#email subject line best practices

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10 Effective Email Subject Lines That Get Your Emails Opened: Unlock Secrets

Effective email subject lines grab attention and compel recipients to open your emails. Here are 10 subject lines that do just that.

Crafting the perfect email subject line is crucial for achieving high open rates. With inboxes overflowing, a catchy and relevant subject line can make your email stand out. It’s essential to understand your audience and what motivates them to open an email.

Whether you’re promoting a sale, sharing news, or providing valuable content, your subject line should be clear and enticing. Personalization and urgency often work wonders, but creativity and relevance are key. Explore these proven strategies to boost your email open rates and engage your audience more effectively. Mastering this skill can significantly impact your email marketing success

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The Art Of Crafting Email Subject Lines

Crafting the perfect email subject line is both a science and an art. It’s the first impression your email makes. A compelling subject line can significantly increase your open rates. Let’s dive into the intricacies of creating effective email subject lines.

Why Subject Lines Matter

Subject lines are crucial. They determine if your email gets opened or ignored. An effective subject line can grab attention instantly. A well-crafted subject line can boost your open rates by up to 50%. It’s the gateway to your email content. Without an engaging subject line, your email may never get seen.

Key Elements Of A Winning Subject Line

Several elements make a subject line effective. Here are the key components:

Clarity: Ensure your subject line is clear and to the point.

Urgency: Create a sense of urgency to prompt immediate action.

Personalization: Use the recipient’s name or personal details.

Relevance: Make sure the subject line relates to the email content.

Curiosity: Pique interest without giving away too much.

Length: Keep it short and sweet, ideally under 50 characters.

Below is a table summarizing these key elements:

ElementDescriptionClarityClear and concise subject linesUrgencyEncourage immediate actionPersonalizationInclude personal detailsRelevanceRelated to the email contentCuriosityEngage interest without revealing too muchLengthShort, ideally under 50 characters

Remember these key elements. They are the building blocks of effective email subject lines.

Leveraging Curiosity For Higher Open Rates

Emails can get lost in crowded inboxes. A catchy subject line can make a difference. Using curiosity can boost your email open rates. Let’s explore how leveraging curiosity can make your emails irresistible.

The Psychology Behind Curiosity

Curiosity is a powerful emotion. It drives people to seek information. When something piques our curiosity, our brains release dopamine. This makes us feel good and want to learn more.

Curiosity works because it creates a gap in our knowledge. We feel the need to fill this gap. Email subject lines that use curiosity can trigger this response. They make readers want to open the email to find out more.

Examples Of Curiosity-inducing Subject Lines

Using curiosity in subject lines can be simple. Here are some examples that can help:

“You Won’t Believe What Happened Next”

“The Secret to [Benefit]”

“What We Found Out About [Topic] Will Surprise You”

“Are You Making These Common Mistakes?”

“This Simple Trick Can Change Your [Outcome]”

“Unlock the Mystery of [Subject]”

“The Truth About [Topic] Revealed”

“Find Out How [Company] Achieved [Result]”

“The One Thing You’re Missing in [Area]”

“Discover the Hidden Benefits of [Product]”

These examples show how to create curiosity. They make the reader want to know more. Use these ideas to craft your own subject lines.

Subject LineReason It Works“You Won’t Believe What Happened Next”Creates intrigue and suspense“The Secret to [Benefit]”Promises valuable information“Are You Making These Common Mistakes?”Plays on fear of missing out“This Simple Trick Can Change Your [Outcome]”Suggests an easy solution

Using curiosity in your email subject lines can make a big impact. Try these examples and see the difference in your open rates.

Personalization Tricks To Stand Out In The Inbox

Email subject lines play a crucial role in whether your email gets opened or ignored. Personalization can make your emails more engaging and relevant. Let’s explore some tricks to personalize subject lines and make them stand out.

The Power Of Personal Touch

Adding a personal touch to your email subject lines can significantly increase open rates. People love seeing their names in the subject line. It makes them feel special and valued.

Here’s how personalization works wonders:

Builds trust with your audience

Grabs attention instantly

Increases email open rates significantly

Incorporating Personalization In Subject Lines

To make your subject lines personal, use the recipient’s first name. Mention something specific to them. These small changes can make a big difference.

Here are some effective ways to incorporate personalization:

Personalization TechniqueExampleUse First Name“Hey [First Name], check this out!”Mention Location“Exciting news for our friends in [City]!”Reference Past Interaction“Loved your feedback on [Product], [First Name]!”

Remember, the goal is to make the recipient feel like the email was crafted just for them. This approach not only grabs their attention but also fosters engagement and loyalty.

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Creating Urgency Without Being Spammy

Crafting email subject lines that evoke a sense of urgency can significantly increase your open rates. But, it’s essential to strike the right balance. You want to encourage your readers to act quickly, yet avoid coming off as spammy. This section explores how to achieve that delicate balance.

Balancing Urgency And Authenticity

Balancing urgency and authenticity is key to successful email marketing. You want your readers to feel a need to act but also trust your message. Here are some tips to help you achieve this balance:

Use actionable language but avoid exaggeration.

Incorporate real deadlines to create genuine urgency.

Avoid excessive punctuation like multiple exclamation marks.

Be clear and concise about what’s at stake.

How To Convey Urgency In Subject Lines

To convey urgency in your subject lines, you need to be strategic. Here are some proven techniques:

Use time-sensitive words like “today,” “now,” or “limited time.”

Highlight scarcity by mentioning limited quantities or availability.

Incorporate deadlines such as “Ends tonight” or “Last chance.”

Ask urgent questions like “Did you miss this?” or “Are you ready?”

TechniqueExample Subject LineTime-sensitive words“Get 50% off today only!”Highlight scarcity“Only 5 left in stock!”Incorporate deadlines“Offer ends at midnight!”Ask urgent questions“Are you prepared for the sale?”

Remember, your goal is to create a sense of urgency without misleading your audience. This builds trust and encourages quick action, boosting your email open rates.

Using Numbers And Lists For Clarity

Using Numbers and Lists for Clarity can greatly enhance the effectiveness of your email subject lines. Numbers and lists help convey a clear and concise message, making it easier for readers to grasp the content at a glance. Let’s explore how you can use these tools to improve your email open rates.

The Impact Of Numbers On Reader’s Attention

Numbers naturally draw the eye and grab attention. They provide a clear expectation of what the reader will find inside the email. For example:

“7 Tips for Better Sleep Tonight”

“5 Reasons to Start Your Day with Meditation”

Numbers in subject lines create a sense of order and promise a specific outcome. This makes them more appealing to the reader. A numbered list feels manageable and actionable, encouraging the reader to click and read more.

Crafting Clear List-based Subject Lines

List-based subject lines are effective because they set clear expectations. To craft a compelling list-based subject line, follow these guidelines:

Be specific and concise: Use clear and direct language.

Highlight the benefit: Make sure the reader knows what they will gain.

Use odd numbers: Odd numbers tend to perform better in subject lines.

Consider these examples:

Subject LineWhy It Works“10 Easy Recipes for Busy Weeknights”It promises a solution to a common problem.“3 Secrets to Boost Your Productivity”It offers valuable information in a digestible format.

Using numbers and lists in your email subject lines provides clarity and encourages engagement. This can significantly improve your email open rates.

Credit: selzy.com

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Questions In Subject Lines: Engage Your Reader

Email subject lines play a crucial role in catching the reader’s attention. Questions in subject lines engage your reader by sparking curiosity. This technique prompts them to open the email to find the answer. The right question can drive higher open rates and better engagement.

Asking The Right Questions

Asking the right questions in subject lines is key to grabbing attention. The question should be relevant to the recipient’s interests. It should also be intriguing enough to make them want to know more. Here are some tips for crafting the right questions:

Understand your audience: Know what they care about and what problems they face.

Be specific: Vague questions can confuse the reader. Clear, specific questions work best.

Use simple language: Complicated questions can deter readers. Keep it simple and straightforward.

Strategies For Effective Question-based Subject Lines

Using questions in subject lines requires strategic thinking. Here are some strategies to ensure your question-based subject lines are effective:

StrategyDescriptionPersonalizationInclude the recipient’s name or specific details about them.UrgencyCreate a sense of urgency or exclusivity to prompt immediate action.RelevanceEnsure the question is relevant to the recipient’s interests or needs.

Examples of effective question-based subject lines include:

“Are you ready to boost your productivity?”

“What if you could save 20% on your next purchase?”

“Do you know the latest trends in your industry?”

By asking engaging and relevant questions, you can create curiosity and drive your email open rates. Remember, the goal is to make the reader want to know the answer.

Testing And Optimizing Your Subject Lines

Testing and optimizing your email subject lines is crucial. It helps increase open rates and engagement. By refining your approach, you can discover what resonates most with your audience.

The Importance Of A/b Testing

A/B testing allows you to compare two subject lines. You can send them to different segments of your audience. This helps identify which performs better. Use this method to make data-driven decisions.

When conducting A/B tests, start small. Test one variable at a time. This could be the length, tone, or use of emojis. Use these steps to perform effective A/B testing:

Formulate two variations of your subject line.

Divide your email list into two equal segments.

Send each version to a different segment.

Analyze the results to see which subject line had a higher open rate.

Here’s an example:

Subject LineOpen RateGet 50% Off Today!25%Don’t Miss Our Special Offer!30%

Analyzing And Learning From Email Metrics

To optimize your subject lines, analyze email metrics. Focus on open rates, click-through rates, and conversions. These metrics provide insights into what works best.

Open Rate: Indicates how many people opened your email.

Click-Through Rate: Shows how many clicked on links within the email.

Conversion Rate: Measures how many completed the desired action, such as making a purchase.

Use these metrics to identify patterns. For example, if shorter subject lines have higher open rates, consider using more concise language. Over time, you will develop a better understanding of your audience’s preferences.

Here are some tips for analyzing metrics effectively:

Regularly review your email performance data.

Look for trends in open and click-through rates.

Experiment with different strategies based on your findings.

Credit: www.mailerlite.com

Frequently Asked Questions

What Email Subject Lines Get The Most Opens?

Subject lines with personalization, urgency, and curiosity get the most opens. Use the recipient’s name, create a sense of urgency, or ask intriguing questions. Keep them concise and clear.

What Are Catchy Subject Lines For Emails?

Catchy subject lines for emails include: “Don’t Miss Out! “, “Limited Time Offer! “, “Exclusive Deal Inside! “, “Your Free Gift Awaits! “, “Unlock Your Special Discount! “, “Just For You! “, “Act Fast — Only a Few Left! “, “New Arrivals You’ll Love! “.

How To Get Attention In An Email Subject Line?

Use a clear, compelling subject line. Personalize it with the recipient’s name. Include action words. Keep it short and relevant. Create urgency or curiosity.

How To Write Subject Lines That Get Opened?

Craft compelling subject lines by being clear, concise, and relevant. Use action words and personalize when possible. Create a sense of urgency or curiosity. Test different approaches to see what works best for your audience.

What Makes An Email Subject Line Effective?

An effective subject line is clear, concise, and sparks curiosity. It should also convey the email’s value.

Conclusion

Mastering email subject lines is key to boosting open rates. Use these tips to craft compelling and engaging emails. Experiment with different approaches to find what works best. Keep your audience in mind and stay creative. This will ensure your emails stand out in crowded inboxes. Happy emailing!

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Thanks for reading my article on “10 Effective Email Subject Lines That Get Your Emails Opened: Unlock Secrets”, hope it will help!

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Source : 10 Effective Email Subject Lines That Get Your Emails Opened: Unlock Secrets

[jdstanelle]

Email Marketing Best Practices to Boost E-commerce Success

In the competitive world of e-commerce, email marketing remains one of the most powerful tools for driving sales, building customer relationships, and fostering brand loyalty. With an average return on investment (ROI) of $42 for every $1 spent, email marketing continues to outperform other digital marketing channels. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll explore the best practices that can elevate…

[seospicybin]

COCKY.

