#Efficiency in Dining

[posease-software]

7 Steps to Automate Your Restaurant for Success in 2024

“7 Steps to Automate Your Restaurant's Success in 2024" - Dive into the world of restaurant automation! Learn how to leverage technology to streamline operations, cut costs, and create an exceptional dining experience. From smart POS systems to AI tools, discover seven simple steps to elevate your restaurant's efficiency and profitability. Know More At -  Posease.com

[gilbirda]

You can see this shift funny enough in videogames.

Modding and cracking games has become apparently such an "advanced" thing that I saw modding Stardew Valley described as "very advanced process".

Like, I'm going sound like an old woman but back in my day to pirate stuff and/or mod stuff you had to do some serious understanding of what your computer was made of in the sense of downloading sketchy third party programs and open your router gates and simulate LAN parties to play together with friends with your pirated games.

Don't misunderstand me but I'm very confused every time I open a video tutorial and I get explained what Program Files folder is and where to find it. Or when I'm warned that I need advanced computer knowledge to Mod a game because I have to find out where my game files are located.

Telling young zoomers to "just switch to linux" is nuts some of these ipad kids have never even heard of a cmd.exe or BIOS you're throwing them to the wolves

[davidyoung2538]

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[digthisdesignusa]

Correctly Light Over the Dining Room Table and Vanity for a Well-Lit Home

Introduction

Lighting is a crucial element in any home, setting the mood, enhancing functionality, and contributing to the overall aesthetic. When it comes to the dining room and vanity areas, proper lighting is essential for creating a welcoming and practical environment. In this blog post, we'll explore the best practices for lighting these key spaces in your home, ensuring a well-lit and harmonious living experience.

The Importance of Dining Room Lighting

The dining room is a hub of activity, where families and friends gather to share meals, engage in conversation, and create lasting memories. Understanding how to correctly light over the dining room table can make a significant difference in the ambiance and functionality of the room. Proper lighting enhances visibility, sets the mood, and complements your dining space’s overall design.

Choosing the Right Fixture

The pendant light or chandelier above the dining table is the focal point of the room's lighting. When selecting a fixture, consider the size of the table and the height of the ceiling. A rule of thumb is to choose a pendant that is approximately 12 to 18 inches narrower than the table. This ensures the light is proportional and provides adequate illumination without overwhelming the space.

Layering Lighting

While the main pendant or chandelier is essential, it's also important to incorporate additional lighting sources to create a layered effect. Wall sconces, recessed lighting, or even a secondary pendant above a buffet or sideboard can help to illuminate the entire dining area and prevent dark corners.

Dimmability and Color Temperature

Incorporating dimmable lighting in the dining room allows you to adjust the ambiance to suit the occasion. A bright, crisp light may be preferable for everyday meals, while a softer, warmer glow can create a more intimate and cozy atmosphere for special gatherings. Additionally, choosing the right color temperature, measured in Kelvins (K), can significantly impact the overall mood. Warmer color temperatures (2700K-3000K) tend to be more inviting, while cooler color temperatures (4000K-6500K) can feel more energizing.

Vanity Lighting: Achieving the Perfect Glow

The vanity area, whether in the bathroom or a dedicated dressing room, is another crucial space that requires thoughtful lighting design. Understanding how to light a vanity correctly can make a significant difference in your daily routine, from applying makeup to shaving, and can even enhance your sense of self-care and well-being. Proper lighting ensures optimal visibility, reduces shadows, and creates a flattering and functional space.

Positioning the Lighting

The key to effective vanity lighting is to position the fixtures on either side of the mirror, rather than above it. This creates an even, shadowless illumination that flatters the face and eliminates unflattering shadows. The ideal height for the vanity lights is around eye level, or approximately 75 to 80 inches from the floor.

Choosing the Right Bulbs

The type of bulbs you choose for your vanity lighting can also impact the quality of the illumination. Look for bulbs with a high color rendering index (CRI), which measures how accurately a light source renders colors compared to natural daylight. Aim for a CRI of 80 or higher for the most natural and flattering results.

Additionally, consider the color temperature of the bulbs. Warmer color temperatures (2700K-3000K) tend to be more flattering for skin tones, while cooler color temperatures (4000K-6500K) can appear harsher and less forgiving.

Layering Vanity Lighting

Similar to the dining room, layering vanity lighting can create a more dynamic and functional space. In addition to the primary vanity lights, consider incorporating additional lighting sources, such as recessed lighting, sconces, or even a decorative pendant above the vanity area.

Achieving a Well-Lit Home

By thoughtfully designing the lighting in your dining room and vanity areas, you can create a harmonious and well-lit home that enhances the functionality and ambiance of these important spaces.

Consistency and Cohesion

When planning the lighting throughout your home, it's important to maintain a sense of consistency and cohesion. Choosing a similar style or finish for your fixtures, as well as coordinating the color temperature and brightness levels, can help to create a seamless and visually appealing flow from one room to the next.

Energy Efficiency and Sustainability

As you design your lighting plan, consider the energy efficiency and sustainability of your choices. Look for Energy Star-certified fixtures and bulbs, which can help to reduce your energy consumption and lower your utility bills. Additionally, explore the use of dimmable LED or smart lighting solutions, which offer added flexibility and energy-saving benefits.

Conclusion

Properly lighting the dining room and vanity areas is a crucial element in creating a well-lit and harmonious home. By following the best practices outlined in this blog post, you can enhance the functionality, ambiance, and overall aesthetic of these important spaces. Remember to consider the size of the fixtures, the layering of lighting sources, and the color temperature to achieve the perfect glow. With a thoughtful approach to lighting design, you can transform your home into a warm, inviting, and well-lit oasis.

[restrosol]

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[kbwrites]

“Who did this to you?” A deep voice echoes, vibrating around the walls of the throne room. On the opulent throne sits the owner of the baritone voice — Ryomen Sukuna. The king of curses, resting his head on his arm as he looks down at you, too scared to look up from your feet.

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He warns, your body hasn’t ceased shaking. Your uniform is tattered, the rips in the fabric revealing deep purple bruises. Uraume was the one that found you, unconscious in the butlers pantry. After waking you up they brought you to the throne room. So there you were, kneeling at the feet of your king.

You arrived to the estate a year ago, your life as a servant was agreeable. Lord Sukuna treated all his servants well. You were loyal, efficient and pleasant to look at, it was only a matter of time before he started to notice you.

At first he requested you be the one to serve him breakfast. Then it became lunch, and suddenly you tended to all his meals. He demanded you for everything, his bathing, dressing. He could do all of these things himself of course, but he prefered your gentle hands. His personal attendant, not even Uraume, had seen the king of curses at his most vulnerable... but you had bared witness to all of him.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me who. Then why?” Ryomen slowly rises from his throne, his looming figure towering over your kneeling body. He lowers himself to your level, one hand reaches down to lift your chin. Firm yet gentle he forces you to look up at him, your eyes meeting his red ones. Your once flawless skin is covered in bruises. His eyes darken.

“They t-think you favor me.” Is all you can manage to get out.

Word spreads around the estate of course. And plus Sukuna didn’t exactly hide his preference for you. You didn’t sleep with the rest of the help, you were given a room connected to his. ‘In case he requested your presence in the night’ but the reality was he slept better knowing you were near. You didn’t eat the servant food, you dined in the great hall. At a separate table he had made for you. All of these things on full display for the others to see, it wasn’t long before the insults started. At first it was the odd ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ being mumbled in passing. Then an accidental shove into the wall, always followed by a curt “sorry”.

But today? It was your birthday. You had only mentioned it to Ryomen in passing one day at breakfast. He never understood the need for such a useless celebration. You went about your duties for the day, when Uraume found you and handed you a small box. And there on display for everyone to see, a beautiful beaded bracelet made from polished cherry wood. A token of appreciation ‘for your hard work’.

A gift from the king of curses.

“What’s so great about you anyway?”

“Lord Sukuna’s bed-warmer gets everything she wants!”

They punched and kicked, throwing you into the pantry. The group of servants you once thought of as your family. Clouded by jealousy, hatred towards you — the lord’s favorite.

Ryomen Sukuna, the epitome of ruthlessness and malevolence, softens his gaze. He looks upon your trembling form with… pity? His moment of weakness is replaced by an unreadable expression.

“You have been relieved of your servant duties. You will stay here in my quarters from here on out.” It’s a demand, leaving no room for objection. Your eyes well up with tears looking up at your king, his other hand wipes them away. He rises, walking towards the door, his back facing you.

“Get up. Uraume will tend to your injuries. Once you are well, we will visit the servant’s quarters. You will point out those who laid their filthy hands on you, and I will kill them.”

part 2 out now!!

[foodcourt-billing-software]

Prepaid Cards Revolutionize Cashless Dining in Food Courts

Introduction to Prepaid Cards

In today's fast-paced world, convenience is paramount, especially when it comes to dining out. Prepaid cards have emerged as a revolutionary solution, offering a seamless and efficient way to enjoy cashless dining experiences. The concept of prepaid cards is not new, but their integration into food courts has sparked a significant shift in consumer behavior.

Cashless Dining Trends

The global trend towards cashless transactions has gained momentum in recent years, driven by advancements in technology and changing consumer preferences. In food courts, where speed and convenience are key, the adoption of cashless payment methods has become increasingly prevalent.

Challenges in Traditional Payment Methods

Traditional payment methods, such as cash or credit/debit cards, pose several challenges in food court settings. Cash transactions can lead to long queues and delays, while credit/debit card payments may be inconvenient for both consumers and vendors due to processing fees and minimum purchase requirements.

The Emergence of Prepaid Cards in Food Courts

To address these challenges, food courts are embracing prepaid card systems, revolutionizing the way customers pay for their meals. By preloading funds onto a card, customers can enjoy quick and hassle-free transactions, eliminating the need for cash or physical cards.

How Prepaid Cards Work

Prepaid cards operate on a simple premise: customers load funds onto their cards either online or at designated kiosks within the food court. They can then use these funds to make purchases at any participating vendor within the food court.

Advantages of Prepaid Cards in Food Courts

The benefits of prepaid cards in food courts are manifold. For consumers, they offer unmatched convenience and speed, allowing them to make purchases with a simple tap or swipe. Additionally, prepaid cards provide consumers with greater control over their spending, helping them stick to their budgets more effectively.

For food court operators, prepaid cards streamline transaction processing, reducing wait times and enhancing overall efficiency. By centralizing payments through a single platform, vendors can also gain valuable insights into consumer behavior and preferences, enabling them to tailor their offerings accordingly.

Enhanced Customer Experience

One of the key advantages of prepaid cards in food courts is the enhanced customer experience they provide. By minimizing wait times and offering seamless transactions, prepaid cards ensure that customers spend less time queuing and more time enjoying their meals.

Moreover, prepaid cards enable food court operators to implement customized loyalty programs, rewarding customers for their continued patronage. By offering incentives such as discounts or freebies, operators can further enhance the overall dining experience and foster customer loyalty.

Security and Safety Measures

Security is a top priority in any payment system, and prepaid cards are no exception. With robust encryption protocols and built-in fraud detection mechanisms, prepaid card systems offer consumers peace of mind knowing that their financial information is safe and secure.

