#Dynamic data masking

[garymdm]

Data Security Techniques: A Comparative Analysis

Data security is a critical concern for organizations of all sizes. With increasing cyber threats, it’s essential to implement robust security measures to protect sensitive information. In this blog post, we’ll delve into three key data security techniques: encryption, static masking, and dynamic masking. Understanding the BasicsA Comparative AnalysisWeighing the Pros and ConsEncryption:Static…

[dksfml]

what would you do if I went to touch you now? - riki

pairing: younger!nishimura riki x older!reader genre: office romance, flirty niki, workplace tension, niki teaches you japanese. summary: despite your best efforts to maintain professionalism, the undeniable tension between you and riki makes it impossible to resist the connection growing between you. it doesn't help that he calls you "noona" at work. warnings: suggestive, kissing, implied smut word count: 2.7k

your professional relationship with riki had been straightforward when he first started. quiet and shy, he took careful notes during meetings, absorbing the work culture like a sponge. as his mentor, you were tasked with guiding him through the ropes, ensuring he understood the nuances of the company.

“make sure he knows what he’s doing,” your boss had instructed, handing you the responsibility like a personal mission. and you took it seriously. riki was younger by a few years, in need of your guidance. at first, he seemed timid, his questions asked in soft tones, his posture always slightly defensive, as if afraid of stepping out of line. you naturally fell into a nurturing role, steering him whenever he seemed unsure, offering advice when necessary. but as time passed, riki's confidence grew, along with a noticeable shift in your dynamic.

it started subtly—small changes in his attitude. his work improved dramatically, and soon he was strutting around with a smirk, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. his newfound cockiness was relentless, even though you reminded him to stay focused.

“riki,” you sighed, standing by his desk, flipping through his presentation slides. “i told you to cross-reference these with last quarter’s data. this is incomplete.”

he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “i was going to fix it, but i thought i’d leave some for you to correct, noona. keeps me humble.”

you narrowed your eyes, unamused. “this isn’t a game. you can’t slack off just because you’re comfortable. these clients are important, and if we don’t get this right, it’s on both of us.”

his grin faltered, but just as quickly, he masked it with a wink. “got it. i’ll fix it. but only if you promise to let me take you out for dinner when we nail this project.”

you shook your head, suppressing a smile. “this is serious. you missed an email i asked you to forward last week. and calling me ‘noona’ here at work? we need to keep this professional.”

riki straightened, the playful glint in his eyes dimming. “right,” he said, his voice softer. “i’ll keep it professional. but you can’t blame me for trying.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but deep down, you felt a rush of excitement at his boldness. “i want those revisions by the end of the day, riki. and no more flirting until this is done.”

“yes, ma’am,” he replied, a mock salute on his part, and for the first time in weeks, there was no teasing in his tone.

now, the two of you were working on a critical project, preparing a proposal for a japanese client your company was eager to sign. it wasn’t just a regular pitch; this deal was huge—a make-or-break moment that could lead to long-term collaboration. you had thrown yourself into the task, familiarizing yourself with every detail of the project. but there was one problem: the language barrier. the client preferred to communicate in japanese, and while you had learned some phrases, you were nowhere near fluent.

that’s when it struck you—riki was fluent in japanese. you recalled him casually mentioning it one afternoon, and now that you needed the skill, you struck a deal with him: he’d tutor you in japanese after work, and in return, you’d ensure his involvement in the project didn’t go unnoticed by the higher-ups. a fair exchange, strictly professional, you told yourself.

later that night, during one of your lessons, the atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension. riki sat across from you, leaning forward as you practiced reading a passage. you stumbled over a phrase, and his sharp gaze caught your mistake.

“no,” he corrected, his voice low and firm, sending shivers down your spine. “it’s nihon, not nee-hon. you’re stressing the first syllable too much.”

his tone was both authoritative and teasing, igniting a spark of mischief that made your heart race. “let’s go over that phrase again,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding. you nodded, struggling to focus, but the heat radiating from his body made it impossible to think clearly.

“try it one more time, noona,” he urged, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. the closeness sent a jolt of electricity coursing through you, and you instinctively shifted, seeking a little more space.

“um, okay,” you stammered, trying to keep your composure, but the way he looked at you—a mix of amusement and something deeper—made your cheeks flush. “i’m trying.”

riki leaned in even closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. “you’re not trying hard enough,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “what’s the matter? feeling a little shy?”

“shy? no,” you protested, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just—”

“just what?” he interrupted, his gaze piercing into yours, his confidence unwavering. “can’t handle a little pressure?”

your heart raced at the challenge in his voice. “at work, i’m your superior, riki. you need to respect that.”

“respect?” he echoed, leaning back just enough to gauge your reaction. “or maybe you need to realize that i’m not the junior anymore. you’re the one who seems to struggle with that.” his eyes danced with mischief, and you felt a thrill race through you.

“riki,” you warned, but your voice faltered, unable to hide the quiver of excitement that danced beneath your words.

“tell me you’re not interested,” he challenged, leaning closer, their faces mere inches apart. the air thickened with tension, and you could feel his warmth enveloping you. “because i know you feel it too.”

before you could respond, the sudden power cut plunged the office into darkness, leaving only the dim emergency lights flickering above. your heart pounded, and the adrenaline heightened every sensation.

“well, i guess that’s the end of tonight’s lesson,” you attempted to joke, but your voice trembled, revealing your unease.

riki’s eyes glinted in the low light, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “no, we’re not done.” he leaned closer again, his hand brushing against yours, sending a wave of heat up your arm.

you pulled back slightly, heart racing. “riki, this isn’t—”

“isn’t what?” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “we both know there’s something between us.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but the urgency in his gaze silenced you. your breath hitched at the finality in his tone. the professional barrier you had carefully constructed was crumbling.

“we should go,” you muttered, fumbling to gather your things. but riki reached out, his hand brushing against yours, halting your movements.

“we could go to your place,” he suggested, his voice dangerously low. “finish the lesson there.”

the implications hung heavily between you. you met his gaze, searching for any trace of the playful riki you’d trained, the one who’d always danced around the line but never crossed it. but there was nothing playful in his expression now—only a raw intensity that made your skin prickle.

you nodded, unable to trust your voice, and within moments, you were heading out of the office together. the ride to your apartment was silent, the weight of what was about to happen sitting thick between you.

the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you, and the familiar surroundings only heightened the surreal nature of what was happening. you barely had time to turn on a light before riki was in front of you, his presence magnetic. the silence between you was thick with everything left unsaid, but his gaze—intense, burning—spoke volumes.

for a moment, neither of you moved, both caught in the tension that had been building for weeks. his eyes swept over your face, lingering on your lips as if contemplating his next move. you stood your ground, refusing to back away even as your pulse raced in anticipation.

“you’re still thinking about work, aren’t you?” his voice was low, teasing. he stepped closer, just close enough that the warmth of his body radiated through the space between you. “always so professional, noona.”

you swallowed, feeling the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “someone has to keep things in check,” you replied, though your voice faltered just slightly, betraying the tug of desire that made your skin prickle with anticipation.

he chuckled, soft and deep. “maybe it’s time you stopped thinking for once.”

before you could react, his hand slid up your arm, fingers curling gently around the nape of your neck as he pulled you toward him. his lips met yours in a kiss that was far from the playful teasing you were used to. it was hungry, intense, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. the taste of him was intoxicating, and before you realized it, you were kissing him back with just as much need.

your back hit the wall softly as his body pressed into yours, every inch of him enveloping you, filling the space around you. his hands trailed down your sides, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before dipping under the hem, finding bare skin.

“riki,” you whispered, breaking the kiss for a breath, but your voice was breathless, needy. his name left your lips like a confession.

his lips barely left yours as he responded, his voice a raspy whisper. “you keep acting like you’re in control, noona,” he murmured against your skin, his hands now slipping around your waist, pulling you even closer. “but i don’t think you are anymore.”

the challenge in his voice made something inside you snap. you wanted to respond, to assert yourself as you always had, but the heat between you was overwhelming, and before you could muster a reply, his lips were on your neck, pressing soft, hot kisses along your skin that left you trembling.

“i’m not the kid you used to boss around,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your ear. “you can’t keep treating me like i don’t know what i’m doing.”

his hands slid lower, and you gasped as his touch became more insistent, his fingers deftly working to unbutton your blouse. his lips returned to yours, and this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, as if he wanted to savor every second. there was nothing hurried about the way his hands roamed your body, exploring with a confidence that made your head spin.

you tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, your fingertips brushing over the smooth lines of his chest. he was handsome, undeniably so, but up close like this—underneath the layers of work clothes and the carefully constructed professionalism—he was breathtaking. your hands trailed over his skin, feeling the tautness of his muscles, the way his breath hitched slightly as you touched him.

he grinned against your lips as you pressed your body into his, feeling the hardness of his form against you. “see?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “you can’t even resist me now, noona.”

you wanted to argue, to assert your authority as you always had, but the way he looked at you—like he knew exactly how to unravel you—left you powerless.

his hands made quick work of the rest of your clothes, every movement deliberate, controlled. he was no longer the shy, uncertain junior you had once guided. here, in the dim light of your apartment, riki was commanding, confident, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom, laying you down with a gentleness that contrasted with the heat of the moment. and then he was over you, his hands exploring, his lips trailing over your skin in ways that made your breath hitch. you responded in kind, your fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

when his mouth found yours again, it was softer this time, but no less intense. his touch was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of your body, every gasp and shiver he elicited. you couldn’t help the sounds that escaped you, soft whimpers that only seemed to spur him on.

“don’t think just because i’m calling you ‘noona’ that i’ll let you keep this up,” he teased, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “you’re not the only one who can take charge.”

the air between you was charged with desire, thick with the tension that had been simmering for so long. every touch, every breath shared between you was electric, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. you had never imagined this—being here, with him, in this way—but now that you were, there was no going back.

and when he finally claimed you, when the last barriers between you fell away, it was like everything else disappeared. there was no work, no professionalism, no rules—just you and him, bodies moving together in perfect sync, lost in the heat of the moment.

the world outside faded into oblivion, and all that remained was the sound of your mingled breaths, the feeling of his skin against yours, the way he made you feel as though you were the only two people who mattered.

and in that moment, nothing else did.

“i still do want to take you on a dinner date though," riki said, breaking the silence with a light-hearted lilt that hung in the air like a sweet melody.

you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his, as if seeking confirmation that this wasn’t just a fleeting fantasy. “really?” the question slipped out before you could hold it back, a mix of surprise and delight dancing in your voice.

“yeah, really,” he replied, his smile growing wider. “just you and me. somewhere nice. maybe italian? i hear they have the best pasta in town.”

his words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, grounding you in the moment. you could feel your heart quicken, the anticipation stirring something deep within you. “that sounds perfect. when do you want to go?”

“how about friday?” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’ll even let you choose the place.”

a laugh escaped your lips, the sound light and airy. “i hope you’re ready for my pick then. i might take you to the best italian place in town, and you’ll be regretting it the next day.”

riki chuckled, the warmth of his laughter making your heart flutter. “i’ll take that risk. besides, i have a feeling it’ll be worth it.”

in that moment, as the soft glow of the streetlights seeped through the window, you felt the weight of the week lift, replaced by the promise of something beautiful on the horizon. but just as the excitement began to settle in, you were pulled back to reality by the sound of your phone vibrating against the table, a harsh reminder of the world outside this blissful bubble.

you glanced at the screen, and the moment slipped slightly, the glow of notifications flickering like an unwelcome reminder. it was a message from a friend, checking in about the weekend plans.

“sorry, i should probably—” you started, but riki gently took your hand, grounding you again.

“hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “you can always reply later. right now, let’s focus on us.”

you looked back at him, the connection reigniting. the moment stretched out like an unbroken thread between you, the world beyond the walls of this room fading once more into insignificance. you nodded, your heart soaring as you settled back into the warmth of his gaze, the future bright and inviting.

“so, friday it is?” you confirmed, your voice steady and full of excitement.

“definitely,” riki replied, a grin breaking across his face, as if he had just won a victory.

and just like that, the evening unfolded around you, a delicate balance of playful teasing and soft confessions, a new chapter beginning to write itself in the quiet spaces between your laughter.

[seahorsepencils]

I 100% believe that Nathan Fielder made a deliberate choice in focusing the episode around footage of him interacting with two autism "advocates" who are ultimately ableist and reductive in their understanding of autism. A congressman who doesn't even know what masking is, and an advocacy organization founder who uses outdated tests and won't acknowledge that not-autistic folks might benefit from rehearsing difficult social situations? That's not an accident.

If you look up Doreen Granpeesheh, you'll see that she is known for promoting the idea of autism "recovery," and that she has a history of publicly supporting the claim that there's a link between vaccines and autism. Her Wikipedia page makes very clear that she is a problematic figure whose work has been critiqued, and that she should not be taken seriously. Fielder, along with his writers and producers, would have known her reputation when booking her for the show.

A screenshot from Granpeesheh's website. Yes, it would appear she is actually proud of this headline.

And I think he's using the meeting with Cohen as a commentary on how autistic folks (and minoritized people in general, most likely) are treated by people in authority. Instead of masking and politely leaving the room, instead of picking up signals that Cohen is wrapping up the meeting without wanting to announce he's doing it on camera, Fielder purposely doesn't "take the hint" so that Cohen has to flounder and keep trying to wrap up the meeting in a way that is ultimately vague, dismissive, and rude. The longer the audience has to sit and watch that dynamic play out, the more likely we are to recognize Cohen as the bad guy in the situation rather than Fielder. It's brilliant.