FINAL CHAPTER

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“I—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Check your email. Now.”

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

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

Your breath catches. Already?

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

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

Official Product Launch Announcement – New Innovations in Health & Wellness

And there, among the listed products, is yours.

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

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

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

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

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

You groan. “But I hate public speaking.”

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold. “What?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane raises a brow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you insist, glancing away.

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

You frown. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

You immediately shake your head. “No.”

Her smirk deepens. “You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “No. Why would I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you free next weekend?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Your face heats up instantly. “Jane!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

I’m on my way.

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

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

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

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

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

Chris hums in approval. “See you soon.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

You shift under his stare. “What?”

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

You nod. “Mexican food sounds great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Han smirks. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes. “Since when?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? Where are you?”

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

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

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

Jane hums, unconvinced. “Right.”

“It is,” you insist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

His brows furrow. “Doing what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like Chris!”

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe it can.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Come to my office.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop on your track and glance back at him.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look away. “No.”

He chuckles. “Liar.”

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

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

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

“Let’s go home.”

-

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[spitdrunken]

Vox x Reader Relationship Headcanons

This post contains SPOILERS in the sense that it is based off of the version of Vox as presented in episode 2. None of the actual plot points featured within are discussed. notes: background vox x valentino / polyamory (reader only dates vox), extremely unhealthy relationships, stalking, manipulation, hypnosis, power imbalance. kidnapping + physical abuse mention (neither done by vox)

To catch the eye of a demon as powerful as Vox is not an ideal situation. While he could be considered more levelheaded than your average demon, and certainly is when compared to his associates, he still has things that rile him up like no other. No, he doesn’t have a whole string of sexual partners to use and abuse like Valentino does, but that makes the weight of his gaze all the more crushing when it does fall upon someone.

Once you’ve got his interest, it’s practically impossible to slip away from him. He’s got vantage points all across the Pride Ring, being able to slip in and out of its many scattered screens with ease. While the usual tracking Vox Media subjects its customers to is already an invasion of privacy, yours would be on a whole other level.

With how inescapable his company is amongst Sinner demons, it’s more than likely you’ve at least got some kind of device he’d be able to peer into. As soon as your phone is being plugged into a port, he’d be skimming through your messages and search history. Though your face-to-face meetings might have been minimal or non-existent at this point, he would already know far more about you than most of your friends. …You should really clear out your search history more often. But, hey, he’s not unhappy about it! There’s no traces of his presence as soon as he’s done.

Vox cares a great deal about his reputation and image. Not only because he’s the very face of a high-earning brand, but it is also simply the kind of person he is. Whereas someone like Valentino might have gone right ahead and shot any possible partner in the head, Vox is much more careful than that. What would people think, if he simply went around and started electrocuting a bunch of unknowns to death? No, that’s just not his way of doing things whatsoever.

Even besides that, there’s also much more satisfaction in it, to him, to convince you to leave them and join him, of your own accord. Vox has always been the brain behind all operations, the meticulous and thoughtful one, the one who got investors on board and appeared in interviews. In other words, he’s become quite good with words, and can easily come off as charming whenever he so wishes. That is exactly the way he will present himself to you, at least at first: a demon unlike other demons, practically a gentleman.

You wouldn’t have known him from his early days, the time where he still made mistakes, and nobody knew his name. When he invites you over for dinner (through an email that you’re convinced is fake spam, the first couple of times you receive it), he wants to appear nothing but infallible and powerful to you. You, who is only familiar with him through screens, as a flawless news presenter, gameshow host, and much more. A smile would never leave his screen, and he is constantly courteous.

He’s got a couple of expensive gifts at the ready as well, ones that hail from his own company. Perhaps it’s the newest iteration in his own line of phones, or a brand-new kind of security system. He’ll wave off any kind of dismissal of his gift, telling to just take it, you don’t even know how many of those he has lying around! Trust him. (In fact, they are modified to grant him even more easy access into your life. A constant stream of information directed at him, with Vox never even having to enter your device anymore.)

In a place like the Pride Ring in Hell, existence is demeaning at best, and utterly miserable at worst, for the average demon. Vox is more than aware of this and, at first, doesn’t even try his absolute best to sweep you off your feet. The power and the safety net someone such as himself would provide would be more than enough for most people. For the average demon, time spent by his side would be a vast improvement, and no one can deny that.

And, in this case, he is most likely interested in someone with far less power than him: you. Whether actively aware of it or not, and if he was, he’d never admit it, a part of Vox desires to be with someone from whom affection comes more easily. And that is… Not Valentino. Not that he’d ever separate from him, mind you, you’d simply be the antithesis to him. If you aren’t, he’ll make you something closer to that.

One of the largest drawbacks that immediately becomes noticeable, is the political target spending time around Vox makes you. Whether he purposefully makes the two of you appear in Hell’s largest tabloid, or only goes someplace where the two of you are sure to be spotted, you’ll surely become a demon worthy of kidnapping after this. It is exactly this, and the fear that comes along with it, that Vox would weaponize against you.

Wouldn’t it be much better, and safer, to stay in one of the company’s buildings? You’re bound to get kidnapped anywhere else, you know. He’s just looking out for you! Really though, he’d never let something like that happened to you. Not only because such an occurence would cause his reputation to take a great hit, but also because he cares! The praises he heaps on top of you are never outright lies, though some are perhaps exaggerated. He wouldn’t spend so much time on a demon he wasn’t genuinely interested in.

Vox, to the vast majority of people, would come on too strong, and too fast. The kind of attention that comes from someone who hasn’t been denied anything in a long time. At the same time, underneath his collected demeanor, seen in his stalking and meticulous collection of information, there is something that could be seen as a glimmer of desperation.

One might stop and think that, if he truly were as capable and faultless as he makes himself out to be, why would he go through all of this trouble? Wouldn’t simply being himself, or something rather close to it, be enough? This is truly where the heart of the issue, his deeply-hidden insecurity, shines through. Besides just the way the thought of being rejected by you upsets him, as well as he tries to hide it, he can’t simply back out, now that he’s spent so much time around you. He’d never live it down.

If, for some reason, ‘diplomacy’ and his usual wooing doesn’t work… He’s an Overlord for a reason. He still has plenty of tricks left up his sleeve. He can manipulate any digital image he wants, including video, without ever touching editing software. Vox can show you the people closest to you saying outright brutal things about you, with their exact mannerisms and voice. All data gathered through the various devices of his he owns, then capable of creating replicas. In a limited way, he can bend reality to his will.

If even that doesn’t work, he has his powers of hypnosis as a last resort. In this case, he doesn’t like having to use them, would have preferred the satisfaction over getting you to fawn over him all on your own… But it’s just so much easier to plant a little trigger inside your brain. For him to snap his fingers, and have you become more agreeable. Your thoughts growing that tiniest bit hazier, your head the slightest bit heavier.

All you have to do is look into his eyes, and take a deep breath… That’s better, isn’t it? What were you even getting so upset about before, huh? (And again, hypnosis is a last resort here. He’s spent so many years dealing with Valentino’s temper tantrums that he’s an expert at diffusing any kind of argument, and nothing surprises anymore.)

Vox wouldn’t be likely to physically hurt you at all. He sees himself as being capable of more self-control than that, even when in the throes of jealousy. Really, the one you should be most afraid of during this entire ordeal is Valentino. While their relationship is by no means monogamous, and it never will be, he’s still used to being the center of attention. He uses violence and unpredictability to have Vox, largely, at his every beck and call. While Vox isn’t used to having denied things, Valentino’s is many times worse about it.

Initially, he ignores you. Designating you as some kind of fling, not even worthy of being one of his whores, soon ready to be forgotten. Vox doesn’t do those kinds of things all that often but, hey, anything’s bound to happen with an eternity of time to kill, right? It’s only when you become a more permanent fixture in their life that he really becomes more of a threat.

He’ll let his temper cut loose, specifically during times where the two of you are spending time together, causing mayhem around the company. If Vox’s attention is entirely unwanted, this may even be a welcome reprieve for you. Still, Valentino being jealous of you should be about the last thing you want. Frankly, it makes you liable to get shot on a bad day, or because of a poorly worded comment.

…Perhaps it would be better to stay close to Vox, then.

[onlyquinns]

could you pretty please do Quinn x soccer player reader who doesn’t get selected for the national team roster? He’s just comforting and sweet

you’re practically teeming with excitement when the notification comes in, just the sound of your phone dinging with a new email lighting up your entire face. you barely skim the subject line before the notification is gone, silently flashing away from your screen in an instant.

quinn sits next to you on the couch, arm draped over the backside of it. “what’s up?” he asks when you stand up and run to grab your laptop.

“it’s the email!” you exclaim, pulling your laptop free of its bag. quinn’s brows furrow but he doesn’t say anything as you settle back down next to him.

he nods and pretends to understand your explanation, amusement written on his face as you open your inbox. it’s flooded with messages—mostly garbage and subscriptions to online stores—but the most important one sits at the top. he reads the title quickly, canada national soccer roster, and understands your excitement.

quinn leans closer to you, and you grin up at him. “c’mon, baby,” he urges. “let’s see!”

you squeal, “i’m nervous!” you cry out, pushing your laptop into his lap. “you do it!” quinn laughs and easily palms the device, clicking open the email. “what’s it say!” you squeal, eyes covered with your palms, fingers spread to take a quick peak.

a frown takes over quinn’s features. we regret to inform you…

“baby, why don’t you take a few breaths, yeah—?” quinn starts in an attempt to get your hopes lowered just a tad, but you interrupt him and snatch the laptop back, your eager eyes reading the contents of the email.

quinn’s heart breaks at the sight of your bright eyes growing dimmer and dimmer until a single tear rolls down your cheek, followed by another until you’re fully sobbing next to him. the sound of you hiccuping and wailing makes his already broken heart shatter even more. he thinks of himself years ago when he had failed to be picked for the nhl draft at 18, how devastated he’d been—how devastated you must be feeling.

you look at quinn through teary eyes, fingers wiping furiously at the tears that continue to fall. “what did i do wrong?” you whimper. “i thought… i thought i was good enough—i trained so, so hard…”

quinn wraps his arms around you, laptop now closed and placed on his other side. he rubs your back, palm smoothing up and down as he tucks your head under his chin.

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing soft kisses to your hair.

you cling to his shirt, dampening the cotton with snot and tears. “what did i do wrong?” you wail again, voice cracking.

“you did nothing wrong, sweetheart,” he reassures, “i know how much time and effort you put into this—they’re just assholes who don’t see that. you’re so fucking talented, baby, best soccer player i’ve ever seen.”

and he’s fully right; you have the bruises to prove how dedicated you are to the sport, how much time you were willing to put into it.

quinn continues to soothe you, hand rubbing shapes into your back and lips pressing kisses to the top of your head as you sob.

“it’ll be okay, baby, i promise,” he murmurs over and over. “it’ll be okay.”

[melswifeasf]

The Cost of Wanting.

(Chapter one)

Pairing: Jackie Taylor x fem!oc

Synopsis: ten years. a decade of silence. a decade of pretending, of not knowing, of repressing. a decade of bitterness. until an email, Mari Ibarra was getting married and she was inviting the yellowjackets to a bachelorette reunion to Cabo.

Warnings: alcohol, mild language. angst.

word count: 1.9k

The warm scent of eucalyptus hung in the air, the low hum of ambient music lulling Samantha Valdez into a rare state of stillness. She was lying face-down on the massage table, her thoughts finally quiet for the first time in what felt like days. The masseuse's hands moved with slow, practiced rhythm, kneading tension from muscles that were always clenched, always bracing.

Sunday afternoons were always spent like this - relaxing, winding down after a week long of meetings and yelling at imbecile interns who spend too much time kissing her ass and not enough time doing their work. She understood it, the need for them to get on her good side so they could land a long term position but she preferred hard work over fake smiles.

The brunette hummed at the feeling of a tight knot being kneaded with force, a wave of relief following.