Additionally, prepaid cards eliminate the need for consumers to carry large amounts of cash, reducing the risk of theft or loss. In the event that a card is lost or stolen, most prepaid card providers offer 24/7 customer support and the ability to freeze or deactivate the card remotely.

Adoption and Acceptance

The adoption of prepaid cards in food courts is steadily increasing, driven by the growing demand for cashless payment options. As more consumers become accustomed to the convenience and benefits of prepaid cards, food court vendors are increasingly recognizing the need to offer these payment methods to remain competitive.

Impact on Business Operations

From a business perspective, the integration of prepaid card systems can have a transformative impact on operations. By automating transaction processing and streamlining administrative tasks, vendors can reduce overhead costs and improve overall efficiency.

Moreover, prepaid card systems provide vendors with valuable data insights, allowing them to track sales trends, identify popular menu items, and target specific customer demographics more effectively. This data-driven approach enables vendors to make informed decisions that drive business growth and profitability.

Future Trends and Innovations

Looking ahead, the future of prepaid cards in food courts looks promising, with continued advancements in technology driving innovation and customization. From mobile payment solutions to personalized loyalty programs, vendors are constantly seeking new ways to enhance the customer experience and stay ahead of the competition.

Challenges and Concerns

Despite the many benefits of prepaid cards, there are also challenges and concerns that must be addressed. Chief among these is the need to ensure consumer privacy and data security. As prepaid card systems become more sophisticated, it is essential for vendors to implement robust privacy policies and security measures to protect customer information.

Additionally, accessibility remains a concern for some consumers, particularly those who may not have access to smartphones or digital payment methods. To address this issue, food courts must ensure that alternative payment options are available to accommodate all customers.

Case Studies and Success Stories

Numerous food courts around the world have already embraced prepaid card systems with great success. From small-scale vendors to large multinational chains, businesses of all sizes have reported significant improvements in transaction processing times, customer satisfaction, and overall revenue.

For example, a recent case study conducted by a major food court operator found that the implementation of prepaid card systems resulted in a 30% increase in sales and a 20% reduction in wait times. These impressive results demonstrate the tangible benefits that prepaid cards can

offer to both consumers and businesses alike.

Consumer Education and Awareness

Despite the growing popularity of prepaid cards, there is still a need for consumer education and awareness. Many consumers may be unfamiliar with how prepaid cards work or may have misconceptions about their usage and benefits. As such, food courts must invest in educational campaigns to inform consumers about the advantages of prepaid cards and how to use them effectively.

Conclusion

In conclusion, prepaid cards are revolutionizing the way consumers pay for their meals in food courts. By offering unmatched convenience, speed, and security, prepaid cards are transforming the dining experience for both customers and vendors alike. As the adoption of prepaid cards continues to grow, food courts are poised to reap the benefits of improved efficiency, increased revenue, and enhanced customer satisfaction.

We hope you enjoyed reading our blog posts about food court billing solutions. If you want to learn more about how we can help you manage your food court business, please visit our website here. We are always happy to hear from you and answer any questions you may have.

You can reach us by phone at +91 9810078010 or by email at ats.fnb@gmail.com. Thank you for your interest in our services.

FAQs

1. Are prepaid cards accepted at all vendors in the food court?

Yes, prepaid cards can typically be used at any participating vendor within the food court.

2. Can I reload funds onto my prepaid card?

Yes, most prepaid card systems allow users to reload funds either online or at designated kiosks within the food court.

3. Is my personal information secure when using a prepaid card?

Yes, prepaid card systems employ robust security measures to protect customer information and prevent unauthorized access.

4. Are there any fees associated with using a prepaid card?

Some prepaid card providers may charge nominal fees for certain services, such as reloading funds or replacing lost or stolen cards.

5. Can I earn rewards or loyalty points with a prepaid card?

Yes, many prepaid card systems offer rewards or loyalty programs that allow users to earn points or discounts on their purchases.

[decorationinside]

Cultivating Comfort: Design Ideas for a Mushroom-Themed Vegan Restaurant

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

STITCHED TOGETHER

PAIRING: michael “robby” robinavitch x female reader

RATING: explicit

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

SUMMARY:

after accidentally cutting your hand, you seek out your neighbor for help. a favor becomes a friendship and a friendship becomes something more.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

no use of y/n, dual pov, mentions of blood/wounds, mentions of domestic/child abuse (a case at the hospital), hurt/comfort, neighbors to lovers, baked goods as a flirting mechanism, explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), vaginal fingering, edging, oral - f receiving, light choking, praise kink, dirty talk, kissing, begging, p in v, multiple positions - missionary and cowgirl, a sprinkle of domesticity

Your hand pulses with pain. The dish towel you’ve wrapped tightly around your palm is now stained with blood. You raise your fist to knock on your neighbor’s door, hoping that he’s home. You don’t know much about Robby, but you know he works long shifts at the ER, always leaving the apartment with a thermos of coffee and coming home late with shadows under his eyes.

There’s no answer to your knock, no sounds of movement from behind the door, and you mumble a curse beneath your breath. You lift the towel from your palm to check the wound, the fabric sticking slightly to your skin and making you wince. It’s still just as deep as it felt and you’re pretty sure you need stitches but—

“Everything okay?”

You look up. Robby is standing at the end of the hall, the door to the stairwell closing behind him. He must have just finished at work since he’s still dressed in a pair of wrinkled scrubs, exhaustion dragging his shoulders down. You suddenly feel very guilty for bothering him.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, aiming for nonchalant. His eyes catch on your hand where you have it cradled close to your body. Something shifts in him, like a switch flips and suddenly he’s not Robby, your neighbor, but Dr. Robby.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asks, long strides carrying him down the hall. He drops the backpack on his shoulder to the floor, all his attention zeroed in on your hand. “Let me see.”

You hold your hand out. He carefully unwraps the towel.

“It’s fine, really, I was just going to ask if you think I need stitches—“

“You do.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I guess I better—“

“I can do it.”

“No, no, that’s okay, I can just —“ Robby looks up at you, still holding your hand, and you feel your heart lurch at the sharp edge in his eye. The rest of your words fade away.

“Come on, I’ve got a suture kit under the sink,” he says, grabbing his bag and digging his keys from the front pocket. He unlocks the door to his apartment, leaving it open behind him in a clear invitation. After a second of hesitation, you follow him, shutting the door behind you.

Robby’s apartment is a mirror image of yours. Open concept, with the living room blending into a dining area that opens up to the kitchen. There’s not much in the way of decoration, but it’s clearly lived in — a stack of magazines on a low coffee table, a comfortable looking leather couch with a blanket draped over the back, and a small collection of empty coffee cups on the counter by the sink.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, crouching down to fetch the aforementioned suture kit. “Bring your hand over the sink for me.”

You do as you’re asked, unwrapping the towel and setting it on the counter. Robby washes his hands and dries them with a paper towel before pulling on some blue gloves, his motions steadfast and efficient. He picks up a squeeze bottle with a long, curved tip and holds out a hand for yours.

He squeezes the contents of the bottle over your wound, using it to wash away some of the dried blood. When it’s clean, he sets the bottle down.

“Good news is that you didn’t manage to hit any tendons,” he says. “Bad news is that hand injuries hurt like a bitch.” He picks up a syringe, uncapping it and sticking it into a vial of clear fluid. “Some lidocaine will help while I stitch you up. When it wears off, you’ll need some Tylenol. You got any at your place?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

He sticks the needle into your palm and you resist the urge to flinch. Each time he repositions it, you hold your breath.

“You gotta breathe for me. I know it hurts, but when it kicks in you’ll feel a lot better.”

You take a deep breath, the exhale shaky. Finally, he finishes with the needle. The pain has eased considerably as the anesthetic begins to do its job.

“Have a seat at the table for me,” Robby says, tilting his head toward the dining area. You settle into one of the chairs and he drags another close to you, setting a sterile bag on the table before taking a seat.

Peeling the bag open, he methodically removes the contents. First the blue sheet that he unfolds and lays on the table, followed by the tray of utensils. He pats the sheet and you set your hand, palm up, on it.

“So, you gonna tell me how you did this?” He asks, opening a swab stained with brown liquid that he runs over the edges of your wound.

“You’re going to think I’m an idiot,” you reply, heat rising to your cheeks. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a little smile.

“I’ve seen some stupid stuff. Promise this won’t even phase me.”

You sigh. “I was cutting an avocado.”

“Did you mistake your hand for it instead?”

“Hey!”

“Sorry.” He rips open a small package, pulling out a curved needle with a length of string already attached. “Finish the story.”

“I was holding it and sliced a little too deep. Went straight through the avocado skin and right into mine.”

“I wasn’t too far off. First stitch,” he says, sticking the needle through the edge of the cut. “Good thing I got home when I did.”

“I would have just gone to the ER if you didn’t.”

“Yeah, and you would have been waiting a few hours to get seen.”

“I feel bad. You’re off the clock. I’m sure you had things you wanted to do.”

“Had a hot date with my shower and some pizza rolls. I think they’ll forgive me for being late.”

You laugh and his eyes flick up, watching you for a brief moment before returning to the task at hand. A comfortable silence settles between you and you take the opportunity to really look at Robby.

He’s older than you by a few years if the grey in his beard is anything to go by. His dark hair looks like it’s grown out a bit from a shorter style and is a little messy, like maybe he’s run his fingers through it a few times. There are faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that grow deeper when his lips curl up in a smile. He’s handsome, you’ve thought as much since introducing yourself when you moved in, but up close and hunched over your hand, helping you with a gentle touch, he’s nearly devastating.

“Done,” he announces, reaching for the surgical scissors on the tray and snipping the end of the suture. “These are meant to fall out as the wound heals, so unless you notice any signs of infection, you shouldn’t need any follow up.”

“That was fast,” you say, looking over the neat row of stitches appreciatively.

“Years of practice.” He wraps a roll of gauze around your palm. “Keep the bandage on for at least twenty-four hours. After that, you can take it off but keep the area clean. Don’t soak it in anything. Try not to move your hand too much so they don’t pop. Alternate between Tylenol and Motrin for the pain.”

“I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell him. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I try to be.”

Though he’s trying to make a joke, his tone sounds despondent. He clears his throat and busies himself with cleaning up the table, avoiding your gaze. You decide not to press him for an explanation. He hardly owes you one.

Later, back in your apartment and lying in your bed, you replay every moment of your interaction with Robby. The way he gently held your hand to check the wound, the confidence with which he moved, the sadness in his voice. You decide that you have to repay him for his help and you know just the way to do it.

Robby is half asleep on the couch when there’s a knock at the door. He checks his watch and frowns. It’s just after eight, the sky dark outside the window, and he’d taken an unexpected nap after his shift. His stomach grumbles, the aching hunger he’d felt when falling asleep returning with a vengeance.

He stands and stretches, rubbing the back of his neck as it cracks and shuffling down the hall to open the door. You’re standing across the threshold with a plate in your hands and a bright smile on your face.

“Hey! I hope I’m not bothering you,” you say, smile faltering as you take him in. “Did I just wake you up?”

“Just from a nap,” he replies, willing himself to look less grumpy. Based on the way your smile dips into a frown, he’s probably not doing a great job. “It’s fine, I promise.”

