still hanging onto that grudge of yours,” You tease while still munching on the treat as he quickly looks angry. “That position should be MINE!”

You shake your head, tapping your finger on your hip as you throw away your garbage and swallow the last piece. “You mean ‘that should have been my position.’ C’mon now, Chase. Proper grammar, please,” you told him while taking your leave to the upper floor, and heard him growl.

It may not be apart of your life plan, but pissing off the older man always made your day go by smoother.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime as you stepped in from the 38th floor, pressing the button that led to the 40th. As the doors slid shut, the sound of the elevator filled the silence, giving you a moment to roll your shoulders back without the bustling office ringing in your ears. The upper levels of the building were always quieter, and you already wished your office was up there.

When the doors opened again, all you could still hear was the silence that took over the entire floor. Due to the floor having higher representatives and a large empty meeting room, everyone stayed quiet in their own offices.

You walked all the way to the end, the room being blocked off by towering, dark wooden doors. Then, knocking twice as you waited for the okay to enter, and it didn’t take long for a voice to come through.

“Come in.” Pushing the door open, you were met with the scent of leather and lemon, likely due to the candle that was evidently lit up on the desk. Marcos stood from behind the table, smoothing down his suit jacket that had gotten wrinkled from the whole day of sitting, and he had an easygoing smile that he always greeted you with.

“There’s my genius numbers machine,” he said jokingly, then motioned for you to sit. “How’ve you been?” You sat down, crossing one leg over the other as you offered him a polite smile. “Same as always, just trying to make sure Chase doesn’t bark up a storm.”

Marcos chuckled, “I told you, he was going to throw a fit after today's meeting. But hey, you always handle him best.” He leaned on the desk now after taking a seat, his back resting on his large office chair. “Tell me—did you ever get that Chrysler you kept going on about?”

You let out a small laugh through your nose, “I did, it’s all black.” He grinned widely, nodding in approval. “Nice. You’ve got good taste.” He always talked to you all friendly, like he wasn’t your boss. You took it up with being the same age as him, and he probably needed a friend who wouldn't judge him for how young he is.

From your bag, you pulled out the prepared papers and slid them across the desk. Marcos took it, his fingers flipping through the first few pages scanning through them as he trusted your work. You gave him a quick rundown, saving him the time.

“Budget for Project Sierra is good to go, no unexpected adjustments since Monday. Analysis is clean, and planning is already syncing with the other companies for a greenlight deployment. Phase one’s basically ready.”

He nodded along, halfway through a skim of a page. “I’ll dig into the rest later tonight—” A knock interrupted him. His gaze shifted to the door, a bit confused about who it might be. “Come in.”

The door opened smoothly, and in stepped a woman who literally looked as confident as she walked. Her hair was styled into a straight, sleek ponytail cascading down her back with not a single hair out of place. She wore pointed, glossy red heels with a black sleeveless midi sheath dress that had a square neckline and cut off right below her knees.

You didn’t know who she was, but you glanced over your shoulder, and for a second, your eyes locked with hers.

She looked quite expensive, all you could even tell yourself that. But other than that, you didn’t pay much attention to her, as she dressed like many of the higher representative women in Zuno.

Marcos stood from his chair again, gesturing between the two of you with that usual soft-spoken tone of his. “Ah—perfect timing,” he said. “This is Manon. My fiancée.”

You only blinked as you stood up slowly, brushing your pants down before reaching out your hand. “Nice to meet you,” you said coolly, offering a firm shake. Her fingers curled around yours in return, and you noticed how soft and small her hand felt as they wrapped around yours.

“Likewise,” she answered with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It’s only a marriage contract,’ she told herself over and over again. But she wasn’t about to say that out loud, because why would she?

Manon had met Marcos about six months ago. A lunch gathering between industry executives and family shareholders introduced them, and things moved fast once her parents got to know him for a bit. Two months after the first meeting, both of them signed the paperwork. It was only a marriage and company transaction that would favor the two.

Manon did try to fight it, lord knows she didn’t want to deal with anything of this sort since she had only turned 23. Yet there seemed to be no way out once her parents set their minds on it.

Her father was the CEO of Bannerman Studios, one of the biggest production companies in the industry, and the engagement would be a headline-worthy topic in the business circuit.

But despite the perks and polished smiles, Marcos didn’t excite her. He was genuinely sweet,  the kind of man who always held doors open and asked if she’d eaten. He even sent fresh flowers to her place every week, left handwritten notes when he traveled for work, and never raised his voice, like ever.

It should have been perfect, and granted, it was. But Manon wasn’t the type of woman who liked to be perfect. She liked chaos, stupid decisions, and risks. She liked the feeling of freedom, the excitement of anything that left any person breathless. Basically, anything that involved trouble, Manon loved and gravitated towards.

And right now?

She was staring at you. You were taller than her, looked composed, clean, and smart, which wasn’t something that would usually excite her. Your long hair was twisted back into a claw clip, some strands framing your face. You wore navy blue wide-leg tailored pants, stood in black heels, and a white button-up tucked in perfectly, looking like everything fit to a tee and showed off your figure.

Manon didn’t say anything else, and it wasn’t like she could. Everything she thought about you could’ve been considered infidelity even if she wasn’t, yet, married to Marcos.

She could just swoon for you, and in that little wild corner of her mind, you looked like the kind of woman who might surprise her with entertainment. And since her contract signing four months ago, this seems to be the moment she has been waiting for.

“I should take my leave, need to cook up some dinner,” you told your boss, and he gave you a kurt nod. “It was nice to meet you, Manon,” you say out of common courtesy. Her gaze couldn’t even leave your face when she told you, “It was so nice meeting you as well.” 

There was something in the tone of her voice that made you raise an eyebrow before you head out of the office. You shake your head while walking down the hall, believing Manon to be a person who just liked meeting new people.

Yeah… that was it… surely?

It was finally Friday, one of the days that sped up before the weekend. You were finishing up the last of your reports for the day, already mentally clocking out for a normal, uneventful weekend. The next two days would usually just be you, in your loft, chilling while watching some random documentaries throughout the day. You even had a few queued up already—one about a serial killer, another on Amy Winehouse. 

Even if you graduated early, you still loved learning, especially if they were things that were on your own terms. Some could say nerdy, you say… nerdy and educational. More knowledge won’t kill anyone.

You were thinking about it as you typed away on your keyboard, until a knock echoed off your office door. You paused mid-type, brows furrowed since you weren’t expecting anyone.

Not even saying anything, the door cracked open, and in walked Manon.

She stepped inside without much of a word, giving the office space a look around, which made you look puzzled. You could tell she was checking to see if anyone was paying attention to her sudden appearance, but everyone was too caught up in doing their work to even care. You heard multiple office phones ringing, people silently replying to emails and research, while others responded to the calls. No one even spared her a glance, which seemed to relieve her.

She then shut the door softly behind her. You leaned back in your chair, eyes narrowing slightly, your confusion not even being hidden at all.

“…Ms. Bannerman?” you asked slowly, the name coming from memory when Marcos had mentioned more about her two days ago, when the topic came up again somehow. But she waved a hand, cutting you off gently. “Just call me Manon.”

You blinked, still not fully understanding the situation, but replied the same way. “Ms. Bannerman.”

She tilted her head slightly, caught off guard at the way you repeated her name instead. She was used to people folding for her and following whatever she told them to do. Who wouldn’t? She was Manon Bannerman, after all.

But you didn’t budge, not one bit, as you sat in your chair just observing her next move. And that earned you a smirk from her.

From behind her back, she revealed a coffee cup and stepped forward. “A peace offering,” she said playfully, leaning slightly across your desk as she handed it over.

Your eyes instinctively flicked down, then back up—very quickly. The velvet maroon dress she had on dipped low in the front, showing off her cleavage, sleeves hugging her arms, and the fabric clung extremely tightly to her frame. She looked expensive yet seductive, which was surely the wrong setting for an outfit like such, while standing in your office and leaning over your desk like it wasn’t a big deal. You noticed the subtle glint of a thin chain bracelet wrapped twice around her wrist, paired with the faintest whiff of jasmine and wood. Her perfume legit just smelled as expensive as she looks.

You took the cup, still unsure. “…Uhm. Okay?” With a hesitant sip, you feel the heat of the coffee first, the sensation being something you were fond of, then some sweetness hits your tongue. It wasn’t bad, sometimes liking sweet things every now and then, but you definitely didn’t prefer your everyday coffee this way.

“It’s a bit sweet, but thanks for the coffee,” you said anyway, in a polite manner. When you looked back up, her mouth had dropped slightly open. “You think that’s sweet? I only asked for two sugars.”

You shrugged. “I usually drink it black.” That made her pause; she should’ve seen it coming. Your demeanor was like the kind of person who liked straight answers… and your coffee plain.

She leaned her weight onto one hip, brow raised, and mumbled under her breath, “How do you prefer your women then…” It was barely audible, and you blinked with a perplexed look on your face. “Sorry—what?”

She straightened up quickly, brushing it off with a light laugh. “Nothing,” she said smoothly, already backing toward the door.

Hand on the knob, she turned over her shoulder one last time. “Have a good day.” You nodded once, still processing what the fuck just happened. “…You too.”

As the door shut behind her, Manon walked past the cubicles of employees and down the hall, heels clicking rapidly as she sped walk.

She needed to think of some way for you to be interested in her, or even just catch your attention, because if someone like you wasn’t easily impressed, she was going to have to figure out a way to do so.

So when entering the elevator and pressing her destination, she just kept thinking and thinking about a plan. When walking into Marcos’ office, Manon didn’t even knock. It would’ve been a waste of time for her.

Ironically, she never did when it came to Marcos' office—he had even grown accustomed to it after she started doing it a month into their contract. However, it still caught him off guard, his head lifting from a thick pile of papers when she entered unannounced.

“Manon,” he greeted, smile kind and voice still that signature softness he gave to everyone. 

She didn’t understand why her brain had to operate the way it did. Her parents set her up for greatness with this man, and regardless of what she thought, he was overall a perfect person. Wealthy, sweet, treated people with kindness, funny, and just a friendly guy overall. Yet why were those qualities just not enough for her?

She remembered a few nights ago, when Marcos had taken her to an expensive rooftop restaurant. It was one of those places with a skyline view that everyone posted on Instagram. He talked about stocks and a bit about work before talking about things that could possibly happen for their wedding over steak, and smiled every time she laughed at a joke she didn’t find funny. When he dropped her home, he kissed her forehead goodnight. 

…That was it.

A faint trace of embarrassment crept onto her cheeks as she stepped further into the room. She hated how uncollected she felt in that moment—it wasn’t like she was in trouble or anything. Still, she didn’t respond to him, choosing to make her way to the opposite end of his office, in front of his desk, but far away enough, where the couch was placed.

It was in front of the black colored concrete accent wall in his room. The seating arrangement made it comfortable enough that she didn’t feel suffocated despite the corporate space that seemed hectic all the time. Granted, it was still Marcos’ space, so she couldn’t feel super free, but it sufficed for the space that it was. The couch is modern, low, yet wide, with clean ivory leather surrounding it and dark wood framing. A beige concrete drum coffee table was in front of it, fitting into the ‘plain’ modern aesthetic Manon actually despised.

Manon took a seat, crossing a leg over the other as she took a sip of the iced coffee she had bought herself in the process of buying yours.

That look you gave her earlier pretty much stuck in that pretty head of hers. It hadn’t been anything crazy either, just a pause with the piercing gaze of yours, as your brows narrowed ever so slightly while watching her every movement. You were clearly studying her and didn’t even hide it.

You could think that it wouldn’t get any worse, but it did to Manon. When you didn’t look impressed, like at all.

Marcos glanced up again, focused only on her, “Where’d you disappear to? I figured I’d see you before I met with the commercial company.”

Her expression didn’t change as she gave him a nonchalant shrug, “Just went out to get coffee.” It’s all she intended to say, especially since Marcos didn’t ask anything further. He hummed under his breath, giving a nod before glancing back down at the documents he’d been reviewing.

But then, out of nowhere, Manon’s brain seemed unable to help itself. “I bumped into Y/n in the elevator.” So she lied, yet admitted to seeing you… she wanted to smack herself in the head as soon as the word left her mouth. He stopped mid-read, brow raising slightly in curiosity. “Y/n?”

“You mean… my head of FP&A?” he asked, eyes lifting again, this time a bit confused. “She rarely leaves the building unless it’s her lunch break. Maybe she took it late today? She’s clocking out soon anyway, so I guess it’s possible.” He didn’t sound suspicious, just a bit curious about his friend whom he believed he knew well, but that didn’t stop the flicker of panic that jolted through her for a brief moment.

“I’ll ask her about it—”

“No,” she cut in, voice just a little too quick than intended. Marcos paused, pen still in hand, eyes flickering with mild confusion at her tone. She caught the way she sounded and Marcos’ face, faking an airy laugh.

“It was just… a little awkward,” she said, brushing a curl from her perfectly styled hair behind her ear as she leaned back into the sofa. “I don’t think it’s worth bringing up.” He could’ve questioned her, but it seemed like Manon put her acting skills up to the test in the moment. One of the many things being born a Bannerman taught her.

He nodded, the information new to him, “That’s surprising. She’s usually really composed and professional.”

“Exactly,” Manon replied without any hesitation. “Which is probably why it was awkward. I’m kind of the opposite, you know?” Marcos chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door, then it eased open. Manon recognized him as Morcos’ assistant, a small-framed man, wearing a collared shirt that wrinkled from how big it was, eyes insanely visible behind his large-rimmed glasses.

“Sir,” he said, voice a little too soft. “The—uh—boardroom’s ready. They’re waiting.”

Marcos sighed quietly, standing from his seat and collecting his papers into a folder. “Right. I’ll be back in an hour.” He rounded his desk, walking over to Manon and giving her a brief peck on the cheek. “Just relax here for a bit, okay? We’ll head out after.”

She nodded and smiled in return, though the moment he left, the smile dropped. Manon Bannerman was a lot of things. Patient was not one of them.

She stood up, pacing a bit before settling back into the couch. Her gaze wandered, drifting over the art, the floating shelves with framed awards on them, the books she doubted anyone ever actually opened, with the dust collecting on them. She sat for another two minutes, legs crossing and uncrossing, fingers tapping against her thigh.

Then her eyes landed on his desktop monitor. With no one else in the room, her intrusive thoughts began running. It was one of the only offices without windows, and she knew that Marcos didn’t turn off his computer unless he was heading out for the night.

Curiosity took over as she waited five more minutes. Just long enough to make sure the coast was really clear. Once she felt enough time had passed, she made her move.

She did her best to be a bit quiet, heels barely clicking against the floor as she made her way behind the desk. The chair was adjusted higher than she preferred, but since she was snooping around, complaining couldn’t so much as she pressed the mouse.

The screen woke instantly, and to her luck, the internal system was open. She assumed there had to be a private company network, and since Marcos was the CEO, it made sense that he’d have access to everything. His employees, projects, and departmental files.

She typed your name in the search bar, and her research didn’t take long. Because as soon as she pressed enter, a file opened in full screen, and your face was the first thing that greeted her. 

That same damn face that has her acting a fool. Manon leaned forward, dragging a finger under her chin as she looked closer. ‘Fine as hell’ was the first thought that entered her head.

But as her eyes scanned the contents of your file, she only expected to see a phone number, birthday, emergency contacts, and address, just in case. But she realized this wasn’t just some basic profile—this thing had everything on it.

Your official ID photo and your full resume underneath. Manon didn’t expect anything less from you, seeing the long list of experience and education. She thought it would be creepy of her to see all of this, but she had already committed to all of it at this point. She saw emergency contact information, an address listed, your income details, years of employment, and even certifications.

Not much of the information was useful unless she wanted to be a creep and basically stalk you. It made her a bit hopeless until she scrolled all the way back up, finding notes with dates beside them.

It seemed, Marcos would check these often, noting things down that he had to bring up with his employees. A bulleted line stood out to her, ‘Event planning: discuss finance tracking with Y/n for Q3 Celebration Budget. Have her oversee spend limits during setup and execution.’

It was for a company-wide party. One of those things wealthy people loved to throw to boost morale, PR, and just to ‘celebrate’ the success of their company. Manon liked calling it ‘ego parties’ because these people gathered around to boast about their own success rather than about the company party they were invited to.

You wouldn’t be there as a guest, but as a working and paid employee. Still, a room full of people, music, lights, her in something other than her ‘normal’ clothes… and you somewhere in all of this. Manon believed she wouldn’t get another chance to do something in a long time unless she was willing to wait.

She smirked to herself, slowly spinning the chair just slightly to the left. Catching your attention was officially on her to-do list with this upcoming event.

And she was going to make sure that it was going to go her way. She closed the file, doing her best to leave everything the way Marcos left it, and went back to her seat.

Manon leaned back, arms stretching above the backrests, where she sighed in a relaxing manner. Brewing up a plan in her head, she had to not only seduce you (because she was aware that wasn’t going to work) but find something that interests you to really reel you in.

The next few days were ‘normal’ enough. Manon brought you coffee every other day, not in a pattern, so it didn’t seem super odd to you. If anything, you were grateful at times, since you couldn’t get a second cup of coffee on some days. She even began getting your order done.

One black coffee with one packet of sugar. You rarely ever minded her, and it wasn’t meant to be in a disrespectful way. You had only made one friend in the company, and that’s Marcos. There was no other person, and you’d like to keep it that way.

After minding your business for about two weeks, Manon even began thinking that she was beginning to look like your assistant.

Although doing all of this would surely work in her favor. Because by visiting you every other day, she got to know more about you despite the minimal chatter.

While waiting for the next couple of days, the invitation didn’t need to be extended. She did want to make sure she wasn’t obvious about it. From what she can recall, Manon had been same spot in his office like usual, flipping lazily through a magazine, waiting for him to wrap up his email. 

Which meant a lot of reading for him and more waiting for her, but it had become the norm, everything Manon visited. They would get food together throughout the day, and she’d grown used to Marcos’ routine, and she doesn’t have a choice.