Until a knock interrupted that bubble of deep relaxation. The masseuse's hands didn't flinch even for a second but Samantha tensed slightly.

"Miss Valdez," her assistant's voice cut through the calm. Soft, but insistent.

Samantha didn't move. "Tell me someone's dead or Dior's on fire."

Her assistants voice was hesitant before it cut through the ambient music. "It's an email. From Mari Ibarra."

That made one eye open. "Read it." Mari and her weren't that close, not like before but they spent weekends in Aspen or a week in Bali every six months. they spoke occasionally to catch up when they were in each others cities but an email? That was too formal.

Anna, the assistant who had been working for Samantha for the past three years cleared her throat. "Subject line says: Bachelorette chaos incoming.""

Samantha closed her eyes. "Ignore it."

"But—"

"I said leave it."

Annas heels clocked away but the calm was gone. Samantha's mind, always sharp and restless, began to wander—to a voice she hadn't heard in over a decade, to a laugh she could still remember more clearly than she liked.

Hot water cascaded down her body leaving a red hue behind. Her muscles that had been relaxed after the massage tensed immediately after. Not surprising, really. It never lasted long. Not when she had so much going through her mind that the only moments of silence she had were in her sleep.

Samantha's forehead rested against the cool green tile. She took a deep breath, pushing her hair back with both hands. fog was beginning to conceal her in the glass shower, a sign that she had been in there longer than necessary. Sighing, she turned the water off, taking another deep breath and opening the glass door. A gush of cold air hit her making a shiver run down her spine.

When she stood in front of her mirror wrapped in a black robe, her eyes were drawer to herself in the reflection of the mirror. A decade. Ten years of silence. of fading memories, of nothing but small reminders of the person Samantha once knew. A decade of leaving the person she loved most behind.

Music vibrated against the three story home so loudly, it was a surprise the cops hadn't been called yet. The Yellowjackets had won nationals, much to the surprise of absolutely no one. The party was thrown at Jackie Taylor's house, she was the team captain and the girl with the biggest house so it made sense to have it there. Best of all? Her parents were out of town. The smell of weed and cigarettes was strong, smoke filling the already crowded home make the space feel all the more suffocating. Teens were scattered around the house, some of them crowding the kitchen where the drinks were, some were in the living room, staring at the television as if it were the most interesting form of entertainment, they were high, of course. Most of the high schoolers were in the basement though.

Everyone including Samantha.

Samantha watched as Taylor Jackie and Jeff were playing beer pong. They were playing against Shauna Shipman and Tasissa. Beside her was Lottie and Van. The ginger was there to cheer on her girlfriend while Lottie was keeping the brunette company. She could see the longing look in her eyes, the way she'd squeeze her red cup a little every time Jackie and Jeff would kiss. Lottie was tempted to pull her best friend away from the obvious show but she knew Samantha wouldn't budge.

Jackie and Samantha, best friends since kindergarten. they were inseparable, one simple day on the playground and a crying Jackie holding her bloody knee turned into the beginning of a new friendship when Samantha shoved the guy who pushed Jackie. It left both girls with blood on them, Jackie from the fall and Samantha gushing blood from her nose when the boy hit her back. Did it hurt? Like a bitch but it was worth it when Jackie looked at her like she was her hero.

Nothing changed, not until Shauna came into the picture. Jackie found someone new to obsess over and sure, she never left Samantha out but she wasn't a fan of Shauna so she just kept a distance. Jackie noticed but she never mentioned it, afraid if she did, the cracks in their friendship would split them completely.

Samantha rolled her eyes when she saw Jackie when he scored yet again. She brought the red cup up to her lips and drank the remaining liquid, she didn't grimace when it hit her throat, she was at the point in which any alcohol tasted like water. The game lasted another couple of minutes. Jackie and Jeff were declared winners. the long kiss that followed made Samantha pull the red cup to her lips, blocking the horrible sight before her.

Lottie finally took action, she gently grabbed the girls arm and led her away from the scene. Samantha didn't protest, she was too drunk to do so.

The buzzing traffic was drowned out below her. The floor to ceiling windows gave her clear sight of the city skyline. light illuminated the brunettes features as she sat on a black leather desk chair. The email forwarded by her assistant was staring back at her. There was a glass of wine in one hand while the other held her chin up while her elbow rested on the desk.

Her phone perched on the mahogany desk was lit, a contact picture of Lottie and Samantha. It was from Lottie's birthday three years ago, the two were very obviously drunk, each holding a glass of wine while they held onto each other. Lottie was shoving her glass toward the camera while Samantha was winking. A simple picture that said everything about their friendship.

"Let me guess," Lottie's voice came through, smooth and amused. "You're calling because you definitely didn't read the email."

Samantha scoffed. "I skimmed. Cabo. Mari's getting married. God help that man."

"She always said she'd marry rich or die trying."

Samantha leaned back into the cushions. "It's not Mari I'm worried about."

There was a pause. Lottie knew. Of course she knew.

"She's not going to bite you, Sam."

"I'm not worried about her biting," Samantha murmured. "I'm worried I won't be able to keep pretending I don't care."

"Do you?"

Samantha didn't answer. She stared out the window of her Manhattan apartment, at the skyline illuminated by the lights that were programmed to turn on at sunset.

Lottie sighed. "Come on. It's been ten years. You're not the same people anymore. You run a damn empire. You've survived worse than a sunny getaway with the girl you were in love with."

That didn't help.

Samantha stared at the email. two weeks. Natalie, Lottie, Taissa, Van, Shauna and Jackie. The names stared at her uncomfortably. A trip to Cabo? It sounded like an amazing weekend but a trip to Cabo with Jackie Taylor? That was like hell.

"She hates me Lot." She said with a small sigh. She leaned back against the chair, staring at the chandelier that illuminated my room a soft yellow. Samantha hated white lights, hated anything that was too bright. everything in my office was soothing, dark green walls, black shelves, black furniture. Even the paintings were simple, nothing too distracting.

"She doesn't hate you, Sam." Lottie said. There was a noise from the other line followed by a small scolding from Lottie. Samantha chuckled as she heard a kid-like voice from the other side.

"Hi aunt Sam!" Iris's excited voice came from the other line. She could hear giggling and Lottie's voice in the background and she knew the five year old had definitely stolen her mother's phone.

"Hey princess," she said with an amused smile. "Did you steal your mommy's phone?"

"Yes!" said the girl with a loud giggle. "No! She's coming!" She said before a small struggle was heard and soon Lottie's voice was back on.

"Sorry, Natalie gave Iris ice cream - again, and now she won't calm down." Lottie said, slightly out of breath.

"Babe it wasn't me!" Samantha could hear Natalie's distant voice. She chuckled.

"Ask Natalie what she thinks." The brunette said, desperately needing a different opinion. Even just one 'no' would be enough for her to make her assistant send Mari an apology email. She'd make some excuse - maybe an emergency work trip, maybe something with her company, anything to get out of it. She'd feel bad for a while, she loved Mari deeply but she'd be there for the wedding and that was all that mattered, right?

"She agrees with me." Lottie said. Right, she had been on speaker.

"I do!" Natalie said from afar. The next time she spoke, her voice came off clearer. “Just rip off the bandaid. Don't be dramatic. You guys will barely have to talk. Have you seen the itinerary? Maris barely giving us a chance to breathe."

The brunette hummed. she hadn't seen any of the exclusives because she had yet to accept the invite. "You’re actually going? Figured you'd say no."

Natalie chuckled, "like my wife gave me a choice." She heard the blonde groan, "ouch." She said before speaking again. "Plus Lottie and I haven't been on a trip since we had Iris. Figured we'd take advantage since Lot's parents are going to take care of her."

Still not helping.

"Don't be such a chicken. What is she gonna do? Bite you?" Natalie joked making the brunette roll her eyes.

"I hate both of you. I'm hanging up now." She said before she heard Lottie's voice making her thumb hover over the red button.

"Come on, Sam. We're all going! Everyone said yes! even Shauna and you know she barely shows up to any reunions. I promise Natalie and I will be there for whatever you need." Lottie said in a gentle tone. One she probably used when she would try to soothe her kid to sleep. It made Samantha's skin crawl but she didn't voice her annoyance.

"Yeah okay. Whatever." She said. Brief words were exchanged before she hung up. The phone went black leaving nothing but the computer screen to stare back at her.

After a long silence, Samantha exhaled and clicked confirmation on the email. Immediately after, a notification echoed throughout the room. She glanced at her phone. A groupchat.

Fun.

She opened the chat she'd been added to. #MARI'SLASTFLING.

Samantha typed: I'm in.

[kabr0ztrousers]

There's this tired worn out guy and he can't help but fantasize about how nice it would be to be a hucow that spends his days getting his chest and dick milked, but everywhere only seems to hire women since it's much easier to induce lactation. He's sitting at this boring desk at work when a mysterious email shows up inviting him to trial run the newest technology in the hucow field!! When he arrives it's better than he can even fathom. Little does he know that this trial run is aired on TV for the entire world to see. People can send in money and control just how fast, slow, hard, or soft the machines milk or fuck him.

Kabr0z Writes episode 63: Reality TV

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: intox; dubcon; implements; restraints; humiliation; coercion; overstim;

A/N: This wasn't requested to be another Chitinid story, but there's only 2 continuities I have ongoing where hucows feature, and this is the one where it isn't an underground practice. I'm not against spinning out another continuity, but couching it where things are already set up helps streamline the process

########################################

A month ago, the old library had been flattened. That was the last interesting thing that had happened in this city, and since then Mike's life has been an unending sequence of cubicle walls and tedious emails. He sighed. Half the world spirited away to be milked stupid, spending the entire remainder of their lives in chemically induced ecstasy to harvest their sexual fluids, and he managed to wind up behind a desk.

Not that Mike hadn't tried, he wrote to his city supervisor, even tried going above his head to regional governor, but was met with the same response every time: his best place was where he was, sat behind a desk so Chitinid anthropologists could study him as the drab monotony of the passing days slowly drove him mad. No wonder they got resistance cells, even if they didn't admit they existed. Of course, everyone knew there was a resistance, libraries don't get demolished via high-caliber autocannons because of termites.

A notification pinged in the corner of the screen Mike had been ignoring for the last hour. A half page of corporate lorem ipsum left behind by his train of thought. He opened the email and scanned it, finger poised over the delete key.

"You have been Selected" came the subject line

Weird, spam didn't exist any more. Nobody had anything to steal, companies didn't have any information to pillage, there wasn't even anything worth destroying. He read on

"Congratulations!

You have been selected to take part in a viability study involving human livestock material harvesting. You have been selected because either you have registered interest with your city supervisor, or your usefulness has been re-evaluated"

Well, he'd definitely made his interest well known. The rest of the email detailed where to go, what to bring, when to be there. One final sentence capped off the message, reminding the recipients that this is in fact not optional. Mike would either go willingly, or he would be taken. That's one way to deal with people not reading their email.

There wasn't much required to bring. Civilian travel documents, ID card, and the clothes on his back. Only he turned up, either everyone else was trying to hide or nobody else was selected from his area, either way, he probably wouldn't find out. Transparency was never at the top of their lists of priorities.

A gunship swung down low, the silent engine didn't even disturb the treetops as the vessel passed within inches of them. A voice came over the loudspeaker, a Chitinid speaking English

"Citizen Lewis, Michael. Identity recognised. Stand by for transfer"

Stand by for transfer. Sounds like he wasn't about to be atomised by weapons fire at least. Always a plus

A confinement field engulfed him. The tingling blue light surrounding you before the world disappeared, replaced with a holding cell. Exactly as expected.

There's no way to measure time in a Chitinid holding cell. The walls are blank, the lighting flat. This one didn't even seem to have a door.

Mike tried to sleep, without success. Chitinids never seemed to realise that blue light stops humans going to sleep, either that or they just didn't care. So he sat on the floor. The ship could be anywhere, going at any speed, there's no way to know. Mike had an idea of where it was probably headed, the human farms were kept in great facilities on the moon. They were visible even without a telescope, even if the ship traffic to and from wasn't.