“I brought cookies. As a thank you. For fixing my hand.” You hold the plate out toward him and he takes it. The bottom is warm. “Chocolate chip.”

The scent reaches him and he nearly groans. “Thank you, but I can’t take these.”

“Are you gluten free? Shit, I should have asked before making something.”

“No, I just mean you don’t need to thank me.”

“Of course I do!”

At that moment, his stomach betrays him, audibly announcing his hunger. You raise an eyebrow at him, hands on your hips, and he knows he’s lost this argument.

“Fine. If you’ll come in and eat one, too,” he says. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning to head toward his kitchen and hoping you’ll follow. When the door shuts and the soft sound of footsteps grows louder, he fights back a victorious smile.

He sets the plate on the counter and pulls off the aluminum foil on top. A small pile of golden brown chocolate chip cookies sits on the ceramic. You stand on the other side of the island, watching him. He picks one of the cookies up and takes a bite, groaning at how delicious it is.

“Christ, that’s good,” he says, punctuating the compliment with another bite. “You made these?”

“Yep. Even used the good chocolate. The real secret is a sprinkle of fancy sea salt.” You reach across the counter and pluck one of the cookies from the pile for yourself.

“How’s your hand doing?” Robby asks. You hold the hand in question out towards him. It’s been a little over a week and some of the stitches have started to dissolve, two of them still hanging on near the deeper part of your wound. “Looks good.”

“Thanks to a good doctor,” you say. He snorts, the sound self-deprecating even to his own ears. You frown, but don’t try to dig, which is nice. He’s so used to being around people who want him to be an open book when he’d rather sit quietly on a shelf, handling things on his own.

“I need to order dinner.” He turns his back to you, rifling through his junk drawer for the menu of the Chinese place down the street.

“I’ll just—“

“You wanna stay?” He asks, cutting you off. Your eyes go wide with surprise and he begins to internally berate himself when your expression shifts, going soft and warm.

“Sure. What are we ordering?”

It becomes a thing.

The first batch of cookies was a thank you. The second batch was a recipe test. Your excuse for the third batch was that you just made too many and would he want some?

He never turns you away, even if he looks dead on his feet from a long shift. He perks up when he spots the plate in your hands and invites you inside, singing your praises as he tries the recipe of the week. At the rate you’re going through sugar and butter and flour, you’ll need a membership to one of those bulk stores by the end of the month.

Robby doesn’t knock on your door, never seeks you out himself, but he does ask you to stay whenever you stop by. Over dinner, he’ll ask you about your week and listen as you talk about your job or the plans you made with your friends. He doesn’t talk about his own work much, not unless he’s got a funny story to share. You have a feeling he keeps the difficulty of his job close to his chest, shouldering the concern on his own.

That changes on a Friday night.

It’s late, nearly midnight, and you’re reading in bed, a half drunk glass of wine on your nightstand. A sound breaks through your concentration and you pause your reading, listening for it again.

It’s a knock. Soft, so soft you can barely hear it, three taps against your door, followed by silence. You scramble from your bed, nearly tripping on the duvet in the process, and rush down the hall.

When you open the door, Robby is there. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you, and you know without asking that he’s had a tough night. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw, the way he’s staring at you without really seeing.

“Come inside,” you tell him. He nods and walks past you, pausing in your living room. Compared to his apartment, yours exudes personality. Mismatched furniture and bookshelves full of memories, photographs and art on the walls.

He takes it in while you head to the kitchen, pulling together a sandwich from the contents of your fridge and filling a glass with water. You bring the plate of food and the glass to the living room, placing both on the coffee table and settling yourself on the couch, legs crossed under you. When he doesn’t move, you pat the cushion next to you.

“Eat,” you command.

Robby does as you ask and starts with the water. He drains the glass in a few desperate gulps and you refill it for him while he starts on the sandwich. You turn the TV on to fill the silence, putting on a nature documentary. You watch the show, your attention half on the eating habits of pangolins and half on the man beside you, concern creeping up your spine.

He still hasn’t said anything.

When the plate and glass are both empty, you start to get up to clear them away, but a warm hand on your wrist holds you in place. Your gaze locked with Robby’s, you slowly sit back down. He releases your wrist and you bring your hand up, settling it on the back of his neck and gently tugging him towards you, urging him to lie down. His head is on your lap, pillowed on your bare thighs, and he brings his knees close to his chest to fit the rest of his body on the couch.

You run your hands through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp. The tension eases from his body, like a balloon slowly losing air. His eyelids flutter and his lips part on a contented sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask.

“Not really.”

“Because you don’t want to or because you think I wouldn’t want to hear about it?”

He sighs. “You don't want to hear this shit. Trust me.”

“We’re friends, Robby. You can talk to me.”

“Friends, huh?”

“Yeah. Friends,” you reply, despite the sudden dryness of your mouth and the racing of your pulse. He’s quiet for a long moment and you think maybe he still won’t open up but then he takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

“Lost a patient today. A teenager who got between his mom and his piece of shit dad that was wailing on her. The guy pulled a gun on his own son and ran.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He turns, lying more on his back. His eyes are wet with tears that have gathered but refuse to fall. “We did everything we could do. I know that. But I had to look that mom in the eyes that her husband bruised and tell her that her baby was gone.”

There’s nothing you could say to take the pain away, so you don’t. But, you sit through it with him.

Sometimes, that can be enough.

Robby paces the length of his apartment from the door to the kitchen. It’s been a week since that night in your apartment and he can’t get it out of his head.

First he was stuck on the way you took care of him, how you knew what he needed without having to say anything. You were the calm to the storm in his head, the one that raged despite every strong command given to his team in an effort to save the boy’s life that day. He tends to shoulder the responsibility and, subsequently, the guilt on his own but it had been surprisingly helpful to let someone else in, someone who wanted to be there for him without a shared trauma bond. He felt lighter when he returned to his apartment that night.

Over the last couple days, however, the fixation shifted to the way your hands felt on him. The memory of your fingers dragging through his hair, though soothing in the moment, has morphed into something more. It’s no longer a gentle caress in his mind, but a sharp tug while he’s got his face between your thighs, tongue diving deep and desperate.

Despite these thoughts, he’s hesitant to reach out again, especially with these new ideas for how to spend his time with you in his head. But you also hadn’t come over in a week and he worries that maybe you view him differently now that he’s let the wall down a little, he probably should have just—

“Achoo!”

Robby pauses, his attention gripped by the sudden sound that came from the direction of your apartment. He drifts closer to his living room wall.

“Achoo!”

Another sneeze, followed by a pained groan. Are you…sick? Is that why you haven’t come around yet? Before he can overthink it, he’s leaving his apartment and knocking on your door.

When you answer with a blanket held tight around you and a tissue clenched in your hand, he feels a conflicting rush of relief and concern. You sniffle loudly.

“Robby? What are you doing here?”

“I heard you sneeze.” You blink at him, wobbling a bit on the spot. He reaches out to steady you, hands on your shoulders. Gently, he urges you back inside your apartment. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you to your room, the same as his but infinitely more comfortable. While he furnished his apartment, he didn’t take care to really make it a home, not when he spends so many hours at work. He didn’t see the point. Stepping into your room, it’s the opposite, facets of your personality in every corner.

He sits you down on the edge of the bed. A pile of tissues has taken up residence on your nightstand and he gathers them up while you make a feeble attempt to stop him.

“That’s gross, don’t touch those,” you whine. “I can clean them up.”

“Lie down,” he commands.

“Bossy, bossy.”

Robby hides his smile by leaving the room to throw the tissues in the trash. While in the kitchen, he finds your cabinet of mismatched cups and fills one with water. Rummaging through the pantry, he finds an open box of crackers that he brings back to your room.

“Where’s your medicine?” He asks. You gesture towards the bathroom and he digs through the cabinets until he finds a bottle of Tylenol. He shakes out a few into his palm and brings them back to you. “Take these.”

“If I had a nickel for every time you told me to take Tylenol, I’d have two nickels.”

He laughs as he watches you swallow down the medicine and drink half of the glass of water. He hands you a sleeve of crackers.

“Eat a couple of those so that you don’t end up with an upset stomach.”

When you’ve finished, you set the remaining crackers on your nightstand and wiggle down the bed, bringing your blanket up to your chin. Robby sets a palm on your forehead and you watch him with an expression he can’t name.

“Am I gonna be alright, doc?” You ask. He smiles.

“Yeah, I think you’ll pull through.”

“Will you stay with me?”

Rather than respond, he walks around your bed to the other side and toes off his sneakers. He gets on the bed, staying on top of your blankets as he makes himself comfortable. You turn on your side to look at him.

“Thanks for coming,” you whisper.

“That’s what friends do.”

You wake to a heavy weight around your waist and warmth at your back. At first you’re confused until the memory of asking Robby to stay with you comes into focus. You remember him getting in bed with you, keeping himself on top of the covers while you snuggled underneath to fight off the constant chill your fever brought on.

You turn over slowly, careful not to disturb him. He’s still on top of the covers but he’s curled himself around you, his head nearly on your pillow in an effort to get closer. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths and his features are soft with sleep.

The shrill beep of an alarm breaks the silence and Robby wakes with a sharp inhale. You quickly close your eyes, pretending to be asleep as he moves around, presumably trying to get his phone out to shut off the alarm. The noise abruptly cuts off and you hear him let out a deep breath.

He shifts beside you. A palm is pressed to your forehead and his touch lingers for a moment, his fingers tracing your cheek as he pulls away. You fight to keep your breathing slow and even despite the fierce pounding of your heart against your ribs.

Robby gets up from the bed, the mattress creaking as his weight lifts from it. You hear his light footsteps around the room, followed by the quiet click of your door being shut. With him gone, you turn onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.

You know he had to leave, he probably had to get ready for work, but you wish he didn’t. A fantasy plays out in your head, one where he gets to sleep in and you wake up before him, sneaking into the kitchen to make coffee. He wakes up while you’re waiting for it to finish brewing, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his beard tickling your neck when he kisses your neck. The image fades as sleep catches up to your exhausted body, pulling you back into its embrace for the rest of the morning.

“Dr. Robby?”

Robby shakes his head free of his thoughts and looks to his left. Mel’s got a clipboard in her hands and a question in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asks in that blunt but empathetic way of hers.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks in return. She blinks.

“Oh, uh, it’s just…you seem distracted?”

He is distracted. There’s been a restless fire in his veins ever since he woke up beside you, holding you close. He hasn’t seen you in a couple days now, giving you the space to get over your cold, and it has him growing a bit desperate, though he would never admit as much out loud and especially not to one of the med students.

“Everything is fine, Dr. King. Whatcha got for me?”

Mel launches into a presentation on a twenty-three year old female that was triaged for abdominal pain. Robby listens attentively and joins her at the patient’s bedside as she delivers a diagnosis and describes the treatment plan. One patient turns into…somewhere around thirty, he thinks. He lost count.

Finally, he finishes his shift and heads out into the night. Back in his apartment, he showers, changes his clothes, and brushes his teeth for good measure. He’s rushing through the after work motions, an energy in him that he only feels when he’s making a split second call that could mean life or death in the ER.

Basic needs met, he gets his shoes on and leaves his apartment. Five quick steps have him knocking at your door. His pulse kicks into high gear when he hears your footsteps on the other side.