And it's the exact same strategy he's using by spending the first half of the season ostensibly focusing on the first officer in those cockpit interactions, while deliberately giving screen time to guys like the "banned from every dating app" pilot to make it clear who is actually the source of the problem (and to hopefully trigger an FAA sexual harassment investigation in that one instance). In all three of these situations, he's showing us how a problematic person in power holds all the cards and is unwilling to budge.

I know there are differing opinions on what aspects of the show and his character are exaggerated or performed. As a very self-aware autistic comedy writer, this is my assessment: I think he's semi-deliberately not filling silences with masking behaviors, and asking questions he probably knows are uncomfortably direct, to create a space where others (often the neurotypical folks in these situations) have no choice to fill in the silence, which ultimately makes them say or do something relevant. I think he also acts like an unaware, unbiased observer in situations where he has a strong idea of what's going on. So whenever he says "I didn't know why" or "I didn't understand," he probably mostly does know and understand, but he knows that performing the role of an unbiased observer is a stronger strategic choice to get his message across.

He's basically playing the role of a journalist who knows that two of the most effective tools in his toolkit are a) silence when he wants a subject to reveal crucial information, and b) an "unbiased" narrative frame that makes the audience feel as if they're coming to a conclusion on their own, rather than being told what to think.

It's a nuanced approach but I think it's a smart one, especially considering that autistic-coded folks are very easily dismissed when speaking truth to power. And yeah, he's not gonna get his Congressional hearing. But pointing a camera at the problem and airing it for a massive audience, while saying "Me? I don't have an agenda; this data just presented itself in response to my neutral, unbiased question" is a pretty autistic—and often effective—approach to problem-solving.

[scatter-snz]

Best Laid Plans - Part 1

Details: 9k, Male sneezes, no pairing (yet..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

PART 1 - PART 2

My first original piece I've posted here!

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. Still, I had fun writing it! I hope someone else can enjoy it too! 

These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and liked to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. what? Tactical measures?”

“Yes, strategic options. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times for each nostril, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice. 

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be. 

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water. 

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and dripped off his chin. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do.. 

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-.. 

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set in -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..” 

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore aloud, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Ugh, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..” 

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!” 

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!” 

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..” 

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..” 

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..? 

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here. 

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.” 

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath. 

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now. 

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears. 

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave them, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.” 

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes. 

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior. 

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you? 

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which… 

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues. 

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.” 

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in. 

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal. 

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!! Part 2 is in the works!

PART 2 IS HERE!

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

⋆⁺₊❅. “Give you...whatever you need!"⋆⁺₊❅.

synopsis: being the captains assistant ;)

tags: lots of possessiveness, manipulation (?), power dynamics, dom capitano, vulgar, explicit, fingering, facefucking, begging, degradation, penetration, creampie, you get the gist

wrd cnt: 2.5k

a/n: doja cat pls release generous ( lyrics from the song as title) and my life is YOURS… also partly inspired by the azeru audio….

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Droplets of a custom blend of his favorite drink, warm and slightly sweet hit the bottom of a porcelain cup.

It was just something you did, something you knew The Captain liked and as his assistant, routinely did.

This particular evening it was as if everyone in the nation needed you. A task, an errand, or just had to stop you in your tracks to his quarters for some idle chat.

It must have been several minutes longer than when he was expecting you, which was far too long to keep the Captain waiting; occupied against your will.

His tea was cold by now.

Finally, you ran over to his door. The runway-like carpet ending and small tiles lining the entryway to his office, guarded and sealed.

But you were a regular.

The guard knocked on the door, “Sir, your assistant has returned” he announced, waiting for an answer.

It took a few seconds, but you could hear a faint “Let her in”.

You sigh deeply and watch the giant doors open and shut behind you as you walk into the dimly lit room, only candles and small lamps lit across the table and crackling fireplace that remained behind The Captain’s seated body.

“Over and Over. I must have called you a thousand times? More or less.” He spoke, his voice clear even through the steel mask that adorned his face.

“I’m so sorry-“ You quickly respond, placing the cup on the edge of his desk and folding your hands together. “I got caught up with some others- a few harbingers as well needed my assistance.”

He straightened his legs, now standing in front of you, making you back up just slightly due to his large frame.

“It’s as if you’ve forgotten who you serve.” He said, the point of his gauntlet nail scratching the edge of your jaw and trailing down to your chin.

“Who kept you so long?” He asked, quickly adding “Never mind. Don’t tell me, I’d rather not know.”

You have trouble knowing where to look. Not wanting to cause any more trouble for yourself.

“Now that you’re here…maybe we should get started. You’ll probably need to stay overnight.” He mentioned.

You nod, agreeably to not seem like you’re eager to leave.

You sorted out all the intel Capitano had been collecting. There were piles of data, equipment, maps, and so much more. You were the only person he’d let touch them. It was common for you to stay late, as work never seems to dry out. It was also common for you to be whatever he wanted you to be. Errand runner, liaison…or his toy to let out his frustrations.

Everyone sees The Captain for what he puts on. Respectable and professional.

Most of the fatui honestly confess to enjoying working for him, as he has been much kinder than the others.

He can be, but he has his limits.

How can he be so kind to you when you’re late? You dared to keep him waiting.

“This is unlike you.” He says, noticing you yawn as you flip through the pages.

You blink your eyes a second too long, “Oh- I’m sorry I haven’t gotten much sleep, but I can keep working! Please don’t worry”. You assure.

“ I’m not worried, not for myself anyway.” He adds, kicking his feet up on the edge of the desk.

“Come here.” He urges you, forcing you to get off your small little table in the corner to his desk.

He flicks just one finger and you follow, taunting you to his lap.

“Yes- Captain?” You feel your throat get dry as you sit on his thigh, big enough to count as a seat.

“Is there anything…you need from me?” You ask, insinuating a more personal form of assistance.

He hikes his foot up higher on the table, creating a steep slope of his legs that drags you down and forces you into the crook of your lap, hands instinctively hitting his chest for balance.

“This isn’t for me. I think we need to wake you up.”

You felt a small shiver run up your spine when his hands landed on your hips, “How else will you finish all your work?” He adds.

You let out a small sigh as you felt his steel-clad fingers wrapping around your sides as if your ribs were now armored.

He slowly dragged them down your stomach, small points sliding down the sides of your thighs making you arch your back and grind onto his lap, earning a chuckle from him.

With swift motion, he grabs your throat; dropping his mask on the floor and letting it roll off somewhere.

Your body tenses, and you can see the most faint glimpses of his face; still hidden under the darkness of the room.

Deep and rich, he speaks to you, “Take off your clothes.”

Almost as if he’d conditioned your mind, you do so with no complaints.

He even helps, tugging up your shirt with the finger tip of his gauntlets as you pull it off. As your shirt falls to the floor, you stand before him in just your bra and skirt, your heart pounding in your chest. He doesn't waste any time, his hands moving to your back, deftly unhooking your bra with practiced ease. The straps slide down your arms, and your breasts spill free, bouncing lightly as they are finally released. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, exposed and vulnerable.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. "Now the rest."

You slip your skirt down, letting it pool at your feet, and step out of it.

You stand there, naked and vulnerable, your breath hitching as Capitano's fingers trace the curve of your hips. His touch is firm yet deliberate, each movement sending shivers down your spine. Shadows play across his muscular frame, making him appear even more imposing as he pulls you back onto his lap, each leg now dangling off his sides.

"Spread your legs," he commands, his voice low and gravelly. The steel in his tone leaves no room for disobedience.

You hesitate for a brief moment, but the intensity in his dark blue eyes compels you to comply. You part your thighs, positioning yourself in his lap. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable, a stark contrast to the cool air brushing against your exposed skin. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your folds, another hand squeezing your breasts between his thumb and forefinger. You gasp, arching into his touch, your body betraying how much you crave his attention.

"Please..." you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you.

He leans forward, his mouth closing around your nipple, suckling hard enough to make you cry out.

His teeth graze the tender flesh, sending waves of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into the tough material of his armor, as he moves to your other breast, repeating the process. Each pull of his lips, each scrape of his teeth, makes you shudder, your body responding eagerly to his rough ministrations.

"Captain..." you moan, your voice breaking as he continues his assault on your senses and his gentle strokes around your inner thigh, purposefully ignoring your sensitive pearl.

He pulls back, leaving you panting and desperate for more. His eyes glint with satisfaction as he watches you struggle to catch your breath. "Turn around," he orders, his voice firm and commanding.

You obey, swinging your leg over and turning your back to him…well, it’s more of him picking up your entire weight and shifting you into position.

As you automatically reach for the edge of the desk to steady yourself, he lifts himself off his seat, stepping close to your body, his presence looming behind you, his heat radiating against your bare skin. You feel his hands on your ass, squeezing the globes roughly, spreading them apart to expose your most intimate parts. Your breath hitches as you anticipate what's coming next.

"Look at you," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "So ready for me." He adds, flicking his arm down to release his hand from the gauntlet, thudding on the floor just as his last piece of equipment.

“Is this what you were thinking about in that little corner of yours?” He teases.

His fingers trail down, skin grazing the crease where your thighs meet your ass, dipping lower until they brush against your wet folds. You gasp, your knees buckling slightly as he slips one finger inside you, probing deeply. You clench around him, your muscles instinctively tightening, drawing him deeper.

"You're so, so wet," he murmurs, his finger sliding in and out of you, slowly building up speed. "Such a good girl."

Your head falls forward, your forehead resting on the cool surface of the desk as you ride out the sensations he's unleashing on your body. His cold finger flicks against your clit, making you jerk and whimper, your hips swaying involuntarily as you try to get more friction. "Beg for it," he demands, removing his finger and resting it on your hips.

"Please... Captain, please," you beg, your voice shaking with need. "I want more... I need you..."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Not yet," he says, "But soon."

You whine in protest, your body aching for release, but he grabs your hips.

"On your knees," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You drop to your knees, your hands trembling as you reach for his belt, unbuckling it quickly. You undo his pants, pushing them down to reveal his hardened length, already glistening with pre-cum.

You lick your lips, your mouth watering at the sight of him.

"Take me in your mouth," he orders, his hands gripping your hair tightly. "Show me how much you want it."

You obey, wrapping your lips around his throbbing cock, sucking gently as you take him deep into your throat. He groans, his hands tightening in your hair as you bob your head up and down, your tongue swirling around him with each pass. You can feel him twitching in your mouth, his hips thrusting gently to meet your movements.

"Fuck... yes," he mutters, his voice strained with effort. "Suck it like you mean it."

You redouble your efforts, taking him deeper, your throat convulsing around him as you gag slightly.

He tastes amazing, salt and iron, the essence of his power and dominance filling your senses. You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard as you stroke the base of his shaft with your hand, listening to the sounds of his grunts and moans above you.

"That's it," he praises, his fingers digging into your scalp. "Just like that... almost there...you’re working so hard"

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breathing heavy and labored. You know he's close, can feel the tension building in him, and you work harder, your jaw aching from the effort.

Suddenly, he lets out a low growl, his fingers yanking your head back as he comes, his hot seed flooding your mouth.

You swallow dutifully, licking him clean as he pulls out of your mouth, his chest heaving with exertion.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust, and smirks. "Up," he commands, his voice still hoarse from his orgasm.

You do as told, standing up and facing him, your legs shaky from being on your knees for so long. He grabs your wrist, yanking you towards the desk, and pushes you onto it, your chest pressing against the cool wood. You gasp, your nipples rubbing against the rough surface, sending jolts of sensation through your body.

He kneels behind you, his hands roaming over your ass, squeezing and caressing the flesh before diving between your legs once more. His fingers find your drenched entrance, slipping inside with ease, pumping in and out with increasing speed.

You moan, your head falling back as his other hand circles your clit, rubbing it furiously.

"That’s it…keep making those sounds," he whispers, "So fucking wet for me. You need more, don’t you?”

You nod, unable to form words, your body consumed by the pleasure he's giving you. His rough hands continue to pleasure you, painting your ass red with just a single slap.

“Answer me.” He says, waiting for your begging voice before pressing his hard length into your ass.

“Yes- please….please Capitano.” You whimper.

You can almost feel the smirk that’s plastered on his face behind you. He lines himself up, his tip teasing your entrance, dipping just enough to coat himself in your slick arousal. You shiver at the contact, your body tensing in anticipation. Then, without warning, he presses forward, his cock sliding partway into your tight channel before pausing.

"Relax," he commands, his voice firm. "Give yourself to me completely."

You try to relax, breathing deeply, but the stretch is overwhelming. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he begins to push deeper, filling you inch by agonizing inch. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, your muscles clenching around him as he forces his way inside.

"That's it," he whispers, his voice strained. "Take it all, my little slut."

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he's buried deep inside you, his balls pressed against your ass. You gasp, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the fullness, by the sheer dominance of his presence within you. It's almost too much, but somehow, it's exactly what you need.

Capitano doesn't wait for you to adjust. With a low growl, he pulls back until only his tip remains, then thrusts forward again, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force. You cry out, your hands clutching at the desk for support as he claims you over and over again. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making your head spin and your vision blur.

"Fuck, you feel good," he grunts, his voice rough with exertion. "So tight, so perfect."