The lights in the room brightened, the air becoming charged. The whole room was filled with a confinement field. The world flipped, beaming the hapless man down, completely nude, onto a metal table.

He couldn't move, he must have been sent from one confinement field to another. This didn't match what he'd been told about these facilities. Normally the people in these facilities would be held in huge spaces, hundreds of them plugged into machines with little to no conception of privacy. The room Mike found himself in was small, with only the table he was held to and only one device on the ceiling for company. A screen flickered to life, covering an entire wall of the room. Mike could see himself in it, the blue light of the containment casting him in a sickly pallor as the machine on the ceiling whirred to life.

A cup suctioned itself to his crotch as tubes carrying drugs attached themselves to his arms. A voice filled the room "Welcome, citizen, to the game of your life! You're live on channel nine!"

What?

A sound effect played. A number appeared on the screen and drugs pushed into Mike's bloodstream. He gasped as his skin flushed, turning red and immediately glistening with perspiration. Another noise, more drugs. His cock was achingly hard now, starting to throb into the tube surrounding it. The field parted his legs, bringing his knees upwards as a probe pushed against his asshole. Another noise and it pressed in, the cold metal making him wince before a tingling electric current ran through his prostate to the tip of his cock. The noises were speeding up, each one driving more drugs into him. Mike's chest became heavy, tits starting to bud, already leaking creamy milk as his cock dribbled precum.

A different noise, louder, more discordant, accompanied by the quick chattering of a Chitinid. The gentle electric pulsing from the probe in Mike's ass intensified for a moment. His hips bucked as his balls clenched, a rope of cum jetting from the tip of his cock. Then another, and another. The cocktail of alien aphrodisiac flowing into his body kept his cock hard and cooperative, but did nothing to stop his balls aching or the shaft burning as another noise jolted him again. His tits were leaking more now, probes fixing themselves to his nipples to collect the fluids, pumping and sucking the liquid out as the new tits kept growing at an alarming rate.

He groaned, partially from the exertions of the repeated orgasms, partly from the growing pains on his chest. The vocalisation caused a flurry of noises, the drugs hammering into his body causing him to twitch and convulse as a stream of thick cum pumped from his cock, getting thin and watery as his balls emptied out.

Mike's groans grew weaker, turning to wheezing sobs as the stimulation took its toll. His cock was still throbbing, trying to pump out ever more but nothing came, only the clenching of his drained nutsack sending painful lances through him.

The screen went dark. The stimulation stopped.

"Good show! Same time tomorrow!"

####################################

Well, I'll admit I'd lost faith in this one at about the halfway mark but feel like I pulled it back at the end

As always, any requests, ideas, scenarios, lore questions, etc, send an ask. I try to answer non-request asks quickly but if you bundle a question or something with a req, it'll get answered when you get your story

[keekee-23]

Unexpected Melodies

A Damian Priest x Y/N fluff fanfiction

Side Note: Today is my birthday (Let the Libra season begin ♎️⚖️!), and I love me some jazz! I thought I would share another one-shot fic! Happy Fall, everyone!

Summary: Damian surprises Y/N with jazz festival tickets for her birthday, leading to a night of music and unexpected feelings between the two close friends.

Y/N was lounging in her New Jersey apartment, sipping on her favorite tea and reflecting on her upcoming birthday. It had been a tough year, filled with ups and downs, but she was grateful for the good friends in her life, especially Damian. Despite his busy wrestling schedule, he always found time to check in on her, offering words of encouragement and friendship that she deeply appreciated.

She glanced at her phone and saw a notification. It was a text from Damian: “Hey, what are your plans for your birthday this year?”

Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the thought of him remembering. She quickly replied, “Hey, D,” Y/N answered, leaning back on her couch.

“Hey, birthday girl,” Damian’s deep voice came through the phone, making her smile even wider. “Got any special plans for the big day?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “Just the usual dinner with the family. Maybe some drinks with friends. Nothing too crazy.”

There was a pause on the other end before Damian spoke again, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. “Well, I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What kind of surprise?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Damian teased. “It involves music, relaxation, and spending some quality time with one of your favorite people.”

Y/N laughed. “Music and relaxation? Sounds like a spa day or something.”

“Not quite,” he said. “How do you feel about the South Jersey Jazz Festival?”

Her heart skipped a beat. The South Jersey Jazz Festival was one of her favorite events, and she hadn’t been able to attend in years. She loved jazz music, and the thought of being there, enjoying the performances and the atmosphere, made her giddy.

“I love the jazz festival,” she said, her voice full of excitement. “But what’s that got to do with—”

“Check your email,” Damian interrupted with a grin she could practically hear.

Furrowing her brow, Y/N quickly opened her email app. Her eyes widened as she saw a message from Damian with the subject line: Happy Birthday, Y/N! She clicked on it and gasped as she saw the attachment: two tickets to the South Jersey Jazz Festival.

“Damian, oh my God!” she exclaimed, her voice full of shock. “Are you serious?”

“Completely serious,” he replied, his tone smug. “I thought it would be a great way to celebrate your birthday. You love jazz, and I figured, why not?”

“But you’re into heavy metal!” Y/N protested, still reeling from the surprise. “Are you sure this is something you want to do?”

“I’m more into heavy metal, yes, but I also know how much you love jazz,” Damian said. “Besides, I think it’s high time I broaden my musical horizons. And who better to do that with than you?”

Y/N was silent for a moment, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. It wasn’t just the tickets or the festival itself; it was the fact that Damian was willing to step out of his comfort zone just to make her happy.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” she said softly, her heart full of gratitude.

“I try,” he said, a playful lilt to his voice. “So, what do you say? You and me, the jazz festival, your birthday?”

“Yes, absolutely yes!” she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over. “Thank you so much, Damian. This is the best birthday surprise ever.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said warmly. “I’ll fly up the day before, and we can hang out and catch up. It’s been too long.”

“I can’t wait,” Y/N said, her heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him again. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Two days later, Y/N found herself anxiously waiting outside the entrance to the South Jersey Jazz Festival. She glanced around the bustling crowd, her heart pounding with anticipation. When she finally spotted Damian, her heart did a little flip. He stood tall, his dark hair tied back, wearing a casual black button-up shirt and jeans—a stark contrast to his usual edgy wrestling attire. He looked surprisingly relaxed, even though he was completely out of his element.

“Hey, birthday girl!” he called out, waving as he made his way over.

“Damian!” Y/N ran up to him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “I can’t believe you’re here. And I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Damian hugged her back, his strong arms enveloping her in warmth. ���I’d do anything to see you smile like that,” he said softly, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Ready for some jazz?”

“More than ready!” Y/N beamed, her excitement palpable.

As they walked into the festival grounds, Y/N couldn’t help but steal glances at Damian. She knew how different this scene was for him, yet he seemed at ease, more focused on her than anything else. The festival was alive with the sounds of saxophones, trumpets, and smooth melodies drifting through the air. Vendors sold everything from gourmet food to handmade crafts, and the crowd was a mix of jazz enthusiasts, families, and curious onlookers.

They found their seats near the main stage, the perfect spot to enjoy the performances. Y/N noticed Damian glancing around, taking in the scene with interest.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“It’s… different,” he said with a thoughtful nod. “But not bad. I can see why you love it. It’s got a vibe.”

Y/N grinned, nudging him playfully. “You’re not secretly a jazz fan now, are you?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t push your luck, Y/N. But I’m here for you, so I’m willing to give it a shot.”

The first set began, and the music was mesmerizing. Y/N closed her eyes, letting the soulful notes wash over her. She felt Damian’s arm drape over the back of her chair, a casual, protective gesture that made her heart flutter. When she opened her eyes and turned to him, she found him watching her with a soft smile.

“What?” she asked, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “Just… I’m glad you’re happy. That’s all.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest. “I am happy. And it’s all thanks to you.”

They continued to enjoy the performances, laughing and talking between sets. Damian surprised her by knowing a few of the artists, which led to Y/N playfully accusing him of being a closet jazz fan. He took it all in stride, clearly enjoying the banter.

As the night wore on, the music became more lively, and the crowd began to sway and dance to the rhythm. Y/N watched couples twirling and moving to the beat, a wistful smile on her face.

“You want to dance?” Damian’s voice broke through her thoughts.

She looked at him, a bit startled. “Dance? I… I don’t know, Damian. I’m not exactly good at it.”

“Neither am I,” he admitted, standing up and holding out his hand. “But it’s your birthday, and I want to make it special. Come on.”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. He led her to an open space where others were dancing, and they awkwardly began to move together. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Damian, a towering figure who could command an arena full of wrestling fans, now trying to sway gently to jazz music.

“You’re really out of your element, aren’t you?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Completely,” he said, smiling down at her. “But I’d rather be here, looking like an idiot with you, than anywhere else.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed this—this simple, joyful moment. As they swayed to the music, she rested her head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. For the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.

The song ended, and they reluctantly pulled apart. Damian’s hand lingered on her waist, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might say something. But he simply smiled, his eyes warm and steady.

“You want to grab a drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied, her voice soft.

They made their way to one of the nearby vendors, grabbing a couple of drinks and finding a quieter spot to sit. The night air was cool, and the stars twinkled above them. They sat close, their shoulders touching, comfortable in the silence.

“Thank you for today, Damian,” Y/N said quietly, staring at her drink. “I know it wasn’t your scene, but it means a lot that you came all the way here. You’ve been such a good friend.”

Damian looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Y/N, I didn’t just come because it was your birthday. I came because… I care about you. A lot. And I want to see you happy, more than anything.”

Y/N’s heart raced. She looked up at him, searching his eyes. There was something there—something deeper than friendship. But before she could speak, Damian leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her. “Thank you, Damian. For everything.”

They sat there for a while longer, talking and laughing, enjoying the night. And as they listened to the distant sounds of jazz music, Y/N realized that this was one of the best birthdays she’d ever had. Not because of the festival or the music, but because of the person sitting beside her.

With Damian by her side, everything felt just a little bit brighter.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Heart of the Matter--Chapter 2: Encounters

Joe meets his rather elusive football icon, Trey Dominic, and worries he might barely be able to get a sentence out. But what waits for him is so much bigger than one singular first impression.

With matters of the heart on the line, every play will count.

Black Female OC x Joe.

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Joe Burrow Masterlist | Main Masterlist

_________________

It’s not lost on Joe, now, two weeks after his charity event that when he agreed to keep in touch with Trey he didn’t get any means of doing so. Joe’s not on social media all that much. The late night venture onto Marlowe’s Instagram page didn’t count either. He’d looked mostly out of intrigue and only partially thinly veiled professional interest--not that he was looking for a makeup artist. However, he could say he’d been looking to find local businesses to support, to give back to his community in ways he could. Joe would never attest in a court of law of practicing the response in the mirror as he shaved, but he did practice the response in the mirror as he shaved. 

With Trey’s social dark of any personal postings, except for the passing of his mother, in the last year or--Joe hadn’t had enough time to go further back than 2024, late 2023, before the Zoom interview started about his charity event--coupled with Joe’s aversion to social media, there’s seemingly very little in the way of actually getting connected personally. Of course the people who represented Trey could reach the committee and the committee would reach Joe and vice versa, but that’s awkward and slow. 

The universe would work it out. It always did. But Joe’s still reeling. That night still doesn’t feel real. Doesn’t feel like it actually happened and Joe regrets, in a mostly intangible fleeting sense, not getting a picture with Trey—to cement quite possibly one of the best moments of his life. That is until his email pings off his laptop. 

Final Edits from Charity Event reads the subject line. Joe clicks onto the email with little hesitation. He asked to be forwarded the final edits, in the hopes that maybe someone snapped a shot of him and Trey. Inside the chain of emails he can see the final invoice and final receipt of payment before he gets to the very end and there’s a link to a Dropbox. 