You open the door and your smile lights up your face when you see him and he knows you’re saying something but his focus is entirely zeroed in on your lips and how he desperately needs to feel them against his. He reaches out, framing your face between his palms. There’s a flash of surprise in your eyes but then he’s kissing you.

Finally.

“Hey! I was just about—“

Your words are cut off by Robby kissing you.

Robby is kissing you.

With his hands on your jaw, he urges you back inside your apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. One large palm moves cradles the back of your head, cushioning the blow when your back hits the wall and he presses his body close to yours, chest to chest and a thigh between your legs.

You’re in sensory overload, overwhelmed by the feel of his broad shoulders beneath your hands, the smell of his shampoo, and the faint taste of mint when his tongue tangles with yours. His hand settles on the side of your neck and you wonder if he can feel the way he makes your heart race beneath his palm.

When he pulls back, he traces a thumb over your lips, open admiration in his gaze. He presses down on your lower lip and you obey the silent command to open up, let him in, give him more. His breath stutters when you close your lips around his thumb and suck. He pulls it free with a lewd pop, dragging his hand down your neck, squeezing lightly at the base of your throat. Before you can react, his touch ventures lower and you gasp when he roughly palms your breast. Your hips flex against his thigh in a bid for friction.

All of a sudden, Robby steps back, taking your hand in his and leading you down the hall to your bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he says, voice low and rough. You hurry to comply, crawling up the mattress and lying back on the pillows, anticipation and the hungry look on his face making the ache between your thighs nearly unbearable.

He joins you on the bed, on his knees between your legs, and runs his hands over your thighs and beneath the fabric of your shorts. You arch your back when his thumbs dig into the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want him, but not close enough. A whine escapes you.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks.

“Want you to fuck me,” you tell him, lifting your hips.

“Can’t do that yet.”

You frown. “Why not?”

Robby’s fingers curl into the elastic of your shorts, pulling the fabric down. You lift your hips again so that he can pull them off and toss them to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. His hand presses one of your thighs to the mattress, keeping you spread open for him as he drags his thumb over your pussy, starting at the damp spot near your entrance until he reaches your clit.

“You have to cum on my fingers,” he presses down against your clit, “and my mouth first. Think you can do that?”

When you don’t respond to his question, the deep pressure of his thumb is replaced by a light smack of his fingers. You gasp at the sharp contrast in sensation and try to close your legs instinctively, only to be blocked by his body and the firm grip of the hand still on your thigh.

“Answer me,” he demands, removing his hands from you and raising an expectant eyebrow.

“Yes,” you tell him. You’re pretty sure you would do anything this man asks as long as he touches you again. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk.

“Good girl.”

Those two little words are like a bolt of lightning straight to your core and he knows it, his knowing gaze making you feel hot and flustered. He removes your underwear and with the last barrier gone, he drops to his stomach and brings his face mere inches from your soaked pussy.

His breath fans across your heated skin and that’s the only warm up you get before his mouth is on you, his tongue circling your clit and lapping at your entrance. Your hands are drawn to his hair, fingers gripping the short strands. He looks up at you as he sucks your clit between his lips and groans when you pull sharply on his hair in response.

If you thought Robby would finish this quickly to get on to the main event, you were incredibly mistaken. The man between your legs brings you to the brink of release before dragging you back from the edge more times than you can count, to the point where tears gather in the corners of your eyes and you let out a pained groan of frustration.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, lifting his head but keeping up steady circles of his thumb against your clit. Not fast enough to bring you off, just enough to keep your need simmering at the surface. You glare at him.

“Let me come already,” you say through gritted teeth. He laughs.

“You could try asking nicely. Say please.”

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing around words that won’t form. He brings his mouth back to your abused bundle of nerves, licking with broad circles that have you seeing stars. You’re so close, just a little more—

He starts to pull back. The pressure of his tongue grows lighter. You drop your head to the mattress and one of those trapped tears finally escapes, rolling down your temple. You’ve never begged a man for anything before but there’s a first time for everything.

“Please, please, please,” you gasp. “Robby, please.”

Two fingers press against your entrance and slide inside, the sudden stretch making you gasp. He curls them against your inner walls with each drag of his hand from your body. The pressure and speed of his tongue on your clit increases. Your thighs start to shake as the thread of tension in your core tightens until it finally snaps and you come with a strangled shout of his name.

Robby doesn’t stop touching you. He keeps his fingers buried in your cunt and his mouth busy by gently licking you through the waves of your orgasm. Finally, he sits up. You watch as he takes off his shirt and stands up quickly to remove his shoes and sweatpants. His cock bobs free and your mouth practically waters at the sight of it. Not excessively long but he is thick and if you thought his fingers were a stretch, his cock might just split you in half. A bead of precum has gathered at the slit and you watch him smooth his thumb through it before dragging his fist over his length with a groan.

“Condoms?” He asks.

“Top drawer.”

He grabs a foil packet and tosses it on the bed before crawling over you, settling his body over yours. He kisses you, deep and slow, grinding his hips into yours and dragging his cock through the mess he’s made of you. His lips deliver the taste of you to your tongue, earthy and erotic. You moan into the kiss when he drags against your clit.

Keeping himself balanced with one elbow on the bed beside your head, he uses his free hand to hitch your leg over his hip, opening you wider and bringing you closer. His lips find your neck, lavishing your sensitive skin with kisses and nips of his teeth. You need this man inside of you now.

“Robby, please.”

He nods against your neck, sitting up only long enough to roll the condom down his length before his weight is back on you, pressing you into the mattress. He flexes his hips against you but this time, the thick head of his cock catches against your entrance and he starts to ease inside, achingly slow. His eyes stay fixed to yours as he does.

“You feel so fucking good,” Robby says, face buried against your neck. You clench around him in response and he chokes on a groan. “Don’t do that, I’m trying not to embarrass myself here.”

You do it again for good measure.

He lifts his head, eyes narrowed at you, and pulls his hips back, his cock dragging against the same spot that made you come on his fingers. He thrusts forward with a sharp snap of his hips that punches the air from your lungs.

He sets a pace that has you seeing stars and moaning his name like a prayer. Your orgasm builds, coiling tight in your center, but you’re not ready for the release. You push against Robby’s shoulder and his expression grows concerned, a deep crease forming between his brows as he pulls back, allowing you room to sit up.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks.

“No, no,” you assure him. “I just…can I get on top?”

A boyish grin chases the worry from his face and he flops onto his back in the empty space on the mattress. You laugh as you straddle his hips though it turns into moan when you sink down onto his cock. The angle is deeper and there’s an added friction to your clit with every roll of your hips. Robby’s hands are everywhere, squeezing your ass roughly or pinching a tight nipple between his fingers.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, head pressed back into the pillow, the long line of his neck on display. “Just like that.”

You place your hands on his chest for balance, the dusting of coarse hair tickling your palms. When you lean forward, he meets you in a kiss that’s mostly shared breath. Your pace slows and Robby takes over, his feet planted on the mattress to thrust up into you.

“Come for me,” he says against your lips. “I need it, sweetheart, come on.”

You drop your head against his neck, licking at the sweat damp skin as your orgasm returns, no longer a slow building wave but a tsunami that floods your nerves and leaves you drowning in sensation. Your walls tighten around his cock and he groans, dragging you down onto his lap and holding you there as he pulses inside of you.

Sweat cools on your skin. Your breathing slows. His hands trail up and down your back, the gentle touch and cold air of your room making your skin prickle. You lift your head and press your forehead against his.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble.

“Just Robby is fine,” he says.

You lift your head so that he can see you roll your eyes before slowly getting up, a satisfying ache in your muscles and between your legs. You go to the bathroom and Robby comes in as you’re washing your hands, tossing the condom in the trash and washing his hands as well.

You return to bed, crawling beneath the blankets. Robby joins you, lying on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest, your eyelids already heavy with exhaustion.

“Will you stay with me?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

Robby wakes to sunlight and the smell of coffee. He stretches before finally rolling out of bed and finding his sweatpants on the floor, pulling them on to follow the scent of dark roast straight to the kitchen.

He finds you at the counter, your hips swaying to a song that plays at a low volume from a bluetooth speaker on your dining table. A pan sizzles on the stove and you pour the contents of a bowl into it. He steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your neck. You turn in his hold and kiss him, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He could get used to mornings like this.

When you turn back around, you pick up a knife and reach for the basket of fruit on the counter, plucking something from the pile.

“I hope that’s not an avocado.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting 💕

Masterlists

[sevenlittledwarfs]

Seattle Contemporary Deck Mid-sized trendy deck photo with a roof extension

[beloveds-embrace]

Dukedom au masterlist (yes i need to update it ik) and we will not talk abt the abrupt ending 😭

The grand ballroom of glittered with the light of a thousand candles, their flames dancing across marble floors and golden fixtures hung from the ceilings. A symphony played softly in the background, a perfect complement to the hum of ongoing conversation and chatter. You stood at the center of it all, draped in a gown of midnight blue silk, embroidered with silver thread that mirrored the stars. A gift from Simon, one that had you staring at the beautiful dress in awe.

Tonight, you were the very image of grace and poise.

Your face and movements are calm and collected, hiding what you truly feel beneath. Lately, whispers of dishonor had begun circulating; rumors that your husband had fled a border skirmish back when he’d been deployed, abandoning his men, yet had paid for the matter to be buried. Vile lies, born of cowardice and malice. John’s name, his reputation, and the honor of your house were at stake; disloyalty towards the empire was seen as treason, and that was unforgivable.

You would not allow it.

The first spark of rage had ignited the moment you’d overheard the vile accusations from another lady, one of your more arrogant rivals who had laughed snidely. From there, the rumors spread like wildfire, poisoning the halls of the court and society.

But you were no stranger to such games like these. Tonight, after much planning, you’ll put an end to this farce.

You began with your loyal ladies-in-waiting. Each one owed their position to you, and in return, they offered their unwavering loyalty. “Listen carefully,” you instructed them during a private meeting in your sitting room, the door locked behind you. “Go into the court, the markets, the salons- anywhere whispers thrive. I want names, places, and patterns. Who speaks these lies, and who listens too closely?”

They curtsied and departed without hesitation, melting into the bustling world outside of the manor. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to your maids and house staff. Servants were the lifeblood of any noble house, privy to secrets thought hidden.

You met with them personally with Kyle’s help, ensuring they understood the stakes. “Speak subtly,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Let it slip that those who spread these rumors do so for their own gain, that there’s no substance to the rumors. Plant doubt. Create cracks.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Kyle nods his head, hands on your waist. He leans down, and kisses your forehead, and you smile all sweet and pretty at him. “Whatever you want.”

While you wove your network of spies, John watched quietly from the shadows of the manor. Though he trusted you implicitly, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of awe and unease. He didn’t want to doubt you, but he worried nonetheless for you.

In his study, he sat with Kyle.

“How’s she faring?” John asked, puffing a cigar as he leaned back in his chair. Papers were scattered on his desk, though they didn’t require immediate attention or replies. Pressed close to Kyle, bodies warm, he didn’t want to go back to working for now.

Kyle hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She’s… efficient, John. The staff is utterly devoted to her even without my help. I’ve seen no signs of hesitation in her plans.”