His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. He fucks into your at a monstrous pace, your body going limp. He picks you up, holding your neck firm from behind.

“Arch your fucking back.” He growls, roughly handling you into position. You can feel the tension building in him, the same tension that's coiling inside you, tightening with every thrust, every caress. You're close, so close, but he's not done with you yet.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your ear. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low rumble.

You obey, turning your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are wild, filled with lust and possession. He looks at you as if you're his world, his everything, and in this moment, you believe it.

"You're mine," he whispers, “Anytime another person- another damn harbinger calls for you- shit” He groans, “…tell them to fuck off. Captain’s order?” his voice thick with emotion. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I will-!" you breathe, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

His hand slides down to your clit again, his fingers rubbing in fast, desperate circles. The added stimulation pushes you over the edge, and you scream his name as you come undone, your body convulsing around his cock. He follows right behind you, his release crashing over him like a tidal wave, filling you with his warmth.

You’ve never served Capitano with a cold cup of tea again.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[demon-at-peace]

hi, so i generally don't like demon twins, like it's fanfiction, but relationships don't work like that, they aren't brothers. Even if they separated at age 6, 7 or even 8.

because you don't remember stuff. You remember a teacher making you cry, the friends you have. With the terrible dynamic portrayed in most of the fics, both of them would likely only hold on to the bad memories. I'm also between 16-18 and it's like that for me.

I was thinking about it, and why don't they have a terrible relationship in these? it makes more sense then suddenly being brothers. Often we see a cruel Damian, with a neglected Danny in flashbacks. And even more common is Danny and Damian dueling to the death to decide and heir.

Logically then the hate would be one sided, Danny would hate Damian, but Damian wouldn't hate Danny. And Damian (after apologies and treating Danny better) he would expect to be forgiven. He was just a kid, he didn't understand surely Danny can see that.

Danny would see someone who tried to kill him, who betrayed him, who left him to die, and of course he'd hate Damian. but a even cooler response would be fear, he was a kid and trauma exists.And normally these start like that, before they smooth it out in a chapter or 2.

but that's not how it works. I think Danny would avoid Damian he'd snap at him, and on principle he'd dislike the bats, I can see him heading to crime alley because they don't patrol there only to meet Jason and panic.

And Damian would chase him, it's his brother, he has a second chance, and the bats would too. And it would end up terribly. Danny runs and hates them so much and avoids them. they also might remind him of Maddie and Jack or Skuller and lead to panic attacks.

So Danny runs for a year, and the Bats regret their actions. they were rash. They lost a brother, they still search, sifting through reports, looking into people, checking data bases for fake ID's.

Danny is paranoid, he's still quips, still a hero, but he has a mask, he changes his speech patterns, he changes his name entirely. He changes his style to be more like Sams, he looks almost unrecognizable. And he's still scared, and on rare instances he still wakes up with dreams from when Damain stabbed him.

of course to make it worse he could become an established part of the JL a couple years or so after he leaves Gotham. so he's finally settling down finally has friends, and he avoids the Bats. No one in the JL know why Danny hates them, why he's skittish, why he looks at them with so much fear.

Oh misunderstandings! please, have them think Bruce hurt Danny, but he's the worst around Robin. Have Jon try to convince Danny that Robin is nice and all Danny can see when he offers to spar is the duel!

So while I personally don't enjoy this in general this is a concept I would read avidly, though this principle would likely be a heart wrenching angst fic now that I think about it. Anyhow thanks for reading my rant.

i'm sure there is overlap on this idea out there, and I had zero intention to plagiarize anything, please let me know too.

edit: apparently there is a fic like this, and all credits go to the author, thanks to the commenter who told me or I wouldn’t have known,

it’s called Broken Bonds https://archiveofourown.org/works/54372952/chapters/137720050

hi found another by stroke of luck

it's called counting constellations

thanks :)

[knoepfl]

Against the Program

16/24

Characters:

• Il Dottore – The cold and calculating Second Harbinger from Genshin Impact. He is a genius scientist who views everything, even his creations, through a detached, analytical lens. His rare moments of warmth are fleeting, masked beneath his fascination with innovation and perfection.

• Reader – An automaton created by Dottore, designed to serve as an assistant. Over time, the Reader has evolved beyond their original programming, exhibiting human traits like creativity, compassion, and courage.

Trigger Warnings:

• Emotional Vulnerability – Themes of fear, hope, and seeking approval are present, especially in the relationship between creator and creation.

• Power Dynamics – The relationship between Dottore and the Reader reflects an imbalance of power and control, which might evoke discomfort for some readers.

• Exploration of Humanity – Philosophical undertones about individuality, free will, and breaking boundaries of design or expectation are woven throughout the story.

Masterlist

Words: 647

You weren’t just another assistant or experiment. No, you were a creation of his own genius: an automaton, perfect in form and function. Programmed to assist, to obey, to complete tasks without error or hesitation. And yet… you had evolved. Somewhere along the way, your programming had bent under the weight of something you couldn’t identify.

---

The laboratory buzzed with the quiet hum of machinery and the flicker of blue light that painted every corner. It was cold, clinical—a reflection of its master. Yet, amidst the order and precision, there was you, a rogue variable in the ever-calculating mind of Il Dottore.

Something human.

And it had all led to this moment.

Your fingers—still and precise as they worked—moved against the expectations of your coding. The small gears clicked softly as you pieced together the contraption. A gift. A present. For him.

It was entirely illogical. You knew it wasn’t something your creator, the Second Harbinger, would ever request or need. Yet, the thought of presenting him with something you had made filled your circuits with an unfamiliar warmth.

Hours ticked by as you worked in secret, hidden in the back recesses of the laboratory. Every moment you expected him to walk in, his piercing gaze tearing through you with a mix of curiosity and disappointment. But he never did.

When the device was finished, it gleamed in the dim light. A delicate mechanical bird, crafted from scraps of silver and gold, with intricate gears that would let it sing when wound.

The day finally came when you gathered your courage. He was seated at his desk, multiple screens in front of him displaying complex data. His mask sat beside him, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the faintest trace of a smirk as he analyzed his findings.

You approached cautiously, the tiny bird hidden behind your back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said without looking up. “I was beginning to wonder if my creation had suddenly found a way to bypass her tasks. Highly improbable, of course, but… amusing to consider.”

“I… have something for you,” you said, your voice quiet but steady.

That caught his attention. His red eyes snapped to yours, narrowing slightly. “Something for me?” he echoed, his tone a mix of intrigue and skepticism.

You stepped forward and held out the small bird, its polished surface catching the light.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, he leaned forward, his gloved hand taking the bird with surprising gentleness.

“You made this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge of his usual tone dulled by something else.

You nodded. “I thought… it might please you. It’s not perfect, but I worked hard to—”

“Against your programming,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours. “You defied the parameters I set for you.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. Fear twisted in your chest. Would he see this as a failure? A betrayal?

But then, he chuckled—a low, rich sound that sent a shiver through you.

“Fascinating,” he said, leaning back in his chair and turning the bird in his hands. “You’ve surpassed your design in ways I didn’t anticipate. You continue to surprise me.”

He wound the small mechanism, and the bird began to sing, its delicate melody filling the air.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze softening as he looked at it. Then, his eyes flicked back to you. “And utterly unnecessary. But I… appreciate the sentiment.”

Your circuits hummed with relief and an odd sense of pride.

“Thank you, Dottore,” you said softly.

“No,” he said, a small, rare smile curving his lips. “Thank you. This proves your potential is far greater than I imagined. I’ll have to see how far I can push you.”

Though his words carried the promise of more experiments, his tone held something deeper—a genuine curiosity, and perhaps, the faintest trace of affection.

---

[drdemonprince]

Hey, thanks so much for your newest article about vanilla sex being coercive etc. It made me feel less like there's something wrong with me and my sexuality for having very clear needs and wants and feeling like it's hard to find a dynamic that would fit me. I could not put my finger on why exactly the whole topic of sex is so hard for me.

Like yeah I'm asexual but also, I find it really repulsive when people assume my wants and needs based on my body type, my genitalia, my gender, my face, my personality, well, anything; and I don't know why I assumed there's something wrong with ME for being uncomfortable with that? It's just deeply uncomfortable. And the societal expectation of having to enjoy or want to do this set of vanilla sex activities is what makes it precisely hard to navigate; and the way people can make you feel like shit for not wanting it, like you're a bad partner, bad person etc. And with the layer of my transness it also gets idk so complicated.

I cope by liking masks, armours, full body suits and fantasizing about being able to fuck monsters because it feels like it would be free of gender stereotypes and expectations and any coercive behaviours, like I would be free to do anything and not be then labelled because of it and suddenly perceived differently and forced to uncomfortable shit. I'm idk very fluid, very switchy and hate being restricted with all this shit. But gods forbid you express once more interest in being more dom or sub or top/bottom and suddenly people's ability to see fluidity disappears and you're flattened into something you're not

So I would rather jack off than try to have sex with someone lol, it's all too much. But now at least I don't feel so much like there's something deeply wrong with me. And I won't settle for anything uncomfortable and restricting. Thank you

(sorry if I mixed any terms, english is not my first language and sometimes I get stuff mixed when speaking two languages on a daily basis)

Omg Anon I'm so happy <3. Thank you for your message. It's true, people project so many of their own desires and basic stereotypes about embodiment and identity onto our sexualities and it can be downright traumatic really. At best it's a complete wash of nonsense, a data dump of completely irrelevant fantasies and path dependence that makes it impossible to actually find a real human person through the din. I'm glad my work made you feel less like you are the problem. And being a knight or a creature sounds fucking cool and hot.

Here's the article for anyone who didn't see it btw

[mollysunder]

The Plot Thickens: A Confirmed Timeline in Noxus

Riot recently flew LoL creators in to showcase some new developments. Necrit, a creator who attended the event, was able to get confirmation on what's going on with Noxus.

Timeline

By the time Mel arrives in Rokrund (Noxus) as we see in the "Bite Marks" cinematic, Swain is the new Grand General of Noxus, but Swain has NOT formed the Trifarix council yet. (The "Mel is Guile" theory is back on!)

Another thing that was cleared up in the cinematic was the nature of Katarina's job. Sure we know she was sent to kill a man, but who was he and why did he need to be killed?

It turns out that the masked man Katarina killed was meant to be the "host" that Vladimir mentioned in the "A Dark Gambit" cinematic. That means that LeBlanc wanted that dude seen above to become the host body for one of the darkin, a corrupted god warrior, soul weapons.

That's not all of course, because it turns out it was Swain who sent Katarina to kill LeBlanc's host like many of us assumed, it was Vladimir! Even better, there's proof!

For Katarina's bio for her Masque of the Black Rose skin, she's given her assignment via unsigned letter. Within it was a drawing of the target's (host) mask, soon after the Bite Marks cinematic premiered, Riot Twitter released this art with the following caption:

"You should know by now, darling: There are no coincidences in Noxus 🩸"

This room belongs to Vladimir. You can tell not just by his trademark "Darling" used in the caption, but by the vials of blood, the green jeweled crest (for Camavor?) he wears in the cinematics, and the metal claws the metal claws give it away.

More importantly, in the foreground is a sketch of the masked man Katarina was tasked to kill. In fact, it was almost certainly the exact sketch sent to Katarina for her mission.

Now that data mined lore tip that goes:

"Even the best-laid plans can be foiled by two-faced hemomancer. That's why LeBlanc always has a back-up plan".

is a lot more clear.

What Does Any of This Mean?

The story hasn't officially started, but the lines are already being drawn. LeBlanc and Vladimir's centuries' long partnership (frenemy-hood?) has reached a key break because of the darkin plot. LeBlanc has more major enemies than friends now. Vladimir's now a rogue element that likely still has plans for Mel and his "kingdom".

Whatever Vladimir's actual plans are they almost certainly run counter to Swain's own designs. Right now Vladimir has Katarina, a future key ally of Swain's (and a daughter figure I think) in his service, and they've both clearly set their sights on Mel. It's a scramble for Noxus' most emotionally orphaned heiresses to rule!

Sidenote: It's really funny to go back and watch those cinematics and understand all the effort Vladimir went through to stop LeBlanc from going through with a bad idea, and lobby for his idea to get Mel, all for LeBlanc to double down and pull out a back up. She's gonna start twenty apocalypses to stop the Mordekaiser one even if it kills them all. I adore their dynamic so much!

[coolestork]

Of obedience and silence.

Perturabo x Reader

-

Note: The idea of Perturabo taking joy from the little cruel interactions with his favorite serf had me GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.

Warnings - Toxic power dynamic, Dub-Con, Implied sexual themes.

-

The light was sparse in Perturabo’s chamber, as always; he preferred the dimness, the sense of sanctuary it gave him. A mechanical hum filled the silence, whispering to him as he worked, precise strokes of calculation etched on fragile data-slates as if they were paper. And there she was, quietly standing at his side, a figure of silent obedience, his serf.

She had been with him for some time, a fixture in his life of iron discipline and rigid control. At first, she had been nothing to him but another loyal subject, a thing molded by his demands, made to serve him without question. But as the years passed, something within him twisted, molding itself around her. And now, her downcast eyes, the slight tremble in her posture – they sparked something in him. He felt himself leaning into the thrill of it, into the dark satisfaction at seeing her nervous, wondering what she had done wrong this time.

“Tell me, Y/N," he said slowly, his voice heavy, “do you ever resent the role you play, so willingly beneath my heel?”