The first few photos are of him, during his speech and some of him posing with high name guests. There’s pictures of Joe with Tee and Ja’Marr, alongside other members of the team. There’s shots of guests, people who Joe doesn’t know and doesn’t recognize talking and laughing and posing. And there in the bottom batch is a candid of Joe smiling next to Trey--both of them are smiling, attention focused solely on each other. 

Thank the high fucking heavens for the universe. Joe’s downloading photographs faster than his computer can finish downloading the one previous—a string of links in his browser's notification. He’s swift to send the ones with Ja’Marr and Tee to them before his fingers hover over the one with Dominic. 

It’s a long shot. Joe knows that. But Joe’s not immune or scared of long shots. So he downloads the photo to his phone, scrambling to get the device into his hands, and opens Instagram before he can really think twice about it. Still in shock after meeting this legend, he captions and tags Trey’s account. Long shot or not he’s going to take it. 

The likes crop up in the tiny bubble. Joe can see it like a red beacon on his tiny screen from the corner of his eye. But all he can do is stare at the photograph, tell himself that night was real. And the longer Joe stares, the more he starts to see--the table, the way Trey’s hand is frozen between them like they’d just shaken hands or were about to shake hands. The shots angled, holding only three-fourths of Trey’s face, and all of Joe, over his shoulder too.

In the wee distance, in the specs of his screen, Joe realizes now in the background Marlowe’s walking up. The kid on her hip gives her away. Her hands full of the little girl and the plate. He’d seen her, briefly, before she’d left for the restrooms. Joe exhales, thinks back to the way she sounded on the video, how she laughed. He’d spent an hour that night going through her page after he mustered up the courage to continue scrolling. The caption for her grandmother rocked him and he partially wondered if the named Malia would make an appearance. Not that Joe thought it would be good news, but still he wanted those glimpses, wanted to see Marlowe again, and again, even in the tiny boxes on the screen. 

But each new post made him stop, savoring the sharpness of Marlowe’s gaze. Joe spent several minutes with each post, counting the golden dots around her face--two nostril piercings connected with a chain, a septum, her ears are a treasure trove of circles and studs. The divot of her top lip cradling a teardrop golden piece of jewelry, nestled perfectly into the cupid’s bow. None of this overpowers her face, never makes her look like she’s drowning. She wears the piercings. It’s her brows, her eyes, her nose, her lips that carry each piece of gold, as if without her they’d be nothing. 

He can’t tag her--it’d feel inappropriate. The picture is not about her and they hadn’t really talked. Joe can only stare, watching her in the distance of the photograph, knowing that in just moments, mere seconds she will come up next to him and whisper like the winds to get her father’s attention. Marlowe in the photograph has not yet dropped into Joe’s world--still a thought that he didn’t know he’d want to exist. 

Now, she does and Joe’s never been more grateful for such existence nor has he ever been more cursed to not know what to do about it either--if he could or should reach out given how few words were really exchanged between them. 

_________________________

“We gotta get you out,” Ja’Marr laughs. “For something other than work, you know.”

“I get out plenty.” Joe’s retort feels weak, even to him, but he has to return Ja’Marr’s prod with something.

Getting out involved the ever increasing risk of being spotted. People asking for photos is one thing, a thing Joe can handle as a part of his job. The sneaking of photographs and videos is the thing that gets him, the thing that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up at times. It’s reality that makes him glance over his shoulder, makes him crave anonymity more than anything. Joe couldn’t take back that he is famous. In the last year or so, that reality settled a bit more. Made him feel a bit more at ease at living his life the way he wanted. Even if at times it still felt like too much. 

The truth of the matter is that he’d never be able to control and account for it all. There would be some variable, some part of the equation that Joe would just miss. It would elude him. Being famous had its perks--however seldom that he truly felt like he could bask in that, but a lot of the time Joe felt like it was a looming guillotine. Like if he wasn’t careful the blade would come down on him faster than he could blink. 

Yet, getting out is still the hard part. It’s still the piece of Joe’s life that he can’t work out. Because he’s used to working, used to eating, sleeping, shitting, breathing football. Because that’s what he wants. Joe wants football. Fame is just the byproduct, not exactly a waste, but a reaction, a consequence to his own desires. 

“How many are dining today?” 

“Three,” Joe returns and the group follows behind the hostess to their table. Joe, Ja’Marr, and Tee settle around the circular table, menus handed to them.

“Your server will be right with you.” She turns, heads back to the podium and the bricked walls of Jeff Ruby’s are softly lit in the evening hour. The February sun still sets much too soon for comfort though it’s just on the brink of promise, whispering out hope, but not quite reaching it. 

“Visiting your moms isn’t getting out,” Ja’Marr finally counters. 

“This is like beating a dead horse,” Tee interjects. “We already know what it is from ‘im. He gon do a little something slight and then do some work out in LA and disappear until camp.”

“Yeah, if he likes it, I love it, I guess. But still. It stands. If I ain’t know you, Burrow, I’d say you’re a ghost.” Leave it to Ja’Marr to need to have something to say. 

Not that it bothers Joe. It’s the same kind of brotherly jabs he expects from his actual brothers. The ribbing is a sign of affection, even if it doesn’t always look like it from the outside. “Good thing you know me.” Leave it to Joe to need to have the last word, never good at starting it, but it will be taken in good jest. 

“You ever hear back from Dominic?” Tee asks, still attempting to drive the conversation away from the woes of Joe’s offseason so far.  

Ja’Marr’s hum is a sound of agreement, the slight bemused curl to his lip giving away his true feelings to Joe’s quip. Yet, he stays focused on the menu they’ve eaten off of numerous times. Joe turns to Tee with a shake of his head at the question. “Not yet.”

Joe won’t lose hope. Can’t afford it. He’d actually managed to not only send an invitation to Trey but got a response, and got Trey to show up to the event. That’s still a win, still something to hold onto. The universe would still be at work. Not that Joe is sure what he’d ask of Trey should he ever hear anything back. But that’s the kind of worry that’s better suited when the opportunity presents itself, not here, not now. 

“I still can’t believe you haven’t been here yet.” A group settles in to the left of Joe. The voice floats now, a clicking and scraping of chairs around their words. The kind of conversation that lets Joe know there’s someone, but not anything that would make Joe leave his current conversation. 

“Maybe you’ll get something soon. It’s pretty well known Dominic doesn’t come out much, but you said the conversation went well, so,” Tee offers with a shrug, as a well intended piece of encouragement. 

Joe nods and just as Joe opens his mouth to speak, the slightly rough edges come out instead of his own voice. “I’m hardly in Cincinnati longer than two seconds. You know this. But it looks nice so far.”

Joe’s only heard that voice in recordings--on the reels on Instagram that he spent much too long watching. He argued with himself on if he should like more and opted instead to save them, to return to them later. He hasn’t yet. Knows the videos of Marlowe exist, that they haunt him each time he picks up his phone because he could go to them. He could see her again like that. But he hadn’t had the foggiest ideas on how to reach out to her. An Instagram DM felt trivial. Though he drafted several, Joe just couldn’t bear the weight of pressing send. He cringed at himself for the several iterations, Hey, we met briefly at an event a couple weeks back. Wanted to say thank you for your support. All the way up to, This probably seems crazy, and I know we really didn’t talk much when we ran into each other a couple weeks back, at a charity event. But I quite literally keep thinking about you. 

To say Joe knows that voice anywhere is outlandish. How could he know a voice anywhere that he’s only heard on his phone, through an app where pictures and videos are meant to be shared with the thousands and thoughts, and damn near millions of people who use the app. He’d spent a night watching, saving, desperate for the next fix--the next smile of hers or the next Hi, y’all. 

Joe knows that voice anywhere. 

He cuts his gaze to find a group of four, settled now to his left. Marlowe sits diagonal to him. Her gaze fixed on the single piece of the menu, one rather large menu. She’s still dripping like the sun with gold. Joe’s chest tightens and he forces his gaze back to Tee. “If nothing happens, nothing happens. If something happens, something happens,” Joe returns, voice tight in his throat. 

Holy fuck. She’s right there. 

“You good?”

Joe nods at Ja’Marr’s question, feeling the tight squeeze at his throat. The server comes by and pours their glasses of water, to which Joe immediately takes down nearly half the glass. Marlowe is right fucking there. A prayer answered and Joe’s not sure what the fuck to do. If watching her videos on Instagram made him feel like a horny teenager, sitting across from her is the scale breaking experience. He feels thrilled, scared, and a little light headed. 

Joe’s ears echo over, the voices of Ja’Marr and Tee, and even the server, fading into a muffled background as Joe listens to the thundering of his heart, the rush of blood warming his face, neck, and chest. His mother complained about hot flashes as she got older, huffed that she wasn’t sure if she was ready for menopause or not, and he wonders if this is what she’s experienced. A bone chilling sweat, the heat in his face and neck making his pits wet. 

Marlowe is right fucking there. 

“Joe?”

The sound of his name cuts through the nerves, shatters the muffled echo into shards. Tee’s eyes are painted with concern when the two of them lock gazes. “Your usual right?”

“Uh,” Joe starts, then clears his throat before looking back down at the menu. He’s pretending. The words swirl in his vision, black ink and letters dancing over the off white menu. “Yeah, yeah,” he concludes, glancing back up to the server. It feels awkward to order the steak named after himself, his own name coming off his tongue thick. 

The server nods. “Of course.”

His glass is refilled again before the menus are collected and now Joe wishes he had something to fill his senses with, something to hold onto or to do that’s not stare down at his plate and be so painfully aware of how close Marlowe is to him. 

“Dude, you really should be called Ritz right now. Didn’t think you could get any whiter, but you’re just as pale as that t-shirt,” Ja’Marr teases. 

“What’s up?” Tee questions, pushing up in his seat as he does. 

The thing Joe had omitted, when recounting the story of meeting Trey was of course, Marlowe. Only for her to come sweeping in. Joe listens now, catching their conversation in bits about the job Marlowe took up in New York and the next one in Atlanta she’s gearing up for in another two weeks. Then in April she has shoots in Los Angeles to attend too as well. If the definition of booked and busy needed a picture, Joe is sure Marlowe’s would be there. 

There’s no way out of this. No way for Joe to recover from this kind of blunder. “Just,” he starts with a hiss. “One second.” He takes out his phone fingers drafting over the keyboard to the group chat they’re all in. 

Met Trey’s daughter briefly at the event. She’s sitting at the table to my left. Short hair and piercings. May or may not have stalked her IG. Joe could lie but the ever watchful gazes of his friends would see through it. So he leaves it to chance, to the game of possibility for them to decide. 

Their phones shake against the cutlery. Joe urges them to check with a quick glimpse of both turned over devices on the table. They reach damn near in unison, worried brows contorted as Ja’Marr and Tee glance at each other before reading the text. Ja’Marr snorts, his laughter shaking his shoulder before he turns his head away, right in the direction of Marlowe’s table. 

Tee’s grin is wide, an approving head nod bouncing on his shoulders. Joe’s phone shakes. I saw her at the event too. Had a kid with her so I ain’t say nothing comes the response from Tee. He pairs the first sentence with the inclusion of the pair of eyes emoji, glancing into the imaginary corner. 

Ja’Marr’s reply buzzes the phone again. Didn’t think she’d be your type. 

“I don’t have a type,” Joe huffs, reaching for his glass again. This sip is much smaller. 

“Your track record says otherwise. But I’m impressed, Burrow. Very impressed. A fine choice, I must say. You made a move?”

“Not yet,” Joe answer. 

“Now, wait a minute, what’s her name? Penelope? Paige? I thought you and her were still going at it? Or is that done?” Ja’Marr eyes dazzle, like he already knows the answer. 

Paige hadn’t been a thought to Joe in weeks. He liked her well enough. She was a fun time. But Joe sometimes being with her made his stomach uneasy. She wasn’t a bad person, but they both agreed it wouldn’t be serious. Yet her likes were somewhere on his page. Her comments were everywhere. Everytime he opened the damned app, which wasn’t often but still enough to see, she was everywhere. She was religious about texting, not a constant badgering but damn near close. 