John chuckled dryly, though there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I am not surprised. She’s scarier than any battlefield, Kyle. And they love her.”

With the groundwork laid, you began preparing to host a big gala at the manor. Invitations were sent far and wide, carrying the promise of exquisite dining, captivating entertainment, and the opportunity to curry favor with one of the most powerful families in the region.

None dared refuse.

Johnny worked tirelessly to ensure every detail of the menu was flawless, and though he would have helped anyways, he still enjoyed all the kisses he got as reward from yoh. “You’re pilin’ it on thick, Duchess,” he remarked one evening, wiping his brow as he inspected a rack of lamb. “Even for you.”

“This isn’t just a party, Johnny,” you replied, humming. “This is war.”

“War it is, then. Anything for you, bonnie.” he muttered, diving back into his work with renewed determination. After a very heated look from you that had him preening, though; he looked handsome in his element. And you’ll make sure to really show him your appreciation for all his hard work later, in the privacy of your rooms.

At every other gala and gathering, you moved through the crowd like a dancer with a purpose. You guided conversations subtly, planting seeds of doubt and faltering those who tried to be a bit too brave- and your reputation as a “people’s princess” helped so greatly. Your allies- the few you trusted among the nobility-played their roles perfectly.

Simon, especially. You had specifically asked for his help, curled warm and cozy on his lap one night. He’d kissed you breathless and told you he would always be there for you.

“Lord Marcan, was it?” Simon mused during one party, his glass of whiskey balanced effortlessly in his hand. The others immediately listen to him; though he isn’t the most talkative noble, his words carry weight. “I’ve heard some interesting things about him. Did you know he’s deeply in debt? I wonder how far a man would go to escape ruin.”

The other nobles exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. You watched from a distance, satisfied as Simon delivered the blow with effortless charm.

Your web was nearly complete, each thread pulling tighter around Lord Marcan- the instigator of the rumors- until he had no room to maneuver. At the final ball of the season, the one hosted by you and John, you made your final move.

You descended the grand staircase as the guests gathered, your presence commanding attention. At your signal, the servants unveiled a surprise: a performance of actors reenacting a scene from an old skirmish. But this was no ordinary play; it was a dramatized retelling of that battle, one that highlighted John’s bravery and leadership even when Lord Marcan had tried to say John had fled that day.

The crowd was entranced, all earlier doubts finally wavering and shattering. You saw Marcan shift uncomfortably, his face pale as his lies unraveled before him and eyes turned towards him in disgust.

From the balcony above, John watched with Simon and Kyle at his side. “She’s terrifying.” he murmured, though his voice carried a note of awe.

Simon smirked. “You married a bloody tactician.”

Kyle simply nodded. “She fights for you, for us, John. And she wins.”

By the end of the evening, Lord Marcan was a broken man and his wife, Lady Marcan who had laughed at you by the rumor, was seething. Their allies abandoned them, their name tarnished by his cowardice and deceit and her aftions.

And the rumors about John’s supposed abandonment of his men? Gone.

That night, as you removed your jewelry in the quiet of your chambers, John approached you. His hands rested on your bare shoulders, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’ve been busy, beloved.” he said, his voice soft but laced with admiration.

“I did what needed to be done.” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I know you could have simply challenged him to a duel… but we didn’t have full confirmation it was him who started. I had to do it this way.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re terrifying, love. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

From the shadows of the room, Simon leaned casually against the doorframe. “She’s not wrong, John. Best keep on her good side.”

Johnny’s voice echoed from the hallway as he came by with a tray of food. Kyle comes as well, carrying glasses of wine. “Aye, and keep feeding her. Keeps her from plotting.”

Kyle sighs, though he has a smile on his face as he sets the glasses down and instead comes to help you. “…he isn’t exactly wrong. You were incredible…. And scary.”

“Perfect, in other words.” John hums, an eyebrow raising. You do not have enough time to ask anything before he and Kyle are gently turning you around on the seat, face to face with John who kneels down. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for us, my Duchess. Let me take care of you now, hm?”

“John…“

“No more words, my love,” he shakes his head, Kyle’s hands reaching to unlace your dress, your corset, until your breasts spill out. John doesn’t even seem mildly bothered by the layers of your skirt, flipping them up until you are indecent in front of your men and he is face to face with your panties. The way they look at you, so much want…

You don’t mind. The slick spot forming speaks more than enough anyways.

“Tonight,” John murmurs, kissing your inner thighs. “Will be all about spoiling you, wife.”

[askshivanulegacy]

It's funny that OP made a poll specifically to generate Discourse, and then gets upset when Discourse is generated. 😂😂😂

Switching hands is not the way most Americans do it, and there's also no real merit to doing it that way. It's simple efficiency to use both hands. If you can't, you can't, but you can also learn it.

[mayugene]

Farmhouse Dining Room - Kitchen Dining

Inspiration for a sizable farmhouse kitchen/dining room remodel with a dark wood floor, gray walls, and a stone fireplace

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You’ve decided to test the waters with the TKATB men by shamelessly shooting your shot—TikTok trend style. Whether it’s a smooth pick-up line, a sudden confession, or a ridiculous flirty challenge, their reactions range from flustered and skeptical to downright chaotic. 

Will they fall for it, brush it off, or call you out on your antics? 

One thing’s for sure—things are about to get interesting.  

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Just vibing and writing this for fun because one-shots are way easier than full-length stories. Plus, I’m just goofy asf, and this kind of stuff cracks me up.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The dining hall was its usual mess—too loud, too chaotic, and packed with students caught in their own little worlds. Groups huddled together at long tables, talking over one another as laughter and half-shouted conversations filled the air.

The distant clatter of plastic plates and silverware mixed with the occasional scrape of chairs against the linoleum floor, adding to the ever-present noise.  

You sat at your usual table, idly stirring your drink with a straw as you observed the controlled chaos around you. Your table was positioned near the middle of the room—not too close to the loudest cliques, but not hidden away either. The wood was covered in old carvings, initials scratched into the surface by other college students long before you, their presence lingering in the worn-out grooves.  

Across from you, Brittany leaned in, propping her chin on her hand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. The kind of look that meant she was scheming something. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp reflections on the glossy surface of her phone, which she tapped against the table like a silent challenge.

Whatever was brewing in her head, you could already tell it was going to be trouble.

“Come on, you gotta do it,” she whispered, leaning in, her elbows pressing against the worn surface of the lunch table, making it creak slightly under the pressure. Her phone rested loosely between her fingers, screen dimmed but still showing the TikTok app open.

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Why do I gotta do anything?”  

Brittany huffed, gesturing toward Crowe and Geo, who were across the dining hall because there weren’t enough seats for the whole friend group to sit together, Crowe, by contrast, sat upright, composed, one elbow propped on the surface as he halfheartedly poked at his sandwich with a plastic fork. 

Geo, by contrast at in his usual slouched posture, legs spread lazily under the table, eating with the quiet efficiency of someone who had better things to do than waste time in a crowded cafeteria. His sharp gaze flicked toward you briefly, eyes assessing before he returned to whatever Crowe was rambling about.

“Because it’s time,” Brittany insisted. “You keep saying you’re into Crowe, and now you’ve got the perfect excuse.” She wiggled her phone at you. “Just hit him with the trend. It’s foolproof. Trust.”  

You rolled your eyes. “That’s the least reassuring thing you’ve ever said.”  

But Brittany wasn’t backing down. 

She sat up straighter, nudging you like an annoying little devil on your shoulder. “They say shooters shoot, right? Go be a shooter.”  

You exhaled through your nose, mulling it over, fingers tapping lightly against the side of your drink. Honestly, why not? Worst case, Crowe would brush it off, and best case… well, you weren’t sure what the best case even was, but at least it’d be funny.  

“Fine.”  

Pushing back your chair with an easy glide, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as if adjusting invisible wrinkles. With a slight roll of your shoulders, you straightened your posture, tilting your chin up just enough to exude confidence—or at least fake it well enough.  

As you took the first step forward, your pace was slow, unhurried. The rhythmic chatter of the cafeteria hummed around you, but your focus zeroed in on Crowe and Geo’s table. 

You wove through the maze of students, sidestepping a stray backpack and a reckless freshman who nearly bumped into you. The heels of your shoes clicked softly against the linoleum floor, a steady beat to your approach.  

Geo noticed you first. His sharp gaze flicked toward you, scanning your expression as he brought his drink to his lips. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle lift of his brow suggested he was already questioning your intentions.  

Crowe, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware. His focus was locked on his tray, fingers lazily peeling apart the edges of his sandwich like he was debating whether it was worth eating. 

Then, finally, he glanced up at you. 

His brows lifted slightly, mild curiosity flickering across his face as he took you in. He didn’t speak right away, but the way his head tilted ever so slightly told you he was already intrigued.

And then you hit him with it.  

“They say shooters shoot,” you said smoothly, locking eyes with him. You tilted your head slightly, letting the words linger like a slow burn before delivering the finishing blow.  

“Jericho, wassup witchu?”  

The cafeteria noise seemed to dim for just a second. Geo, mid-sip of his drink, visibly stalled like his brain short-circuited alongside Crowe’s. Crowe, on the other hand, just stares at you, completely still, like someone had just paused him in real life.  

Then, something shifted. His brows lifted slightly, and his tongue ran over the inside of his cheek as if processing what just happened. And slowly—painfully slowly—his lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made it clear he was far too entertained by this.  

Leaning back in his seat, Crowe spread his arms out lazily over the back of his chair, tapping his fingers against the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Huh.” He let the sound hang in the air before tilting his head, gaze sweeping over you with something just shy of amusement. “That so?”  

Geo, still recovering from the secondhand embarrassment of witnessing whatever the hell this was, pinched the bridge of his nose. With a deep sigh, he muttered under his breath, “I hate this damn school.” Then, taking his tray, he promptly decided he wanted nothing to do with this interaction and stood up to leave.  

Crowe barely paid him any mind, his smirk never wavering. Instead, he leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table, chin propped against his palm as he looked up at you with way too much interest.  

“So,” he mused, voice teasing, “you really just came over here to try that weak-ass pickup line on me?”  

Your lips twitched, barely holding back a grin. “Weak? Please. That was top-tier delivery.”  

Crowe chuckled, low and amused, drumming his fingers against the table. “I dunno… seems like you could’ve done better. Maybe you’re nervous?”  

You scoffed. “Oh, please—if anything, you’re nervous.”  

His smirk widened, the challenge sparking in his eyes. “Is that right?”  

“Yup.” You placed your hands on the table, leaning in just slightly, close enough to make the air between you charged with tension. “And you’re stalling ‘cause you don’t know how to handle it.”  

Crowe stood up slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. He straightened to his full height, casting a shadow over you as he leaned down just slightly, his presence commanding the air around you. The subtle shift in his posture sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to show it.

He tapped one finger against the table in a rhythmic, almost calculated motion, before letting his hand fall to his side. His eyes never wavered from yours. There was something dangerously playful in the way he observed you, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Or maybe…” he started, his voice dropping an octave, smooth and teasing but carrying an unmistakable weight. “…I’m just enjoying watching you dig yourself into a hole you can’t climb out of.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you almost faltered. For a second, you felt the heat rise to your face, that familiar feeling of being caught in a trap you hadn’t seen coming.