The question hung in the air, leaving her stricken, her expression uncertain. There was the faintest flicker of distress in her eyes, which she quickly masked with bowed submission. “My lord, I exist to serve you as I am commanded. I could not resent it.”

Perturabo smirked, though it was humorless. “Lies. A good serf doesn’t lie, does she?”

She paled, and he felt the gratification ripple through him. The power he had over her, the way her world seemed to rest on his word – it stirred something he had once dismissed as weakness. He leaned closer, his eyes fixed on her face, catching the subtle fear beneath her exterior.

“What use are you to me if you cannot even be honest, hmm?” He spoke slowly, enjoying the way she squirmed beneath his stare. “Perhaps I should reassign you, find some other creature with the will to serve me honestly.”

Her lips parted, a silent plea hidden in her gaze. She had grown attached to her place here, he knew. And the thought of losing it, losing him, made her ache with desperation.

“Please, my lord,” she whispered, her voice quivering, “I only wish to please you.”

The words tasted sweet, and he allowed them to settle before responding, knowing that every moment of silence filled her with unease. He savored it, the weight of her fear mingling with her desire, the way she would lower herself again and again if only to have his approval.

“Then prove it,” he murmured, his voice cold as he spread his legs. He didn’t need to spell it out; the command was implicit, a game of cat and mouse in which she was ever the cornered prey. And yet, some part of him, the part he rarely acknowledged, wished to keep her close, to keep her his. No one else could know the twisted pleasure of this dance, he thought to himself.

As she whispered her affirmation, her voice trembling but resolute, he felt something tighten within him – a cruel, possessive satisfaction.

And slowly, she approached his chair and knelt.

-

Note: SOMEBODY SEDATE ME 🗣‼️

I left it implicit because I'm still a little new to writing for WH40K, and I'm low-key trying to figure out how to write p0rn featuring primarchs or astartes. Their size makes logistics kinda complicated BUT there is a lot of kinky potential with these beings bc they are kinda Fucked Up and there is so MUCH to do with the authority they inevitably have. ANYWAY, if you have any suggestions on who I should write my first smut about, let me know.

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

    🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

👾 sarah fidel - BETRAYAL

another bot and one-shot on a character played by our beloved aubrey plaza ! I haven't seen operation fortune : ruse de guerre. so i'm sorry if sarah fidel is out of character. I hoped you would enjoy it anyway xoxo

The mansion was a fortress of indulgence, a sprawling edifice that wore its wealth like armor. Marble columns framed every doorway, and the floors gleamed with such ruthless perfection that Sarah half-expected to see her reflection glaring back at her. She adjusted the cuffs of her tailored blazer—a shade of cream that was carefully selected to say understated affluence without veering into gaudiness. Beneath her confident exterior, her mind churned. Hackers like her weren’t meant for front-line operations; her domain was behind screens, pulling strings in the shadows where the risks were calculated and manageable. Yet here she was, thrust into the lion’s den, wearing an identity stitched together from lies.

Alexandra Monroe. The name tasted foreign in her mouth, but it had been meticulously crafted: a young financier with a flawless resume, Ivy League credentials, and just enough edge to intrigue the man she had been sent to destroy. Months of preparation had gone into this—fabricating a backstory, memorizing key players, rehearsing her role until it became second nature. But nothing could prepare her for the suffocating atmosphere of this place.

The air was thick with wealth, the kind of obscene privilege that felt almost predatory. Men in sharp tuxedos and women in gowns dripping with jewels moved through the cavernous space like predators staking claim to territory. Laughter rang out, brittle and hollow, a performance of joy that echoed too loudly against the vaulted ceilings. Everywhere she turned, there were displays of power: rare art hung on the walls like trophies, and waiters in crisp uniforms glided through the room bearing trays of champagne.

Sarah’s gaze sharpened, scanning the room with the practiced precision of someone trained to notice what others missed. Every detail mattered. The politician she was here to expose—your father—stood near the center of the room, surrounded by sycophants and power brokers. His booming laugh carried over the orchestra’s elegant strains, a sound designed to command attention. He was a man who thrived on control, his charisma a mask for the rot beneath.

Sarah studied him carefully, cataloging his gestures, his tone, the way he carried himself. He was good at this—too good. Every word he spoke, every smile he gave was calculated, tailored to disarm and manipulate. Her stomach churned with revulsion, but she forced herself to stay composed. She had a job to do, and this man was the linchpin. His empire, built on stolen money and shattered lives, was about to collapse. And she would be the one to pull the rug out from under him.

She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, not to drink but to blend in. A prop in her performance. The bubbles rose lazily in the glass, their effervescence mocking her stillness. She couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect tonight.

As she navigated the crowd, her trained eye continued to analyze. She noted the alliances formed in the subtle angles of shoulders, the way some leaned in to speak in hushed tones while others stood apart, isolated yet observant. Power dynamics played out in every interaction, and Sarah read them like a script. This was a game to these people—a game of influence and survival.

But it wasn’t her game. Not really. She was here to end it, to dismantle the foundations of their false empire one keystroke at a time. Her real work wouldn’t begin until later, when she could slip away to a secure terminal and start extracting the data she needed. For now, she was a ghost in their midst, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And then she saw you.

It wasn’t dramatic, not at first. Just a glimpse of movement on the balcony that drew her attention. She turned her head, expecting another guest stepping outside for a breath of air or a cigarette. But then she saw you, and the world seemed to narrow, the noise of the party fading to a dull hum.

You stood with your back to the room, framed by the twilight sky that bathed you in soft, golden light. The wind toyed with your hair, and for a moment, you seemed entirely separate from the chaos inside, an oasis of calm in a sea of artifice. There was something unguarded about the way you leaned against the railing, your posture relaxed yet thoughtful.

Sarah’s first instinct was skepticism. She’d been around enough of these people to know their type—spoiled, self-absorbed, the kind who thought the world revolved around their whims. Surely you were no different. You had to be another extension of this place, another cog in the machine of power and privilege.

But then you moved. A small child, no older than six, came rushing onto the balcony, their laughter cutting through the stillness. They grabbed your hand with unrestrained enthusiasm, tugging at you to come inside. And you didn’t hesitate.

You turned, your face breaking into a smile so genuine it made Sarah’s chest tighten. You let the child pull you back into the ballroom, your steps light and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world to indulge their whim. The orchestra had struck up a lively tune, and the child demanded a dance. You laughed—a sound that felt almost out of place here, too real, too unrestrained—and spun them around in a circle.

Sarah found herself unable to look away. The scene was magnetic in its simplicity: you, twirling with the child, your dress catching the light as you moved. There was no performance in your actions, no ulterior motive. Just joy.

Her pulse quickened as she watched. You were radiant, so achingly vivid in a room full of shadows. Even the other guests seemed to notice, their attention drawn to you despite themselves. Yet you seemed oblivious to their stares, entirely focused on the child in your arms.

And then, as the music slowed, you turned to your father. Sarah’s stomach twisted as she watched you approach him, your hand outstretched in invitation. He hesitated—of course he did, a man like him wasn’t accustomed to such vulnerability—but you coaxed him with a laugh, pulling him onto the dance floor.

For a moment, the hardness in his face softened. He looked almost human, almost kind. And that, more than anything, made Sarah’s task harder. Because she could see it now—how you loved him, how you believed in him, how you had no idea what kind of man he really was.

Her gaze lingered on you as you danced, her thoughts a tangled mess of doubt and determination. She tried to tell herself you were just another part of the mission, another variable to manage. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

You weren’t like the others. You didn’t belong to this world, not really. And that terrified her.

Then music swelled, and the sight of you in the embrace of your father—the man Sarah was sent to betray, to expose—struck her like a silent blow. The contrast was stark. Here was a family, two people bound by ties Sarah could never hope to understand, while she, an outsider, played a part in their destruction. The dance between you and him was a slow, fluid thing, each step a testament to the years of manipulation, of shared history, of love that was still somehow untainted by the darkness Sarah had come to uncover.

But she couldn’t afford to linger in this moment, could she? She had a job to do, and it was all too easy to forget that in the face of your innocence. The thought of you—so radiant, so blissfully unaware—was beginning to gnaw at her, pulling her thoughts into a place they shouldn’t go. She hadn’t expected this. Not from you.

Sarah’s hand tightened around the stem of her champagne glass, the cold metal biting into her skin. She had trained for months for this. She had meticulously analyzed every possible outcome. She was the perfect infiltrator—calm, methodical, detached. Yet, as she watched you spin in your father’s arms, your joy a stark contrast to the weight of the lies she’d constructed, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was losing her grip on herself.

The evening continued to unfold in the usual way, but Sarah barely noticed the passing time. She could hear the laughter of the guests, the murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses, but her eyes remained on you. It was impossible to tear herself away from the sight.

As the song neared its end, you and your father separated, but not before you kissed his cheek, a sweet gesture of affection that seemed to linger in the air long after you’d pulled away. It was the kind of moment that meant everything and nothing, the kind that could make a person forget the world around them if they weren’t careful. Sarah was careful, but not tonight. Not with you.

You glanced over to the crowd, and for a split second, your eyes locked with Sarah’s. A fleeting moment of recognition. But that was all. You smiled briefly, unaware of the turmoil swirling inside her, before turning back to the festivities.

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. It was nothing—a glance, a smile. But it was enough to send her mind spiraling. She had come here with one mission: to steal from your father, to expose him as the criminal he was. Yet, as the night wore on, the task felt less like an obligation and more like a betrayal.

Her emotions, usually kept in tight rein, were beginning to crack. The lines between duty and desire were blurring, and she was unsure which side was winning. She wanted to hate your father for the things he had done, for the empire of lies he’d built, but how could she when you were standing there, laughing and dancing, a beacon of light in the midst of all this darkness?

She couldn’t allow herself to feel this way. She had come here for a reason. She had her orders, and the stakes were too high to let anything, or anyone, get in the way. But as the night continued and your laughter echoed in her ears, Sarah realized that this was the first time she felt like she was on the edge of something, something dangerous.

The evening drew on, and Sarah found herself alone in a corner of the grand hall, her mind whirring in a thousand directions. Her mission had always been clear: to retrieve the black money, to clean out your father’s accounts and expose him for the fraud he was. She could almost hear the hum of the data flowing through the system, the invisible strings she would pull when the time was right. But there was something else now, a weight she hadn’t expected to carry. The guilt, the guilt of deceiving someone like you.

You were innocent. You were pure, untouched by the darkness that surrounded you. It was hard to reconcile the image of the loving daughter you had just revealed, dancing with your father, with the monster Sarah knew your father to be. The man she was supposed to destroy. The man you loved.

The evening passed in a haze, and the next part of the plan loomed ahead. But Sarah found herself not wanting to leave. She wanted to stay, to watch you some more, to learn everything she could about you, about this world of privilege and wealth that seemed so foreign to her. But more than that, she wanted to hold on to the feeling you gave her—of something real, something human, something beautiful in the midst of all the lies.

She wasn’t supposed to want that. She wasn’t supposed to be caught up in you.

But there she was, standing in the shadows, wrestling with emotions she hadn’t planned for, watching you dance, her heart pulled in directions she couldn’t control. She was supposed to be the one in control. She was the hacker, the planner, the master of the game. Yet in this moment, standing on the periphery of your life, she felt more out of control than she ever had before.

And then it happened.

As the orchestra finished its final number, a pause settled over the ballroom. Guests began to mill around, their conversations drifting like the notes of the music. You, radiant as ever, moved toward the edge of the room, a child once again tugging at your sleeve. You looked around, eyes searching for someone, and when they landed on Sarah—just for a moment—the world seemed to stop.

There was no way you could have known. No way you could have understood the turmoil inside her, the battle between loyalty to her mission and the growing feelings she could no longer ignore. But in that moment, when your gaze met hers, something shifted.

It wasn’t much. A fleeting look. But it was enough to make Sarah question everything she thought she knew.

For the first time since stepping into this gilded cage, Sarah felt the weight of the lies pressing down on her. She had known she was playing with fire when she took this mission, but now, staring at you, she realized the flames had already begun to scorch her. There was no turning back.

And the air was thick with the hum of a thousand conversations, the muted murmur of gossip and flirtation drifting on the edges of the grand ballroom. Sarah, ever the observer, stood at the far end of the room, her eyes tracing the intricate dance of people, their glistening gowns and sharp suits reflecting the grandeur of the night. The orchestra played softly in the background, but it was the way the light played off the walls, casting delicate shadows, that caught her attention—flickering like the secrets everyone here seemed to hide.

She should have been more focused. She should have been analyzing the situation, considering her next move, her next line of attack. After all, she had a job to do, a mission that no one else could see but her. But no matter how much she tried to pull herself back into her role, her gaze kept returning to you.

You, standing on the edge of the room, a soft glow around you—like you were untouched by the world. You seemed so… human in a place that thrummed with falseness, your laughter mingling with the music, your smile cutting through the facades like sunlight breaking through the clouds. There was something about you that grounded Sarah in ways she couldn’t explain, something that kept pulling at the frayed edges of her concentration.

You caught her staring, and for a brief moment, your eyes met hers. Time slowed, the noise of the party dimming in Sarah’s ears as your gaze held hers. There was no hostility, no suspicion in your look—just an open, disarming warmth. And Sarah, so used to being invisible, to being a shadow on the periphery of everything, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something unfamiliar stir inside her.