For something casual, Paige definitely wasn’t acting casual. 

“Paige,” Joe begrudgingly corrects. “It’s casual but dead.”

“Since when?” Ja’Marr presses. 

Since Marlowe, but Joe can’t say that. And he probably shouldn’t have said it’s dead anywhere since Paige didn’t know it either. “Couple weeks back.”

“So if you’re with Paige anymore, why not make a move?”

“I was never with Paige. And because we,” Joe pauses, eyes dancing to Marlowe who’s still wrapped up in her conversation, “met…briefly, so I don’t want to come across as creepy.”

“Creepy or too scared?”

And there--there is fucking is. Joe is fucking terrified. More so of Marlowe than meeting Trey, a feat he didn’t think anyone or anything could surpass. Not even the SuperBowl appearance rattled Joe’s nerves this much. “First impressions are important, you know.”

“Burrow’s got a crush. Burrow’s got a crush,” Ja’Marr teases softly, a sing-song cadence to his voice that manages to irritate Joe more than he cares to let on. 

Because Joe does have a crush. He fucking does and he’s not 16 anymore in his small town, awkward and unsure of himself with girls. He’s fucking 28 now. He’s a professional athlete. He’s put in the work--day in and day out. And one woman, one simple look has reduced him to literal liquid in his flesh, leaves him hot and flushed. 

“Shut up, Ja’Marr please. You sound like cats dying,” Joe jabs, wants to find the spot that will make Ja’Marr leave him alone. 

The retaliatory jab leaves Ja’Marr unaffected, his grin still bright on his face. “Ain’t never said I was a singer.”

Joe’s phone buzzes and he hazards a peek, to make sure it’s not his mom, to find a text from Paige. It’s lonely over here. If I didn’t know any better, Joey. I would say you’re ignoring. 

Joe swipes the notification off his home screen, turning his attention instead back to the teasing grins of Ja’Marr and Tee. “So what’s the next play here?” Ja’Marr questions. “Hmm. Right over there. Just waiting.”

“You two should quit while you’re behind,” Joe huffs in return. It takes ten minutes, ten solid minutes to get the attention off himself between Ja’Marr outward teasing and Tee’s constant grin, his eyes drifting occasionally over to Marlowe and then back to Joe with a bouncing head nod. Because Joe’s not even sure what the right next move even is. Does he walk up to her? And then what? What would Joe even say?

Once the attention is off him, Joe exhales, falls back into the plush red velvet of the seat and does his damndest not to listen to Marlowe’s conversation, to not watch her from the corner of his eye. “Going out to dinner for your birthday is literally the bare fucking mininum.”

Joe’s been working on his steak slowly, trying not to make it obvious that he’s attempting to drag out every second he can get to be this close to Marlowe again. But the words from her friend--Joe doesn’t see who, just hears that it’s a softer voice out of the group--pause him. 

“I don’t like making a big fuss about my birthday,” Marlowe returns. Her fork settles back to her plate. “I like going out for dinner. Maybe a couple drinks, but it’s usually so cold for my birthday. Like right now, it’s freezing.” 

Winters in Ohio have a brutal edge, can be lethal even. Joe cuts another piece of his steak, slow as he goes to catch more of their conversation. Her birthday, Joe muses over the information. Knows he can’t do nothing now. Not with the window wide open in front of him. Not when this could hopefully be his way in. If a phrase could be a door, Joe is going to take the inch for a mile if he can. He’s going to walk through. 

“Okay, Mars is allowed to celebrate how she wants. She only turns 31 once and we won’t waste time with senseless arguing.” A deeper voice adds in. A voice that hasn’t interjected a lot. 

As the conversation continues around them, a low hum amongst the bites and clicks, Joe’s searching for the server--who’s thankfully been helping both tables--and when they pass by manages to flag them down. “Yes, is everything alright?”

“Yes, um, this is going to sound a little strange,” Joe prefaces keeping his voice low, though with the chatter of the restaurant he’s sure his voice won’t carry all that much. “Would I be able to send dessert to the lady at the table next to me? On my tab. She has short hair and piercings. Really pretty eyes.” Information Joe definitely does not need to give, and the second the words are out of his mouth Ja’Marr and Tee tap at each other, a soft sound, but Joe can see the rapid hands in the corner of his eyes. He continues on, “I heard it’s her birthday. But I don’t want it to be obvious unless she asks.”

“Yes, of course. What would you like to pass along?”

Joe’s not a big sweets guy--like to indulge occasionally, but doesn’t go for the sweet when the savory options are right there. So while he’s eaten here plenty of times he hasn’t exactly studied the dessert menu. “Could I look at a menu?”

“Yes, sorry, of course. One second.” 

“Our boy is doing big tings,” Tee teases. 

“Big tings,” comes the agreement, a fit of laughter bubbling between the two of them, shaking at each other's shoulders like children. 

That hot blush comes back, a creeping warmth up his face and Joe’s fucked. So entirely fucked because just as he goes to drop his head in his hands, he catches her eye. A nearly missed opportunity but Joe just happens to catch her. Marlowe smiles, flicking her gaze between Joe and Tee and Ja’Marr before looking back at Joe. He smiles, in what he hopes in an apologetic glance and not the one of longing he can feel in his chest. Because the three of them are being more than obvious and probably more than obnoxious. In the end, though, Marlowe shakes her hand, lips parting and Joe hopes-prays- it’s in laughter. He doesn’t let himself entertain the idea that she’s going to speak to him. Her attention is pulled back to her friends with just a simple, “So Mars-”

“Here’s the menu for you.”

Joe smiles as he takes the menu, his thank you falling automatic from his lips. It only takes Joe a minute, maybe even less as his eyes dart over the back page. “Kiss from a Rose, please.”

“One of the best. I’ll bring that as soon as it’s ready.”

Ja’Marr cackles--a full on, from his gut bursts of laughter, his feet tapping under the table against the floor. And if embarrassment could kill, if the guillotine Joe felt looming above him at times actually existed as a physical object and could be dropped, Joe would hope it would take him right now and with a clean kill--one final swoop of the blade.

“Look at our boy!” Ja’Marr howls. 

The tables around them are staring. Joe watches the eyes drifting their way and it feels like somehow there’s a giant red neon sign above his head alerting the entire restaurant to what he’s doing. Joe wants to die, wants to have his head removed clean off his shoulder. Tee’s not helping, hands clamped down on Joe’s shoulders as Tee excuses himself to the bathroom. The “Atta boy!” is soft before Tee fully leaves the table. 

Though it’s burning on his tongue to tell Ja’Marr to shut the fuck up, he can’t make it more  obvious. So Joe reaches for his glass of water. “Laugh it up. Wait until it’s your turn to be in the hot seat.”

Subtly, Joe realizes, is not Ja’Marr’s strong suit, not unless it’s professionally necessary. And Ja’Marr is the least subtle motherfucker at the table, across from Joe, with a grin bigger than his cheeks can seemingly hold. There will never be a moment, a time in the rest of Joe’s life where he will be able to live this moment down. Not that it worries Joe, but that it’s clear as Ja’Marr continues to giggle to himself at every glance up between bites, there will be no way for Joe to keep this from anyone else. 

Joe just hopes it all works out in the end. 

A few minutes after Tee returns to the bathroom, the server slips behind their table--the chocolate dessert in hand. It’s a lot more than Joe thought, a bright red rose nestled onto the serving tray alongside two bowls and a pitcher. The white dish is much larger than what he might’ve imagined. But he can’t take it back now. Joe can only watch as the server slips next to Marlowe, to her right. 

“A little birdie told us it’s your birthday,” the server states, settling the dish onto the table. A red rose shaped dessert sits in the middle of the plate.

“Which one of you did this?” she laughs, peering around at her friends. 

The server pours something over the flower, the petals frosting over instantly as they do. They hold the flower upside down by the stem above the white dish. “I’m going to have you clap, shatter it into a million.”

“Guys c’mon, who did this?” Marlowe asks again. 

“Wasn’t me,” a chorused phrase before it’s interrupted by, “But let me get a video!”

So Marlowe waits, hands poised on either side of the frozen petals and when she gets the all clear, she claps. The flash frozen petals fall into tiny pieces over the desert. More chocolate is added to the dish, around the edges of the petal covered center. “Okay, none of them are fessing up. You can tell me,” Marlowe starts peering up at the server. “Who told you it was my birthday and sent this? I bet it was Remi.”

Marlowe points across from her and Joe peers, now, to see a lighter skinned woman, hair straight as glass over her shoulders. The now named Remi shakes her head. “Wasn’t me, Mars.” The sound matches the softer voice Joe’s heard throughout the evening. 

“Sent via request from the gentleman at the table next to you,” the server answers, nodding in Joe’s direction.

The sentence makes Joe’s heart race. He looks away from Remi and Marlowe’s sharp gaze is eagled eyed on him, assessing by the narrowed in squint. Not scrutiny like she distrusts, but the furrow to her brow clearly gives away the momentary confusion. Her gaze softens, slowly, inch by inch the brows lift back into place. 

“Happy Birthday,” Joe offers. The smile feels shaky, echoes just how unsure he is now about the gesture. If it would be too much, or too forward. But Joe wouldn’t leave that kind of opportunity on the table. 

“Thank you, Joe.”

She knows my name. 

The thought runs on a loop, around and around in his brain. Yet somehow his response is still able to get through, the one that makes the most sense. “You’re welcome.”

But Joe’s brain plays: She knows my name on a loop, around and around, and around. His cheeks are flaming red; they have to be by the way his face feels. As if somehow he’s been left on a spit roast face down into the flames. Joe wants to look anywhere but at Marlowe, yet he can’t look away from her. Her eyes are a vortex that Joe would never fight himself against. So he’s sucked in, pinned to his seat, and holding the gaze of the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid his eyes upon. 

And she knows his name. 

“You didn’t--you didn’t have to,” Marlowe continues, nodding down at the plate. “But still I appreciate it.”

“I wanted to.” Then the moment settles. Joe realizes what he’s actually done, without even considering if she liked chocolate or if it was safe for her to eat. Hell, could someone even be allergic to chocolate? That much Joe doesn’t know, but he is playing out the worst case scenario in his head--that she is somehow deathly allergic to chocolate--and he hopes he hasn’t made a fool out of himself. Hasn’t subjected his crush to her untimely end. Joe goes to apologize, goes to tell her she doesn’t have to consume anything if it’s not safe for her to do so, but he wanted her to have something nice. 

“Oooh, definition of if he wanted to, he would. Yes, lawd.”

Both tables laugh at the interjection and Joe finds a guy across from him, to the right of Marlowe, dawned in a shawl across his shoulders snapping his fingers—the voice Joe’s heard sporadically throughout the night, that commented about dinner being the ‘bare fucking mininum’. Their gazes lock only for a moment and he nods at Joe. “Good on you, sir. Good on you. Now let’s exchange phone numbers. C’mon. Chop, chop I’m not letting you let this one go, Mars.”

“Q, I swear,” Marlowe hisses, her laughter bubbles out of her as she swats at him. It doesn’t connect, doesn’t look like it was meant to do so. But she stares down at the dessert for a moment, expression unreadable until she looks back at Joe. Her smile is shy and apologetic. “I am so sorry about him.”

“No,” Joe laughs, “it’s alright. He is right though.” Joe would be an idiot not to capitalize on the moment. The door just continues to open wider and wider and wider for him. The kind of sign that’s clear he should walk through. “I would like your number if that’s okay, Marlowe.” Her name tastes so sweet. Joe finds he likes the way the ‘L’ curls his tongue before it drops. Two syllables but it drips thick like honey over his lips. Before the name is even done, Joe wants another taste of it.

“How’d you--” she starts, then stops and shakes her head with a laugh. “My dad, huh?”

“He seemed very proud of himself for sticking around. Apparently, he needs good food to stay for an event.”