…Oh.

Okay. That one almost got you. But you weren’t about to let him see that.

With a confident grin, you straightened up in your seat, throwing a dramatic shrug his way. “Guess we’ll see who breaks first, then,” you replied, your voice laced with a challenge, refusing to back down.

Crowe let out a low, almost playful chuckle, his gaze never wavering from yours. He shook his head slowly, that trademark smirk never leaving his face. There was something undeniably smug about the way he carried himself in that moment, like he was already anticipating the outcome.

"Guess we will," he murmured, his voice smooth, but there was an added edge to it now—something that hinted at the shift in the game.

He leaned in just a little closer, enough to make your heart race, the air between you thickening with tension. You could feel his breath against your skin as his lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“But don’t think you’re getting off easy,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerously calm, “This is far from over.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Crowe stood up, leaving the table with that same casual confidence. He turned his head slightly, glancing back over his shoulder with a final smirk.

“Later,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a promise—or a threat. 

You were left sitting there, your mind racing with the weight of what just happened. As you tried to regain your composure, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out, finding a text from Brittany asking how it went. You typed back a quick, vague response, still trying to sort out the whirlwind of emotions Crowe had left in his wake.

But before you could think about it too much, another notification popped up—this time from Crowe. 

Crowe: Meet me at my place tonight. I’m shooting my shot. 

Crowe: Don’t keep me waiting, love.

Your heart skipped a beat. Crowe wasn’t one to back down, and judging by that text, he was ready to take things to a whole new level. You could almost hear the challenge in his words, daring you to show up, to see how far this game would go.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the screen. 

Tonight, it seemed, was going to be interesting.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The theater lobby had an unmistakable charm—one that was equal parts nostalgic and slightly tragic. The air was thick with the scent of overpriced buttered popcorn and artificially flavored slushies, mingling with the faint but ever-present smell of old velvet curtains and sticky floors. 

Dim, yellowish lighting cast a soft, hazy glow over the space, its reflection bouncing off the shiny tile floor and making the entire area feel like a quiet, forgotten corner of some abandoned shopping mall.

The soft murmur of distant conversations and the hum of arcade machines blended into the background, only adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. It was mid-afternoon—prime delinquent hours—and the place was practically empty, save for a few older folks shuffling around, probably just trying to kill time or nap through whatever B-grade thriller happened to be playing in the adjacent theater.  

You, Sol, and Hyugo stood in front of the snack counter, all of you successfully dodging class for the day with only one mission in mind: seeing some over-the-top, gory horror movie that Sol had been far too excited about all week. 

The film had become a topic of conversation that bordered on obsessive, and now here you were—about to dive headfirst into the kind of chaos that could only come from a big-budget splatter fest.  

“I’m telling you, this is gonna be the best horror release in years,” Sol rambled, his eyes practically glowing with excitement as he stared up at the massive menu above the counter, filled with the usual cinema offerings: popcorn, nachos, candy, and various overpriced beverages. “The practical effects? The atmosphere? The body count? Peak cinema, right here, man.”  

You crossed your arms and deadpanned. “You just want to see people get torn apart.”  

Sol turned to face you, completely unbothered. “And?”  

Hyugo snickered beside you, nudging your shoulder with an elbow. “Nah, let him cook. I haven’t seen him this hyped since they sold extra-large nachos at lunch that one time.”  

You snorted, unable to hold back your grin. Sol, however, didn’t seem to hear either of you, too absorbed in the very important task of deciding which snack was worthy of his dedication. He eyed the counter with the intensity of someone about to make a life-altering decision.  

“Large popcorn, extra butter,” he told the cashier, who looked like they’d seen this exact request about a thousand times today. “And one of those giant-ass sodas. Also—”  

The cashier sighed dramatically, clearly immune to Sol's enthusiasm. They were, after all, stuck in this job for what felt like eternity.  

Hyugo leaned toward you, his grin spreading wide, his eyes sparkling with that devilish gleam that always spelled trouble.  

“So, uh…” He tapped his fingers together, voice lowered in a conspiratorial tone. “You should totally shoot your shot at Sol while he’s busy ordering. It’ll be hilarious.”  

You gave him a side-eye. “Are you trying to get me killed?”  

He shrugged, a mischievous laugh escaping him. “Look, he’s distracted. It’s the perfect setup.”  

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. Then, as if in slow motion, you watched Sol’s hand hover over the snack options, his eyes scanning for something with just the right amount of salt and fat.  

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “You just want to see him suffer.”

Hyugo’s grin stretched wider as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep sincerity. “Listen, I support both of you in your personal journeys,” he said in an exaggerated, overly serious tone, “but also, I need entertainment. Big entertainment.”  

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the theatrics, but you knew there was no backing out now. Hyugo wasn’t the type to back down once he set his mind on something. And right now, his mind was laser-focused on you making a fool of yourself.  

Before you could even protest or rethink your life choices, Hyugo pulled out his phone with the grace of a seasoned pro, unlocked it, and flipped the camera to record. His eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly savoring the impending chaos. 

This was absolutely happening.  

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck in exasperation, feeling the weight of this decision begin to settle on your shoulders. “Fine,” you muttered, voice dripping with reluctant humor. “But if this goes south, I’m fighting you in the parking lot.”  

Hyugo’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, his grin practically glowing. “Deal. And I’ll be sure to get that on camera too, just for future reference.”  

You shot him a playful glare before turning your attention back to Sol, who was still completely oblivious to your scheme.  

Sol had just received his popcorn, the large bucket in his hands looking dangerously heavy for him. He squinted at the drink in his other hand, like he was trying to figure out how to balance everything without spilling it all. His expression was pure concentration, which, to be honest, made him look like a child trying to juggle for the first time.  

It was perfect timing. 

You exhaled sharply through your nose, straightening up and brushing off any last traces of hesitation. This was happening.  

With all the confidence of a seasoned pro, you casually strolled up beside him, positioning yourself just enough to make sure your entrance would have maximum impact. Sol was still busy juggling the popcorn and the drink, his focus entirely consumed by the simple task.  

And then, with the smoothness of a snake oil salesman and the charm of a movie star, you hit him with it—  

“They say shooters shoot…” you said, your voice calm, calculated, and just the right amount of playful.  

You paused for a heartbeat, letting the words hang in the air before you dropped the bomb.  

“Solivan, wassup witchu?”  

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then—

Sol’s brain visibly short-circuited. His grip on the drink faltered for a moment, fingers twitching like he was trying to figure out how to process your words. His pupils dilated like he had just been jump-scared in real life, and he blinked, wide-eyed, staring at you with a look that clearly said, What did you just say?

“Huh?” he managed, his voice higher than usual like he didn’t know if he was being pranked or genuinely confused.

As he fumbled with his snacks, trying to get a grip on the situation—quite literally—his drink tilted dangerously. You watched in slow motion as the soda teetered on the edge of disaster, but before it could spill, Hyugo swooped in like a goddamn hero.

The phone was already recording. Hyugo caught the drink, saving Sol’s popcorn from a watery demise, and let out an exaggerated gasp.

“Ohhh, that was beautiful,” Hyugo laughed, clearly living for the chaos. He aimed the phone at Sol’s stunned expression and clicked record. “10/10, excellent execution.”

Sol’s head whipped around to you, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to figure out how to recover from this.

“Did you just—what the hell was that?” he sputtered, still holding the popcorn like it might escape if he didn’t act fast.

You, being the absolute menace you are, gave a casual shrug. “Just shooting my shot.”

Sol’s face cycled through so many emotions in the span of two seconds—confusion, realization, the sharp twist of embarrassment, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny sliver of flustered annoyance before he groaned in exasperation and turned away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, his fingers gripping the popcorn bucket a little too aggressively. “I trusted you.”

“You didn’t even see it coming,” Hyugo teased, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “How’s it feel to get blindsided?”

Sol exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as he glared at you with reluctant amusement. “You suck for that.”

You grinned and turned to head toward the theater doors, leaving Sol to catch up. “And yet, here you are—still following me.”

Hyugo was practically wheezing, holding his stomach as he laughed at Sol’s misery. Sol, meanwhile, scoffed, shaking his head in defeat as he grabbed his drink and popcorn, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. 

“…I hate you both.”

But the way Sol nearly tripped over his own feet trying to juggle the snacks told a very different story.

The theater was dark, the low hum of the movie's soundtrack mingling with the faint scent of popcorn. Sol, Hyugo, and you had settled into the plush seats, each of you with a bucket of snacks in hand. The movie was one of those cheesy horror flicks, the kind that was more funny than scary, but that didn't stop the occasional jumpscare from making you all laugh nervously between bites. 

Hyugo had managed to devour his snacks almost as quickly as you did, and now he was getting up to go buy more from the concession stand. As he walked off, you turned to Sol, your eyes scanning the screen as the movie played on.

“Can I have more snacks?” you asked, voice light, but a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You were hoping he might get the hint, that you were just looking for a little excuse to keep the conversation going—or to distract from the eerie silence of the theater.

Sol, who had been lazily leaning back in his chair, eyes still trained on the screen, didn’t respond immediately. He only turned his head to glance at you, an eyebrow arched. The corners of his lips twitched like he was suppressing a grin.

“More snacks?” he repeated, almost like he was savoring the idea of you asking him for something. “You really want more, huh?”

Before you could respond, Hyugo was already on his way to the snack bar, leaving the two of you alone in the now quieter theater. The flickering images on the screen cast ghostly shadows around the room, but the mood between you and Sol shifted, like the atmosphere of the horror movie had leaked into reality.

Without warning, Sol moved. He was fast—too fast for you to protest before he dragged you into his lap, positioning you against him so smoothly it was like he had been planning it. Your eyes went wide, and you felt your heart skip a beat as your body tensed.

“Sol—what the hell?” you hissed, pushing against his chest lightly, panic flooding your veins. “We’re gonna get kicked out! The cameras—”

He chuckled darkly, his hands firm on your hips, pulling you closer with a deliberate slowness. “Cameras?” Sol repeated, his voice low and laced with amusement. “You really think those broke-ass cameras are gonna catch us?”

You froze, your breath hitching as you realized he had a point. No one was paying attention. The theater was practically empty, and the cameras... well, you were pretty sure they weren’t even working half the time. But still, the nerves kept crawling up your spine.

You shot him a look, your voice pleading now. “Please, Sol, we’ll get caught—”

He didn’t care. 

The mischievous glint in his eyes made it clear he was doing exactly what he wanted to do.

“As of now, I only have five minutes to get my lick back,” he said, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted you in his lap. “So just sit tight.”

Before you could protest any further, his hands tightened on your hips, and the space between the two of you disappeared entirely. The horror movie continued to play in the background, but everything else seemed to blur away as Sol’s presence took over, his focus entirely on you now.

He was definitely getting his lick back.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

You were stretched out lazily on Geo's couch, feet propped up, the faint hum of the TV filling the otherwise quiet room. The show on the screen was some random cooking competition, something about baking pies or soufflés—honestly, you weren’t paying attention. 

You were just waiting for what was coming next, your mind slowly running through the inevitable mess you were about to have to clean up.