After an hour, they exited the elevator toward the private parking area where his car was parked. She adjusted her sunglasses and sighed out a sound, sounding somewhat tired from something.

“I feel like I haven’t gone out in forever,” she said, dramatic enough but also passes off as a casual comment that came to mind. “No party or even wine. I’m getting a little bored with life.”

Marcos, ever sweet and receptive, gave her a glance. “That’s funny,” he replied, already unlocking the car and opening the passenger door for her. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go with me to a Celebration. Just a little progression success for the project.”

“Like a rich party kinda thing?” she asked with a tiny tilt of her head, feigning vague interest. “My parents told me you guys throw those like... once a quarter or something.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know it sounds corporate and stiff, but it’s going to be at the Astrelle building, the one that’s a few minutes away from here. I asked them to go all out with planning—live music, open bar, the whole thing. I figured we could go together.”

“Well, since you insist,” she replied with a lazy grin, sliding into the passenger seat like she hadn’t been planning this for weeks. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

So that's how she finds herself standing under the luxurious chandeliers of the ballroom. She held a flute of champagne effortlessly between her two fingers. Her posture and face, somewhat relaxed, but deep down, she was on alert.

The venue was breathtaking with its cream colored marble floors beneath everyone's feet, veins looking like they had been dusted with gold. Crystal chandeliers shine with bright lights overhead. 

Manon stood near the edge of the room, looking like trouble… in a good way. Her gown was a deep midnight blue, almost tricking the eye to see black until the light hit it just right. A floor-length sheath cut that followed every curve, hugging her body. A slit ran high up her left leg, stopping just below the hip with a perfectly angled hem, it was sexy without exposing too much. 

The neckline dipped into a clean, plunge, held together by a delicate gold chain that wrapped across her chest, looking like jewelry built into the gown itself. Her hair was slicked back into a sleek ponytail again, and the glimmer of her diamond drop earrings would shine as she swayed her head.

She wasn’t acting like it, but she was looking for you. Walking gracefully through the crowd, exchanging polite smiles with people she didn’t know, giving half-hearted nods to board members who likely didn’t recognize her. 

The live jazz mixed with hints of lounge house was just loud enough for everyone to hear each other's conversation. A waiter passed by with another tray of champagne, and she switched her empty glass with a full one, taking a sip of the sparkling liquid that seemed to pop on the surface of her tongue.

Her eyes scanned the sea of rich people, tailored suits, cocktail dresses, and gowns with disinterest until she noticed a figure in the far back, off to the side of the ballroom, near the door that led to the terrace, where she saw you.

You were facing slightly away from her, speaking with someone who looked professional, clearly someone you worked with. You held a clipboard, nodding, and your posture looked rigid as your shoulders looked spread out with tension, looking like you were in a ‘serious’ mode.

Manon leaned onto a column, slightly tucked behind one of the open archways, watching you from a short distance.

You looked way better than she expected, especially since she expected you to match your coworkers. It was clear that you had a higher position compared to your peers. She eyed the matte black heels you wore, coordinating with the other women who seemed to be working as well. 

Still, Manon seemed to forget something. That, despite your position in the company, Marcos valued his friendship with you. She did notice that every time you gave him a report, the two of you seemed to be very ‘buddy-buddy.’ Also, not knowing what to make of it, she makes her mind believe that you two are genuinely just friends.

Her meeting you had to look as natural as possible. So she waited until you turned slightly to your right, appearing to give final notes to whoever you’d been speaking to. Once you took a step toward the outer terrace doors, she moved quickly with her flute of champagne still in hand, intercepting your path with perfect timing.

You felt a gentle bump, shoving you a bit to the left due to your focus being on the clipboard.

“Oh—shit, sorry,” she said, turning with a look of surprise, brows up, pretending like she hadn’t already clocked your exact location twenty minutes ago. You instinctively reached out, one hand lightly touching her arm to steady her. 

Your eyes finally met hers… again. “...Ms. Bannerman,” you said, a bit skeptical due to the past few days, but act as normally as possible due to the setting.

She smiled innocently,  a look you didn’t really believe. “Manon,” she reminded, in that same voice from your office two weeks ago. You didn’t respond to that, not wanting some kind of casual relationship. Your hand dropped from her arm, and you gave a polite nod. “Didn’t expect to see you back here.”

She gave a little shrug, lifting her champagne flute. “I like parties, but these rich ones aren’t exactly my cup of tea.”

You scanned her dress quickly. Not trying to be rude or anything—just something you usually did, especially when events like these had everyone dressing up in elegant clothes. It also isn’t hard not to notice the way the fabric moved when she did.

“You look different,” you commented casually. “Good different?” she asked, lips smirking in mild amusement. You didn’t answer, and she let the silence take its course; she needs you to talk to her anyway. You glanced past her, checking to see if the event coordinator had moved on, then looked back.

“Is there something you needed?” you asked, the tone still professional, but more curious than intended. “Not really,” she replied, sipping her drink again. “I just… didn’t want to spend the whole night smiling at old men who flash their Rolexes and stories about tax breaks.” You almost smirked at that. Wanting to achieve greatness yourself, but maybe since you weren’t there yet, it was easy to agree with her statement.

“I figured I’d find someone a little more... to my taste,” she added, tilting her head slightly.

“I’m working,” you reminded her. She made a soft hum of acknowledgment, stepping back slightly, but it was clear that she was making a slow exit. “Well,” she said with a wink. “Try not to work too hard.”

As she turned, Manon did a spin for a turn for you to catch the way the slit of her dress shifted with her movement as she began to walk away toward the bar.

She could somewhat feel your lingering gaze, but she knew you weren’t one to likely stare unless it felt necessary.

The celebration went on, and Manon did her best to act like a background character in a movie. She stayed beside Marcos for most of the night, doing her best to keep up with conversations with senior executives and investment partners, smiling and nodding at the right times while sipping slowly at her third flute of champagne. 

She felt like she was going to need a couple of those to survive the night.

The live jazz music became softer, setting a more ambient mood as the chandeliers became warmer in color, and the moon began to appear. The warm glow of candles at each table glowed a bit brighter, which helped warm up the space.

But in between every comment about someone else, her eyes would subtly flick across the room, looking for you. Luckily, you weren’t hard to keep track of as you hadn’t changed out of your ‘uniform,’ because even in matte black heels and tailored slacks, you still stood out. 

Manon found it odd in the way you seemed to keep her in a trance without even trying. You didn’t exactly have this special look to you, almost looking as normal as everyone else. Yet you are attractive, she assumed it was likely in the way you carried yourself. You rarely ever smile, well, unless talking to Marcos. When speaking, you always got to the point and made sure your words came across properly. Manon also found the way you spoke so formal to be… enticing to her, to keep it a bit PG in her head.

Every few minutes, Manon found herself drifting toward you—on accident, for the first few times. The next few were definitely on purpose.

The first time, it was by the stage area where the staff was adjusting the equipment for the bands, keeping everything in check. You were reading something on your phone, keeping expenses in check while you weren’t physically busy. Manon stepped beside you, humming quietly.

“Is it bad that I’m more scared of expense reports than I am of horror movies?” she murmured casually. You didn’t even glance up, just shrugging, “Depends on the horror movie.” That got a soft, pleased laugh from her.

She tapped her acrylic nails against her glass, then added with an innocent tilt of her head, “I heard you liked those. Horror films.” Now you glanced up, a bit curious as to how she knew.

“I bring you coffee like every other day, I was bound to notice, you know?” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. Your boss's fiancé had practically become your unofficial coffee runner for some odd reason. Only Manon would know what’s going on in Manon’s head, and you weren't sure if you wanted to find out. “Heard some of those blood-curdling kinds of screams from your computer.”

You nodded once. “I like to keep background noise while I work.”

“That explains why you were watching The Silence of the Lambs while working on a large email.” You didn’t say anything, but a small smirk ghosted the edge of your lips before you walked off to finish what you were doing. Slightly yelling over the music while leaving her alone, “It’s an iconic movie.”

Later, by the dessert table—which had been almost picked clean by rich snobs—she spotted you again, talking to someone from the company, and she didn’t even care to remember their name. She only waited until they left before speaking to you again.

“They have Greek options on the menu tonight,” she said, her voice just above a whisper so as not to startle you.

You blinked. “You’re surprisingly observant.” Manon smiled, a bit proud of herself since she usually wasn’t. Then looked over the table, “You get the same order almost every Thursday—chicken souvlaki bowl, lemon rice, no eggplant.”

You raised a brow, even more skeptical of what her game is now. “Sounds like you’re building a case file on me.” She grinned, “Maybe I am.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“No,” she said. “But if I ever have to get you on my side, I know to order a Swedish dessert to go with your coffee.” You didn’t respond right away, almost buffering at what she said. Had she really visited your office with coffee THAT MANY TIMES to know all of that about you?

She saw the breath of a laugh that passed through your nose, not being able to hold it back.

Marcos joined the two of you a minute later, a hand on Manon’s back as he gave you one of his good ole smiles. “It’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, voice cheery. “Told you she’s not as over the top as she seems.”

“She’s been… surprising,” you admitted. That made Manon turn her head just a tiny bit. Those were the only words she needed to hear to keep this momentum going. 

Then, after a few hours pass, you finally got the signal to break. A little red mark on your work app letting you know it was your scheduled break for the day. One that you needed after the five-hour mark, really, but this was your first break in seven hours. The band picked up the pacing with their music, which had the guests become looser with their drinking, giving you a minute to breathe.

Everyone was acting like bafoons, but luckily, these were all wealthy people who had reputations to uphold, so anything breaking shouldn’t be a major concern.

Instead of watching over everyone again, you disappeared toward the employee catering area at the back of the venue, where the food was kept for you guys—nothing on tiny porcelain trays, just stainless steel trays with generous servings, sodas, waters, and coffees that tasted like they cost one dollar. In this economy, that price was good, but not for your taste buds. You sat for a bit with a bottle of water and a simple plate of spiced rice, grilled veggies, and grilled lamb. No one really talked to each other unless it was about work, everyone to focused on getting energy back and going back to work.

Once you were finished, you felt the urge to pee from the water you had been drinking throughout the day, and knew you needed to use the restroom. You made your way to the employee wing, only to be met with a queue of people waiting. You checked your phone, still on break, but it wasn’t going to last for much longer.

With a quiet sigh, you left the hallway and turned down the corridor toward the guest bathrooms. 

When entering, you peek your head in before completely entering, trying to make sure some big corporate boss wouldn’t yell at you. Not even taking the time to look over the grand decor of this bathroom, you headed into a stall and did what you had to. It was quick, which was great since you needed to be in and out. 

You dried your hands slowly after stepping out of the stall, tugging down at the sleeves of your outfit and fixing your hair. There was a quiet to the room, only the soft hum of a nearby speaker playing instrumentals.

Until you heard the door open, making you stiffen up a bit. Yet you relaxed as soon as you saw the midnight blue that had been near you way too much this entire day.

Manon. She entered, and you hear her heels click louder against the clean tiles. She walked straight to the mirror, beside you once again, applying soft pressure to the edges of her eye makeup like it actually needed touching up.

You didn’t give yourself a chance to glance at her, not even saying anything as you focused on washing all the soap off your hands. She let the silence be, thinking of what to say before she actually thought of something.

“Thought you were supposed to use the employee restroom,” she teased, not looking at you but watching your reaction in the mirror. She also wasn’t going to reveal that she didn’t need to come here, but saw you rushing over into this bathroom.

“They were full,” you replied evenly, drying your hands with a paper towel and tossing it out. “Didn’t realize I had a bathroom tracker now,” she hears how nonchalant you are, but takes into account the little look you gave her. The way your brow raised, how the corners of your mouth twitched upward a bit.

“I don’t track you,” she said confidently, still dabbing at her lipstick with her finger. “I just notice things.” You nodded once, almost laughing even, then leaned slightly to the side of the mirror to adjust your earring. “Mm. I’ve noticed.”

She didn’t back off; in fact, she felt like she could make something happen here. Manon reached into the silver sparkling clutch tucked beneath her arm and pulled out a bullet-tubed lipstick. She uncapped it, swiping it once across her lower lip.

“You’ve got a good face,” she murmured, not even looking at you. “Strong jaw, defined cheekbones. I was just thinking…” You looked over, mildly confused. She turned toward you slightly, capping her gloss with a soft snap.

“...you’d probably look really good with some smudged lipstick on you.”

What the hell did that mean? Who were you kidding? You totally understood what she meant… but this wasn’t something you wanted to touch. One, she was your boss’s fiancée. Two, you weren’t exactly planning on being in a relationship, nor have you been in one. Lastly, SHE’S YOUR BOSS’S FIANCÉE.

The comment was said in such a featherlight tone that it could’ve been a comment about makeup advice for you. Yet she seemed troublesome enough for you to know that wasn’t the case. Your brows lifted just a little, just registering the implication.

Manon turned back to the mirror, fixing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.“Just... an observation,” she added lazily.

You didn’t respond, but your gaze lingered on her a second longer than it should have.

She finally looked at you through the mirror again. “See you out there,” she said, the corner of her lip curling into a knowing half-smile. Then, just like that, she walked out.

Was… was she just flirting with you?

For the first time, you didn’t have anything to say. “What in the world do you have me involved with right now?” You questioned while looking up at the dark marble ceiling, lighting beaming a bit as you groaned. 

Your timeline is about success, not whatever this was. There was a feeling that this would set you back a bit—or maybe a bunch. You aren’t really sure.

The weekend flew by quickly, and it was already Monday morning, which came faster than usual. Usually, you’d like time to go by quickly, and being able to hit your timeline quotas was always on your mind. Yet, you almost hoped time would go by slowly after the event.

By Sunday, you had time to breathe, organize your files, and even binge two documentaries while folding laundry and meal prepping for the week. Doing all the chores on that day, the schedule made everything feel normal, even for just a bit.

Though even with being busy, you couldn’t get Manon’s words out of your head. Smudged lipstick?

You didn’t realize how much those two words could live rent-free in your mind, and you didn’t exactly like it either. Shaking your head, you pulled into the parking lot—your black Chrysler shining underneath the sun as you pulled into the lot and parked in your usual space.

Grabbing your leather briefcase-style purse from the passenger seat and your go-to hot black coffee in the other hand, you made your way into the building. The elevator greeted you quietly as you stepped inside alone, and it was only as the soft elevator music played above that your mind began to wander again.

‘You’d probably look really good with some smudged lipstick on you.’

It didn’t sound friendly, but you knew better than to assume it was. Because it absolutely wasn’t professional.

It made you fall deeper into this cycle of thoughts you were beginning to have. Manon seemed like an anomaly in your mind. Sure, she was beautiful, but also… chaotic, unpredictable, and most importantly, Marcos’ fiancée. Let’s not forget that part of the information… There was pure sarcasm there.

Marcos was someone you respected, especially since he’s constantly kind to you. Offering you a promotion that could’ve taken others years to be considered. He always asked about your life, never raised his voice at anyone, and even went out of his way to pronounce everyone’s name right on the first day of hiring.

So, whatever it was Manon had tried at that party—whatever she meant—you told yourself to forget it.

The elevator dinged on the 38th floor. You stepped out, still sipping your coffee, pulling out your keycard for your office. The floor was empty, the lights dim because of the time, which wasn’t unusual. You were usually the first in, and it gave you thirty minutes of pure silence to mentally prepare yourself for the hectic day.

But when you opened your office door, your brain paused. Because lo and behold, there’s Manon sitting in your chair.

Her legs crossed casually, her fingers spinning slowly against the edge of your desk, looking comfortable in a room that should’ve been your safe space. You hadn’t even noticed the blinds were shut from any view of the outside, too focused on what’s in front of you. 

“...What the hell?” you muttered under your breath. She looked at you, a brow raised while looking, clearly, unbothered. “Good morning to you, too.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was bored,” she replied with an airy tone, voice sounding sluggish like she had no better reason. “Wanted a change of scenery.” You checked the time on your phone instinctively. “It’s barely past seven.”

“And?” she smiled.

No words could even explain how you felt, an exhale just escaping through your nose, using your foot to close the door. She wore a deep blood-red cropped top, sleeveless with some geometrical cut-outs, a small metal clasp at the collarbone keeping it secured. The matching skirt was high-waisted and fit her curves.

It was neither appropriate nor inappropriate for the space you were in. She just looked a little confused about what to wear in the office, if you were being honest with yourself. This also doesn’t negate how good she looks, either.

You walked across the room and dropped your bag onto the olive green velvet couch pressed up against the far wall. The black wood coffee table sat in front of it, where you placed your cup of coffee and laptop. You sat down on the carpet with a soft sigh, letting Manon stay in her spot instead of troubling yourself.

Finding yourself typing in your login, you begin to check the schedule for the day. “Meeting in thirty minutes,” you mumbled, scrolling. “Finance team again… which means Chase.”

You said out loud, but you regret it almost instantly.

“Oh~,” Manon hummed, dragging the word. “The infamous Chase. You really don’t like him, huh?” You gave her a pointed look but didn’t answer, hands tapping across the keyboard.

She wasn’t pleased with the reaction, so she made a move instead.

You didn’t see didn’t pay mind to her, but the couch shifted behind you, and then she was somehow beside you already. Sitting on the floor like it was normal, like she hadn’t snuck into your office before you even got in.

Focus only on the screen in front of you. You kept working, inputting reminders, clearing notifications, and answering three long emails. But you could feel her. Her shoulder was close to yours, and the scent of whatever perfume she wore.

“You’re really not going to say anything about how close I am?” she asked, almost teasing.

“I figured you’d do what you want regardless,” you replied, still not looking.

That made her chuckle, then she leaned her weight onto one hand, the other resting against your couch as she adjusted her posture. You could feel her eyes were on you this time.

Then she spoke again, voice softer this time, but laced with intent. “You’re warm.” You turned your head. “What?”

“You’re blushing,” she said, playful but still watching closely. “Your ears always get red first, don’t they?”

You looked at her for the first time in minutes, lips parting slightly as nothing came out. She didn’t look back, just kept scrolling absently on her phone, as if she didn’t just say something that made your brain go a hundred miles per hour.