One brow arches, her eyes dancing with amusement. It’s dangerous. How quickly his heart rate spikes, how Joe keeps trying to make sure he’s reading this entire situation right. How much he wants to make a good second impression, considering he’d made a first one already without even realizing it. But Joe’s not going to pressure Marlowe, not going to keep poking and pressing where it’s clear he’s not wanted. Yet, he hasn’t gotten that sign yet, hasn’t seen anything that would make him think twice about pressing forward. 

The moment hangs between them, feels like it’s hanging on by a thread. His phone is just beneath his palm. He could flip it over so easily or leave it where it is, all depending on if Marlowe. 

“513,” she starts and then pauses. 

Joe flips his phone--doesn’t even lift it off the table, just turns it over-- cursing the restaurant for being as dark as it is under his breath as the Face ID shakes at him. It’s all index--the 6 digit passcode second nature to Joe by now and he immediately pulls up the phone app. “513,” Joe repeats back to himself, typing the digits in like he’s going to actually call it. The next seven float over to him with practiced ease. Perfectly spaced with enough time for Joe to type in each digit. 

He reads back all ten digits and looks up to Marlowe, ears ringing again--desperate now to cling to reality. She lifts up her phone, nodding and Joe’s not sure what he’s trying to convey but a hand slips in--Tee’s or Ja’Marr’s Joe can’t tell at the moment-- and taps the dial. Her phone lights up just a second later, ringing and ringing and Joe’s own number stares back at him. 

Joe ends the call and smiles—a genuine and bright stretch across his face. “So you can tell me how it is.” 

Marlowe’s head ducks immediately, her lips curled into a smile but Joe would’ve never pegged her as the shy type. His chest surges, makes his whole body warm that he can make her flustered like this. The wolf whistles don’t seem to help her. And Joe cuts his eyes to Ja’Marr and Tee—hot and direct—who immediately cease but dissolve into a fit of laughter. 

Her friends laugh at her, but she gives her thanks to Joe once again. And he doesn’t linger, doesn’t wait to see if she eats the dessert or not. Because Joe’s on fucking cloud nine. His skin buzzes as he signs the receipt after his card is run. 

In his car, halfway home, paused at a stop light, Joe’s phone shakes. The thick winter night wrapped around the outside in a heavy dark cut only by street lamps and headlights from cars and the rattling from the cup holder before the text flashes across his infotainment screen, It’s really good. You have great taste. Thanks again. 

February 11th, Joe is sure, as he takes off from the green light is a date that he’s never going to forget.

[loverslodge]

leading up to the date

You have been very unlucky in love. You were a thoroughbred romantic but that definitely wasn't a good thing when it came to actual experiences.

You had been in quite a lot of relationships, none of which lasted more than six months. Now, here you were, at the ripe age of 30, wanting to finally settle down and have a consistent lovelife. But when has your plans ever worked out for you? With no potential partner and an exhausting dating scene, you were worn out.

So you decided to do what you do best. Watch rom-coms, cry over how perfectly the couples fit each other and have wine and pizza.

You got tipsy, more on the drunken side and a thought popped in your head. So you opened your email and did the one thing only a drunken desperate idiot would do. Send emails to every famous crush of yours to ask them on a date for one night. You were feeling generous so you also added that you will pay them $10000 for their troubles. You wrote a few of your conditions and it was a surprise that for a tipsy person, your email was well written.

…………………..

Three months had gone by and you had completely forgotten about what you had done. Honestly, when you woke up the next morning, you thought that either the people you emailed to will either spam it, delete it or laugh at it. So you laughed at how ridiculous it was and just went on with your days.

You were working from home that day, luckily, and things were going just fine. You were on a lunch break when you heard two pings from your email box. Thinking it must be work, you popped open to see your personal email had received two replies. The subject line glaring at you and your breath quickened.

You had received responses, on your three month old desperate email. By one Steve Rogers and one James Buchanan Barnes. They both had agreed to every terms and conditions and were asking when it would be okay to meet for the date.

You spent two days contemplating. Should you even agree? Did your drunken thoughts even matter? Even if you do agree, whom will you choose? You liked them both. Of course you didn't know them personally but their public presence has always attracted you to them in a way. They were the two men about whom you've daydreamt, occasionally with a vibrator but also, respectfully.

On the third day, you decided that it would be best to leave this decision on both of them. Make them choose who wants to stay for the date. Because you were really using up a lot of your money to pay one person. Why try and lose sleep when you can throw the ball in their court?

You opened their emails and sent them the exact same reply saying that they can meet this Saturday at your usual cafe and then plan from there. Surprisingly, you received both their replies within an hour agreeing.

………………….

Life had been very unforgiving to Steve and Bucky. While they did have women fawn over them, they were having a hard time dealing with the female fanbase.

Bucky tried it once, one night stand with a fan. It did not end well. She had to be dragged away by security and Bucky started questioning what went wrong. He withdrew completely. He did flirt but that was the end of everything. He called it healthy flirting, good to practice just like training.

Steve, after witnessing this, drew back even more. He had been in love with Peggy, still. Seeing Sharon, he saw hints of Peggy in her and so developed a relationship with her. It didn't end well. After just two months of trying, Steve found the relationship exhausting which it shouldn't. He talked to Sharon about it and they both deemed it best to end things while they were ahead. They were just colleagues now.

But one fine day, in the middle of the night, both of them received the same email. A random woman had asked them out on a date and was willing to pay them $10000 for their efforts. Well, not them together but individually.

They were sitting together when this happened. They found it ridiculous and joked about it. Later, bidding each other goodnight, when they were in the comfort of their own room, they both actually started thinking about the proposition.

They both asked FRIDAY, separately, privately, to look into this email. They wanted to make sure they were not being lured into something unknown. All they received was a photo of yours and very clean data. They started thinking about this more.

Finally, they both mustered the courage to email you back saying they agree. Both Bucky and Steve wanted to add that they don't need money but thought they will refuse the money once the date is over.

Steve never actually wanted to date again. He had his chance to go back to Peggy but he didn't want that either. He saw her life flourish and he wanted her to rest now. He said yes to your email mostly because he found it interesting. Also, it was for one day. It was a no strings attached offer and it will help him get his mind off of his stagnant love life.

Bucky found this entire thing funny. But he said yes regardless because he wanted to talk to the brilliant mind that came up with this. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, Bucky also thought that this idea of one day romantic excursion without expectations was titillating.

Steve and Bucky were having dinner together when they both received your email confirming their email and set up the day and time. They both pretended that there was something very important in their phone and agreed to meet you.

The rest of the week was torture for both of them. They wanted to tell each other about this thing but also wanted to hide because who in their right mind would agree to something like this?

They spent the rest of the week separate. The rest of the team found it weird but did not question it. They didn't want to get in the middle of whatever was going on.

As Saturday rolled by, Steve left almost two hours early for the date. He didn't want Bucky to ask questions. He went to a local florist and bought three pink roses for you.

Bucky also wanted to be sneaky so he waited till he heard nothing but silence to leave the compound. He went to a local florist and bought three pink roses for you.

[alhilton]

My position on Fan Fiction/ Fan-Make

I've been goaded into actually formulating a policy about this, due to actually finding fan fiction of my work. This is a good problem to have! My policy, here goes -

I firmly believe that fan-creations are a sign of health for any artistic property. I am always flattered when people want to spend extra time in my world and with my characters. There are a few pitfalls here, however, and authors have different ways of addressing them. Here are mine:

Visual Fan Artwork

I am generally delighted by visual fan art (images, dolls, cross-stitch, sculpture, etc) as long as you state clearly in the description where the world and/or characters came from and you’re not trying to sell it without a license. I enthusiastically share fan art when I find it. You do not need a license from me to make non-commercial, appropriately-attributed visual fan art.

Fan Fiction

Text-based fan fiction is a stickier subject. I am not interested in writing in a shared world. My canon is off-limits until I am dead. When my work is in the public domain, knock yourselves out!

Legally, best-practice is for me to pretend not to see fan fiction. I admit that I don’t always do this. However, I am nervous about interacting with fan fiction or linking to it because it is a legal mine-field. I do not want to lose control of my copyrights. (That is my main fear – not that you’ll make money on my work, but that I will lose control of my copyrights.)

Bottom line: if you want me to feel really free to interact with your fan fic and share it with my audience, you need to get a license from me. That license will give you legal permission to create “derivative works.” The license will also say that anything I create that is influenced by your fan fiction is mine alone and I do not owe you money or credit for any ideals that may pop up in my own canon creations due to reading your fan fiction.

If you obtain such a license from me, you are street-legal. This said, I do not promise to read fan fiction, even if you license it. I do not promise to critique it or give writing advice. Fan fiction is a gift to other fans, not to me.

Monetized Fan Creations (here’s where I really differ from other authors)

I am quite tolerant of fans making money in my world as long as you get a license from me first. I’m probably not going to give you a license for text-based stories to be published on retailers. Those have potential to confuse my readers. However, I will happily give you a license for many other kinds of monetized fan creations, including text-based stories in some forms. Unless you are a company, I’m probably not going to ask you for royalties. You can keep whatever you make, and I will happily link your work to my audience.

Examples:

You can sell commissioned artwork of my characters to other fans.

You can sell artwork of my characters printed on merch in places like Red Bubble (t-shirts, mugs, calendars, mousepads, etc).

You can make monetized pod-fic as long as it’s not on retailers and it’s clearly labeled as a non-canon fan-creation.

You can share your stories or art of my world and characters behind a paywall or on a site with advertising as long as it’s properly labeled and my own content is linked.

You can make a game based on my world. (If you are a company or a large kick-starter-backed endeavor, I will ask for royalties, but I’ll be reasonable).

You can make a D&D manual (OMG, please make a D&D manual. I get so many requests for this. I have no interested in making a D&D manual, but I will share yours and you can keep all the money…unless you are a gaming company or a large endeavor with backers, in which case I will want royalties, but I will be reasonable.)

The things you can do are practically limitless. I don’t have time to pursue all the good ideas myself! I just ask that you get a license from me first and link your source material (my books). Email me: abigail.hilton@pavoninebooks.com

If you would like to listen to me talk about this topic at length, you can listen to this podcast episode, recorded 8/31/2024.

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

Trial writing of Tseng requested by @sixvisxpacem || From this Open Request Post

The President was in recovery, Healen Lodge was bustling with staff and clients more and than less each day. They were working to tend to the sick and weak, to understand what they were facing, but as it ever is, it was a give and take. It was expected. And Tseng managed it all.

There was delegation of tasks and then there were issues that he could only trust himself to handle. Investigations were left to Elena, when she wasn't running certain experiments with the Doctor. Care was traded off between Rude and Reno, through out Healen, but primarily to the President; save the mans' ego by only an inch by working his men amongst other victims, but Rufus had no choice but to simply sit through it.

Tseng himself dealt with Rufus nearly every day, but never for prolonged periods. The lead Turk was present to tend to medical needs and reports, to assure PT was being handled, and to go over progress and deals with the President as necessary, because lets be honest, they were two sides to the last company coin. ShinRa did not exist like it did before, but it was still living, and it was living with the head and the hand.

And the hand was preparing for travel, to meet with Reeve over a couple of subjects, and needed to prepare first. He had little to pack, and that was already taken care of. Reno was left in charge at Healen and local tasks in his absence, and he had just finished a quick but thorough shower. He'd worked up a bit of sweat during some PT of his own, involving stretching, testing the damaged muscles, and working on endurance practices. But he'd finished washing it away, and now stood before the mirror.

His eyes did not look upon his features. They rarely did, for long, unless preparing himself, assuring he was presentable. But his eyes did run over the absolute horror that was his body.

Some, if they saw such wounds, might remark that it was a wonder he was even alive. He knew better. In the world he lived it, it was no wonder, it was simply a necessity and a lucky chance (to have Cait turn up the moment he strength and mind were failing him in the temple was nothing short of stupid luck, he knew better). No, this was just the horror of living in the world ShinRa hard owned and marked and lost and now persisted through.