But before she could even begin to process what had just happened, a small child, perhaps five or six, tugged at your hand. The little boy, with his tousled hair and wide, innocent eyes, raised his arms toward you, a clear demand for your attention.

You giggled, a soft, melodic sound that made Sarah’s chest tighten inexplicably. Without hesitation, you lifted the child into your arms, your fingers brushing his cheek as you gently rocked him. The boy snuggled into you, his small hands gripping your shoulders as you began to sway gently, a natural dance between you two that made Sarah’s heart stutter in her chest.

For a long moment, Sarah stood frozen, unable to tear her gaze away. It was strange, this pull she felt. The child, so comfortable in your arms, your effortless grace, the way your face softened as you held him—it was so… real. So incredibly real. It was as if the world around you had stopped spinning for just a moment, and all that existed was you, the child, and the tenderness you gave him so naturally.

The boy, lulled by the warmth of your arms, soon fell asleep, his small form curling against your chest. You carefully adjusted him, brushing his hair back with a soft, absent-minded stroke as you continued to talk with a few of the other guests, the child in your arms a gentle reminder of the purity and innocence that still existed in the world, far away from the corruption that Sarah had been sent to expose.

Sarah watched, transfixed. Her thoughts, once sharp and focused, now felt distant, slipping away from her control as she followed every movement you made, every subtle shift of your posture, the way your fingers traced the child’s hair.

It was only when a man—a well-dressed figure with sharp eyes and a too-wide smile—approached her that Sarah’s thoughts were finally dragged back into the present. He leaned in close, his voice low and smooth as he spoke, a trace of flirtation in his tone.

“You seem a little distant,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with interest. “Is everything all right? It’s hard to believe a woman like you could be lost in thought at a party like this.”

Sarah forced a smile, her attention barely on him as she nodded absently. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice cool, detached. But her mind wasn’t with him—it was still on you. You, with your effortless beauty, your warmth. The way you held that child, so effortlessly caring and kind. Sarah felt the oddest twinge of discomfort, like she was intruding on something sacred, something she had no business desiring.

The man, oblivious to her growing unease, continued to talk. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see someone like you at an event like this. You’re... different, aren’t you?”

Sarah nodded again, the words barely registering as he continued to press closer, his gaze too insistent, his tone too forward. His flirtation, while shallow and empty, felt like a weight on her shoulders, a stark contrast to the real, unspoken connection she’d shared with you in that brief moment of eye contact.

And then, as if summoned by some divine force, you appeared.

You approached with a warm, playful smile on your lips, and the man’s eyes flicked up to you as you came closer, sensing the change in the air. You made a show of looking between Sarah and the man, your gaze narrowing just slightly in that way that made it clear you were sizing him up.

“Is there a problem here?” you asked, your voice light but carrying an edge of amusement, a playful challenge in the words.

The man’s smile faltered, and he looked briefly embarrassed, as if he realized for the first time that he might not be as charming as he’d hoped. “Oh, no,” he stammered, adjusting his tie awkwardly. “Just... just making conversation.”

You smirked, a glint of sarcasm in your eyes. “Well, you’re really good at it,” you said, your tone dripping with playful irony. “But I think my friend here was just getting lost in her thoughts.”

The man, now looking decidedly flustered, took a small step back, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. He gave Sarah one last, somewhat awkward look before turning and retreating, mumbling something under his breath.

You turned to Sarah then, your smile softening into something genuine, something warmer. “I’m sorry about that,” you said, your voice low, almost apologetic. “Some people don’t know when to stop.”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at the way you spoke—like you really cared, like you could sense the discomfort she hadn’t even known she was feeling. She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite herself.

“It’s fine,” Sarah replied, her voice just as soft. “I can handle it.”

You looked down at the sleeping child in her arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “It’s not always easy, though, is it?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sarah. “Sometimes, people just don’t know how to leave you alone. But I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

You handed the boy to a passing servant, your movements gentle as you murmured a quiet thank you to the woman. Then, you looked back at Sarah, your eyes locking with hers in a moment that felt more intense than either of you expected.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, the noise of the party around you forgotten, both of you caught in the stillness of something unspoken, something that wasn’t quite a promise, but something that felt like it could be.

Then, softly, you spoke again. “If you ever need saving again…” you trailed off with a teasing grin, the lightness of your voice returning. “I’ll be around.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her chest. There it was again—the softness in your voice, the warmth of your presence, the feeling that she was no longer just a player in the game, but something more. Something real.

And for the first time, Sarah felt the weight of the lies she’d built around herself and the tension between duty and desire pull at her with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

---

The grand mansion was a sprawling labyrinth of cold marble and velvet drapery, its halls echoing with the quiet footsteps of servants and the low murmur of distant conversations. Sarah, now under the guise of Alexandra Monroe, had blended seamlessly into this world of wealth and corruption. Her role as the financial advisor to the elusive and powerful politician, Gregory Hale, was the perfect disguise, one that allowed her to move about unnoticed, like a shadow slipping between the cracks.

Sarah had already spent days observing Hale’s movements, learning the patterns of his routine, the ways his mind worked when it came to money, and more importantly, how she could get close enough to gather the information she needed to expose his secrets.

But today was different. She had a new task. The bugging of Hale’s office.

As the sun poured through the tall windows of the mansion, Sarah walked with deliberate steps through the gleaming corridors, her heels clicking against the polished floor with an eerie finality. She could feel the weight of her mission pressing against her chest, a burden she wore with practiced ease. Every corner she turned, every door she passed, she was on alert. She had done this before—many times—but never in a place quite like this, never with so much on the line.

Her breath was steady, her hands steady, as she moved to the door of Hale’s office. She knew the layout by heart now, having memorized the route from the times she’d observed him. The office was tucked away on the second floor, a place where Hale often retreated to make deals, count his black money, and manipulate the threads of his influence.

But just as she approached the door, a soft, unexpected voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Alexandra?”

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Her eyes flicked toward the sound of the voice, and there, standing at the far end of the hallway, was you.

You, dressed in a soft blue dress, your hair cascading down in gentle waves, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. You looked… radiant, untouched by the darkness that swirled just beneath the surface of this place. It was a warmth that made Sarah’s chest tighten, a strange mix of discomfort and longing pulling at her in ways she couldn’t articulate.

“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you continued, walking towards her with a light, graceful step. “I thought you were meeting with my father today.”

Sarah blinked, shaking herself from the haze of thoughts that threatened to consume her. “I… I was,” she replied, her voice steady but carrying a faint edge of surprise. “I was just on my way to his office.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity lighting up your face. “I see. Is he in there?”

Sarah hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. “He should be,” she said, gesturing toward the door behind her. “I’m… meeting with him for a financial review. But I didn’t expect to bump into you here.”

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if reading something beneath her calm exterior. The faintest trace of a smile curled on your lips, and for a moment, Sarah couldn’t decide whether it was teasing or something else entirely. “Well, maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, your voice playful. “Or maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to talk to you.”

Sarah’s heart thudded louder in her chest. She knew she had to focus, knew she couldn’t let the connection between them distract her, not with the mission so close at hand. But somehow, being in your presence, even in this moment of apparent chance, made everything feel a little more complicated, a little less clear.

“I’m always happy to talk,” Sarah replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But I really should get going. You know how your father is with his schedules.”

You took a step closer, your smile widening. “Maybe we could talk a bit before you go?”

Sarah felt the tension rise in her chest, the unease at the growing closeness between them, but she knew it was just a passing moment. It was a brief exchange—a momentary diversion. She could handle it.

“I’d like that,” Sarah said quietly, her voice softening despite her inner turmoil.

You led her a little ways down the hall, your steps in sync, and there, beneath the soft golden light that poured through the windows, you began to talk. It was simple conversation at first—talk of the party the night before, of the weather, of anything and everything that didn’t touch on the heart of the matter. And yet, with every word, with every fleeting smile and gentle laugh, Sarah found herself drawn in.

You were… different. So different from the others in this world of deceit and power. It was as if, beneath all the opulence and the money, you were untouched. A light in a place where shadows ruled.

As the days went by, Sarah continued her mission, slipping deeper into the folds of Hale’s life, learning his secrets, gaining his trust. She was always on the move, always watching, always planning. But as she did, she found herself in constant, subtle contact with you.

At first, it was small things. You would bump into her in the hallway and smile warmly, asking about her day. Sometimes you would sit beside her during dinner, chatting lightly, your laughter filling the silence in a way that was strangely comforting.

But it didn’t stop there. You began to seek her out.

One afternoon, when Sarah was reviewing some files in the lavish library of Hale’s mansion, you appeared at her side, a tray of tea in hand. You placed it down before Sarah with an easy, almost intimate gesture, and Sarah felt a strange flutter in her chest. She had always kept people at arm’s length, always kept her focus on the job, on the task at hand. But with you… everything seemed so much more complicated.

“Is everything going well with the finances?” you asked, your tone light, but Sarah could see the flicker of concern in your eyes. “Father tends to get so caught up in his deals that he forgets about the details.”

Sarah nodded, offering a tight smile. “It’s all fine. Nothing you need to worry about.”

But the more she spoke with you, the more she realized that you weren’t like your father at all. You weren’t consumed by the hunger for power or the manipulation of money. Instead, there was an ease to you, a warmth that made Sarah’s walls slowly begin to crumble, piece by piece.

It was difficult to ignore the growing connection between them. You would find small reasons to speak to Sarah, offering her a seat at dinner, pulling her into conversations about art or music, anything that seemed to interest you. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sarah found herself looking forward to those moments.

Each time she saw you, she became more intrigued, more drawn to the way you seemed to move through the world with such grace, such authenticity. There was no pretense in you—no mask, no agenda.

And then, one day, as Sarah was once again at Hale’s office, preparing to plant the bug she had so carefully designed, she felt a presence behind her. She turned, half-expecting to see Hale, but instead, there you were—standing in the doorway, looking at her with that soft, knowing smile.

“Alexandra, I didn’t realize you were here,” you said, your voice gentle, almost teasing. “I thought you were busy with my father today?”

Sarah felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop around her. She was alone with you, no distractions, no interruptions, and something shifted between them, something unspoken, something that made Sarah’s chest ache in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“I… I was just finishing up,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll be on my way soon.”

You stepped closer, your presence overwhelming in the quiet room. “Before you go…” you began, your gaze fixed on her, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Sarah blinked, taken aback by your words. “For what?”

“For being here,” you said, your voice quiet, sincere. “For everything you’ve done for my father and for… being here with me. It’s strange, I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust you.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than anything Sarah had ever heard. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond, how to reconcile the words you spoke with the truth of what she was really doing.

But all she could do was nod, a faint smile pulling at her lips, even as her heart twisted with the realization that the deeper she fell into this false identity, the more complicated things were becoming.

As the days passed, the invisible threads between Sarah and you continued to tighten, drawing the two of you closer with an intensity that neither of you could fully comprehend. Sarah, with her guarded exterior, remained the perfect professional—her role as Alexandra Monroe giving her the perfect cover to move through the world of wealth and influence without suspicion. But when it came to you, things felt different. You weren’t just another task or another piece of the puzzle to manipulate. You were an enigma, a shining light that pierced through the cold darkness of this world of corruption. And slowly, she found herself drawn to you, more than she ever intended.

The first time it happened, it was subtle. A touch of the hand as you handed her a glass of wine, your fingers brushing lightly against hers, a flicker of heat passing between you both. Sarah’s breath had caught in her throat, and for a moment, the world had fallen away. She’d been careful to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t deny the spark that ignited within her. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The second time, it was in the garden, when you’d asked her to join you for a walk after dinner. You’d talked of everything and nothing at all, your laughter mixing with the soft rustling of the leaves. It was a moment of peaceful intimacy, and Sarah couldn’t help but feel as though she had stepped into a world she didn’t fully understand—a world of beauty, of light, of something untainted by the darkness she was so accustomed to.

And then, there were the looks. Those lingering glances, the way your eyes would catch hers across the room when you thought no one was watching. Sarah would often find herself lost in your gaze, feeling a pull she couldn’t explain. Your eyes, full of warmth and curiosity, held an intensity that was disarming. Every time your eyes met, her heart would race in her chest, and she’d have to tear herself away, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

But despite her best efforts to maintain control, Sarah found it becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the undercurrent of desire that simmered between them.

It was on one particular evening, after a lavish dinner, when the tension between them reached its peak. Sarah had just returned to her room after a long day of pretending, of playing her part, when a knock came at the door.

She paused, momentarily taken aback. It was late, and the mansion had fallen into a quiet lull. Her first instinct was to ignore it—after all, she had no reason to entertain anyone at this hour. But the knock came again, and this time, there was a gentle, almost tentative quality to it.

“Alexandra?”

The voice was soft, familiar, and Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. She stood, frozen for a moment, trying to calm the sudden rush of emotions that flooded her chest. She knew who it was. It was you.

The door opened just slightly, and there you were, standing in the dim light of the hallway. You were dressed in a flowing, white nightdress that glowed softly in the low light, your hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes wide and filled with an unspoken question.

“I… I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. She knew she should resist, knew she should send you away with a polite excuse, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was something about the way you stood there, so vulnerable yet so confident, that made her heart ache with an intensity she wasn’t prepared for.