Then she said it, like a harmless observation. “Maybe you should take off that blazer. Roll up your sleeves or something.” You weren’t sure what came over you, because you normally wouldn’t do a suggestion like that. But this time you listened.

You pulled off the navy blazer slowly, revealing the white silk button-up underneath, and began to roll your sleeves up to your elbows.

Minutes passed, and neither of you said anything. While you were doing your best to focus, Manon’s eyes trailed all over your arms. The way your forearms would flex every time your typing picked up the pace, or how the veins in your hands would pop while gripping your cup of coffee. 

Yeahhh, you definitely had her in a chokehold.

Then, out of nowhere, she leaned closer. “Hey, what’s that?” You looked at your screen where she pointed and told her, “That’s the tracker for Q3 expenses—”

But before you could finish the sentence, her hand wrapped lightly around your forearm as she leaned in to point at something. Your breath caught, and she clearly noticed with a victorious look in her eyes. Then letting go like it meant nothing as you finished your explanation.

You cleared your throat and kept working. Time was moving fast enough that the clock ticked down to five minutes before your meeting. You stood, slipping on your watch and grabbing your laptop.

“I’ve gotta go,” you said, your voice sounding nervous, and you wanted to slap your head because of it. She leaned back against the seating of the couch like your office is her house.

“I’ll stay here,” she said with a shrug. “Make myself comfortable.” You blinked. “It’s not your office.”

“But it’s not not, either.”

‘What the hell did she just say?’ You questioned yourself, staring at her, but decided not to argue at the small time you had.

As you walked toward the meeting room, sleeves still rolled up, laptop in hand, you noticed Gary glancing at you as soon as you stepped in. His eyes dipped to your arms briefly, but you noticed. You didn’t say anything. Just sat down, opened your device, and rolled your sleeves down quietly beneath the table.

Only then did he begin the meeting. It dragged on longer than scheduled, not that it surprised you. These things always started out with simple overviews, but by the end, they had turned into a full-on strategy session. You’d already finished reviewing the numbers last week, so most of the hour was spent with your elbow on the table and your cheek resting in your palm, half-listening while Chase ran through a checklist that felt more like he was trying to prove something, as always.

Still, you took your delegated tasks, nodding, and typing them into your calendar. There were three things you’d have to follow up on throughout the week, but nothing too major. Just enough to keep your head intact.

By the time you pushed open the door to your office, your sleeves still faintly creased from earlier, you felt ready to crash. What you weren’t ready for… was Manon still in your office. 

She’d relocated to the couch, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through her phone in silence. You didn’t say anything at first, walking past her toward your desk. You flicked the monitor on with a finger and sat down, adjusting the screen’s tilt before glancing once in her direction.

“Does Marcos know you’re still down here?”

“He doesn’t mind,” she said casually, not even looking up. “I texted him earlier that I was in your office.”

You quirked a brow. “Before or after I came in?” She gave a sly shrug, finally meeting your gaze. “Does it matter?”

You didn’t answer and instead, logged into your system, pulling up the software you used to organize reports, opened your calendar on the side, and—without thinking too much—clicked on the search bar for a movie.

You always liked something playing in the background. It helped you focus. The moment the opening credits of a classic black-and-white thriller started rolling across the screen, Manon perked up from the soundtrack.

“Ooooh—what are we watching?”

You leaned back in your chair slightly. “Just something to keep me entertained.” She didn’t need another excuse, wheeling herself from the couch on one of the extra desk chairs—thankfully, your office had more than one—and placing herself right beside you. A little too close, but not that you’d expect anything different by now.

As the movie played quietly between your clicks and page flips, you focused hard on the spreadsheet in front of you, trying to ignore the light taps of her finger against the armrest. Or the way she kept leaning in every now and then, just to read the captions. Manon clearly had good enough vision to have made that comment during the event.

You told yourself, just work. That’s the only thing that should be happening in the first place.

But somewhere between the first movie ending and the next one starting, you found your eyes drifting toward the movie side of your screen more than your numbers. By the third film—one of your favorites, Misery from like 1990—you had half-forgotten that you needed to work.

Manon was still beside you, cross-legged now in the chair, fully invested in Kathy Bates' spiral into madness. You didn’t even register when she pulled her phone out and started texting someone.

Then, not even ten minutes later, there was a knock on your door. Pausing the movie, brows furrowed together. You weren’t expecting anyone or anything. “I got it,” she said, hopping up without a glance.

You watched as she opened the door just a sliver, exchanging a short greeting with someone out in the hall before closing it again with two brown paper bags in hand. She set one in front of you, the warm scent wafting up and instantly hitting your nose. You didn’t even have to look inside, knowing that exact smell.

“You got my order.”

“I figured you’d be hungry,” she said in a hum, settling back into her chair with her own bag. “And it’s almost your usual lunch time.” You didn’t say it aloud, but you were surprised.

Not because she knew what you liked. Because she’d made it clear during the event that she had all this information about you, throwing out small facts she’d clearly gathered. The Greek food, documentaries, coffee, and desserts.

She basically studied you during every coffee visit. You both ate in silence, fork against the aluminium take-out containers. It was surprisingly still comforting, even with her beside you.

You were reaching for a napkin when her fingers brushed your cheek quickly. “You had something.” You froze, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, catching a tiny crumb.

Then she popped it into her own mouth. Sucked her finger clean with a smirk and kept chewing like nothing happened.

You paused, focus no longer on the food and movie. Clearing your throat, you reach for a sip of water, pretending to check your inbox like that would somehow make you act normal again. But it didn’t help.

Then, just as you were finishing up, she subtly leaned closer, until her head was tilted onto your shoulder. “Just watching a little closer,” she said. You didn’t answer. Just tilting the screen slightly toward her direction, more, in hopes that she’ll move away. 

Your heart was stupidly loud in your chest. Quite frankly, it was freaking you out at the possibility of her hearing it. Eventually, she pulled back and leaned into her chair again, stretching out a bit. She reached for her phone once more, probably checking the time, and you hoped she was checking for any texts from Marcos.

“I should head up before he starts looking for me,” she said after a minute, standing and brushing off her skirt. “But expect this again.” You turned toward her, blinking like you didn’t hear her right.

“Huh?” She winked, already walking to the door. “You heard what I said, Miss L/n.”

You didn’t even get a word out before the door clicked behind her. Now sitting in silence, you drag your hands through your hair, fingers tugging lightly at the strands you’d styled that morning. It felt like your mind was too scrambled to even function the entire day.

Lightly slapping your face multiple times, needing to wake up from whatever messed-up reality this was. You were Y/n L/n. You didn’t get distracted. You didn’t let random people come into your office when they wanted to, and let them stay. You didn’t do… whatever the hell that was.

You groaned quietly, rubbing your temples and leaning back in your chair. Because you had no clue how you were supposed to survive the rest of this week. Let alone the next time she would decided to stroll into your office like she owned the damn building.

And unfortunately… You knew she was bound to keep her word. That’s just the vibe Manon gave off.

Now, every other day, you’d walk into your office and there she’d be. Always sitting somewhere different. Luckily, it wasn’t every single day, but her schedule didn’t make it any better.

One day, it’s your chair, legs crossed, her tablet in hand like she was actually doing something. The next, she’d be curled up on your couch, flicking through her phone or reading something in magazines the company provided for every private office.

And every time, you had the same reaction—eyebrows raised, confused stare, followed by that half-sigh, half-resigned chuckle as you walked in and set your things down.

It became a routine at some point, and you just let it happen.

Meeting, working on the computer, some movies, then lunch. She would leave after that, usually. You also weren’t exactly the type to let people into your space like this. But for whatever reason, you didn’t push her out. 

It was hard to pinpoint why as well, but you didn’t want to think about it. But it was now feeling natural for you to have ‘a friend’ around every other morning.

Strangely, Marcos never said a word. Not asking what she was doing on your floor so often, or why she spent hours in your office some days. If anything, he just smiled at the thought of it all. To him, his two favorite people becoming friends was… a win.

And maybe that’s what made you feel like you shouldn’t ask questions either. Because if he wasn’t worried, then why would you risk being the one to begin those thoughts for him?

Even when it started feeling more natural, when your conversations drifted from surface-level things to more personal topics. The sarcasm turned into inside jokes, and the playful banter stopped catching you off guard.

You never even noticed when you stopped calling her Ms. Bannerman. One day, it just… became Manon. And the moment you said it, she smirked like she had been waiting for it the whole time.

You didn’t notice that either. One dense mofo.

Then it was another quiet afternoon, where you're seated at the desk, typing out a brief report, one ear tuned to the old horror film playing on your screen. Today it was ‘The Others,’ which Manon actually chose this time. You figured you’d let her, since she was starting to take an interest in your movie preferences. It was now a bonding time for you.

Your blazer was already tossed over the back of your couch, sleeves rolled up as the breeze of the AC hit your skin, becoming a new thing you did ever since Manon stuck around. An iced coffee rested beside your mousepad, and a fork sat in your finished lunch bowl—Greek salad, of course.

The coffee was Manon’s, by the way, you liked your coffee piping hot.

Manon sat just to your left in the spare office chair, slouched down with her ankles crossed, wearing a sleek black blazer with matching wide-leg trousers. Looking like ‘money,’ and you had become used to it.

Today, you felt yourself being much more observant than usual, to your own detriment. The way she puckers her glossy lips to take a sip out of the straw. The way she twisted the ring on her middle finger while watching the movie. The short, hum she let out when she commented on a shot she liked.

You tried to distract yourself from it all. Because, despite this new routine you had going on with her, you knew who she was and who she was with.

But she wasn’t acting like someone taken.

Not with the way she would lean in close sometimes to fix your collar, that didn’t need fixing. Or the way she always sat with her leg touching yours just slightly, the way she had commented that you “never flinched during scary movies, but somehow managed to jump every time she touched you.”

You couldn’t respond to anything flirty she threw at you, not knowing how to. Just giving tight smiles and turning back to your monitor.

But now, as another movie neared its halfway mark, she stretched. Arms overhead, body arching, the fabric of her top shifting up a bit. She then turns to you, gazing up and down. “You always sit like that when you’re trying not to fall asleep,” she said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

She nodded at your posture. “All stiff. Straight spine. Classic sleep-fighting position. Should relax a bit before you get a stiff neck.”

You cracked a smirk, shaking your head. “I’m not tired.”

“Uh-huh.”

You leaned back a little, cracking your neck. “I’m just focused.” She hummed, biting into a small biscuit she had picked up from the lunch tray earlier. “Sure.”

You looked back at your screen. But her gaze lingered on you longer than it should’ve.

She didn’t speak again until a few minutes later, eyes still on the screen, voice quieter.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

It feels like a cold breeze went down your back when hearing her hushed tone, a tiny shiver overcoming your body. She almost got you there, but you didn’t look away from the screen. 

“No.”

“Have you ever?”

“What kind of question is that?” You asked back, not understanding where the questions were coming from.

She shrugged, unbothered. “Just curious.” You leaned back, arms crossed loosely. “Not really. I’ve been… busy.”

“That’s not an answer I’m accepting.”

You sighed, exhaling as you rubbed your temple. “I haven’t really dated. I never thought about it much. I wanted to get here.”

A brow raises, and she leans closer, “Here, meaning?”

“My position in this company… in life,” you told her while tapping a pen on the notebook you had written almost everything. Manon only assumed that it was for work, noticing after her third visit. It was always in the same spot, a regular five-star notebook in green. Even if she wanted to know more about you, she didn’t have the guts to snoop in that book unless she wanted you angry.

She smiled faintly, her gaze softer. “And now that you’re here?”

You paused from typing. The question felt like a light slap to the face, strange to even hear. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Still feels like there’s more to do.”

She leaned in slightly. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to just… let yourself enjoy something?” You turned, eyes meeting hers.

The silence could be cut with a knife, the tension rising as you felt the heat building on your chest. She wasn’t looking away, and you could hear it in your head—how your breath began to waver.

You thought maybe she’d laugh it off, right about now. Maybe say something else to tease you. But instead, she leaned in more, and you could feel yourself instinctively pushing on your feet to roll back.

Her hands reach forward on the armrests, using as much strength as she could to stop you in your tracks. You didn’t feel an incredible force being used, but it seemed like your legs weakened, the use of heels every day—almost like a workout— failing you in these moments.

Manon pulls you in slowly, tilting her head a bit in the process, and you could just feel your eyes stuck open wide while hers begin to flutter shut. Before you could even begin to process a single thing, you feel her lips on yours.

The gloss transferred on your own plain lips, and all you could do was sit there, frozen, like a stone statue. Everything caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure what to do from here. As much as you didn’t want to ‘ruin the moment,’ the first thought that came into mind was Marcos.

You were currently kissing his fiancée… no—she was currently kissing you. The switch in thoughts seemed like a pathetic way to excuse the actions, but it was bad no matter what way it was worded.

You wanted to push back, maybe even hard enough to hopefully get her out of your office, but her hand grazed the edge of your jaw, thumb sliding beneath your chin, a slow lifting motion as she helped tilt your head to the right. Completely and utterly still, you were like a system short-circuiting in real time.

Her lips were warm, and you inhaled, smelling a wave of her minty fresh breath. You didn’t kiss her back, not right away at least. Yet she didn’t seem fazed. When she pulled back, she lingered just an inch away from you, still within reach.

“That’s what it feels like,” she whispered. You swallowed, voice quiet. “Manon…” She tilted her head, a bit of amusement in her voice, “You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t know it was happening.”

“Still didn’t stop me.”

She’s right, you could’ve pushed her away, but you didn’t. That reaction pleased her. Manon wanted to test the waters with how her plan was going. Although in her book, testing the waters basically equated to jumping off a bridge into deep water in anyone else's eyes.

And that was exhilarating to her, just like that kiss.

The alarm on your phone buzzed, and you almost jolted from your seat. It just meant the meeting you had with accounting in ten minutes. She smiled, tapping your thigh lightly as she stood. “You should get ready.”

You watched her walk toward the door, walking out like usual. “Same time tomorrow?” she asked, hand already on the knob. You only nodded once because words were no longer going to work in your favor, apparently.

She left, and the door clicked shut behind her, and there you were. Still in your seat, head slightly tilted back. Your heart was beating a bit too loudly while your mind raced a bit too fast.

You could almost feel reality punching you in the gut as you let the thoughts settle down, and how were you supposed to sit through a whole meeting now? Better yet, how were you ever supposed to face Marcos after that?

The only solution that came to mind… let Chase do the reports for a while. Even for a week, just to clear your head.

It didn’t seem like anything was actually gonna save you from her, because she was in your office the next day, sitting with a glass of wine standing tall on your desk. Your eyes land on the red wine, then drift toward her with a tired gaze.

“Couldn’t give me a break?” Your hand reached back, combing your voluminous hair that you didn’t have the energy to fix for today.

“Nope,” she told you enthusiastically, popping the ‘p’ as she strutted towards you. Her fingers raked through the ends of your loose hair, and you didn’t move an inch. Manon could see the physical lasting effect she had on you.

The tamed Y/n everyone knew in the office was nowhere to be found. She saw a woman with smoldering eyes, hair kept down, while a few wrinkles were visible all over your black collared shirt. You wore matching slacks and heels, no accessories, and just some square glasses she had never seen that covered up your bleary eyes.

“You’ll get a break from me today,” she said and you could feel your shoulder relax until she butt in again, “until later tonight.” The confused face that had been recurring since you met Manon is once again on your face.

“You better not leave tonight, Y/n,” you listened as she began to place two wine glasses—not sure where she even got them from.

And for some reason, you listened. You didn’t even know what time it was when you finally looked up again. The schedule seemed to be pretty clean of meetings, just a bunch of paperwork and emails needing to be done. It was a blessing and a curse because time flew by, and before you could even consider the amount of hours that had past, the familiar sound of your office door clicking open snapped you out of your tired daze.

As she promised, she walked in as her eyes checked the digital Apple Watch on her wrist.

Manon dressed differently than usual that which made your head tilt slightly on instinct. A black cropped hoodie hung loose on her frame, roughly cut sleeves for a tank top look, and matching sweatpants pooled around her ankles. She had swapped her usual pointed heels for a pair of black socks and open sandals, something so normal that it almost made you chuckle.

She didn’t even look like the same woman. This was a normal, functioning human being in front of you. No makeup, hair tied back loosely with a few flyaways, and something about the look made your stomach flip.

“Hey,” she said casually, half-smirk painted on her lips. “Hope you didn’t eat yet.” Your eyes trailed down to the bottle that was kept cool in the room, then to the plastic bag of food in her hands. “I didn’t,” you admitted quietly, sitting back in your chair and clasping your hands together on the desk. “But I wasn’t planning on… wine.”

“Well, we can’t live off saltine crackers forever,” she said, nodding toward the small plastic sleeve of crackers you had left beside your keyboard. “Don’t think those count as a meal.”

You were too tired to argue or give her a smart remark, but you let her do her thing.

To Manon, it was evident that you looked like the version of yourself people weren’t meant to see. And she’s currently seeing all of it.

You didn’t know what you were doing—what you were thinking, even—but you watched her hand tilt the bottle and let the red liquid fill the glasses anyway. She slid one over to you carefully. Taking it slowly, fingers brushing hers just briefly in the exchange. There was a part of your brain that wanted to say no, that this was a terrible idea, that you’d regret it by the morning. But then again, that same part of your brain hadn’t slept much last night since she kissed you.

So, you took a sip. Despite not being much of a party person or adventurer, you could handle your alcohol well, and you sure did love wine. The bottles you kept in your apartment were very telling of that, at least you're a responsible drinker, though.

“Not bad,” you murmured. Manon took out some pasta—an easy food to share between the two of you and used a plastic fork. “Better than those crackers,” she quipped, lounging on your couch with one leg tucked under her.

It was quiet for a little while. The soft hum of your air conditioning filled the room, and the city lights outside your picture windows cast a dim blue hue across the office. You sat at your desk, swirling the wine slightly in the glass without realizing it, while Manon sat with her head leaning back against the couch cushion.

“You look tired,” she said softly.

“I am.”

“I figured.”