Ruined flesh that had healed far too desperately, in criss crossing X's of varying depth ran along otherwise toned, smooth skin. His gaze did not linger on his body for long, either. He preferred not to look at the scars too long, lest he just barely begin to remember the sensation.

The helicopter ride was perhaps the most restless. There was nothing for him to do, his PHS one of the best functioning models there were, and yet he couldn't trust when he'd finished an email or text, that it would send properly until they were in a more reliable location.

So when he finally arrived at W.R.O. headquarters, he was standing and awaiting the choppers landing before it had completely began to settle over the landing strip, and he stepped out as soon as he was clear. Silken, black strands of hair whipped around his face but he strolled on, unaffected, and was led inside to the Commissioners office without delay.

"Ah, Tseng, you made it." Reeve Tuesti greeted easily, as he usually seemed to. There was just a specific familiarity, between the former Director and Lead Turk, as they had been on a different level of focus and temperament than the rest of the Directors and the changing presidents. "How's Rufus?"

Tseng just faintly smirked, still amused about how almost pettily eager Reeve could tend to be to refer to the President like he was any other, average man. His lips settled into a simple line again, though. "Restless and petulant on his good days, which today was. So, well enough."

Reeve chuckled and nodded. "I see. Well, we can only hope continued efforts my introduce a solution to alleviate his worst days. On that subject, shall we get to business? Resources, both in materials, professionals, and labs; shall we define them in greater detail and hammer out the agreement? I'd much prefer to start doing what we can to settle on whatever cure or treatment we can manage and begin mass producing it, as soon as possible."

"As would we. I've brought along our most recent reports, as well as requests from my men as well as the Doctors. I'm open to extended discussions on what can be managed and what can't." Tseng remarked, pull forth a folder full of papers and sliding it across the table of Reeve's desk, taking a seat.

Reeve took the papers and immediately began looking over them. "As ever, I appreciate how thorough you are in covering so many avenues of consideration."

"You know I prefer to be prepared." he responded, his version of playfulness in tone oh so very subtle, and cool, almost cold. But Reeve know it well, after all these years. Reeve also knew when to spot the Turk guarding his features.

It usually involved a 1% higher than neutral shift in his features, something that any stranger would see as a pleasant face, welcoming enough to be threatening but cut off enough to not invite interaction. Reeve wasn't used to seeing it these days, however, unless something came up that Tseng couldn't be honest about. And nothing they said seemed to imply it could hold any secrets.

Reeve had no further answer to the fleeting curiosity, however, and so let it be. He certainly didn't see the fist clenched on the other side of the desk, hidden out of view, and clenched tighter the more a tremble began to set in.

Tseng did not allow it to last, though. No he focused on the discussion at hand, committing his mind to the discussion, and therefor parts of his body into the moment, pushing the cause for the tremble back under the surface.

Subtle blackmail was sent to the right figures when Tseng got concerning enough word of opposition to their current form of ShinRa. Rufus was the only one ever really aware, but even he didn't see every report, hear of every threat. Rude was set on task often to intimidate those who thought they could target the President, or any of their assets, for ransom. Reno was kept on task with aid in Edge, as was appropriate. Elena was committed to the projects Tseng trusted her with.

The Hand assured everything was under control, so his hand absolutely must cease it's tremble. And so, by sheer will, it did.

It was after seeing the silver-haired specter in Junon that the tremor returned. And he fought it every second. It did not consume him, and so perhaps that should be the end of it. He kept it under control, and kept a level head and a sharp form when faced with every new and threatening turn.

But the tremble was grating, it was unwelcome, it should not be.

Even as he navigated that ridiculous bastard ShinRa and his friend, even as he face more and more complications and the increasing threat of this new figure that certain had to be tied to the fallen calamity, he kept steady control. But the tremble was under every damned surface, and it infuriated him. It sickened him.

It was like looking at those scars in the mirror, and falling into their depths and suddenly...

Suddenly, he was under that blade again, carved, pierced torn apart and bleeding out, alone in that temple and simply asking for one last thing; for the Ancient--for Aerith to survive. Logically, he shouldn't have. It was luck. Luck that he survived being torn apart by a monster. Luck that he endured onward, and stupid, cruel luck that one blessed by the planet was the one to die.

The tremble was there, under the surface, and he had to find a way to release it. Because he would face those eyes again, be followed by a silver haired figure once more, but he would leave nothing to luck. He would not fall the Sephiroth again, and he certainly would not fall to the echoes of his monstrosity.

Every tremble was met with training. Every restless thought was met with planning. Every nightmare was met with meditation. If he was to live, he would ensure he lived. If he was to die, then he would die. But he would not be left to whims again. The hand would hold tight to control, and face what lay ahead.

[powered-by-prower]

You've gotten an email!

From: Ms. Maria Pia

Subject: Blossom's Coaching

Mr. Prower, I would like to preface this by saying your daughter is an absolute fairy on the rink. Her performance has definitely improved with different methods of training. However, I regret to admit that even with all of that improvement, she still has not reached the specific weight requirements for her age group. Her jumps are fantastic, don't get me wrong! She is very creative and has done some amazing things in mid-air that her peers could never replicate, but her landings leave much to be desired. They have been clumsy at best and dangerous at worst, I fear that even when assisted with weights, she won't be able to qualify for regionals again.

I believe it is to your daughter and your best interest to pull her out of the upcoming competition. Perhaps if she is able to gain some weight through these upcoming months, we could get her qualified for the July regionals.

Best Wishes, Maria Pia Mendez.

Silence as he read over this message. He knew full well that Blossom had trouble landing her jumps, but he didn't want to have her quit. She was working as hard as she could, and it didn't seem to have been paying off in the way she had hoped. But there was another problem - she wasn't getting the assistance she needed, nor the proper time to practice.

He just needed to change that. And so, he began to type...

Miss Pia, Thank you for taking the time to write to me about Blossom's performance. From the information presented, she seems to have a habit of taking jumps she isn't prepared for, and that seems to be a hard habit of hers to break. I'm sure you see this kind of thing all the time, students biting off more than they can chew, and I'm sure you feel as though you're making the right call in insisting that she should drop out. However, I know my daughter well enough to say this of my own volition; that is not an answer. Blossom's determination is a trait she unfortunately picks up from a few of my friends, as they were big role models throughout her years. There's nothing I can do about that, it's already well and truly ingrained into her person. So what can we do about this, you may ask? I'm going to help her get to the finals. I have faith in my daughter, and I ask that you do the same. Feel free to line up a replacement for her in case you don't think I'll be able to do it, and if we can't get her properly trained by June then I will pull her out, but I'm no stranger to making gadgets to help train people. If it worked for the team backing up the Fastest Thing Alive, it'll work for her. I look forward to seeing you at the July Regionals. - Miles "Tails" Prower, CEO of ProwerTech

After hitting send, he hits a button on his computer console, activating the House's PA system.

"Chronos! Kit! Family project time - we're gonna build a machine to help Blossom make it to the finals!"

[repguardians]

5 Ways of Email Marketing That Can Boost Your Online Presence and Reputation

Email marketing remains one of the most effective ways to connect with your audience, foster relationships, and enhance your online presence. When done right, it can significantly boost your brand’s reputation and drive conversions. Here are five strategies to elevate your email marketing efforts

Personalize Your Emails

Personalization goes beyond addressing your subscribers by their first names. It involves leveraging data to tailor content to the preferences, behaviors, and needs of each recipient. Personalization can increase engagement, build loyalty, and improve conversion rates.

Strategies for Personalization:

Segment Your Audience: Group your subscribers based on demographics, purchase history, or engagement levels. This allows you to send targeted messages that resonate with each segment.

Use Dynamic Content: Incorporate dynamic elements that change based on the recipient’s data. For example, showcase products they’ve shown interest in or recommend content based on their previous interactions.

Automated Behavior Triggers: Set up automated emails triggered by specific actions, such as cart abandonment, recent purchases, or content downloads. These timely and relevant messages can significantly boost engagement.

Craft Compelling Subject Lines

The subject line is the first thing your subscribers see, and it plays a crucial role in determining whether they open your email. A well-crafted subject line can capture attention and spark curiosity, leading to higher open rates.

Tips for Crafting Compelling Subject Lines:

Keep It Short and Sweet: Aim for subject lines that are clear and concise. Around 40-50 characters is a good length to ensure visibility on mobile devices.

Create a Sense of Urgency: Phrases like “Limited Time Offer” or “Act Now” can encourage immediate action.

Use Emojis: Emojis can make your subject lines stand out in a crowded inbox and convey emotions or themes quickly.

Ask Questions: Engaging questions can pique curiosity and encourage subscribers to open the email to find the answer.

Provide Value with Quality Content

Your subscribers will stay engaged if they find value in your emails. Focus on providing high-quality, relevant content that addresses their needs and interests.

Ways to Provide Value:

Educational Content: Share tips, how-tos, and informative articles that help your audience solve problems or learn something new.

Exclusive Offers: Reward your subscribers with exclusive discounts, early access to sales, or special promotions.

Entertaining Content: Mix in entertaining elements like quizzes, fun facts, or behind-the-scenes looks at your company.

Curated Content: Share curated content from reputable sources that your audience will find useful or interesting. This can position your brand as a thought leader in your industry.

Optimize for Mobile

With a significant portion of emails being opened on mobile devices, ensuring your emails are mobile-friendly is crucial. A poor mobile experience can lead to lower engagement and higher unsubscribe rates.

Best Practices for Mobile Optimization:

Responsive Design: Use email templates that automatically adjust to different screen sizes.

Concise Copy: Keep your text short and to the point. Long paragraphs can be overwhelming on small screens.

Large Buttons: Ensure your call-to-action buttons are easy to tap on mobile devices.

Readable Fonts: Use a font size that is easily readable on smaller screens, generally at least 14pt for body text.

Analyze and Optimize

Continuous analysis and optimization are key to improving your email marketing efforts. Use data and feedback to understand what’s working and what’s not and make adjustments accordingly.

Steps for Effective Analysis and Optimization:

Track Key Metrics: Monitor open rates, click-through rates, conversion rates, and unsubscribe rates to gauge the effectiveness of your emails.

A/B Testing: Conduct A/B tests on various elements such as subject lines, email content, images, and call-to-action buttons to see what resonates best with your audience.

Gather Feedback: Encourage subscribers to provide feedback on your emails. Use surveys or direct replies to understand their preferences and pain points.

Refine Your Strategy: Based on your analysis and feedback, continuously refine your email marketing strategy to better meet the needs of your audience and achieve your business goals.

Conclusion

Email marketing, when executed effectively, can significantly boost your online presence and reputation. By personalizing your emails, crafting compelling subject lines, providing valuable content, optimizing for mobile, and continuously analyzing and optimizing your efforts, you can foster stronger relationships with your audience and drive better results for your business. Start implementing these strategies today to elevate your email marketing game and watch your brand grow.

[gitanjali2002]

Enrol The Best Digital Marketing Institute in Bhubaneswar | Digital Gaurabh

Go to Digital Gaurabh if you want to succeed in the field of digital marketing. Covering a wide range of strategies and techniques is the aim of Digital Gaurabh’s digital marketing course. Students are exposed to a broad curriculum that covers everything from email campaigns and content creation to SEO and social media marketing, all in line with current industry trends. The quality of education is significantly influenced by the level of expertise of the instructors. A collection of seasoned Digital Gaurabh business professionals bring their real-world knowledge and insights to the classroom. The course is much more valuable when you learn from people who have successfully negotiated the world of digital marketing. The practical application is even more important than theory. The best digital marketing institute in Bhubaneswar, Digital Gaurabh, places a strong emphasis on learning through experience in connection with this subject. Students can simulate real campaigns, work on real projects, and utilise industry-standard tools. With this realistic approach, graduates are guaranteed to be ready for the workforce from the start. Every student has a unique educational direction.