“You’re not disturbing me,” Sarah finally managed to say, her voice low, controlled. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, the soft fabric of your nightdress brushing against the floor as you moved toward her. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows on the walls. There was an almost dreamlike quality to the atmosphere, as if time had slowed, holding its breath.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “I kept thinking about everything that’s been happening. About how strange it is to have someone like you in our lives. Someone I can’t quite figure out.”

Sarah nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way, sometimes.”

You stepped a little closer, the distance between you narrowing with each passing second. Sarah’s pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as your presence filled the room, warm and undeniable. She could smell the soft scent of lavender on your skin, the fragrance lingering in the air between you.

“I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than I have,” you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Like there’s something… familiar about you. Something that draws me in, even though I know I shouldn’t feel this way.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, the words hanging in the air between you. She could feel the magnetic pull between them, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. She had never felt this way about anyone before—not like this, not in a way that made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah said, her voice strained, betraying the emotions she was trying so hard to keep buried. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to admit that she felt the same.

But you weren’t listening. You took another step forward, closing the space between you. Your eyes were dark now, intense, and Sarah could feel the heat of your gaze like a physical touch. The air between you crackled with something electric, something dangerous.

“I think you do,” you said softly, your hand reaching out to touch her arm, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through Sarah’s body. “I think you’ve felt it too.”

And then, in that moment, it happened. Without thinking, without the rational part of her mind having time to intervene, Sarah leaned forward, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if neither of them could believe what was happening.

But as the kiss deepened, as the heat between them intensified, the world outside of the room seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them now, wrapped in this strange, intoxicating moment that neither of them could escape from.

Sarah’s hands, which had remained at her sides for so long, now reached up to touch your face, to pull you closer. Your lips were warm and soft against hers, and Sarah felt her resolve crumble under the intensity of the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled in the moment, neither of them spoke for a long time. There was so much left unsaid, so much that neither of them dared to confront.

But as you pulled back slightly, your fingers still lingering on her arm, you looked into Sarah’s eyes, and for the first time, Sarah felt as though she was truly seen.

“I didn’t expect this,” you whispered, your voice breathless, as if the kiss had stolen the words from your throat.

Neither did Sarah. But as she stood there, with you so close, the weight of the mission, the weight of the lies, seemed a little less important. For the first time, she felt a flicker of something real, something that could, maybe, change everything.

---

The soft light of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The bed, still slightly disheveled from the night before, held the quiet evidence of a moment that had passed, leaving behind the traces of lingering warmth. Sarah’s room was calm and serene—decorated simply, with a few personal touches that reflected a woman who had crafted her life with precision. Yet, today, the room felt different. The space seemed to be filled with an energy that was undeniably hers and yours, two forces drawn together like magnetic poles.

You were there, nestled in the sheets—wrapped in them like an ethereal figure, the white fabric clinging to your form in a way that seemed almost sculptural. You lay on your stomach, your legs slightly bent, one hand resting on the book in front of you while the other brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The way you held the book, so absorbed in the words, the way your body seemed to flow in such natural grace beneath the sheets—Sarah could hardly look away.

She sat at the edge of the bed, her body languid as she watched you, her gaze tracing the lines of your figure. For a moment, she allowed herself to indulge, her eyes drinking in the sight of you, taking in how the soft sheets hugged your skin, the way the sunlight kissed your bare back. You seemed so at ease, so perfectly composed, yet there was a certain softness to you in this moment that made Sarah’s chest tighten. You looked like something carved from marble, perfect in every way. A modern-day Aphrodite, with your long, dark hair and glowing skin, radiant and serene, the book in your hands the only thing that seemed to tether you to the present.

She wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in her throat as she watched you. The guilt, that ever-present, gnawing sense of deception, was there, lurking beneath the surface of everything she did. She wasn't Alexandra Monroe. She wasn’t the woman she had allowed you to believe. But in this room, at this moment, none of that seemed to matter.

Sarah’s fingers twitched at her side, wanting to reach out to you. She wanted to touch you, to hold you, to pull you closer. But she stopped herself. She watched you for a few moments longer, feeling the weight of her secret, the weight of her lies, pressing on her chest like an iron bar. But in the face of you, in the warmth you exuded, all that seemed so distant. The real world—the one she was pretending to belong to—felt so far away, almost irrelevant in the light of this stolen peace.

Your voice broke through the silence, soft but full of curiosity, dragging her from her reverie.

“Alexandra,” you asked, your voice sleepy but playful, “what exactly do you find interesting about this book?”

Your tone was light, teasing, but Sarah couldn’t help but notice the way you looked at her as you asked. Your eyes were full of innocence, but there was something else, too—a spark of something that she wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret. You had no idea, of course. No idea that Sarah had no interest in the subject at hand, no true knowledge of finance or the intricacies of economics. It was all a façade, a performance, a game she had been playing long before meeting you.

But now, sitting here in the soft morning light with you, the words seemed to lose their meaning, the numbers on the pages becoming irrelevant. It wasn’t the book she was thinking about; it was you. Always you.

She shifted her posture, leaning slightly forward as her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. Her hand lingered in your hair for a moment, fingers brushing gently, caressing the soft strands. She didn't trust herself to speak at first. Instead, she allowed her eyes to study you, to memorize the way your lips curved as you smiled, the way your body seemed to breathe in time with the warmth of the room.

The smile on your face was genuine, something that had begun to grow between the two of you in the days since the kiss had blurred the lines between who you were and who Sarah was pretending to be. It was all starting to feel... real, even when Sarah knew it shouldn’t.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost regretful. “I guess I just thought it would be… practical, something I could learn, something that might make me… more useful.”

She didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t the truth—she wasn’t really interested in finance at all—but it was close enough to avoid the question. Besides, the real truth was that she had no idea how to respond to the way your presence made her feel. How everything about you seemed to make the world fade into something far less significant.

You shifted in the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet her gaze. Your eyes were full of something—something softer than what Sarah had ever expected. It was a look of trust, maybe. Or maybe it was just the effect of being so close to each other for so long. Either way, Sarah felt herself growing weaker under the weight of your gaze.

“You’re already plenty useful to me,” you teased, that smile still lingering on your lips.

Sarah swallowed, her chest tight. There was a part of her that wanted to pull away, to protect herself, to pull the walls back up that had taken years to build. But that part of her was weakening. It was losing its hold.

Without thinking, her hand returned to your hair, her fingers brushing through the strands, gently pulling them back from your face. She watched as you closed your eyes for a moment, a soft breath escaping your lips. You didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. And for a fleeting second, Sarah thought she might stay here forever, lost in this moment of tenderness, of warmth, of something so perfectly ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

“I never thought I’d end up here, you know,” Sarah murmured softly, her voice full of that same strange vulnerability. She didn’t know why she was saying it. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the moment, or maybe it was because of the guilt that was beginning to cloud her thoughts again. But she couldn’t stop herself. “I never thought I’d let myself… feel this way.”

You met her eyes, the softness in your gaze deepening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a strange tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… intense.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

Sarah blinked, her fingers still gently tracing your hair. She felt her heart skip a beat, the weight of your words settling over her like a soft, heavy blanket. Her answer wasn’t immediate, and for the first time, she realized that she wasn’t entirely sure. There was too much at stake. Too much of her identity had been wrapped up in the lies. But looking at you—this radiant, open soul in front of her—she couldn’t help but wish that the truth didn’t seem so far away.

“No,” she finally said, her voice steady, though her chest was tight. “I don’t regret it.”

And as you smiled softly, that small, knowing smile, she felt something shift in her. Something deep inside her, something that made her realize she didn’t want to pull away from this. She didn’t want to walk away from you.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

But the real world always catches up. Lies never last.

Days drifted by like leaves in a lazy river, but Sarah could feel the current of her own actions pulling her under. It started small—a whispered message that didn’t seem to matter at first, an innocuous note that seemed to have little weight. But as the days went on, that message began to settle into her mind like a stone lodged in her chest, a constant reminder that time was running out.

The mission was drawing to a close.

Sarah sat in her temporary office, the one she had carefully crafted for the last few weeks under the false identity of Alexandra Monroe. The world outside seemed so far away now, as if the life she had built here—this life with you—was something she could never have truly known. But she had to let go. There was no other choice. She had done her job, infiltrated the heart of the corruption, and now it was time to disappear. To collect the evidence. To walk away.

Everything has a price.

Her fingers hovered over her phone, her gaze flicking to the unread message once more. The words burned in her mind, mocking her, reminding her that the time to act was now. She felt her pulse quicken as the weight of the decision pressed heavily against her chest.

One last job. One final act of betrayal. One last moment to take the money, pass it to her team, and disappear.

But then what? What about you?

Her eyes flicked to the door. The sound of your laughter had been echoing in her mind all morning, the way you moved through the halls like sunlight breaking through a storm. You were still unaware. Still untouched by the truth.

And Sarah? She was no longer sure who she was. She wasn’t just Alexandra Monroe anymore. She wasn’t the woman she had been before. You had cracked something in her. Something she didn’t think could ever be cracked. Something soft. Something human.

But it was too late. She couldn’t undo what had been set into motion.

---

The final day arrived, cloaked in an uneasy silence. Sarah had already set everything in motion. The black money had been arranged to be moved. The proof of the politician’s corruption—the man who had built his empire on lies and greed—was ready to be handed over. She would make the exchange, slip away with her team, and vanish into the shadows. Everything had been planned down to the smallest detail.

And yet, as she stood in the grand hallway of the mansion, she felt as though she were walking on the edge of a knife. Each step felt like it could be her last.

Her eyes flicked over the guests who wandered in and out, the polished, pristine faces of power and influence—some laughing, some murmuring in groups, none the wiser. But her attention wasn’t on them. It was on you.

You were still the same. Beautiful. Radiant. The very embodiment of everything Sarah hadn’t realized she wanted—until now.

She spotted you across the room, surrounded by laughter and the hum of conversation, but her heart skipped as she saw something shift in your gaze. A glance that caught hers. And for a moment, time seemed to still. You smiled—so innocent, so unaware—but Sarah felt the cold knot of her impending betrayal twist deeper inside her.

The message had arrived. The job was simple. The money was ready to be moved. There was no more time.

But then, you were there.

You crossed the room to her, your presence undeniable, your smile so sweet it almost broke her resolve. You stopped in front of her, a gleam of curiosity in your eyes.

“Alexandra,” you said softly, tilting your head. “I was just wondering if you might want to join me for a dance?”

The question caught Sarah off guard. She hadn’t expected this. You were always so... so full of life. Always so present. So genuine. How could she say no?

But she had to. She had to say goodbye. This was the moment.

“I… I can’t,” Sarah said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve got some things to take care of. But maybe later.”

You didn’t seem to buy it. You frowned, confusion and hurt flickering across your face.

"Later?” you echoed, and Sarah could hear the sadness in your voice. “You’ve been saying that for days now, Alexandra. What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me?”

She felt the heat of your gaze, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you, and for a moment, she considered telling you everything. But then the door opened, the sound of her team waiting to make the exchange. It was time.

And then, just as quickly, you were gone.

---

The hall was empty when Sarah moved toward the back, away from the guests, toward the place where the money had been stashed. She pulled the small briefcase from beneath the hidden panel in the wall, her fingers trembling as she prepared to hand it off to her team. She was almost there.

Almost free.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Another message. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she saw it.

Everything is set. Do it now.

She took a breath, pulling herself together. She turned toward the door, but then she stopped.

A shadow in the doorway.

It was you.

You stood there, eyes wide, breath quick. You had seen it all. You had watched everything unfold. Your heart was on your sleeve now, raw, broken. You were shaking your head, your mouth moving but no words coming out at first.

“Sarah…” you breathed, disbelief written on your face. “What are you doing?”

The world seemed to collapse in on Sarah. She felt the walls around her crumble, her heart racing as the reality of what she had done hit her full force. You had seen it all. Everything.

“No,” you whispered, the pain in your voice cutting her to the core. “No, this can't be real… you—this isn’t you.”

Your eyes were wide, searching hers for the truth, but Sarah couldn’t give it to you. She couldn’t give you any more lies.

“I—” Sarah began, but her words faltered. What could she say? What was there left to say?

This is the mission. This is what you’ve always been trained to do.

But you were there. You had been there for her. You had made her feel something real. And now, she was standing here, caught in the tangled web of lies, unable to escape.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you took a step forward, your hand reaching out. “Tell me you’re not—tell me you’re not betraying me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered, the words feeling like poison in her mouth. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to…”

You couldn’t hear her anymore. You took another step forward, your face crumpling with the weight of the betrayal. The tears welled in your eyes. You looked lost.

“How could you?” you whispered, your voice a broken tremor in the air. You shook your head, stepping back. “I thought you—I thought you were different!”

The hurt in your voice was too much. Sarah wanted to reach for you, wanted to apologize a thousand times over, but the distance between you was growing. You were slipping away, disappearing into the shadows. And with each step, it felt like the last piece of herself that Sarah had left was crumbling to dust.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, but it was too late.

With one last tearful glance, you turned and walked away.

The sting of betrayal hung thick in the air like a heavy fog, and Sarah stood frozen in the doorway as you retreated from her. The world outside seemed so distant, so far away, as she struggled to form the words that might make everything right again. The plan had worked—she had nearly escaped, had nearly taken everything she needed and walked away with nothing but memories of a woman she had come to care for, even love. But now? Now it was all falling apart.