You glanced over at her again. Her face was still angled toward the ceiling, but her eyes were on you. “I told Marcos I was coming here tonight, by the way.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

“He didn’t mind,” she added quickly, shrugging. She wasn’t about to tell you that she spoke of it as ‘wanting girl time with you.’

Your expression flattened. “Is that so?”

“Yeah~,” she said, eyes gleaming a little. “He thinks we’re besties now.” That made you snort quietly. Sipping a bit on your wine again. “Right.”

“He thinks you’re good for me,” she added, tone a little more serious now. “Keeps me company while he’s working, he says.” You didn’t respond, sipping again. Once again, you couldn’t trust a peep out of your mouth.

“I think you’re good for me,” she admitted. That time, you looked at her. You expected a flirty look in her eyes, maybe even a smirk. Yet she met you with sincerity in her eyes.

“I don’t know what this is,” you muttered. “Neither do I.” That was more honest than she expected from herself, because there wasn’t much to gain from this. If anything, it’s more trouble than it was worth.

Still, there was something in her that she couldn’t ignore either. A growing infatuation with you. That’s not what she thought when she first met you, but after every coffee she brought, every conversation, it started to feel like she opened a new book. Every new chapter she saw was something new. And she was now hooked.

You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of your body sink deeper into your chair. Setting your glass down on the desk, your fingers still curled around the base of the glass.

“You kissed me.”

“I remember… clearly remember that,” she said, voice soft. Your gaze met hers again, studying the way she sat across the room, not saying much. And maybe that’s what threw you off the most. 

She was being patient.

“You’ve been acting like that didn’t happen,” it sounded like a sigh coming out of you. “No,” she said, a small smile curling at her lips. “You’ve been acting like that didn’t happen. I just figured I’d give you time to process.”

Those words made you hate how right she was. There was another lengthy silence, so quiet that you could hear the faint tapping of her fingers against her wine glass—and the steady pound of your heartbeat in your ears. You stood slowly, Manon catching the hesitation in your movement. But you walked over anyway.

She didn’t move when you sat beside her, just watched you settle next to her on the couch, glass still in hand. You both faced the city view from your floor-to-ceiling windows. Just the soft, ambient lighting and the tension that felt like it had been building for weeks.

Her arm brushed against yours, the contact like a trigger for a conversation. “I don’t usually do this,” you mumbled.

“I know, I can tell.”

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, glancing over. “But I’ve been paying attention.”

You turned, brows lifted just slightly. “To what exactly?” She tilted her head, resting it on her arm that leaned on the back cushions. “How do you loosen your hair later in the day. How you always pause movies at exactly the one-hour mark—like it’s your reminder to refocus. How you use hand sanitizer right before touching your keyboard after meetings. You’ve got three types of pens on your desk, but you only ever write with the same black one. And you smell like something woody every morning.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the specifics. “That’s what I pay attention to,” she said simply.

You felt your throat go dry. Her gaze was on your mouth now, and something about that made your fingers twitch against your glass. She leaned in—just a little—but it was enough to make your breath catch.

“You gonna kiss me this time?” she asked, her voice curious, a way to tempt you, and it worked. You didn’t answer, just tilted your head forward a fraction of an inch.

Manon set her wine glass down on the coffee table, and you followed without thinking.

Her hand then cups your cheek again, like before, thumb tracing slowly along your jaw as her lips find yours.

The flavor and scent of wine are clear as you take a small breath, inhaling. You leaned into her, your body responding on instinct. When her hand slid behind your neck, you didn’t stop it, letting yourself be pulled closer with your knees brushing against hers. Lips parted just enough for her to sigh into you, her fingers touching your upper back, lightly grazing with her acrylic nails.

“You want me to stop?” she asked gently, lips still against yours.

You shook your head, too hypnotized by her to speak. The scent of her perfume clung to the air around you, and everything, like the wine, the heat, her touch, was starting to overwhelm your senses.

Neither of you is drunk, but something about the build-up, the way your thoughts had been spiraling since that first kiss—it all clicked too fast, and now it was crashing into you.

You leaned forward more, no thoughts going on, and Manon let herself fall back onto the armrest slowly. Her arms wrapped around your waist, fingers sliding down your back, tugging at your shirt where it was tucked in, the belt you wore stopping any movement. Your forearm pressed beside her head, holding you up, the other hand resting on her waist. Her skin was warm, exposed under the cropped hem of her hoodie.

Rain started to tap against the windows, light at first, then gaining more momentum. The soft sound gave the room a strange calmness, contrasting with the sudden burn that had settled low in your stomach.

She wrestled with your belt, reaching for it with a smirk, clearly growing impatient. You could sense the struggle to unbuckle them, so you took over and did it yourself, tossing it to the floor without breaking from her. She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh as her hands slid beneath your shirt, nails grazing lightly against your back.

“This is what I’ve wanted since I met you,” she whispered against your lips, her voice husky. You felt the heat from her words, the wetness pooling against your underwear. “And why is that, Ms. Bannerman?” you asked, half-teasing.

Her mouth curved against yours as she kissed you again. “Someone who needed some loosening up. The way you carry yourself with so much authority—it’s sexy, Y/n.”

That made something in you stir, made your fingers curl into the fabric at her waist as her nails toyed at the top of your slacks. You managed to untie the drawstrings of her sweats, hands pressing against her hips.

“I need you,” she whispered again, lips trailing down your jaw, the gloss from her mouth leaving faint marks with every press of her kiss. You could feel the waistband of her sweats shift beneath your fingers, how her body tensed as you got lower. Her skin was soft, and you felt the edge of her underwear just barely beneath your fingertips.

But then, just as your hand pressed forward, it hit you like sirens in your head. Just a bunch of loud and blaring horns. You froze, then pushed your body off hers, breath shaky.

“What?” Manon asked, breathless. Her lips were slightly swollen, and her hair was out of place on your couch.

“W-we can’t be doing this,” you stammered, scrambling up and smoothing down your shirt, eyes wide, panic creeping up your spine. You grabbed your bag and started tossing your belongings inside.

“Y/n, you can’t just get up and act like—”

You cut her off, heading straight for the door without looking back. With great timing, the hallway was empty. Pressing the elevator button while your heart couldn’t settle down as the thing took too long. Too many thoughts and feelings were spiraling. 

Feelings. Everything was beginning to scare you. Glancing back multiple times, heart pounding as if she might come running to you. You wouldn’t even know what to say, scared of the option of being cornered in the small space.

When the elevator finally came, you rushed for the lobby button. The rush had you fumbling with your bag, almost dropping multiple items while trying to calm yourself down.

By the time you stepped out into the parking lot, the rain had picked up. It poured down heavily, and with the wind picking up, your collared shirt, now soaking up the drops of rain, is cold. You walked through it anyway to get to your car, barely noticing how soaked your clothes actually became.

Meanwhile, Manon remained on your couch, still leaning against the armrest, her lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. She didn’t chase you, wanting to give you time.

But the way you kissed her back? She knew you wanted her, but she also knew—just like everything with you—it had to come with your permission.

And that only made her want you more.

Your eyes flickered open, warmth from the sun going through the windows of your apartment and landing right on your face. You sat up sluggishly, rubbing at your eyes before reaching for your phone resting on the side of your bed.

Marcos had finally texted back, long after you’d passed out from your late-night shower.

Marcos Sure Y/n! U don’t even have to come in until Thursday if u want. Just lmk when u want to come back in.

You Just needed one rest day, Marcos. I’ll be back tmmr, thanks.

Your replies were short, the feeling of guilt still bubbling low in your stomach. Crawling out from your loft, you made your way down to the open living space, stretching slightly before opening the fridge. There was a small comfort in the domesticity of it—making your own coffee, moving slowly. You didn’t get to do this often, mostly because you preferred being at the office. So, it was kind of nice to get to do this again after so long.

You turned on the TV and put on a random documentary from your Netflix list, the kind you always meant to watch but never had time for. Coffee in hand, you moved around your kitchen to make something simple—eggs, bacon, and toast. As the food cooked, the smell filled your apartment, adding to the alleviating feeling you were currently having.

You sat on the couch, plate balanced in your lap, and ate while half-watching the screen, already considering what to do with the rest of the day. A jog sounded good—get your body moving, then rest.

After your quick breakfast, you changed into a basic gym set, throwing a large shirt over it and lacing your sneakers before heading out for a jog through the neighborhood. The breeze was nice, just brisk enough to cool your skin as you ran past familiar houses and quiet sidewalks. After about an hour, you stopped by a small smoothie shop for a pick-me-up and walked home with a green blend of mango, kale, apple, and juice in hand.

Back inside, you hopped into the shower, letting hot water rinse away the sweat. You scrubbed thoroughly, trying to reset your body and your brain, and when you stepped out, you slipped into oversized sweats and a sports bra.

You returned to the couch, curling up with your smoothie and remote, letting the documentary play while your body melted into the cushions. That’s honestly how the entire day went: some cooking, snacking, and lounging. It was peaceful.

The sun had started to set again by the time you noticed how golden rays were spilling through the tall windows of your apartment. You reached for the remote, closing the blinds with a quiet mechanical hum just before there was a knock at your door.

Your brows furrowed, not expecting anyone. Padded toward the door barefoot, fingers slightly wrinkled from all the dishes and cooking you’d done that day. No one ever really came to your apartment—unless you were ordering food, and you hadn’t.

You opened the door without thinking much. That was your mistake, because there, Manon stood in front of you. In her usual high-end clothes, curls bouncing softly around her shoulders. Her presence didn’t match the atmosphere of your home, and your eyes practically bulged from your head as your mouth parted in shock.

You instinctively looked past her, left and right down the hallway like someone might follow behind. “What do you think you're doing here?” you whispered, voice hushed like you were trying to avoid being caught.

Manon blinked, confused, then looked around dramatically. “Marcos told me you wouldn’t be in, so I decided to take the day off too.” She breezed past you like she’s been here multiple times, dropping her purse onto your couch.

“How do you even know my address?” you asked, still stuck in place.

“Nice place,” she commented instead, eyes roaming the space with interest.

‘YOUR BOSS’S FIANCÉ IS LITERALLY IN YOUR HOME? DOES THAT NOT CLICK IN HER HEAD? IS THIS NOT WEIRD??’ Was all you could think.

You shook your head and sighed. “Uhm… welcome in, I guess?” you muttered, still confused.

“Thanks,” she said casually, toeing off her shoes before walking further inside. “So what brings you here?” you asked, arms crossed now.

“Was a little worried after yesterday,” she said, and your heart skipped a beat—until she added, “Thought you might’ve gotten sick from the rain, so I brought some stuff.” From the oversized purse she carried, she pulled out a collection of items—cough drops, cold medicine, compresses, and even herbal candies.

You blinked. “You didn’t have to do all th—”

She stopped you, placing the back of her hand to your forehead and then your neck. “I think you feel a little warm. Lay down. I’ll take care of everything.”

You sat down slowly, still watching her like she was some dream. Manon, in your kitchen, pouring hot water for instant noodles she’d apparently bought on the way here. You tried to go back to watching TV, but it was hard. You're extremely hyper-aware, too focused on the fact that she’s in your home and all the commotion behind you.

After about ten minutes, she came back behind you, handing over a steaming bowl of noodles, then rushing off again to grab a glass of water, two pills, and a warm compress fresh from the microwave.

You stared at her like she was insane. “Manon, what happened last night was a m—”

“Eat, Y/n,” she cut you off sharply, voice dipped in something that made you instantly look down at the noodles, then back at her, then back at the noodles to do as you were told.

“Good,” she said once you finished. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s keep watching.”

And of course, she plopped down next to you again, this time sitting cross-legged like a mermaid, skirt a bit tight around her thighs for her to move them properly on your couch. 

You finished your meal while pretending she wasn’t sitting inches away. She handed you the medicine once you set the bowl down, and you hesitated, looking bewildered. She didn’t acknowledge you, so you just took the medicine.

You shifted on the couch, inching further to the right, trying to make some distance. But Manon, like her usual self, reached for the blanket over your lap, lifted it slightly, and slipped underneath—cozying up right next to you, head resting lightly against your chest.

You stiffened immediately, not moving a single bit. Your heartbeat was out of control, and she noticed.

Manon looked up at you, gaze soft, and you slowly looked down to meet her eyes. Her face was inches away from you. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

You nodded once, swallowing. “Do you not feel bad for Marcos?” you whispered.

She caught the hint of sadness in your voice, the guilt you weren’t even hiding. Shaking her head gently, she whispered, “Marcos is sweet—and I know you see him as a friend too. But this contract, the wedding, all of it… It was sudden. And he just isn’t the person for me.”

She paused, gaze heavy with something unreadable. “He clearly deserves better than me.”

You raised a brow, a bit offended as that implies ‘you deserved her worse.’

“What does that entail for me, then?” Her answer came quickly, “I want you. And I’m willing to put in more effort with you than I ever did with him. I’ve admitted that to myself, Y/n.”

The confession made you smile a bit, and you told her, “I think I want you too, Manon. But I don’t know how I feel about doing these things behind his back.”

“Let me worry about that,” she tells you, flipping herself onto your lap without hesitation, straddling you, making your breath hitch. Her skirt rides up her thighs, warm skin meeting your palms as your hands instinctively move to hold her steady.

The moment her eyes lock with yours, butterflies stir in her stomach—something about the way you look up at her, the feel of your grip, confirms it. She really, truly does like you.

Her fingers cradle the back of your neck as she pulls you in, crashing her lips onto yours. 

Manon was never the type to dominate, and that wasn’t about to change now. She needed you to take control, even if you had no experience. She was sure it was there—you just needed a little push.

Her hips roll slowly, grinding against your lap, only slightly cushioned by the blanket. Still, you feel her heat through the friction. Her legs wrap around your waist as you shift, pulling the blanket away and lifting her with ease.

You gently lay her back onto the couch, kissing her through the motion. Your hands slide up her thighs, fingers grazing her warm skin, and she lets out a muffled groan, her lips still tangled with yours. Her fingers tangle in your loose hair, tugging slightly—every little sound she makes only pushes you deeper into want.

“Y/n, please, I need you now,” she pants, voice quiet but full of desperation as she pulls away from the kiss. You pause, just for a second, hesitant. “I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, Manon,” you admit, and the look on your face is endearing, soft, wide-eyed, like a lost puppy.

She giggles, catching her breath. “Just be your usual, confident self, and I’ll help you. Okay?”

You nod, leaning in for another kiss, trying to find your footing again—okay then. You could do this.

Your lips trail down to her jaw, then lower, planting kisses across her neck, pausing as you feel the subtle hitch of her breath. You take note of how her chest rises, how her skin tastes faintly sweet and a little salty from the heat building between you. You kiss just above the line of her top—a neckline she always wore, part of her style.

Her outfit tonight isn’t complicated, something you’re thankful for. You fumble slightly with the tiny clip and zipper, but manage to undo them while still kissing her slowly, deeply. She hums into your mouth as her top gets taken off, and with her arms wrapped around your neck, she lets you pull it off completely.

Her chest is now bare before you, perky and flushed. The sight alone has your mouth going dry. ‘Be your confident self.’

“You're so sexy,” you whisper, brushing soft kisses along the curve of her chest until your lips reach one of her nipples. You swirl your tongue around it, hearing her gasp and then sigh, gripping your hair as her back arches slightly.

“That feels nice,” she breathes, and you glance up at her with a lazy smirk, lips still connected to her skin. “Doesn’t it?” you tease, bringing a hand up to pinch and play with the other. She groans, her breath shaky.

“Don’t tease me~” she mutters in a warning tone, but her body betrays her, hips subtly rolling up. “Don’t tell me what to do. Didn’t you want this?”

It comes out low, with a tone she wasn’t expecting—and she’s visibly shaken by it, in a good way, you could almost hope. The smirk on your lips turns a little wicked, a change of heart in a way. She watches you like you’ve just become a different person.

Her thighs rub together, the friction audible as she moves under you, and you notice how restricted her legs are from the skirt.

“Oh, this can’t do,” you murmur, sitting up and gazing down at her. She tilts her head to ask what you mean, but you're already pushing her skirt higher. She lets out a soft yelp when it bunches at her hips.

Her eyes narrow, but your grin only widens. “It was in the way.”

Your finger presses against her clothed center, dragging upward slowly, and you feel her hips buck slightly when you reach her clit. “Fuck~” she mutters, jaw going slack. You raise your brow, encouraged.

Then her voice dips in a more commanding way, “I need your fingers now.” The urgency in her tone surprises you a bit. You shift again, reaching under her to tug down her underwear. Her wetness is immediately visible, clinging as the fabric is pulled away, and the sight makes your own thighs clench involuntarily.

She watches you react, stunned, and giggles. “Are you just gonna sit there or—”

You don’t let her finish. You lean down, swiping your tongue up her slit. It felt right doing it despite being your first time, and the moan that spills from her lips is the confirmation you needed.

You lick again, slower, and smirk when you hear the tiny gasp she lets out. “If I knew pussy tasted this good, I would’ve added it to my timeline,” you admit, causing her to laugh breathily before gasping again when your tongue flicks her clit.

Manon’s hand threads through your hair, guiding your head, and you feel her push you deeper. You grin against her, tongue curling into her entrance, flicking, sucking, tasting.

“Shit,” she moans. Her body jolts slightly with each movement of your tongue

Her fingers slip up her own stomach to her chest, playing with her nipples while your tongue works harder. You’re in awe of her—how her praise seems to have control over you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” she breathes, and that’s all it takes for you to kick it up a notch. Your tongue flicks faster, and you tease her entrance with one finger. Her hips jerk, trembling slightly.

You slide it in, slowly at first. “Holy shit,” she whines, voice cracking as her pussy clenches around you. You close your eyes, tasting her, feeling her. Deciding it was a good time to put another finger in, she gasps.

You look up—she’s staring at you now, eyes looking drunk yet focused. Your fingers curl, and she spreads her legs wider. You pump faster, now fully comfortable, and she can tell she did what needed to be done. The pace gets sloppy but only because of her wet pussy, and when her thighs start to shake, you pull away, smirking as her juices shine on your chin.