Geo, meanwhile, was somewhere deep in the other room, grunting and puffing through his workout like he was trying to bench-press the whole damn apartment. Little did he know, the storm was brewing right under his nose, completely oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold.

Then, the phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of you. You glanced down, and for a moment, thought maybe you had imagined it. But nope, it was real. You sighed, already dreading what was coming.  

It was Crowe.

You clicked on the message, the words practically screaming at you. The chaos wrapped in his text was immediate and undeniable.

Crowe: You’ve gotta send me proof. Geo’s place, right? Get to it. ;)

You let out an exaggerated groan, sinking even deeper into the couch as you stared at the screen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or throw the phone across the room. The guy was a menace, but also... this was your doing. You had made a deal, and now it was time to face the music.

You quickly typed out a quick reply, hoping it would be enough to get him off your back.

You: You’re a monster, you know that?

The moment your thumb left the screen, you leaned back with a deep sigh, wishing there was an easy way out of this. But before you could even gather your thoughts, the phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.  

Crowe: You knew what you signed up for. Get it done, or I’m telling Geo about your whole ‘accidental’ Bosni tree pot situation.

That did it. The blood in your veins froze for a moment. The tree pot. The one you’d definitely broken during the last “harmless” visit to Geo's place when you tried to water his plants. Geo’s favorite plant pot, the one that was apparently extremely important to him. 

If Crowe really spilled the beans about that, you were done for.

You narrowed your eyes at the phone, holding back the urge to throw it across the room. Bastard.

With an exhale that felt like it came from your soul, you typed out a final message to Crowe, fully aware that you were about to go through with something you’d regret but couldn’t back out of. 

You: Fine. But you owe me one for this.

Locking the phone and tossing it beside you on the couch, you let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the situation already press on your shoulders. You were about to face the consequences of a bet that now seemed a lot less funny. 

For a brief moment, you considered just walking out and letting Crowe deal with whatever that mess would cause. But no, you'd signed up for this—and now, you were going to have to shoot your shot. 

And hope like hell that Geo didn’t decide to test out your strength next.

Your eyes flicked toward the hallway, where you could hear the muffled sound of Geo’s voice—grunting and puffing through his workout. The metallic clink of weights echoed faintly, paired with his strained breathing. 

“Shit,” You mumbled like Geo had no idea what was about to hit him.

You ran a hand through your hair, smoothing it back with exaggerated flair, trying to shake off the nerves that threatened to set in. You really didn’t want to do this. You really didn’t. But a bet was a bet, and you’d signed up for this mess willingly.

Besides, there was no way out now—not unless you wanted to face the wrath of Crowe and risk Geo finding out about the damn plant pot incident. 

You grabbed your phone again, your eyes lingering on the screen as you read Crowe’s last message once more. As tempting as it was to just text a quick follow-up to Crowe and get it over with, you knew that wouldn't be enough. If you were going to follow through on this chaotic request, it had to be in person.

Game face on.

You gripped your phone tightly in your hand, determined to make this look effortless. Rising from the couch, you tried your best to exude an air of confidence, even though your stomach was tied in knots.

With one final glance toward the hallway, you padded softly across the living room, each step more hesitant than the last. Geo was still in the other room, deep in his workout, completely unaware of the storm you were about to unleash.

You took a deep breath and lifted your phone as you walked, trying to steady your nerves.

Without wasting another moment, you hit open your facetime app. The screen switched to selfie mode, and you angled the camera so it captured your face with a perfect frame. 

With practiced ease, you threw up a peace sign, lips pursed into a playful, almost mocking smile waiting for him to answer. You had to look convincing—like you wanted to do this. It wasn’t the most ridiculous thing you’d ever been roped into. 

You held the phone up higher, positioning it before calling Crowe would see the full effect of your live performance. Then, with a quick tap, you called him. Your finger hovered over the screen for a moment, the gravity of what you were doing hitting you all at once. Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit the call button.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, Crowe’s face appeared on the screen, looking slightly confused as he answered. “You better have a good reason for calling me right now,” he said, squinting at the screen.

You grinned, doing your best to make it look like you weren’t about to regret this. “Live proof, Crowe,” you said, holding the phone steady. "Get ready for the show."

Crowe’s expression shifted immediately, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You actually doing it. I’m impressed and scared for you, you really don’t want to tell him, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, doing your best to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “No I don’t want to tell, so I’m not backing down now."

Behind you, Geo’s grunts drifted in from the other room, sounding like he was preparing to wrap up his set. You could feel the pressure mounting. 

“Alright, Crowe,” you mumbled, setting your jaw. “You wanted proof? You’ve got it.”

The clanking of weights in the other room grew louder as Geo worked his routine, the rhythmic sound of them hitting the floor serving as a strange kind of music that was perfectly suited to the chaos you were about to unleash. The occasional grunt he let out only made it more apparent that he was totally unaware of what was happening in the next room.

You leaned against the doorframe, placed your phone in your back pocket so Crowe could hear you. You could feel your pulse quicken, but you kept your cool, mentally preparing for the moment when Geo would finally notice you.

The door creaked slightly as you slid it open, making sure it was quiet enough so you didn’t give yourself away too early. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

This had to look effortless. 

And then—there it was.

The moment you’d been waiting for.  

Geo, mid-rep, froze as his eyes finally caught sight of you standing in the doorway. His brow furrowed slightly, and his arms paused in midair. The confused expression on his face was exactly what you wanted—he had no idea what you were about to throw at him.

He lowered the weights slowly, letting out a breath as he glanced up at you, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“What’s up?” His voice was slightly strained, his curiosity evident. 

Perfect. 

You didn't even miss a second. You leaned in, a smirk tugging at your lips, and said it—smoothly, like you’d been practicing it in front of a mirror for hours.

“They say shooters shoot,” you said, your voice playful and teasing, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment. You held his gaze, your smirk growing wider with every second.

“Subaru, wassup witchu?”

For a moment, there was absolute silence. Geo blinked. His face went blank, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, his brain scrambling to catch up with what had just been thrown at him. 

And then—the moment it clicked—the gears started to turn in slow motion. His expression shifted from confusion to pure amusement, then to something else entirely—was that disbelief? Annoyance?

Maybe a bit of both.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but his lips twitched, threatening to betray him. “Really?” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head, almost like he couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

“You really hit me with that, huh?”

You only shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, not backing down. “Yep. Gotta do it for the cause.”

Geo scoffed, shaking his head like you were the last person he’d ever expected to catch him off guard. “You’re so annoying, you know that?”

But before you could even process it, he did something completely unexpected—he dropped the dumbbells with a soft thud, his attention now entirely on you. 

His gaze turned from casual amusement to something more... intense. You watched, amused, as he took a couple of slow steps forward.

“I should’ve known you were gonna pull something like this,” Geo muttered, bumping your shoulder with just the right amount of force to get under your skin, but not too much.

“Guess I underestimated you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a little more impressed by his reaction. "I’m full of surprises," you quipped, stepping back a little as he closed the gap between you. 

Then, suddenly, his eyes flicked to something behind you—something you definitely didn’t expect. A small shift in his demeanor, his focus redirected. You felt your heart drop for a second, thinking maybe you’d gone too far. 

Before you could even process the rest of your thoughts, he moved. It was quick—way too quick.

Because—whoosh—your feet were off the ground.

Your breath caught in your throat as Geo casually tossed you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, the action smooth and effortless. 

His hand was firm but not rough, and you barely had time to adjust before the world shifted upside down, your stomach doing a flip as you were swung into position. Your face was level with his back, and all you could feel was the press of his shoulder under your ribs. He didn’t even break a sweat, the ease of it making it clear that this was nothing to him.

“What the hell? Geo—put me down!” You tried to squirm, but it was no use. The guy had you locked in with a grip that was firm enough to hold you hostage and casual enough to make it clear this wasn’t some angry move.

It was playful. It was... payback.

Geo didn’t even flinch at your protests. He just smirked to himself, his voice low and teasing. “Guess it’s time to test how good you really are at shooting your shot,” he said, his tone laced with challenge.

His words hung in the air like a dare, and you could feel the energy shift—suddenly, this wasn’t a funny little back-and-forth. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got stuck. The whole situation was too absurd, and you couldn’t help but feel the rise of laughter in your chest. But then Geo turned his head slightly, flashing that mischievous grin of his over his shoulder—knowing full well how badly you’d walked into this trap.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you remembered exactly who was about to witness this circus.

“Geo, seriously, this isn’t funny—” you started, but before you could finish, his eyes flicked to the phone, now hanging loosely in your pocket, clearly still in the middle of a FaceTime call with Crowe. 

He narrowed his eyes then he angled your body so he could reach up and grab your phone from your pocket, pulling it out with one smooth motion. He turned the screen toward his face, his brows arching at the sight of Crowe’s shocked face on the other end of the call. 

He was also caught.

“Of course it’s you,” Geo said, his voice dripping with annoyance as he slammed the door shut behind him, effectively trapping the two of you inside. His tone had that smug, ‘I’m in control’ edge as he shot a glance at your phone, practically posing for the camera like he was on a damn runway.

Crowe didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Oh my god, what in the hell is happening here?” he asked, practically snickering through the phone.

Geo scowled, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the door, still holding you like a human prize he’d just won in some weird game show. “What? You really thought I was gonna let them off the hook that easy?”

"Geo—hang up the phone, seriously!" you groaned, your face burning red as you realized you were still on FaceTime with Crowe, trapped in your embarrassing mess.

Geo looked at you with a irritated smirk that could only be described as dangerously entertained. He wasn’t just enjoying this moment—he was reveling in it.

“Nah, nah, Jericho’s gotta see this, right?” He shifted you in his arms, adjusting you so he could move into the perfect frame, as if this was his big moment on a reality TV show.

Your phone wobbled slightly as the camera angled to capture his face, and in that split second, it was clear: Geo knew exactly what he was doing. He looked into the camera, eyes gleaming mischievously, and you could’ve sworn he flashed the kind of grin you only see on cartoon villains. Like he was auditioning for the role.

"Next time you think you can mess with me..." Geo trailed off, his eyes flicking back to Crowe’s screen with an annoyed gleam, “Make sure you don’t leave the audience rolling.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning, your frustration mounting as the realization that this was about to be a moment for the ages hit you. "I swear you're both gonna pay for this."

Geo chuckled darkly, enjoying every second of your squirming. “Oh, you’re gonna pay, all right,” he said, his voice still heavy with challenge. His grip tightened just enough to ensure you knew he wasn’t letting this moment slip by unnoticed.

And then, with a sigh toward the phone, he slowly reached down and swiped at the screen, hanging up the FaceTime call without another word.

"After all, this for breaking my favorite bonsai tree…"

Your eyes widen upon hearing the abrupt cutoff left you staring at the now-empty screen, and all you could hear was the beat of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Fuck all this time he knew. He made sure of it.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

You had to admit, Sol’s bet was… ridiculous. 

Of course, you had to take it on. The bet was made, and now you were stuck with the consequences. 

“You’re too soft,” Sol had said earlier, a smug smile on his face as he leaned back in his seat, hands folded behind his head. “There’s no way you’ll flirt with Hyugo. I bet you forty bucks you won’t even try.”