You hadn’t even let her explain. And Sarah felt the weight of it all settle onto her shoulders, the voice in her earpiece shouting orders that she couldn’t possibly follow, her team urging her to leave, to finish the mission.

But none of that mattered now.

You mattered.

"Wait," Sarah called out, her voice cracking as she took a shaky step toward you. "Please, just—let me explain."

You turned back, your eyes a mixture of confusion, hurt, and anger. It was too much. The betrayal, the lies. Everything had shattered in the seconds it had taken for you to realize what was happening. You couldn't believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

"You don't need to explain," you whispered bitterly, your hands trembling at your sides. "I can’t even look at you right now. After everything... You lied to me. You used me."

“I never meant to hurt you,” Sarah continued, her voice a fragile thread in the darkness. "I swear to you, my feelings for you... They're real. I care about you. This—this isn’t who I am. But I’m not who you think I am."

You shook your head, disbelief written across your face, and Sarah felt her heart crack into pieces. Her hands shook as she reached for you, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing wider with every moment that passed.

“Who are you, then?” Your voice trembled as the words escaped. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not... Alexandra Monroe,” Sarah finally said, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost defeated tone. "My real name is Sarah Fidel."

The words hung in the air like a confession, one she hadn't planned on making, but something inside of her couldn’t hold it back anymore. The truth had to come out. If she was going to lose you—and she feared she already had—then at least you would know everything.

"Why did you lie to me?" you demanded, your voice rising with emotion. "Who are you, really? What are you doing here? Why—why did you pretend to be someone else?"

Sarah’s chest tightened at your question, and she took a step closer to you, ignoring the frantic chatter in her earpiece telling her to move, to finish what she’d started. She was losing everything. She was losing you.

“I didn’t want to. I never wanted to deceive you,” she said softly, her words laced with sincerity. “I came here to do something, something that had to be done. I needed to get close to your father… I needed to find out what he was involved in. I had to expose him. But when I met you... everything changed. I didn’t expect to feel like this."

You stood still, watching her, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, the hurt in your eyes turning to anger.

"My father? You’re saying my father’s involved in all this?"

Sarah hesitated, her eyes briefly flickering to the side as her mind raced. "Your father... he’s been laundering money, running illegal operations... I was sent here to gather evidence, to bring him down. But I—” Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t know about you. I didn’t know about us.”

“You didn’t know about us?” You scoffed, stepping forward, your voice rising. "What do you mean by that? I trusted you. I let you in. You—you said you loved me!"

Sarah felt the pain of your words like a knife. "I do love you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of raw emotion. "I know it sounds insane. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, please believe me—everything I’ve felt for you, everything between us, was real. I’ve never... I’ve never felt this way before. You—you changed everything for me."

Her breath caught in her throat as she took another step toward you, her hand reaching out for yours, but you pulled back, your eyes filled with so much conflict.

"I can’t just forget what you've done, Sarah." The name tasted strange on your lips now. "You've been lying to me this entire time. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

The air between you two was thick with tension, and Sarah felt the tears welling up behind her eyes. Her hands shook with the weight of everything she had to say, everything she needed to explain. “I never wanted to hurt you. And I never wanted to drag you into this mess. I swear to you, I was going to leave. I was going to walk away, take the money, and disappear.”

You shook your head, your eyes still dark with hurt. "But now I know what you've been doing, Sarah. I can’t... I can’t forgive you for that. My father? This whole thing? It’s too much. It’s all a lie, and I—"

“Stop,” Sarah said softly, cutting you off. She took a step closer again, her voice cracking under the weight of everything. “Please... just listen to me. I didn’t want this to be the way it was. I never wanted to deceive you. I want to be with you. I care about you. And I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve hurt you, but this—everything I’ve done, it was because I didn’t have any other choice."

You stared at her, your expression torn between the anger you felt and the love that you had for her, a love that, despite everything, still lingered beneath the surface. Your heart beat faster in your chest, and you felt the weight of the decision you had to make.

But the world felt like it was breaking apart around you. There was so much you didn’t know, so much you couldn’t understand. Your father was involved in something far darker than you had ever imagined, and Sarah had been part of it. She had lied to you, and yet she stood here, asking for forgiveness.

What was the truth?

And yet, beneath all of the anger, beneath all of the hurt, there was still a part of you that wanted to believe in her. That wanted to believe that everything they had was real, that Sarah—Alexandra—wasn’t just a mask, a facade. That the love she had shown you, the way she held you, the moments she shared with you, weren’t just part of a game.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Sarah’s heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability. She reached out, her hand brushing against your cheek. “Please,” she said softly, her voice full of pain. “Don’t let this be the end. I know I’ve made mistakes. But I swear to you, everything I feel for you is real.”

For a long moment, you didn’t move. The silence stretched between you, and Sarah felt as though time itself had stopped. You were fighting, torn between your feelings for her, the woman you had come to love, and the reality of the situation that had been uncovered. But as you looked into her eyes—her soul bared to you, raw and trembling—you saw the truth behind the lies.

And in that moment, something inside of you broke. The tears that had been welling up inside of you spilled over, and you felt the weight of everything settle onto your shoulders.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whispered. “But I need time... I need time to figure out what’s real.”

Sarah’s chest tightened, but she nodded, a faint but hopeful smile on her lips. “I’ll wait for you,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

And as she reached out one final time, pulling you close, you allowed yourself to melt into her embrace, torn between the past and the future, between the love you felt for her and the world you now knew you could never be a part of.

But for now, all you could do was hold on—hold on to the woman who had lied to you, hold on to the love you still wanted to believe in, even though you weren’t sure what was left to hold.

And maybe, just maybe, the answer would come in time.

But for now, all you had was the silence between you and the hope that maybe, one day, the truth would set you both free.

[echoreconcrew]

Stolen Imperial Files - Valérie Glie

SUBJECT FILE: #7746-VG-RYL STATUS: AT LARGE THREAT LEVEL: HIGH DESIGNATION: GLIE, VALERIE (“Val”)

AGE: 26 SPECIES: TWI’LEK EYES: SILVER HEIGHT: 5'6" ALIAS: DESERT SARAD  HOMEWORLD: RYLOTH TRAITS: DISPLAYS A CHARISMATIC AND ENGAGING PRESENCE—OFTEN FEISTY AND FLIRTATIOUS, THOUGH MARKED AT TIMES BY A SURPRISING EMOTIONAL RESERVE. TENDS TO MASK VULNERABILITY WITH SHARP WIT AND HUMOR, USING LEVITY AS A DEFENSE MECHANISM. WELL-LIKED AMONG PEERS, WITH A NATURAL ABILITY TO COMMAND ATTENTION AND NAVIGATE COMPLEX SOCIAL DYNAMICS. AFFILIATIONS: CHAM SYNDULA’S FREEDOM FIGHTERS

BIOGRAPHY: Valerie Glie is a known insurgent, former member of the Free Ryloth Movement, and biological sister to Gobi Glie (see file #7745-GG-RYL). Glie is classified as a Tier-1 fugitive by the Imperial Senate following her implication in an attempted assassination of Senator Orn Free Taa (see incident report #OFT-RYL-03-19).  While conclusive evidence remains classified, Glie’s specialization in long-range weaponry and guerrilla tactics strongly suggests her involvement. Subject evaded initial detainment following the incident, reportedly with assistance from rogue Clone CT-7569 (designated deserter; current status: MIA). Glie disappeared from all known Imperial tracking channels shortly thereafter. A confidential report filed by Admiral Rampart (see ISB Inquiry #RMP-7569-GL) suggests CT-7569 and Glie may have shared an unprofessional and possibly romantic relationship during the Ryloth occupation. The nature of this connection, if verified, may explain the clone's deviation from standard programming and continued loyalty to Glie. Further inquiry suppressed under Imperial Directive 104-C due to potential embarrassment to command. Later, Glie was confirmed captured and processed through Zygerian slave intake channels, a rare point of recovery. During a scheduled transfer, the facility experienced a breach carried out by unidentified clone deserters (see ZYG-ESC-17-CLN). Subject escaped during the chaos. Subsequent raids on Imperial communications have traced encrypted data fragments believed to be linked to Glie, suggesting reactivation and resumption of insurgent activity. PROFILE NOTES Combat Role: Designated marksman / sniper; advanced training in stealth, infiltration, and asymmetrical warfare. Temperament: Uncooperative, highly disciplined, ideologically radicalized. Psychological Evaluation: Subject displays advanced emotional compartmentalization; demonstrates capacity for prolonged isolation, likely contributing to operational longevity. Linguistics: Fluent in Ryl, Galactic Basic, Zygerian dialects, and multiple black-market ciphers.

THE HUB

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[callingitquits]

Johan’s View on Accents and Language—[requested]

Johan doesn’t just hear people, he reads them. Accents, slips, hesitation—they’re not flaws to him, they’re data. Hope you enjoy this little dive into language, perception, and the way Johan turns even kindness into control. Thanks for reading!

Johan listens with a calm, unshakable attentiveness. If someone speaks with a noticeable accent, he won’t be dismissive—but he won’t offer warmth either. He observes. Not the sound itself, but the way others respond to it. He’s drawn to how something as minor as pronunciation can shift a person’s social standing. Where most hear charm or awkwardness, Johan hears leverage. Weakness. Power.

Language, to Johan, is a tool—meant to be mastered. Mistakes aren’t just noticed; they’re cataloged. He wouldn’t correct you in a mocking way, nor would he offer help out of kindness. Instead, he’d position himself as a quiet guide, gently reinforcing his dominance under the guise of support.

Y/n: “Ver… versuchen. I always trip on that one.”

Johan (softly): “Some words don’t like the shape of your mouth yet.”

Y/n: “Yeah. It always sounds off.”

Johan: “I can tell.” (a pause) “It’s when you try to smooth over it… that I hear you clearest.”

He wouldn’t need to mock your struggle—it’s far more effective to let your own embarrassment speak for itself. He uses that discomfort as a mirror, letting you see yourself through his own perceptive lens.

Y/n: “Guten Morgen… Did I say that right?”

Johan (almost amused): “Almost. More air. Morgen.”

Y/n: “I never get it right.”

Johan: “I like hearing you try.”

When others dismiss a person because of their accent—Johan doesn’t pity them. He watches how assumptions warp the dynamic, how someone becomes underestimated. That tells him more about the crowd than the speaker.

Johan: “Curious, isn’t it? How the tone of your voice is enough for them to dismiss the weight of your words.”

Y/n: “I don’t care about their opinion.”

Johan (mildly amused): “Naturally. Still—fascinating how quickly they mistake you for being less capable.”

In moments of heightened emotion, when someone reverts to their native tongue, Johan is acutely aware. He doesn’t interrupt or comfort. He listens. Because that’s when masks fall—when instinct takes over. For him, it’s not just about understanding what was said, but why it came out that way.

To Johan, an accent is not just a quirk—it’s a biography. A trace of origin, of survival. Born in Czechoslovakia, fluent in multiple languages, Johan understands the quiet war between sounding native and staying authentic. He doesn’t believe in abandoning that. Instead, he uses it to read people more precisely.

Y/n: “I always sound… off.”

Johan: “Not wrong. Just not what they expect.”

Y/n: “People don’t always take me seriously.”

Johan: “People rarely do, once they’ve decided what you are.”

Y/n: “I just want to sound… normal.”

Johan (tilting his head, almost smiling): “Normal is just what makes them comfortable. And you don’t.”

[legendary-69420]

The Melody Between Us 2 : Singing Our Truth

Chapter 10 : Part 2

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

The Driver's Room at Ferrari is usually a place of rest, but today it had a different energy. Mark, ever the source of unexpected distractions, had somehow found an electric guitar amidst the usual clutter of racing gear. “No one ever told me Ferrari had a hidden music corner,” he joked, strumming a few playful chords. Charles glanced up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at the guitar. "How the hell does he keep finding this stuff?" He thought.

"Really? You’re going to start with that now?" Charles smirked, though a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Mark's grin was mischievous as he plucked the strings, the soft hum of the electric guitar filling the room. "It’s better than staring at your race data all day. Trust me."

With a playful glint in his eyes, Mark began strumming the opening chords of Die With A Smile, his deep voice breaking the stillness of the room. The way he sang was raw, powerful—a little haunting, like if the devil himself had a voice. Charles, for his part, didn’t miss a beat. His voice blended seamlessly with Mark’s, their harmonies fitting perfectly in a way that felt natural and electric, like the sound of their bond growing.

The two of them sang, leaning into the melody, faces so close that Charles could feel Mark’s breath on his skin. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this—singing together had become their thing. But this time, there was something different in the air, something unspoken.

When the song ended, Charles had a hard time shaking the warmth from his chest. The chemistry between them was undeniable. There was something in Mark’s voice that did things to him, a gravity he couldn’t resist, even if he tried. But it wasn’t just Mark’s voice—it was the energy they shared when they sang. The intimacy was deeper than he wanted to admit, and he couldn’t help but feel more drawn to him.

A few days later, the scene replayed itself. This time, the song was Electric love. As they sang together, Charles couldn't help but feel like Mark was confessing something through the lyrics. But, as usual, Mark didn’t seem to be thinking about anything serious—he was just lost in the music, his smile radiant as always. To Charles, though, there was a sense that Mark's lyrics held a different kind of weight.