“Be a good girl and keep these open wide, yeah?” The tone in your voice makes her shiver. Her eyes flutter, and you prop yourself up between her legs, holding her thighs apart with your knees as your fingers dive back in.

“Too good,” she mumbles, barely holding herself up. Her head falls back, biting her lip to stay quiet. That wasn’t about to work in your book; you wanted to hear her.

“I want to hear you, Ms. Bannerman. I wanna hear how you sound for me~.” She opens her mouth to argue, but a third finger slips in, and she screams.

“Fuck!” her voice echoes in your apartment. You feel her thighs adding pressure to your knees as she instinctively wants to close them.

“Y-your nei-neighbors—” she tries to protest, panting. You lean in, lips near hers, fingers still buried deep. “I couldn’t give two fucks about my neighbors. I want to hear you.”

You kiss her slowly, then pull away to whisper, “If only you could see yourself right now. The sweat, the way your eyes roll back.” You glance at the mirror on the opposite wall, then realize a great idea you could do.

You pulled your fingers out and dragged her toward it. She stumbles, surprised, and her legs nearly buckle. You stand behind her, and she stares into the reflection in the mirror above the drawer, her face flushed and fucked-out with her pussy glistening from you lights.

“What are you—?” You silence her with a hand on her neck, guiding her chin. “Now you can see how pretty you look for me.”

Your other hand sneaks between her legs again, rubbing her pussy slowly. “Can you hear how wet you are?”

You slip a finger in. The sound is undeniably loud as you both hear it in the silence of your apartment. “This cunt all wet for me, hm?”

She whimpers. You cup one breast, teasing her nipple again. “All wet for you,” she admits.

“Is that so?” You slip three fingers in and she gasps again, knees almost buckling.

She reaches for support on your drawers, but you keep her in place. “Eyes forward, brat.” She stares, half stunned, half delirious, at the new nickname. You hold her upright, pumping steadily.

“You’re a brat, right? That’s why you kissed me first.” She nods. You chuckle, kissing her neck. “Why’d you do it, hm?”

“I-I found y-you hot and I f-felt like you could r-ruin me.” You raise your brow, smirking. “Am I fitting the standard?”

“More t-than you know.” That had you pump faster, and her thighs began to tremble. “Holy fuck, Y/n,” she moans, voice breaking. You lean against her, murmuring in her ear. “Wanna cum?”

She nods desperately. “Hold it,” you tell her, and she’s left-mouthed open in shock at your words. You drop to your knees behind her, tongue replacing your fingers. You want her to break for you.

“Y-Y/n I can’t—” she cries. You hum in response, dragging your tongue over her clit again and again. “I-I can’t hold it—”

You pull back, your fingers going in again. “Go ahead, baby.”

She cums with a cry, legs giving out as she collapses onto her knees, forehead pressed to the storage.

You back away, licking your lips, breath ragged. “That good enough for you?” you ask, amused. “More than enough,” she mumbles.

You grin, lifting her with ease and carrying her to the couch, laying her down as she’s surprisingly really light.

“What do we do about Marcos?” You ask, still worried despite the crazy moment that just happened between the two of you, and you settle down to take a break. “I’ll handle him, don’t worry about it. I told you,” she voiced, very assuring in her words, but then you look down a bit.

“Then how about us?”

She smiles while looking at you, taking her hand in hers, which makes you look over. “I told you I wanted you, and I meant that, Y/n.” You smiled, seeing how serious she was.

“Well, as long as you actually handle Marcos, I’m up for it… just don’t get me fired,” you joked at the hand, elbows up as she nudges you while laughing.

She was going to make this happen. Breaking the contract, running away with you, doesn’t really matter. Manon is just determined to make it happen for you.

[cat-mermaid]

thats the thing, the knight isn't the the big bad, at least not the version that Asriel is playing the role of

right now my ever evolving theory is that Kris, Asriel, Asgore and Ralsei the darkner homunculus creation, are all staging a version of the prophecy (aka the plot of the game we call Deltarune) for the sake of the soul aka us the player

I'm more and more certain that somthing did go down around 4-ish years ago, when the actual events of the prophecy were supposed to take place, but they were halted by outside forces (Carol/Asgore/whoever) and the prophecy was stalled for the sake of protecting the original intended "heros" from their grim fates. But it has to happen, why i don't know, but this stage play we've been playing out with Kris and the fun gang wouldn't be happening if it wasn't necessary

I've been slowly knocking out a document with my big theory as to where things are going and why, and one of the things i'm really sure of is that right now everything thats been happening has all been to direct our (the soul) attention away from the original heros (who yes i am 100% certain i know who thanks to Undertale's genocide route spelling it out/the music and the secret bosses of Deltarune and their music).

At this moment I theorize (and this can change at any point because i'm constantly updating with new information i come upon) that the goal of the Dreemurr family (minus Toriel) is to act out the prophecy beat by beat, except its their rewritten version that they have complete control over (or so they thought because SUSIE). I think that they knew that the angel/soul/us was coming no matter what and they had to do something to appease it(have a game for us to play) all while keeping the people who were supposed to be our playthings/sacrifices away from our attention

The angel gets it's game/heaven/watever and leaves once its game over, which if we can take the church prophecy windows at their word (which i only 50% do) means that Susie and Ralsei are meant to be disposable. Kris will be fine because more and more it's becoming obvious they don't need us to live, we aren't "their" soul, its just that the strain of caging us is probably really really rough on them physically and thats why they were lurching around so much in the beginning when they'd take us out of them

The thing is tho this is all going to fail, and fail badly

because Susie

no one had any idea that Susie would have so much power, so much freedom from the yoke of the prophecy, and yes i am saying that Kris's friendship with Susie began with the intent to be a siren singing her to shipwreck, but now Kris is having second thoughts because of how amazing and genuine their friendship has become, you can see it written all over them that they really don't want to do this anymore

My hypothesis is that the current plan was to have Kris seize the soul (however that worked) and become the cage. Ralsei is an object belonging to the Dreemurr family that was "programmed" with a tame watered down version of the prophecy, Ralsei is 100% loyal to Kris no matter what, even willing to take abuse or pain if asked to. Then a planned timeline of events, starting with Kris being late to class and Susie showing up on that day, kicks off. Susie is lead down the path of the hero who "has hope crossed on her heart" will take

why? because the reasoning is that the soul aka us will eventually merge with her to create the ultimate hero that will "save the world" (however thats supposed to go down). But this process seems to be implied result in death somehow. But if the soul isn't Kris's to begin with, for them its as easy as just pulling it out and letting it take over Susie

Theres only one problem, well two actually

The soul doesn't want Susie, like at all. It wants Noelle

Imagine being Kris and thinking, back at this point in the story-

-that its in the bag, its happend, Susie is now following "your" (the soul's) orders. This is how its supposed to start, now all they have to do is just act out the prophecy chapter by chapter, dark world after dark world, and soon Susie's mind and free will will be subsumed by the soul

but then oh no oh god, some how Noelle ended up in a dark word and now the soul only has "eyes" for her and oh god how do you stop it now? You're in too deep, you can't stop it now theres no choice but to keep going, and meanwhile Susie only seems to be getting better at shucking off the prophecy. I even bet you that Titan fight at the church was supposed to be the Dreemurr's planned "final boss fight", didn't it feel like one? But instead by then the Soul hadn't so much as tried to control Susie and then mother fucking OLD MAN happened and Susie "Idea'd" her way into fucking nuking the thing!

anyways shit thats alot i just typed for a "brief" response so i'll stop now!!!

just remember this is a working theory and almost certainly be amended and reworked all the way up to chapter 5

............YOUNG MAN

you are supposed to be at colleg

not doing some weird pantomime of your religion's prophecy with your sibling, a girl who was slamming said sibling into a locker like 2 days ago, a weird doppelganger of yourself and your fucking father

....also everyone do themselves a favor and listen to "hopes and dreams" sped up a bit faster then what youtube allows, its litterally "black knife"

[dreamivyisla]

♱ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐓 2 ♱

𝐅𝐄��𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elijah “Smoke” Moore and Elias “Stack” Moore

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ you’re a complicated woman caught between your current boyfriend, Elijah “Smoke” Moore, and your ex, Elias “Stack” Moore.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ well, part 2! maybe a part 3 soon! also, i am writing a part 2 to The Other Twin so i will drop that.. one day. enjoy!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ➤ part 1, part 2, part 3??

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 3.9k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ oral sex (reader receiving), spit kink, dominance, choking kink, cowgirl, backshots, dirty talk, rough sex, slight dumbification, creampie, cheating (reader is in a relationship with Smoke), power imbalance, unresolved feelings with ex, missionary, biting, breeding kink, multiple rounds, pregnancy stress.

═══════ ═══════ ═══════

you shouldn’t have gone over there.

you should’ve stayed with the ache, stayed with the guilt, sat in your bed and stared at the ceiling until it all rotted outta you. but instead, you knocked on stack’s door the next day with your hood pulled low and your eyes still puffy from crying.

he opened it like he was expecting you.

didn’t say nothing at first—just stepped aside, let you walk in. the place smelled like him: cedar, sweat, smoke. like danger dressed in cologne. he watched you pace his living room with that same cocky little smirk like he already knew why you came.

you turned to him, arms crossed tight. “i’m pregnant.”

stack blinked. once. then again.

“…what?”

you swallowed. “i’m pregnant.”

his tongue slid across his bottom lip, slow, thoughtful. “and you think it’s mine?”

you flinched, but nodded. “timeline don’t lie.”

he stared for a long time. then stepped close. “and you told smoke?”

“yeah.”

“how’d that go?”

you looked down. didn’t answer.

stack reached out, lifted your chin with two fingers. “he put hands on you?”

“no. he walked out.”

stack nodded, jaw tight. “good.”

you pulled away. “don’t act like you get to be protective.”

his eyes narrowed. “don’t act like i don’t still got love for you.”

you hated how that made your heart twitch.

you hated even more how you didn’t stop him when he stepped closer, his hand sliding up your side like it belonged there.

“i should go,” you whispered.

he leaned in anyway. “you want me to stop?”

your body said no before your mouth could lie.

he kissed you slow at first, hands gripping your hips like he needed proof you were real. like he still remembered every inch of your body—and he did. his tongue dragged across your bottom lip before dipping in deep, pulling that soft, hungry moan out your throat.

he pushed you against the wall, hands yanking your hoodie off, lips dragging down your neck. he bit you, not hard—just enough to remind you he wasn’t elijah. he didn’t move soft. didn’t ask. he took.

“been dreamin’ about this pussy since the day i left it,” he growled, lifting you like nothing and carrying you straight to the couch. “you’ll look better pregnant.”

you gasped, legs spread as he dropped between them.

“legs open. tongue out.”

you obeyed, breath shaking.

he spit in your mouth, slow and dirty, then kissed you again—let you taste both of you like he loved the way shame coated your tongue. his hand was between your thighs now, thumb dragging through your slick folds, teasing your clit until you were whining and shifting, already too sensitive.

“look at you,” he smirked. “already soaking my fingers. this pussy missed me, huh?”

you nodded fast, whimpering, “yes, yes—fuck, stack, please…”

he chuckled low, tongue trailing down your belly, fingers still working you open. “ain’t even fucked you yet and you beggin’. that’s crazy.”

he licked a long stripe up your slit, moaning like you were the one feeding him. then he buried his mouth in you—loud, wet, nasty. his spit dripped down your ass, chin coated in slick as he sucked your clit, tongue dragging side to side like he was tryna ruin you all over again.

“taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he muttered. “don’t run from it.”

you were crying now, body twitching. he had you wide open, back arched, moaning his name so loud you forgot your own. and when he finally pulled away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, his dick was already out—thick, veiny, curved just right.

you climbed on top without being told.

cowgirl.

his hands gripped your thighs tight as you sank down, your walls pulling him in so slow it made you both groan. he was big—he always was—but this time? it hit different. fuller. heavier. like your body was tryna remember every inch of what you swore you left behind.

“ride this dick,” he grunted, choking you just enough to tilt your chin up. “make it up to me.”

you bounced slow, then faster, moaning loud as his hands smacked your ass and guided your rhythm. your nails dug into his chest. he fucked up into you hard—wet slaps echoing around the room, your cries spilling like sin in the silence.

“you gon’ let me nut in it again?” he asked, low, breathless. “you already mine now. you might as well take it.”

you nodded fast, mouth open, eyes rolling. “yes, yes—give it to me—please, stack—fuck!”

he flipped you over fast, slamming into you now, backshots deep and brutal. your ass bounced with every stroke, and he leaned down, whispering filth into your ear.

“that’s right. take this dick. you love this shit. always been a nasty lil’ thing.”

you were a mess—drool on the pillow, eyes glassy, hands gripping the couch like it was your only anchor.

“who pussy this?” he growled, choking you again, tighter now.

“yours—fuck—it’s yours—”

he nutted deep inside, moaning rough, holding your hips down as your walls milked every drop outta him. and he didn’t pull out.

he didn’t even move.

he just stayed inside you, breathing heavy, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“we gon’ get a test,” he said into your skin. “but i already know that baby mine.”

you didn’t argue.

because in that moment…

you knew it too.

you didn’t tell stack you were leaving. just got dressed slow, your thighs still shaking, your mouth swollen from kissing and crying too much. your stomach felt heavier now—not just from what he left inside you, but from what was growing there. a truth that couldn’t be undone.

you got home and the silence was thicker than usual.

smoke was in the bedroom. back turned. shirtless, bare shoulders tight with tension. he didn’t say anything when you walked in, didn’t look at you. just sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at his palms like they were holding something too fragile.

you stood in the doorway, heart pounding.

“elijah,” you said, voice soft, almost apologetic.

his head tilted just slightly. “you keep callin’ me that like you ain’t the one who broke me.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

he turned then—slow, deliberate. his eyes met yours, and for the first time, they weren’t calm. they weren’t patient.

“i was gon’ marry you.”

your breath hitched. “what?”

“i had the ring.”

his voice didn’t shake. it was steady. flat.

“had it in the drawer for two months. been waitin’ on the right moment. waitin’ on you to be ready. stupid of me, huh?”

your knees buckled a little, but you held yourself up.

“elijah…”

he stood.

walked toward you slow.

when he stopped in front of you, his hand came to your jaw, fingers curling under your chin, lifting your face up to his. his touch was still gentle, but his expression wasn’t.

“i can’t look at you the same.”

you swallowed hard, eyes burning. “i know.”

“but i still want you.”

you blinked. “what?”

his thumb dragged across your bottom lip.

“i still wanna feel you. taste you. remind you what real love feel like.”

you should’ve stepped back. should’ve said no. but your body leaned forward like it was magnetized to him. like guilt and grief and longing had melted into one big need that only he could quiet.

“take it off,” he said, voice low.

you untied your hoodie slow, dropped it to the floor. he watched your hands, not your eyes. he was watching how you trembled. watching how shame still clung to you like perfume.

“turn around.”

you obeyed.

his hands slid over your hips, slow and firm. he leaned in, mouth brushing the back of your neck.

“you smell like him.”

you froze.

but he didn’t stop.

his lips trailed lower, tongue dragging between your shoulder blades. he kissed your spine, then turned you back around. you expected him to be angry. rough. but he wasn’t. he was quiet. slow. and it made it worse.

“get on the bed.”

you climbed up, sitting on your knees. he stripped, slow. deliberate. his body was all muscle, carved lines and sharp edges softened only by the warmth he used to carry for you. he climbed up behind you, tugged you gently into his lap.

“you want this?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded.

he held your chin again. “say it.”

“i want this. i want you.”

he kissed you then, slow and deep, mouth dragging over yours like he was tryna drink you down. your moans came out breathy, full of want and guilt and ache.

he laid you down, settled between your thighs. his hands moved with purpose—rough but reverent. he licked through your folds once, twice, then buried his mouth there, soft but firm. his tongue knew you. remembered you. his fingers curled up inside, slow, deep, pressing your spot just right while he sucked your clit with steady heat.

you were crying again, moaning loud, hips lifting off the sheets.

“you gon’ come for me,” he muttered into your pussy. “come with my name on your tongue.”

“smoke—fuck—please, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—”

he pulled back.

“you ain’t sorry.”

he flipped you over, pulled your ass up, then pushed inside you in one deep, cruel stroke.

you screamed. body arching. hands gripping the pillow like it could save you.

his hand wrapped around your throat, but it wasn’t rough—it was grounding. his other hand came around to rub your clit while he fucked you slow, steady, deep.

��this my pussy,” he whispered against your back. “you forgot, but i’ma remind you.”

“it’s yours—it’s always been yours—”

he bit your shoulder hard enough to bruise.

“say my name.”

“elijah—fuck—elijah!”

his thrusts got sharper. rougher. his fingers circled your clit faster.

“who’s baby in your belly?”

you choked on the moan. “i don’t know—i don’t know—”

he stilled inside you.

then whispered, “i hope it’s mine.”

and then he fucked you until you couldn’t think.

until your body shook with release, until his cum filled you up thick and hot, until his lips were on your neck and his voice was in your ear, saying—

“i still love you.”

even if he didn’t know how long he could live with that.

you didn’t speak for three days.

not to smoke. not to stack. not to anybody.

you moved through the apartment like a ghost, stomach tightening more every morning, your body forcing you to feel every inch of what you were carrying. you’d catch smoke watching you sometimes from across the room—his eyes softer now, like he’d already accepted something before the facts were even in.

but you couldn’t live in limbo.

you called your OB and made the appointment. prenatal bloodwork. dna test. paternity confirmation. modern science at war with your heart.

you didn’t tell smoke you were doing it.

you told stack.

he picked you up in silence, no music playing, just his fingers tapping slow on the wheel while you stared out the window, your hands cradling the little curve at the bottom of your stomach. the two of you didn’t speak until you were in the waiting room, legs crossed, staring at a wall full of baby posters.

“you nervous?” he asked, voice low, like he didn’t wanna wake the air between you.

you nodded.

“yeah.”

he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “me too.”

you swallowed, still looking at the wall.

“what happens if it’s yours?”

he didn’t blink. “i take care of mine. always have.”

you looked down at your lap, guilt twisting inside you like wire.

“you still with mary?”

“yeah.”

you nodded again. “okay.”

he paused. “but i ain’t gon’ let you raise my kid alone.”

you didn’t say thank you. you didn’t know how.

the nurse called you back, and everything moved quick after that—vials, swabs, paperwork, answers in seven to ten business days. stack stood in the hallway with his arms folded across his chest, watching like a man waiting to hear a verdict that might change the rest of his life.

when it was over, you walked out without looking at him.

he walked you to the car anyway.

“you wanna come back to mine?” he asked once you were inside.

you shook your head. “nah. i’m just gon’ go to my sister’s for a little while.”

his jaw flexed. “you tell smoke?”

“no.”

“you should.”

“i will.”

he nodded, then reached over and rested his hand on your belly.

and that was the first time you let him touch it.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away.

you just let him feel what he might’ve made.

and that scared you more than the test ever could.

seven days later, the call came.

you were in the bathroom when the phone rang, toothbrush halfway to your mouth, still wearing one of smoke’s old shirts and nothing else. you picked it up with your heart already sinking, like your body knew what was coming before your ears heard the words.

“we have the results from your prenatal paternity panel,” the nurse said, voice soft but clipped, like she’d delivered too many of these. “are you in a space where you can hear them?”

you nodded, even though she couldn’t see you.

“yes.”

“the dna analysis shows that elias moore is the biological father.”

your breath didn’t come back. not even a little.

the call ended. you stood in the mirror, staring at yourself. the shirt hanging off your belly. the way your lips parted just slightly, trembling like they were tryna shape a truth you didn’t wanna carry.

you didn’t cry. not yet.

you just walked out the bathroom and straight into the bedroom, where smoke was laying down, one hand tucked under his head, phone in the other. he looked up when you walked in, eyes dragging over your face like he was scanning for something.

you sat beside him on the bed.

didn’t say anything.

he sat up slowly. “you alright?”

you looked at him. really looked at him.

broad chest. that same little scar above his left brow. everything about him was steady—had always been steady. the kind of man you thought didn’t exist anymore. and now you were about to take a sledgehammer to all of it.

you opened your mouth.

but he spoke first.

“it’s his, ain’t it?”

you froze.

his voice wasn’t angry. it wasn’t loud. it was something worse—quiet. resolved. like he already knew and had been holding hope in his hands too long.

you nodded. barely. “yeah.”

he closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching just once. then he stood up and walked toward the closet. grabbed a duffel bag. started folding clothes without speaking.

you sat there, spine straight, stomach tight.

“what are you doing?”

he didn’t look at you. “you can’t stay here.”

“elijah—”

“nah.” he finally turned, dropping the bag on the bed. “you don’t get to say my name like that no more.”

you flinched. tears finally welling up now, hot and fast. “you said you still loved me.”

“i do.”

his voice cracked. your heart did too.

“but that don’t mean i can watch you carry his kid in my house.”

you stood up, moving toward him. “please. i don’t got nowhere else right now—”

“you got a sister.”

“elijah, please—just let me stay until—”

“you already made your choice.”

his voice wasn’t yelling. but it cut.

“go live with it.”

he walked past you. not rough. not violent. just… done.

and when the door closed behind you an hour later, your entire world felt smaller.

═══════ ═══════ ═══════

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 2; @longlivemalyce @nanamiismine @dameshaemonique

(you said the story was all over the place? i know)

[starcurtain]

Patch 3.4 First Playthrough Thoughts

Going to watch a friend stream the game tomorrow, so I might come back to this and revise my opinions after a second look at the patch, but here are my current gripes reactions.

Everything below the read more is spoilers; you've been warned.

Time travel plots are so hard, so, so, so hard, and unfortunately I think this one was not the best done. The confusion of which cycle we're in at any given moment feels deliberate, but in creating that confusion, they just catapulted me out of the narrative actively as I had to sit back and ensure I understood exactly where each character was on the timeline at any given point, particularly with the XX05, XX06, XX07 endings. I'm still not sure I've fully grasped it all.

Jesus Christ, where was the budget? Did it literally all go to the animated short and they left none of it for regular cutscenes??? Why were critical moments like the "Lygus craves Destruction" and "Mem becomes Cyrene" scenes left to static images? The Lygus one was especially egregious because it was just him painted over static images we'd already seen in Unknowable Domain, ooofff. The fact that Phainon's "inner hero" was using the generic NPC model took me the fuck out and let's please not give them a free pass with something like "Phainon's mental image of a hero was generic because he didn't know what real heroism looked like." I'm not willing to let the devs slide with such a blatantly budget-cut choice.

Who has the memories of which cycles at which point in time and who had them but lost them and who regained them but only pieces and who should have them but doesn't anymore and how did any of these memory transfers other than Phainon's even work? Mem!Cyrene, I am looking at you. (Hoyo: Please just stop thinking so hard about everything. Nod and smile at us, please.)

The decision to continue using Phainon's regular model for the cutscenes versus the other heirs even after he supposedly became Flame Reaver was definitely a choice. Like, I understand that we're seeing this from Phainon's perspective and he's holding on to that humanity, but in choosing only iterations where Phainon was showing his face while attacking the heirs, it just creates complete confusion over when he started taking the Flame Reaver form and why and in how many loops he looked like that, versus just appearing as regular Phainon. Also, why the fuck were we robbed of a sick cutscene actually showing him transforming into the Flame Reaver for the first time?

Phainon fighting Zephyro? Cool. Phainon fighting Zephyro in an animated short only instead of also as an actual playable fight, in a patch that otherwise had no new boss and literally only recycled old boss models and mechanics? Abysmally bad planning. What the fuck were the devs thinking? Out of everything I wasn't happy with this patch, the fact that they couldn't even give Phainon a new in-game boss to showcase his gameplay against was absolutely the biggest fumble. Colossally bad decision-making on the dev team's part, tbh.

Phainon's theme song is beautiful and atmospheric and it works exactly as is needed, but the theme song of the animated short doesn't have anywhere near the earworm value that "Proi Proi" had, and "Proi Proi" playing over actual combat made it immensely more hype to experience in-game. Overall, the lack of actual playable content in this patch just meant that it never hit the gamer high that 3.3 was able to hit with Aquila's boss fight. Normally I'm the last person to complain about the ratio of cutscene+dialogue compared to actual gameplay, because I would still play the game if it was nothing but a visual novel, but in this case, I think the lack of interaction was a serious missed opportunity. The power of video games as a medium is in their ability to link players' actions to the narrative, and this patch missed the mark by sidelining the player too much, at least for my taste.

Weirdly enough, while sidelining the actual player behind the keyboard, the story's absolute insistence that Trailblazer Must Be the Hero(tm), while definitely not surprising, ended up being done in the most disappointing way possible. I fully expected us to be the hero to save the day, but at least in Penacony, etc., they managed to make it feel mostly organic. Here, there was such an on-the-nose: "You were the real Deliverer all along, Trailblazer!" that it feels painfully shoehorned. I understand that, from a logical standpoint, an outside element was needed to break the loop, but for what reason did we watch Phainon bear the pain of being the "Deliverer" 33 million times only to have the title casually handed off in a dialogue option? Couldn't we at least have gotten a touching cutscene where Trailblazer reveals that their method for breaking the loops is to shoulder half of Phainon's burden with him, dividing the "weight" of the memories? It's not that it's wrong for the Trailblazer to become "the Deliverer" alongside Phainon, but the way it was done was so, so bad...

I think what was missing was the "through-line"--the final message of Phainon and Cyrene's first loop should have been, from the start, that they knew they could only buy time, that they had sent out some prayer beyond the heavens, themselves calling for a "Deliverer"--we needed to see them send out that call into space, and then face the reality that "we" left the call unanswered for 33 million cycles. While Phainon was dragging himself through every cycle, killing the heirs over and over, we should have seen him comforting himself with that thought: "Someone will come save us. We only have to carry on until the Deliverer arrives." And then we players would have had to sit with the pain of failing him over and over and over... Then, and only then, could our "becoming the Deliverer" really feel like something we had earned by our guilt--"Thank you for your hard work all this time. You can rest now, Phainon. I'm here."

It's not that this patch had no emotional impact on me, because it did, but... Every truly emotional moment in this patch had a weird layer of "distance" to it that other moments of Star Rail's gameplay did not. Acheron's farewell made me bawl, and I'm not even a Honkai Impact 3rd player. Castorice's animated short blew my heart to smithereens. This patch just never quite hit the right note to really pound on my heartstrings. Yes, watching Phainon drag himself through actual agony and torment was bad, but it could have been so much worse. Why did we not get to see him and Cyrene as carefree kids first, to really hammer home the extent of their loss of innocence? Why did we not get to see Phainon's model literally breaking down under the pain of carrying millions of coreflames? Why did we never get to see him with the blood of his friends on his hands, dealing with that agony directly? Why did we not get at least a tiny moment of our!Phainon having to reckon with the realization that he was the black-robed swordsman he'd hated his whole life, and that he was the one who had been killing his own comrades? We got tears but nothing of the horror the devs should have let that moment have.

Similarly, because the person we were watching descend into Destruction wasn't actually our!Phainon the whole time, there's a one-layer removal on the emotional attachment--this isn't really the person who we've walked beside all this time. This is happening to someone else, and he's just going to pass the memories on. It carries a different--and unfortunately lighter--weight than if our!Phainon had been the one actually forced to do those things.

How does the plot even reckon with Cyrene anymore? If she was literally deleted from Amphoreus's Time itself, how was she also able to reloop each time and ultimately have a sliver of herself become Mem? For that matter, why did she not age even in the first loop? I'm sure they'll put some effort into addressing this stuff in the next patch, but currently it just feels like a bit of a hand-wavy plothole, and especially the bit about her not aging just seems like a bid to buy time to avoid revealing her playable model. (Don't think too hard, Star.)

Honestly there were so many weird hand-wavy moments in this patch. Phainon's "Wow, I almost forgot what the fairies looked like" as an explanation for why Phainon didn't notice that Mem looked like a fairy from Aedes Elysiae might have kind of made sense if only it wasn't confusingly followed with Cyrene going "Oh come now, you wouldn't ever forget them!" Like okay but he did???

I'm sorry but Lygus is just not carrying the whole supervillain thing. Like on the one hand, maybe the devs really did want that simple and straightforward of a villain? But on the other hand, the entire thing just feels also way too... on the nose. Would a Genius-level Erudition pathstrider/possibly emanator (if the new As I've Written is to be believed, whoever is running Amphoreus's actual experiment is at least disguising themself as a Genius Society member) really be that obvious and easy to predict? Maybe I'm thinking into this WAYYYY too much, but at the risk of sounding like a crazy conspiracy theorist, I'd like to revive an early prediction of mine that Lygus is actually an avatar for Nous THEMSELF, conducting the experiment using the Scepter as a deliberate way to either develop a resource needed to defeat Destruction or to determine Nanook's true purpose--to solve the equation of Destruction and determine if it is needed to win "the war of the aeons"--perhaps Destruction is what can save us from Finality?

You know what doesn't get a complaint from me? The ridiculous Phaidei feast they threw in for the shippers on the side. The dev team's determination in going out of their way to repeatedly insist that Mydei is Phainon's designated love interest is truly wild. I respect the hustle.

You know who else gets a pass with no complaints? Nanook. I can't wait until we're all crying about THEIR tragic backstory in 10.X or something.

You know who gets a third pass from me for this patch? Hyacine. Hands down best girl of Amphoreus; it's NOT EVEN A COMPETITION.

[444eggnog]

4 Seasons of Love

✍︎: this was one of the very first aus i ever wrote. i thought i’d clean up my drafts and share some of my older projects (actually debating if i should just post it all at once lol) before starting newer works, including part 2 of my mamma mia au. this one was inspired by a song that’s always been one of my favorites, 4 seasons of loneliness by boyz ii men. if it isn’t obvious yet, i really do love writing angst hehe. about the pictures below, please forgive me for not finding proper “interview” photos. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy it, even if it might sound a little rough in places. i did try my best to fix it up without changing too much. ♡

masterlist ! ☻

content: angst, heartbreak, breakups, unrequited love, grief, lost love, emotional hurt/comfort.

warnings: death, pregnancy, emotional themes

list of characters: Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Reader as narrator/ interviewer.

wc: 2k

video tape rolling...

“Hi. I’m Y/N, and this is my final project for my Theories of Personality class. We were asked to explore one central question, something human, something that makes us feel. And I chose this:

‘Can you describe the love that left you lost, but still loved?'”

“I didn’t want big headlines or perfect love stories. I wasn’t looking for drama. Just real people willing to share something that hurt them once.”

“I didn’t ask them for the whole timeline. Just... moments. The kind that stay with you even when it’s over.”

“What surprised me is how heartbreak has so many shapes. It fades, it freezes, it grows back in ways you don’t expect.”

“Each of them reminded me of a season. I didn’t tell them that but I saw it, in the way they spoke, in what they left unsaid.”

“So here they are. Four stories. Four seasons. Four people, still carrying the echo of something they once had.”

TAPE 1: Oscar Piastri (Winter)

They met at seventeen, awkward and bright-eyed, sharing cheap ice cream cones under streetlights. He’d walk her home on cold evenings, their gloved hands brushing. She’d tuck her chin into his scarf when the wind bit too hard.

In those first years, they were warmth itself. Movie nights under blankets. Notes left in lockers. Late-night phone calls where neither wanted to hang up.

It felt like they built a bonfire together, crackling, alive, defying the cold around them.

But the thing about fires is they need tending.

He kept feeding it. Every sorry, every compromise, every promise to do better. But the more he tried, the faster the wood burned.

She stopped adding anything at all. She just watched it die out.

She said she couldn’t see herself there forever. That she didn’t feel the warmth anymore.

Christmas Eve.

Oscar stood at the threshold of her friend’s house, the door ajar behind him spilling laughter and light. Outside, the world was white with fresh snow. He held a small black velvet box in both hands, thumbs nervously brushing over the edges.

She was in front of him, cheeks pink from the cold. Her eyes were gentle, but sure.

He knelt down on his knees and opened the box.

The gold band caught the light.

She shook her head.

Words froze in his mouth. His breath ghosted in the air between them.

No one inside noticed. They didn’t see him kneeling beneath the mistletoe taped carelessly to the doorframe, clutching a ring he’d spent months saving for.

They just heard the music, the laughter.

He stayed there for a long time before finally pocketing the box and walking away alone.

TAPE 2: Charles Leclerc (Spring)

They met in a corner café where she had her lyric notebook open, scribbling ideas like spells she had to capture before they vanished. He offered to buy her coffee. They talked until closing.

He went to every gig he could, even the ones in dingy bars where the speakers cracked. He’d stand at the back, eyes bright with pride.

When she couldn’t afford the bus to another city, he sent her money without thinking twice. He’d text her good luck before every show.

Their apartment smelled like new paint and coffee. Their bed was a mess of tangled sheets on lazy mornings. She’d hum unfinished songs while he cooked.

She’d tell him her dreams in whispers at 2 a.m., world tours, albums, a name people would know. He’d kiss her temple and say, “You’ll get there.”

But slowly, she stopped looking at him the same way.

Arguments didn’t explode, they wilted. Conversations dried out. She spent more nights on the road.

One evening, on the balcony with spring rain tapping the railing, it finally became clear.

She wouldn’t look at him the same way. Her eyes were full of apologies she wouldn’t say out loud.

He realized then she was already leaving, her heart somewhere on the road ahead.

She didn’t need to tell him she was outgrowing them. He could see it in the way she held herself apart, like she was protecting new roots that needed more space.

In his head, the words formed anyway. That he’d been good soil. That he’d watered everything in her until she was strong enough to leave.

That now... he was the weed in her way.

He didn’t fight it. He just let her go.

The rain fell steady as he watched her disappear down the street.

TAPE 3: Lewis Hamilton (Summer)

They didn’t mean for it to happen.

She was off-limits. Everyone knew that.

But somewhere between sharing knowing glances at family parties and sneaking cigarettes on the balcony together, the line blurred.

He couldn’t remember the first kiss, only that after it, there was no turning back.

They’d disappear for hours. Claim errands, take wrong turns on purpose.

Beach trips at sunset that turned into firelit make-outs in the sand. Skinny-dipping at 2 a.m., salt on their skin and laughter breaking the hush of the waves.

They never talked about the future. It was always now. Always urgent.

But she started asking for more. For sleepovers that weren’t secret. For plans that didn’t involve lying. For a promise.

He couldn’t give it. Not then. Maybe not ever.

And she didn’t beg. She just stopped waiting.

He watched her fall in love with someone else.

Stood in a pressed suit at the back of the church. Clapped with everyone else. Told them how happy he was.

The whole time he imagined it was him standing at the altar, taking her hands in his.

Regret always comes at the end.

TAPE 4: George Russell (Autumn)

George met her in the back row of their advanced seminar. She had a pen between her teeth and fury in her eyes when he got the question right before she did. Their rivalry was legendary. Professors rolled their eyes when they’d start debating. But competition gave way to respect. Respect became something warmer.

Late nights in the library turned into whispered jokes. Study sessions turned into shared coffees, stolen kisses, laughter muffled behind stacks of textbooks. He loved how she refused to lose. How she made him better, sharper, more himself.

He proposed on the floor of their first apartment, with moving boxes stacked like walls around them. She said yes before he even finished asking. They didn’t have much money, but they had plans. Wedding dates circled in cheap planners. Notes on what color to paint the nursery. A shared dream. A shared life.

When she told him she was pregnant, she was terrified. So was he. But they held each other and laughed and promised to figure it out. It wasn’t supposed to go wrong. She wanted that baby so badly. So did he.

But as her belly grew, so did the worry in her doctor’s eyes. Complications. Infections. Words that didn’t make sense until they were too late to stop. He held her hand in the hospital as machines beeped their awful rhythm. Her skin hot with fever that wouldn’t break. Eyes fluttering, trying to stay awake. Trying to stay for him.

She got to hold their baby. Just once. Smiled through tears, kissed their child’s forehead. Squeezed George’s hand like a promise she couldn’t keep. And then she was gone.