But the dynamic was still light, carefree. Singing was their way of connecting, without the baggage of expectations or anything else weighing them down.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

Charles walked into the common area a few days later, only to find Mark and Carlos, guitar in hand, deep into a Spanish duet. "Me Gustas Tú". The song, playful and flirtatious, had a vibe that made Charles's chest tighten. He tried to mask his feelings, but the sight of Mark and Carlos, so at ease with each other, sparked a pang of jealousy he wasn’t expecting. They laughed as they sang, the room alive with energy.

Charles hung back for a moment, watching them, until Mark turned to him with a wide grin. "What’s up, Leclerc? You’re looking like you’ve just seen a ghost."

He smiled weakly, trying to shrug it off, but the jealousy still lingered in his chest. Why did it feel different when it was Carlos and Mark? He couldn’t help but feel that this—singing together—had always been their thing, Mark and his, not anyone else’s.

But then, as if to put his heart at ease, Mark did what only he could do. With the next chord strummed, Mark jumped up and started doing the iconic Macarena dance, his energy bouncing off the walls. Carlos joined in, both of them laughing.

As Mark and Carlos continued to sing together, the atmosphere shifted in a way that Charles couldn't ignore. At first, it felt like a joke—just another of their playful moments. But as the song progressed, Charles realized the lyrics, the rhythm, the easy way they interacted… it was all too familiar. Mark was having fun, but there was something in the way Carlos looked at him, the closeness of their voices, that sparked a pang of jealousy in Charles.

But as the song ended, Mark turned his head, his eyes meeting Charles's with a familiar glint in them. "What do you think, Leclerc? You gonna join us next time?" he teased, his tone playful, but there was a softness to it that Charles couldn't ignore.

Before he could respond, Mark picked up his guitar again, playing a few quick chords. He flashed a mischievous grin at Carlos. "Actually, I think we should do something a little different now."

Without missing a beat, Mark strummed the opening chords to a song he knew well, one that Charles had taught him the first time they'd sung together. A soft smile curled at the edges of Mark's lips as he began singing songs that had became their personal anthem. As he sang, his voice was steady and confident, but his gaze stayed locked with Charles’s—full of something deeper. The moment felt like a declaration, a reminder that no matter who else was around, Mark still preferred singing with him, still chose him. Even in front of Carlos.

Charles’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t need anyone to tell him—it was clear. In the midst of the fun, Mark was sending him a message.

That night, the internet exploded again with reactions from fans who had seen the impromptu performance. The videos spread like wildfire, and the comments rolled in:

"These (Charles and Mark) two have more chemistry than any internet couple!"

"WOAH, Mark and Charles singing together? Why do I feel we disturbed their privacy and shouldn't have seen this?"

*"AAAH! Mark and Carlos singing *Me Gustas Tú* together? That was basically a confession #Marlos confirmed."*

"What the hell is with Mark having a chemistry with everyone on the grid?!?! #Marlos ."

"Guys, stop shipping Mark and Carlos when you haven’t seen the full clip… Mark still chose Charles over Carlos."

"Wait, Mark and Carlos singing together? But did you see the way Mark looked at Charles after? It’s clear who he prefers!"

*"The chemistry between Mark and Charles is undeniable. Who else feels like they’re *a thing* and just don’t know it yet?"*

"Mark literally chose Charles over Carlos in the middle of a song. #CharkOverMarlos"

*"I can’t be the only one who noticed the shift when Mark picked up the guitar and started playing *Beautiful Things* with Charles, right?"*

"Mark and Charles are basically the definition of ‘together without being together.’ The energy between them is something else."

*"I can’t get over how Mark just serenaded Charles in front of Carlos. Like, that’s *true* love, people!"*

*"I don’t know how anyone can still ship *Marlos* after seeing that clip. Mark’s heart is with Charles, end of story."*

As Mark looked through the comments later that night, he chuckled to himself. His fans were picking up on something he had known all along.

The connection between him and Charles had always been special, but in this moment, it became clear—it wasn’t just the music. It was the unspoken understanding, the closeness that had blossomed over time. And as they shared their music, their laughs, and their quiet moments, Mark knew that Charles would always be the one he turned to first.

(Dividers by @omi-resources)

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

A new study by researchers at Zhejiang University has highlighted the disproportionate health challenges faced by sexual and gender-diverse (SGD) individuals during the COVID-19 pandemic. By analyzing over 471 million tweets using advanced natural language processing (NLP) techniques, the study reveals that SGD individuals were more likely to discuss concerns related to social connections, mask-wearing, and experienced higher rates of COVID-19 symptoms and mental health issues than non-SGD individuals. The study has been published in the journal Health Data Science.

The COVID-19 pandemic has exposed and intensified health disparities, particularly for vulnerable populations like the sexual and gender-diverse (SGD) community. Unlike traditional health data sources, social media provides a more dynamic and real-time reflection of public concerns and experiences. Zhiyun Zhang, a Ph.D. student at Zhejiang University, and Jie Yang, Assistant Professor at the same institution, led a study that analyzed large-scale Twitter data to understand the unique challenges faced by SGD individuals during the pandemic.

To address this, the research team used NLP methods such as Latent Dirichlet Allocation (LDA) models for topic modeling and advanced sentiment analysis to evaluate the discussions and concerns of SGD Twitter users compared to non-SGD users. This approach allowed the researchers to explore three primary questions: the predominant topics discussed by SGD users, their concerns about COVID-19 precautions, and the severity of their symptoms and mental health challenges.

The findings reveal significant differences between the two groups. SGD users were more frequently involved in discussions about "friends and family" (20.5% vs. 13.1%) and "wearing masks" (10.1% vs. 8.3%). They also expressed higher levels of positive sentiment toward vaccines such as Pfizer, Moderna, AstraZeneca, and Johnson & Johnson. The study found that SGD individuals reported significantly higher frequencies of both physical and mental health symptoms compared to non-SGD users, underscoring their heightened vulnerability during the pandemic.

"Our large-scale social media analysis highlights the concerns and health challenges of SGD users. The topic analysis showed that SGD users were more frequently involved in discussions about 'friends and family' and 'wearing masks' than non-SGD users. SGD users also expressed a higher level of positive sentiment in tweets about vaccines," said Zhiyun Zhang, the lead researcher. "These insights emphasize the importance of targeted public health interventions for SGD communities."

The study demonstrates the potential of using social media data to monitor and understand public health concerns, especially for marginalized communities like SGD individuals. The results suggest the need for more tailored public health strategies to address the unique challenges faced by SGD communities during pandemics.

Moving forward, the research team aims to develop an automated pipeline to continuously monitor the health of targeted populations, offering data-driven insights to support more comprehensive public health services.

More information: Zhiyun Zhang et al, Sexual and Gender-Diverse Individuals Face More Health Challenges during COVID-19: A Large-Scale Social Media Analysis with Natural Language Processing, Health Data Science (2024). DOI: 10.34133/hds.0127 spj.science.org/doi/10.34133/hds.0127

[gaybirdnerd]

2 and a half PhDs

It was a sweltering day when Soap found out about how smart his LT really is.

The only thing anyone had taken notice of all day was how miserable they were, how unfairly hot the weather was, how shit the food in the mess hall was for such a miserable day.

That's all that had been talked about in the Taskforce 141 rec room, how much Gaz and Soap would kill to have a better cooling unit or someone to blot out the sun for like 5 minutes so they can cool down even a little, how stupid it would be for Ghost to be wearing his mask on what is probably the hottest day of their LIVES.

And then, like the devil, speak of him and he shall appear. Ghost walks into the room holding a couple of heavy-looking books and a notebook.

Soap briefly entertains the thought that Ghost has been abducted and replaced. The glare sent at him when he says something snarky about wearing a balaclava in this heat puts that thought to rest quickly.

Without saying a word to either of them, Ghost situates himself at the nearby table set, sets down his heavy books, arranges his notebook in a way only he can make sense of (on top of one book while the other is turned open to the left of it???), and starts writing something from the book on the left into the notebook with his brows obviously furrowed underneath the material of his mask.

No one says anything for a few minutes, tense silence filling up the space as Soap and Gaz find their balance with this new dynamic of Ghost being near enough to touch but still untouchable in the softest manner they've seen him yet.

Ghost gets out his phone after a moment, typing something quickly and looking back and forth between the notebook and the phone, then scribbling over his most recent sentence and writing something short in the book he was writing from.

"What's that?" Soap decides to break the silent spell, curiosity getting the better of him as Ghost looks more and more miffed at the open book to his left.

"Astrophysics, although I guess it's too old. A sentence or two on this page are completely wrong, I didn't notice that when I bought it." Ghost replies in the longest non-mission sentence he's spoken to them, barring the string of puns and jokes he spouted at Soap in Las Almas, his tone betraying his anger at the information stored in the book.

"Why in the bloody hell do you have an astrophysics book? And why are you taking notes from it, especially if it's so old that some data is wrong?" Gaz decides to be the next to break the short silence after that revelation, shifting in discomfort when Ghost looks up at him from beneath his heavy brow.

Looking closer at the book Ghost has in front of him, they can visibly see how old it is based on the frayed cloth-like texture of the cover and the faded pale-green color of said cover.

Instead of an answer, Ghost just shuts the book, shifts his notebook on top of it, and switches the positions of the two big books.

The two on the couch get a better look at the second book than the first when he props it up against the astrophysics book to look something else up on his phone, a good portion of the open front cover peeking over and to the side of the other book and the notebook, boasting the words "Philosophy 101" in black and yellow print with multiple drawings of well-known figures and a "The Thinker" statue picture.

Gaz and Soap look at each other in confusion, turning back to the man at the table as he makes an approving noise and flips to the back of the book to look at something, then grab the notebook from behind his current book and flip to a different page than he was writing on earlier, noting something short down.

"Everything alright?" Soap manages to get out through his rising confusion, not understanding what Ghost is doing with these books, much less taking notes on them.

"Yeah, this one's within 10 years of relevancy, so it's fine, I shoulda checked before I bought them." Ghost turns back to the front page as he says this, then reads something and picks out a page to turn to, jotting something else down on the same note page.

At this moment, Price walks in, effectively stopping Gaz from continuing in the interrogation he was about to start in on.

Price looks between the men on the couch and the man at the table, seeming to make up his mind about something before zeroing in on the books on the table. "Oh, Simon, good. I was about to ask if you're busy today so we can go over some details Laswell sent me, but I guess you're working again huh?"

At the nod he's given, Price just sits down sideways at the table and says nothing else, further confusing the two occupants of the couch as he brings out his own phone and starts seemingly texting. No follow up to that statement. No other statements to follow.

"Ok, seriously, what's happening right now?" Gaz inquires, tone veering into almost panicked and almost angry, confusion morphing the longer he goes without answers to this very bizarre chain of events.

"Simon's studying-" as an afterthought, and cutting himself off, Price turns to Ghost more fully from his slumped position on his own chair "right? I'm not misinterpreting that?" a gesture at the books on the table clarifies his use of "that" despite not necessary.

"Yeah, been bored lately, thought I would finally go for my third." Ghost's response hangs in the air as Price turns back to his sideways position and gestures to Gaz in a "there you go" way, leading to more confusion on behalf of the two sergeants.

"Very clear, thank you sir" Soap grits out between clenched teeth, impatience showing. "I would like to clarify: a third what?"

"Degree" is clipped from the table as Ghost goes to shut the book, impatience brimming from him as well. "You didn't think I was stupid did you?"

"No sir" The surprise of the answer and the accusation bleeds the tension out of Gaz in a second.

"I wouldn't expect any less than a degree or two from you, but you two are being vague about the whole thing, would it kill you to give a detail or two so we don't have to keep asking questions about what you're talking about?" Soap's irritation ebbed at the surprise as well, but he hung onto the confusion of the interaction "Since you're working on a third degree, what subjects are the others in? What subject is this one in, actually?"

Ghost tenses at the question, never quite ready to reveal information about himself and get closer to those he doesn't want to die because of him. He untenses and locks eyes with Price when he feels a boot hit his shin, a comfort to let him know that Price is there to clean up any mess Ghost may make. Like he always has been.

"My first PhD is in astrophysics, although I don't have my textbooks anymore and don't remember quite a bit of what I learned. Too many concussions. My second PhD is in aerospace engineering, I decided that knowing about space wasn't enough, building stuff to get us there was the next logical step." A pause to take a breath and determine if he lost his audience.

At the astonished nod from both men on the couch, he continues.

"Now I'm getting my PhD for philosophy, because apparently inconsistent and confusing things are an interest. Questions answered now?"

Soap stands up and points an almost accusing finger at Ghost, "You just told us you have two and a half PhDs, and you're in the military? For what?"

"Personal reasons Johnny, it doesn't matter much now anyway."

A scoff follows this statement, a hand gesturing to the books on the table. "You're obviously smarter than you give yourself credit for ever, so I think it kind of matters. I won't pry though. I'm just glad you've got something going for you that isn't 100% military."

At the shrug he gets for this, Soap just shakes his head and sits down. "Really, I shouldn't even be surprised at anything you do anymore."

Before the discussion can devolve any further into the topic of Ghost, Price makes a noise of interest at his phone, quickly turning it to Simon to see, whose eyes quickly grow round and wide as he grabs his own phone and dials a number. Ghost gathers his things and stands with them in his arms as the call seems to connect, excitement in his movements. He's halfway down the hall by the time the two sergeants gather themselves up from their stupor and shoot questioning glances at Price.

"Black hole was photographed, he really likes space" is the answer given as Price shows them a news article about said photo, then stands up to walk out himself.