He stood in the cold hospital corridor, their newborn crying somewhere he couldn’t see yet, pressing his fist to his mouth so he wouldn’t scream. He went home with the baby in his arms. Alone.

The walls of the nursery were half-painted. Her handwriting on Post-its saying “Don’t forget to build the crib.” There was no breakup. No goodbye. Just absence.

And autumn came, like it always does, stripping everything bare.

Every year since, he packs up a picnic basket with her favorite foods. Buys the flowers she loved. Picks the spot under the tree at the cemetery. Sits on a blanket and talks to her.

He tells her about the people he’s met. The jobs he’s taken. The way their child is growing. That he’s turning five in a few months. That he’s learned how to ask for things so politely it breaks his heart. That he has her eyes.

He laughs sometimes, just to prove he remembers how. He cries, too.

He leaves the flowers on her grave and walks away with their child’s hand in his, feeling like half of him is still buried there.

And as the last leaf fell that year, so did she. He’s been living in that season ever since.

[kino-der-joon]

💫 It's hot, we've got nothing but time, so, let's talk about another version of Richtofen, yeah? ✨ Yeah! ⭐️(Mini 'Analysing Richtofen.') ⭐️

✨ This version of Richtofen is one that we don't spend an awful lot of time with. He's known as "Templar" Richtofen, and has gone through the cycle once (or perhaps more.) He's found in Primis Richtofen's lab under Alcatraz in BotD and ends up betraying our beloved Primis Richtofen before moving on to feature in 'Alpha Omega' and the final cut scene in 'Tag Der Toten's easter egg. My obvious and strictly upheld bias aside, let's talk about him!! (please excuse any typos, it’s sweltering right now 😭)

✨ This first thing I want to clear up is that 'Templar' and 'Primis' Richtofen are not the same. I've seen people say that the "Primis Richtofen" who dies in BotD is a new version that we've never seen before, and that 'Templar' Richtofen is actually the version of Primis Richtofen that we followed through the events of Bo3. This isn't true. For starters, let's look at the voice acting for Richtofen! ✨

✨ Each time Nolan North reprises his role as Richtofen, he always gives each incarnation a specific tone. We can tell Ultimis and Primis Richtofen apart because of their personality and also how they sound! So, if 'Templar' was meant to be 'Primis,' he wouldn't sound so different in 'Alpha Omega.' 'Templar' sounds a lot more deadpan and 'down-to-earth' than any other incarnation (aside from 'Director' Richtofen, who came after.) ✨

💫 Speaking of voice lines, we can also tell 'Templar' is a version of Richtofen we've never seen before because he has lines that share a lot about his life that don't match up to anything 'Primis' has ever shared!

But my last string of evidence here is to look at the cycle and the lore once again:

✨ Origins

✨ The Giant

✨ Der Eisendrache

✨ Zetsubo No Shima

✨ (Pit stop into Alcatraz)

✨ Gorod Krovi

✨ Revelations

✨ [REPEAT.]

💫 'Mob of the Dead' is significant because it's actually Al Arlington who breaks the cycle. The paradox that Primis Richtofen creates hinges on Alcatraz running the way that it should, so when Al Arlington breaks the cycle and escapes, The Kronorium rewrites itself because the timelines have changed! There was also influence of The Shadowman and The Warden to make this happen. ⭐️

✨ The reason that 'Primis' is lured to Alcatraz is because The Shadowman needs his blood to open up a gateway into Agartha. His blood has been contaminated by all the dimension hopping he's done- Remember: Primis Richtofen has also had some solo adventures too, his time wasn't just spent with the rest of the 'Primis' crew! It's this crucial detail that separates 'Primis' from 'Templar.' A man who has been dimension hopping from one place to another is going to have more contaminated blood than a man who has been locked away in cryosleep for potentially more than a century. ✨

💫 With that out of the way, let's look into some voice lines from 'Templar' and see what we can learn about him!! You can consider this a mini 'Analysing Richtofen,' (< A link to the last entry!✨ ) while I work on the next entry !!

💫 Here is the video I am using for Reference! ⭐️ HERE! And while listening to it, feel free to skip back to the start to listen to 'Ultimis,' their voices are so distinct! "Templar"s voice lines start at 26:49 !!

💫 The one thing I notice straight away is that Templar uses more German words than Ultimis or Primis. It gives him a mysterious air, almost. It really feels like he's behind the times somehow, I can't quite put my finger on why. ✨

(28:27) (28:29) (29:19) (29:55) (30:20) (30:28) (31:47) (31:49) (34:02) (36:07) (36:56) (37:34) (41:12) (44:04) (44:16) (44:48) I think I have proven my point -

✨

"Ohh! like charging up the dragon head at Der Eisendrache!" (28:36) - A nice little reference!! But, we can also tell that this version of Richtofen has been through the cycle at least once, and was likely put into cryosleep pretty soon after the cycle came to a close if he remembers a small detail such as this. ✨

"I used to dream of doing that to frogs with my Bunsen Burner, back when I taught university." (30:39) -

✨ To my knowledge, Primis Richtofen never mentioned teaching in any capacity. Richtofen joined Heidelberg University under Dr. Maxis' tutelage on August 11th, 1906, according the wiki, but he never mentioned teaching a class specifically. This version of Richtofen also mentions wanting to teach Pathology during the 'Tag Der Toten' cut scene, and seems wistful at the notion. This Richtofen had a passion for teaching, one that all his fighting with the undead couldn't knock out of him. He also as a line about the university not teaching their students to self medicate, and this sounds like something that would be emphasised in Chemistry. Perhaps he took several science based classes! ✨

"I've always been good with knives, even before I took up surgery professionally!" (32:01) -

✨ With this line we can infer two things! Firstly, much like with Ultimis, there seems to be some kind of violence that took place before any lore events. Secondly, we can see what his education might have looked like! He studied, became a teacher, and then a surgeon. Or, perhaps, a surgeon and then a teacher. Either way, he clearly has passion for medical professional roles! He also has other lines embodying medical roles:

"Nurse! He needs sutures!" (32:20)

"Cause of death: terminal concussion!" (32:22)

"Take two aspirin, und call me in the morning." (32:28)

It makes me wonder if his interest was only in surgery, or if he perhaps wanted to be an all-around type of medical professional as well as a teacher. ✨

"This almost takes the fun out of stabbing!" (32:16) -

✨ Going back to the line about being good with knives before taking up surgery, there is a sick enjoyment from violence being shown here. Templar really seems like a middle ground between 'Ultimis' and 'Primis!'✨

"Heads are overrated anyway- Just ask Maxis!" (32:37) -

✨ I know damn well Primis would flip if he heard that. This is another reason we know that this isn't Primis: The Primis Richtofen we know would never say that! But, the lack of his title shows that this version of Richtofen was also close to Dr. Maxis too. ✨

"You didn't even see it coming! Oh! That would also be a good title for mein autobiography!" (32:52) -

MY SHAAAYYYLLLAAAAA- Sorry, sorry- Professional. AHEM.

✨ This line could also be a reference to how Primis Richtofen didn't see the betrayal coming, and that hurts my heart. Though, this isn't the first time that this Richtofen mentions an autobiography. Perhaps he did actually aim to write one before Nikolai repaid the favour from BotD...✨

"Hm. Caught short again...Who can I shake down?...Ohh, Takeeeooo!"(35:55) -

✨ I hate this version of Richtofen, let me make that ABUNDENTLY clear, (Even though I agree with his actions,) but this line is one of my favourites, it's funny, sue me. This line also tells me that, just like Primis, this version of Richtofen was probably also close with Takeo! He has another line in which he asks Takeo to carry something for him, and then he seems to reflect and think better of it. I like to think that his version of Takeo would have absolutely carried things for him when asked. More about their relationship: Richtofen refers to him as 'Tak' in one revive line, but he doesn't have nicknames for anyone else on the team. Do with this what you will. ✨

"Big, clumsy und ostentatious. Hey, Dempsey! This knife is you!" (39:52) -

✨ It seems in all universes, Richtofen and Dempsey are at odds, whether playfully or otherwise! ✨

"Diagnosis: I am fucking dying down here!" (41:05) -

✨ Another funny line, but it's also another addition to the interesting and somewhat foreign sound of Richtofen swearing! 💫

"Something is kicking up mein allergies! " (44:41) -

Not much to add really, he canonly has hay fever!✨

💫 Moving on to slightly more lore relevant information, we can see this little sneak peek into 'Templar' Richtofen's cycle! If we take this tid bit at face value.

"Uhh...There was this one time, I...Uhh...I-I, well...Shot him in the face." (1:06:17) - This Richtofen's cycle included the first of many pivotal moments, the same as Primis! Though, this might not be as trustworthy as it seems. ✨

"It's almost like there's some kind of common memory shared regardless of individual experience- A hivemind." (1:07:12) - ✨ Taking this into account, we suddenly can't trust that we know anything at all about this version of Richtofen. But, we can use this observation to make another inference! ✨

"I don't know how many Richtofen's you've met, Takeo, but let me reassure you about one thing, I am the nicest one." (1:04:56) -

Don't. Piss. Me. Off.

Sorry - 💫 To give the backstabber some credit, perhaps Primis Richtofen really did want to assure his comrades that he wasn't as evil as they thought him to be. After all, even if he did have a round about way of going about it, he really did have good intentions. This sentiment might come from Primis Richtofen himself and it has just manifested as a thought from this Richtofen. ✨

💫 Given that this was meant to be a little 'mini version' of my little self indulgent series, I will stop it here. But we've uncovered some interesting things. no? ✨

✨If you've read this far, please, PLEASE, make sure that you're taking care of yourself!! Stay hydrated in this heat!! Drink water, sit by a fan, get a vessel for Maxis, open the gateway-- ...Okay, perhaps don't do those last two- In any case, thank you for reading!! ✨

[dippy-fresh-out-of-ideas]

Rewatching the detective pikachu movie reminded me of this AU idea ive had for ages

So its your usual "gravity falls but Pokemon exist" kinda setting, where a couple years after being kicked out of the house Stan crosses paths with a Mimikyu. Stan for many many reasons does not have any Pokemon of his own (Aside from the family Meowth their family didn't have the means for Stan and Ford to have any Pokemon and his much worse current living situation meant it would be stupid to try and take of care a Pokemon when he was barely able to take care of himself) and does not plan on catching one (He and Ford were supposed to become trainers together) Which ends up working out well as the Mimikyu for whatever reasons has a vested interest in remaining uncaught

Stan at first just brushes off the weird bootleg Pikachu looking thing (Not many people in!universe know what a Mimikyu is, with most initial impressions of it being that its a weird looking pikachu followed by fear or revulsion when its disguise is busted) but the little guy just keeps showing up and sticking around so eventually they just kinda stuck by each other, Maybe because the Mimikyu sometimes gets incorperated into whatever scheme or scam Stan has that week ("Oh my poor Pikachu needs medicine, hes getting paler by the minute") Maybe because Stan caught on quickly that the Mimikyu doesnt want to be seen without its disguise even when it gets busted very often and so he fixes it up whenever he has the means to (without peaking of course, though he isnt aware looking at its true form kills people)

Or maybe just because they both knew what it was like to be the thing no one wanted, living in the shadow of another. No matter the reasons, the two stuck together throughout the years (sometimes being separated by circumstances, but always finding each other eventually)

Years pass until it is 1982, and in gravity falls, OR, Stanford pines is at his wits end. In this timeline, Ford never found the summoning incantation for Bill cipher (here an earthquake caused the cave to collapse in on itself years before Ford even arrived in gravity falls) and as a result Ford has spent the last 7 years of his life and nearly all of his grant money studying anomalies (Including Anomalous Pokemon, though like his brother he has no Pokemon he has actually caught for a number of reasons he will rationalize and the one underlying reason he refuses to admit to himself but shares with Stan) and has nothing to show for it in regards to cracking the grand unified theory of weirdness and he lives in fear of being known as nothing but a failure.

He is interrupted from his spiraling when he receives a phone call from the New Mexico police department, His phone number was found on a slip of paper inside an Old El Diablo that has been sat abandoned for about a month before being reported and hes the only lead they have on the whereabouts of its owner. With some brief consideration, Ford heads down to New Mexico determined to find Stan so he can kill him himself for dragging Ford into his mess (He refuses to let himself think about how something bad might have happened, His brother is fine Hes always fine)

Its after he manages to get the key to the dead end flats motel room "Panley stines" was staying at (the lackadaisical front desk hadn't even noticed the occupant hadn't checked out yet) and is snooping around that he encounters a peculiar talking Mimikyu (Ford does know what a Mimikyu is, having read about them in college while researching where to study anomalies) with a very patchy, confused and fuzzy memory. Who at first mistakes him for Stan before noticing the extra fingers and realizing Ford is the guy from the photograph(He remembers the human looking at it alot, the memory invokes a feeling of sadness in the Mimikyu he cant explain and brushes off)

Ford figures that the Mimikyus missing memories will be key in finding out where Stan is. So our less-than-enthused-about-the-prospect duo team up to recover the Mimikyus lost memories and find Ford's missing brother

[dawn-the-rithmatist]

Okay act one of Harrow the Ninth!

Nine months before the murder and we’re back in second person. Based on the previous one and the timeline of the first book, I’m guessing this is just after the first book wraps up.

I have a small theory about the narration but I low-key hope I’m wrong because it would make me sad

Is that Gideon’s sword 😭

Wait why are we in a hospital

Harris getting violently ill every time she’s forced to acknowledge Gideon’s sword but refusing to let go of Gideon’s sword, FUCK

The Body has Gideon’s eyes 🥺 Harrowwwww you insane pining sapphic

“Ortus Nigenad did not die for nothing” UMMMMMMMMMM

OKAY SO NOW IM SURE, HARROW’S BRAIN IS EDITING OUT GIDEON

UHHHHHHH

Mental break or curse or WHAT

Even the Emperor looks confused lmfao girl what are you sayinggggg

Somehow entirely unsurprised that the thing God needed restrained and locked away forever was. A woman.

Crazy how this story does not mention AT ALL that there was another kid there-

ORTUS WAS NOT YOUR CAVALIER. WHAT IS HAPPENING

There was another girl- tf you mean she DIED

Is part of becoming a Lyctor forgetting the person who sacrificed themselves???

Wait no because Cytherea still remembered her cav Loveday. Unless that’s not actually who her cav was. Aghhhh I need answers and it’s only chapter 4

Wait a second.

The beginning of the book has one of the Lyctors named ORTUS in all caps. That. Can’t be right.

What the fuck happened to Harrow’s brain

And WHY ARE WE BACK IN SECOND PERSON

Dude the letter

The LETTER

Whatever she did was absolutely to forget Gideon, this is so fucked

The first genuine free choice of her life and she CHOOSES NO

Is the maybe-insanity a new development or an old one? The Body feels like an old one, but the rest feels like maybe a side effect of however the fuck she FORGOT GIDEON

I am cooking a theory about the narration, brace for a long and conspiracy-like bullet point. I want to see some more characters to be sure but. I am cooking. I suspect that Gideon might be narrating this one.

A second person narrator who never says “I” has to be a narrator who isn’t. In the story. And if harrow has absorbed Gideon’s soul then it would make sense that Gideon is like. Present but not participating. Also certain lines of narration sound awfully sassy to come from Harrow’s brain. So I’m wondering if it’s Gideon like. Observing from within Harrow? I need to see more characters appear to make sure an “I” doesn’t sneak into the narration, and I want to know more about Lyctors and how they’re made to be sure it’s even possible.

But yes that is the theory, stay tuned for supporting evidence or a “lmao nevermind”

(This user is delusional and misses Gideon and refuses to accept death in the necromancy book)

This, at least, she hadn’t expected—how could she, what the fuck—and her mouth froze against yours, which gave you time to work. Yeah this “what the fuck” sounds like Gideon

Wh. Why doesn’t she remember Camilla 😭

that stab wound was written like a sex scene. This book is insane

Oh so that murder attempt was real! Interesting!

The altered history is so fucking upsetting. I miss my griddlehark. Give them back to me

Thinking about Harrow in the first book going “I don’t even remember about you half the time” and now she. She fuckin. Doesn’t.

I’m trying to think back to GtN what the requirements were for becoming a Lyctor and if there’s any reason why THIS would be the outcome. But Ianthe seems to remember good old Babs just fine so

Only thing I can think of is Ianthe says you have to “preserve the soul, with intellect and memory intact”. So maybe Harrow ripped out her memories and fucked with her sanity/intellect to prevent herself from fully absorbing Gideon? But like. Gideon is still dead, and if I’m right about the narration then she’s very much along for the ride

Cross referencing books rn like I’m in a class

the narrator just called Harrow the saint of emesis, you’re telling me that ISN’T Gideon??

The body telling her to lie about her age?? For what. And why was nurse Joy over here so relieved when she lied

Why is nurse joy basically going “ew minors”

(Idk what the Saint of Joy’s name is, so Nurse Joy will work for now)

The river is freaky as fuck

The tea was overwhelming, and tasted too much. By choice Harrowhark had only ever drunk water. When she had been younger, or ill, the marshal had made her sugar-water with a drop of preserved lemon in it, as a treat; even then she’d had to take her time over each sip. Why is she a Victorian child.

She hated it when people dressed constructs; it smacked of whimsy, like making one’s hammer wear a hat. “Ugh, not the whimsy”. Let’s make that a Calvinist Victorian child

Hm. This is not how Canaan House went down even a little bit. Starting to suspect there’s more reason to Harrow’s fucked up memories (hallucinations?) than just editing Gideon out

“Is this how it happens?” No! Obviously not!

Fake-memory-Ortus DOES seem aware of what’s going on though, which is interesting

You strained to see, chin tucked hard against the top of your chest, and beheld with relief your double-handed sword. Your relationship with it was becoming increasingly complex: you hated its presence, but the world without it would be unimaginable. J-just like. Gideon. Aaaaaaaaaaaa

“Ortus the first” yeah safe bet that the name is actually Gideon :)

“I need a cavalier with backbone” and Ortus saying he’s so glad he didn’t become that cavalier? Insane. I miss griddlehark. GIVE THEM BACK

And that’s act one! I am cooking! Acts two and three going up shortly because I have the self restraint of a child!!

Tag list: @pastelsandpining @sycadadrawsstuff @scoundrelwithboba @turtletotem @g1ngan1nja

[fivewantscoffee]

Alright. So, to preface this, I'm aroace.

I'm a demi/aroace Five truther. I also love aus where Five becomes a husband and a dad somewhere down the line.

Here's why:

I think it's sweet.

Five loves his family dearly. He cares a lot, and he's much softer than he lets on. All those years away from home (spent surviving, then killing for the Commission) couldn't change that. The core of what makes Five Five never changed.

I'm sure he'd have a hard time adjusting to a quiet, peaceful life - would have no idea how to just exist at first - but once he's had the time to heal, I think he'd thrive in it.

And alright, in S3, when Five says, "You know, Lila, I shouldn't even be here. I was... I was out. I was done, and yet here I am again, swept back into the chaos. Why can't I just escape this hellhole?" Lila replies with, "Because you love it. Face it, Five, apocalypse problems are the only things that get your heart pumping."

Girl!! You're projecting!! You're the one who both wants and is also terrified of that life, because what if YOU don't like it? What if you get bored with it? What if it doesn't work out with Diego and the baby? What if, what if, what if.

Also, I disagree. That's not excitement, it's a trauma response! Five's been through two apocalypses in just over two weeks, and this is coming off the back of Five being forced to work for the commission, which came right after 45 years spent in an apocalyptic wasteland.

He doesn't know normal, or peace, or quiet. Of course it would feel wrong to him at first! It's the only thing he knows, sitting still and simply existing isn't something he's ever had the luxury of doing. It's going to take far longer than a day without an apocalypse to worry about to get over a lifetime of apocalypse trauma.

But he wants to.

Five says it himself:

To which Lila says:

And you're right, you're right, he doesn't dispute it! He simply says, "Yeah, well, you're not exactly cut out for domestic bliss either", which sounds like acquiescence, but... hear me out, couldn't that be because deep down Five believes something about himself that isn't true?

Regardless of whether it's the truth or not, people still believe things about themselves that aren't right. I can think everyone I know secretly hates me, but that doesn't mean it's true.

Five knows he wants retirement. He also thinks he isn't cut out for a normal life: groceries, taxes... no world-ending calamity hanging over his head, no need to go back, or save his family. He doesn't know how to live, but how could he? He's been surviving for 45 years straight.

Again, he was retired for ONE DAY. That's nothing! You can't draw any conclusions based on that.

You know what you can give us some hints, though? Five's forty-five years spent in the future.

Delores was all he had in the apocalypse, and while yes, there's a big difference between what Five had with Delores and being in a relationship with an actual person, I don't think it detracts from the point I'm trying to make.

If I remember correctly, and please correct me if I'm wrong, Five never refers to Delores as his wife. There's still a reason why we all call her that anyway: Five speaks to her (and of her) as you would to/of a spouse.

When Five says, "we were together for over thirty years", when he tells Delores, "I missed you... obviously" or "I want you to know that I cherish every single minute I ever shared with you. All twenty-three and a half billiin of them. A lifetime", when his voice cracks when he says "This isn't easy for me, Delores", those aren't the words and actions of someone who hates the thought of being married, or of being in some sort of lifelong companionship not otherwise specified.

That said, I don't think it's something he's ever thought about. Not seriously. Definitely not at length. All that is very far from his mind in the current timeline, so of course it doesn't come up. It probably won't come up for a very long time.

After the dust settles and he gets, let's say, a decade and a half minimum to work through some of his issues, though... I think it could happen.

Like I said, I think Five is ace, but you can be aroace and married. To me, it's about the companionship: being devoted to someone and wanting to spend your life with them, just without the sex or romance.

Now on to the second thing, children.

This one is easy: the Commission Handbook said Five would've been a stay at home dad had Reginald never adopted him.

Deciding he wants to be a dad one day doesn't have to clash with Five being aroace. You can be aroace and want to have children, I know I do.

So we know this: this other, hypothetical version of Five has children. We can assume he ended up with three of them (based on the picture in the Commission Handbook) because he wanted them. That Five is not our Five, though, so the question remains: would our Five want children?

As he is? Hell no. Absolutely not.

But like I said, this is a hypothetical taking place years and years in the future. Presumably, Five's done a lot of healing by then, he's had the time to figure out what he wants to do with his life, whether or not having kids factors into it.

I think in certain cases, if the circumstances are right, he might decide to go for it.

So yeah. Here it is. I'm a demi/aroace Five truther, but I also love aus where he is a husband and a dad. I think they're neat and can make sense for his character if approached from a certain angle. That's my controversial opinion for the day

[biancasaidstfu]

So I explained the whole Luke and Nic saga from when they met to three coworkers. We were bored AF at a three day work thing and started drinking together the first afternoon. One bisexual woman, a straight man and a straight woman is that matters. For the record none of these people are have seen Bridgerton, Derry Girls, Big Mood or the Lodge or Jake’s new show. One had seen renegade Nell. They weren’t familiar with Luke or Nic at all, it was the first thing I asked.

Told them about Sophie, Jade, HBS ladies and Antonia. Told them about Nic’s private romantic life assumptions, not much else to go off of. Mentioned it all, the flirting since meeting etc, S3 filming before and after, HBS, reshoots, WT, SoHo summer, the J intro to the narrative up until where we are now. Had the Tif timeline files screenshots so that helped. Told them about Boss, SAGs and BAFTA, Cyprus, Oz like literally all of it over the three days.

Final conclusion from all three Nicola is toxic and manipulative AF 😭😭😭. Luke clearly hates this PR shit but Nic is the one calling all the shots because she thinks it will protect her from looking bad the most. She may have caused the Jade break up and got in the way of A with Luke. Her helping Jake is weird like she is putting that friendship over Luke’s emotional needs, they clocked his anxiety without me mentioning it. 🫣 Antonia needs to join Love Island or something as she clearly starved for public attention. No real thoughts on Jake only that he’s a basic white boy also with emotional distress. And Luke needs to grow some balls and just say/do what he wants which they think is let it all out.

I don’t agree with all of this but I thought I would share since it like a GA perspective.

I definitely don’t agree with your coworkers lol but I guess it might also depend on how you tell them the entire thing too.

But this is also not a rare opinion either, I’ve seen this opinion plenty of times before.

[labyrinthinesyndicatex]

"That timeline acceleration comment? Yeah, I know how it sounds," she said, cutting into his pasta like she owned it. "Most people would run screaming from someone who admits they're falling over dinner conversation." This whole thing was spiraling past reconnaissance territory. She was supposed to be mining information about Izel, figuring out weak spots she could exploit later. Instead she was sitting here relating to his damage like it matched her own. The plate exchange should have felt awkward, but it didn't. It felt like some kind of treaty between two people who'd stopped pretending. Her father had been like this too - direct about what he wanted, never trying to make himself seem safer than he was. The parallel should have made her more focused on revenge, not less. The Solis family had destroyed her father without a second thought, but here was their princess's ex making vulnerability sound like humor instead of weakness.

"But you're not most people, are you?" she continued, twirling more pasta around her fork. "You're sitting here asking for the full story - storm and all - like that's actually appealing instead of exhausting." The honesty slipped out easier than it should have. She wasn't supposed to be giving him real pieces of herself to work with. His comment about not needing soft edges made something warm settle in her chest that had nothing to do with strategy. "And this pasta really is incredible," she said, gesturing with her fork. "Though I'm starting to think the company might be even better. Fair warning though - if you keep being this honest, I might actually have to start liking you." The server appeared with dessert menus, perfect timing.

Demir didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, taking in the way she moved—fork twirling pasta like it was second nature, her laugh hitting him somewhere soft he hadn’t expected to feel tonight. This was supposed to be dinner. Banter. A few well-placed looks and clever lines. But the way she called him out without flinching—and the way she kept staying even after he peeled himself open just a little—unsettled something in him. In a good way. The kind of way that made you sit up and realize you were already halfway into something before you’d even named it. He smiled, but this one was slower. Gentler. “You want to know what’s terrifying?” he said quietly, setting his fork down with care. “I’ve sat across tables like this more times than I care to count. Said all the right things. Played the part. And it always felt like I was performing a version of myself that someone else wanted—cleaner, easier, a little more polished.” He let out a soft breath, more exhale than sigh. “But with you… I don’t feel like I have to shape-shift to keep your attention.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment, thumb tracing the rim of his plate before he glanced back at her. “That whole falling-between-courses thing? I meant it. Not in some reckless, let’s-ruin-each-other way. But in that strange, electric way where you meet someone and the conversation already feels like something you don’t want to put down.” His voice dropped a little lower. “You don’t flinch when things get sharp. You meet honesty with more honesty. And I haven’t had that in a long time.” A flicker of humor returned to his expression as he leaned in just slightly, elbows on the table. “And hey—if municipal finance is your idea of foreplay, I’m not about to complain. I like a woman who can balance budgets and break hearts.”

He nudged her plate back toward her, then gently reclaimed his own. “You can keep half the pasta. But I’m calling dibs on the tiramisu, unless you want to negotiate terms. One spoon, one story.” Then, quieter, almost like an afterthought: “And if this is a little fast, or a little much, I get it. I’ve got my own bruises about letting people in. But if you’re staying at this table, I want to keep showing up as the version of me that doesn’t hide or feel the need to lie.” He meant what he said about trading stories, because he did want to know everything about her. He knew it was quick but there was something about Anais, something that made him feel like he'd known her before even if that wasn't possible.

[somegrumpynerd]

Me drawing something silly

[instarsanddyke]

watch it all go by

[swampythesweetsketch]

So some more of the AU timeline I guess.

In this AU, the classes held at Hope's Peak are very loose. Which means unless a class is specifically tailored for a certain group of Ultimates, then the students don't attend. At most, every student there attends at minimum 1 class.

In this AU, the Academy is not the ultimate (ha) location of this universes THH. The academy is a entry area for the government to further pull in the monopoly of Japan into their True Ultimate Project.

When the Ultimates scouted out come to the Academy, their given a provisional year to to basically show their talents in a controlled area. To weed out the fakes and cons.

When Mondo was scouted, he had 60% of the rival bike gangs under his control. With Hope's Peak looking over his shoulder, his anxiety spiked and the control rose to 85%. Needless to say he got in with flying colors.

When Kiyotaka was scouted, and seen his lax requirement of class attendance. Well- that 2-3 jobs he held at a time? It went up to 10 when he started. Now he was juggling an insane 28 side jobs, and some of those were online thanks to the free internet plans the school supplied for off-campus learning. He did more than enough to prove his workaholic behavior.

When Daiya wakes up from his medical coma, he's happy to hear that Mondo was the leader of the Crazy Diamonds (as he wanted), but got the shock that Mondo was now attending Hope's Peak. He's got mixed feelings about it, and it gets more complicated as he hears Mondo took leadership only out of guilt.

Takaaki is swamped with his own work on the force, so when he found out Kiyotaka got into Hope's Peak, he was ecstatic! He didn't know what talent Taka was given, so Taka lied and made up the Moral Compass talent (ironic). Takaaki finds the paperwork later with Taka's real talent later, and things get messy.

Their main friend group with each other are Chihiro, Leon, and Hagekure.

Taka's main friends are Kyoko, Hifumi, and Junko.

Mondo main friends are Makoto, Sakura, and Sayaka.

Aoi and Taka can not be left alone, they tried to tear each other to shreds one time. Taka said something out of context that sounded biphobic and Aoi jumped to 'defend' Mondo and herself, Taka thought she was being homophobic and argued back. The situation got diffused, but both give major sideye.

Sakura and Mondo are their peace keepers.

Junko thinks Taka's talent is funny and get a despairing ride out of hearing his on-site horror stories. They share their experiences and laugh at the idiots they had to work with.

Junko in this AU doesn't start the Tragedy like in game or anime. It sparks when Mukuro goes missing and is presumed dead (an arm was found, no body attached). She was purely content with living vicariously through other's timelines filled with despair until her sister dropped out of existence.

By that time, everyone in Class 78 chose to go onto Hope's Peak University. The college connection to help them further their current talents and/or develop the skills to pursue other careers.

Mondo retired from the Crazy Diamonds, yet staying connected to Takemichi to help any of his former mates with things.

He's gone on to become an architect. He liked the carpentry idea, but he thought more about the inner workings of a home and the needed things to make it function, then what goes inside, then what goes around it, where it's built- and it snowballed. The desire is further pushed to help build homes to give troubled kids (like he and Daiya once were) a safe place to live.

Taka went on to somewhat follow his grandfather in a more honest manner. His several jobs gave him the experience with bosses and coworkers to see all sorts of injustices. He goes into business (major) to study and revamp the Human Resource system.

Him and his father are a little estranged due to Taka lying about his talent (he never told Taki how much school he really skipped). Both are slowly healing and trying to talk to each other again.

Everyone has at least two normal years in University until Junko spirals.

I'm listing all my Taka of Trades AU notes here. Might reblog with more in the future.

The Ishimaru family is big, but the direct bloodline (Takaaki and Kiyotaka) were the ones to be tacked with all the debt.

The younger siblings of Taki ignored him and went on with their lives.

Kiyotaka had too much stress as a kid to focus in school, so he began skipping.

He found a part-time sweeping and cleaning a minimart that fired its last employees for emptying the register. He found the job more enjoyable than class so he started paying towards the debt like this.

He also met Mondo during his first job. Mondo and Daiya were trying to shoplift, Mondo distracted Taka while Daiya nabbed things.

Mondo felt bad and came back when he found some money to pay back. The market owner wasn't happy, and Taka was more empathetic.

The two started hanging out when they realized they went to the same school! Mondo was more focused than Taka, and Taka had more skills so they teamed up and became friends!

Taka went on to get better grades as Mondo kept him up to date on homework and warn him about tests/exams. Mondo got more help with his living situation as Taka gave him leftover food that wasn't sold in the market at days end and shared a couple bucks here and there.

Their teamwork got them into the same middle school.

Taka by then had moved on from the market job to dog walking, gas station attendant, bus waiter, barista, truck unloading, car washing, cleaning, etc. He wasn't bad at his jobs, he juggled about 2-3 jobs at a time.

Mondo got roped into the Crazy Diamonds gang since Daiya founded/led it so he got more physical workouts, bike riding lessons, more fight training, complete wardrobe overhaul.

He even grew out his hair, but kept it in a tight bun and tucked it under his collar to hide it most of the time.

Taka got more and more jobs as time went on, and Mondo got further absorbed in the Diamonds, but both kept working together to make their grades work.

Daiya was retiring and made Mondo leader, and Mondo got in a big fight arguing he never even wanted to be a Diamonds. The race turns into a chase as Mondo left the gang, Daiya followed, and a truck cutting a red light hit Daiya.

He's alive, but Mondo blames himself for blowing up and not accepting the leadership and keeping his mouth shut. So now he takes the role and got withdrawn.

He dyes his hair a dark red/black to vent some stress out of his system. Gets called the Blood Diamond.

Taka noticed Mondo hanging out less and less and talks to him, and he gets told everything. He doesn't think Mondo should take the role, but he won't stop him.

The two finish that school year and start dating, keeping it to themselves as Takaaki has to deal with the Diamonds thanks to Daiya pissing off the Towa City Police.

They have to split off and go to other high-schools since Daiya had to get treatments in another location. And Taka decides to go to his original high school and try to pay attention in class that year.

Goes okay, but he remembers why he hated class. The moment his last name is uttered, people treat him like the plague. He misses some of the jobs he dropped to resume class... at least he was kept to a first name basis.

Mondo got his aggression and grievances through gang fights, late night rides, and regular visits to Kiyotaka.

Then they were scouted out, the Ultimate Jack of Trades and the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader.

Both got a proper reunion in their first year of Hope's Peak. And decided to go fuck it, and made their relationship public to their classmates. But still private to the gang and Takaaki.

Taka gets a new job as a dog groomer, and he let's Mondo play with the puppies.

[dnarez]

One shot

Not proof read - self indulgent - xreader - just came up with it - short

After the Anomaly ended the universe Sans though he well... Wouldn't be thinking that much, that it would just be black and... Nothingness, but here he is...

Where- where is "here"?

He couldn't move that's for sure, but he could feel his soul, and hear... Something- no! Someone crying, and oh my god-!

Gravity is shifting so he's being moved! Where is he being moved to!?

Wait! He's falling! He's falling from a very high place! If he falls he's going to die again! Sans doesn't want to die! It hurt the first time! Help! Someone! Anyone! I don't want to die!

**puff**

The floor felt cold.

"oh no! I'm so sorry Sans!" Someone said, someone is calling his name with such a sweet tone...

He opens his eye to see a gigantic human, frowning at him, tears stains on their face.

They picked him up with so much care, brushed some dust from him and... Hugged him... Very close to their chest.

Their heart beat was strong, and it seemed to be slowing down.

"I'm sorry Sans, just because I'm sad doesn't mean I can abandon you and leave you on the top shelf" he felt a kiss to the top of his head.

The love and compassion pulsing from their soul was intoxicating, intense, but in a good way, like being smothered by blankets on the coldest day of the year, after a warm meal by a fireplace, he almost felt like crying, like he belonged there all along.

When the human parted the hug he observed them well.

Since he had only seen one other human it was hard to pinpoint a gender or age to them, but oh, their hands were perfect for loving, it didn't matter the size or if it had strange bumps or missing fingers, the intent was clear, they were sorry he fell on the floor, they wanted him to feel better, they wanted to make sure he was alright.

Wherever this... Bedroom is, and whoever this person is, it's clear to Sans that... They love him, with their whole being.

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

After the genocide run, the human did not make a deal to begin everything again, they were happy to end everything, Sans soul somehow ends here

Basically Sans goes from his universe to ours, but on the body of a Sans doll, the cheap ones that you get from AliExpress

No idea of where I was going, just looked at my own Sans plushie and thought about the times I cried and hugged the shit out of him.

Open to suggestions, kinda liked this one.