You scoffed, your pride wounded more by the insult than the bet. “I’m not soft. I just… don’t feel the need to flirt with people to get attention.”

Sol raised an eyebrow, unamused. “So you won’t do it?”

“I’ll do it,” you shot back, all defiance. “I’m not scared of flirting, I just don’t want to do it with him.”

As you strolled through the bustling downtown streets with Hyugo, the weight of your earlier words finally hit you. Skipping out on the rest of the day’s classes had seemed like a solid plan at the time—an impulsive little rebellion fueled by a shared craving for the one dessert you’d both been dying to try. 

But now? 

Now you were here, walking beside him, and realizing that maybe, just maybe, you’d underestimated how much trouble you were about to get yourself into.  

"Man, I gotta say," Hyugo sighed dramatically, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I feel like a total delinquent right now. Skipping class, sneaking off downtown… Next thing you know, we’ll be on the news. *Menace to society and their unfortunate accomplice caught devouring pastries instead of doing calculus.*"  

You snorted. "Oh, please. If anyone’s the unfortunate accomplice, it’s you. I could’ve pulled this off solo and left no trace."  

Hyugo gasped, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him. "Wow. So this is how you treat your partner in crime? I thought we had something special."  

You rolled your eyes as the two of you stepped into the café, the rich scent of sugar and fresh pastries instantly making the escape from school worth it. Settling into a small booth, you both leaned over the massive dessert placed between you, exchanging glances before simultaneously reaching for a piece.  

"Okay, moment of truth," you said, taking a bite. The second the flavor hit, you groaned. "Oh yeah, this was worth it."  

Hyugo took a bite of his own, his eyes widening in pure delight. "Oh, this is dangerous. I could live off this. Forget school. Forget responsibilities. This is my new life now."  

You laughed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy atmosphere around you. It was *too* easy being with him—comfortable in a way that made you drop your usual guard without even realizing it.  

Hyugo tapped his fork against his plate, watching you with a teasing glint in his eye. "You keep looking at me like that," he mused, leaning in slightly, "and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a little crush on me."  

You nearly choked on your next bite. "Excuse me?"  

He grinned, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "What? I’m just saying, we ditch classes together, share a dessert, exchange some meaningful glances—"  

"Shut up," you groaned, throwing a napkin at him.  

But Hyugo caught it with ease, shaking his head as he leaned in even closer. "Nah, nah, don’t back out now," he said, voice dropping into something smoother, more playful. "I mean, if you do have something to confess, I’m all ears."  

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You’re insufferable."  

"And yet," he smirked, tapping his leg against yours under the table, "you’re still here, babe."  

Damn it.  

He had a point. And that was the real problem.

“Okay, so I have to ask,” Hyugo said between bites, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous twinkle. “What’s going on with you today? You’re acting all…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your shift in demeanor.

You paused mid-bite, the rich sweetness of the dessert somehow losing its flavor as you felt Sol’s words echo in your head.

Shoot your shot.

The pressure was on now. You could feel it like a weight on your chest. The bet was made, and here you were, sitting with Hyugo—alone—and if you didn’t do something now, you’d lose the damn bet. You had to commit. No backing out. 

You set your fork down, glancing at him before taking a deep breath. Time to give it your best shot.

With a confident, almost exaggerated move, you leaned forward just a touch, your voice dropping slightly lower but holding that playful edge. “Hey,” you started, rolling the name off your tongue like it was something sweet. 

“They say shooters shoot, right?” You let the words hang between you, the tension thickening just enough that even he could sense it. 

Hyugo blinked, pausing for a moment, clearly not expecting this. The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting off a grin. “Shooter, huh?” he replied, the hint of a challenge dancing in his voice. You leaned in a little more, your eyes locking with his, and gave him that smirk that made your intentions crystal clear. 

"Hyugo, wassup witchu?" you said, your voice teasing and flirtatious, making it clear that you weren’t playing around.

For a moment, there was silence—just a beat long enough for you to wonder if you’d completely missed the mark. But then, Hyugo’s grin exploded, wide and unabashed. His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer, almost as if he was savoring the challenge you’d just thrown at him.

“Okay, okay, I see you,” he chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “But you know… shooters don’t always hit the mark.” His voice was low, almost dangerous with that playful edge that had you wondering what exactly he meant.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little as you couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was throwing it right back. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” you said, giving him a teasing once-over. “I think I’ve got some pretty damn good aim.”

“Is that so?” Hyugo asked, his gaze never leaving yours as he leaned back, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth now.

Hyugo’s grin widened, his eyes never leaving yours as he casually finished the last bite of the dessert. There was something about the way he did it—slow and deliberate—that made it feel like he was taking control of more than just the dessert, like he was claiming the moment.

As he leaned back, the playful glint in his eyes deepened. He was enjoying this, every second of it. The tension between you two was palpable now, thick enough that it made it harder to breathe. You could feel the temperature rise, and suddenly, the air felt heavy with anticipation.

“Well, if we’re both shooting our shots…” Hyugo trailed off, his mischievous grin now a full-blown smirk. “I guess it’s my turn, huh?” His voice was low, but the challenge in it was unmistakable. There was a promise in his tone, like he was about to pull something bold, something you couldn’t ignore.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, knowing this was about to get a whole lot more intense. Hyugo had that effect on people—he made everything feel like it was a high-stakes game, and you were the one caught in the middle of it. 

His leg brushed against yours under the table, just enough to make you pause. The casual touch sent a jolt through you, and before you could even react, he shifted closer. The playful look on his face grew more intense as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke.

“You know…” he started, his voice low and smooth, as though he was savoring every syllable. His hand slid from the edge of the table toward your side, just brushing against your arm, like it was nothing. 

“I’ve been wondering for a while now…” 

You swallowed, trying not to let the heat rise to your face, but it was hard to concentrate when his body was so close to yours. His knee was now pressed against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

His gaze flicked from your lips to your eyes, taking in every little shift in your expression as though he were studying you. There was something about the way he looked at you that made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying your discomfort.

Hyugo leaned in even closer, his voice lowering, his words carrying the same confident teasing as before, but now there was a touch of something else. “What would it take for someone like me…” He paused, his lips curling up in that signature smirk, the kind that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“To get someone like you to stop hiding behind that tough front? To actually, you know…” He slid his leg just a little closer to yours, pushing against it in a move that was so casually intimate it took your breath away. “…Show me what you’ve got?”

The way his leg brushed against yours now wasn’t just playful; it was deliberate, like he was making a statement. His body language was bold, and the way he held your gaze made it clear he wasn’t going to back down anytime soon.

You were both in the middle of a public place, but Hyugo had a way of making everything feel like it was just the two of you. It was intoxicating, and for a moment, you almost forgot where you were. 

He was so close now, the heat from his body mixing with yours, his smile widening as he saw you flinch just slightly at the touch. It was playful, yes, but there was something else behind it—a teasing challenge, and an undeniable sense of control.

“So,” Hyugo said, his voice lighter now, but there was a definite edge to it. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna keep hiding, or are you gonna show me what you’re really made of?” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you had no idea how to respond—because Hyugo wasn’t just shooting his shot. 

He was playing a game, and he was damn good at it.

Soon, Hyugo leaned back just enough to give you a once-over, his smirk stretching wider as if he had already solved the mystery you hadn’t even realized you were trying to hide. His leg pressed against yours again—this time firmer, like he was making a point.  

“Ahhh,” he drawled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I knew something was up.”  

You blinked. “What?”  

He tilted his head, watching you like you were the punchline to a joke he’d just figured out. “You don’t usually flirt this bold—nah, this has Sunny written all over it.”  

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool, grabbing another bite of dessert as if you weren’t internally panicking. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  

Hyugo laughed, loud and full of mischief. “Yeah? So you just happened to wake up today and decide to lay it on thick? Noo, I can hear him in my head right now, betting you wouldn’t have the guts.”  

Damn it. He caught on way too fast.  

Hyugo’s grin turned downright wicked as he slid his phone out of his pocket. “Hold still, babe,” he teased, throwing an arm around your shoulders and yanking you in before you could even think about escaping.  

Click.  

You barely had time to blink before he tilted his phone toward you, displaying the damning evidence—your face, frozen in a mix of shock and mild betrayal, while he grinned like he just won a championship game.  

He burst out laughing. “Oh yeah. This is gold. I need Sol to see this.”  

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”  

Hyugo arched a brow, his smirk growing even more insufferable as his thumb hovered over the send button. “Oh, I definitely would.” He paused, tapping his chin like he was deep in thought. “Actually… y’know what? I should charge you for this. Consider it a finder’s fee for exposing Sol’s shady little bet.”  

You shoved at his arm, scowling. “You’re the worst.”  

Hyugo only cackled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before catching your chin between his fingers, and tilting your face up with a teasing nudge. His voice dipped into something almost mockingly sweet. 

“Nah, I’m just invested in your financial success. Now, make sure to collect your winnings tomorrow—’cause after I’m done with you today?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as his smirk turned downright smug.

“You’re gonna be too tired to think about anything else.”  

And just like that, he stole the last bite of dessert, winked, and leaned back like he had already won. 

Smug. As. Hell.

[mangooes]

In Laws

Sylus Qin, head of the Onychinus , had spent years ruling over the underworld with an iron grip, striking fear into his enemies with just a glance.

But now?

Now he was sitting stiffly at the dining table of his in-laws, trying very hard to convince them he was just a humble businessman.

"So, Sylus," (Name)’s father, said, narrowing his eyes as he cut into his steak. "What do you do for a living?"

The said girl, who was taking a sip of water, immediately froze.

Sylus, the most feared man in the underworld, simply smiled. "I run a business, sir."

(Name)’s mother, clapped her hands together. "Oh, that’s lovely! What kind of business?"

(Name), sensing absolute chaos about to unfold, subtly kicked Sylus’s foot under the table.

Sylus, completely amused by the situation, decided to test just how much he could get away with. "Fruits."

She choked.

Her father raised a brow. "Fruits?"

"Yes," Sylus said smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. "I own a…fruit distribution company."

(Name) gripped her napkin, trying desperately to hold in her laughter.

Her mother beamed. "Oh, how wonderful! Fresh produce is so important these days!"

"Exactly," Sylus nodded sagely. "Gotta make sure the supply chain is…efficient."

His wife whispered under her breath, "Sylus, stop."

Her father leaned forward, still unconvinced. "What kind of fruit?"

Sylus tilted his head. "Exotic ones."

She kicked him again.

The mother gasped. "Oh, I love exotic fruits! Do you have dragon fruit?"

"Yes," Sylus said, completely serious. "I have an entire sector dedicated to it."

(Name) was about to explode.

Her father, still suspicious, narrowed his eyes. "You sure it’s just fruit?"

"Of course," Sylus said smoothly. "And…facilities management."

He blinked. "Facilities management?"

(Name) pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking wether to step in now before its too late.

"Yes," Sylus continued. "I own warehouses. Lots of warehouses."

Her father squinted. "Warehouses for…fruit?"

"Exactly."

She lost it, coughing into her napkin as she died laughing on the table.

Her mother, confused towards her sweet daughters action raised her brow, but bless her heart, she was fully convinced. "Oh, that’s just wonderful! You must be so successful!"

"Quite," Sylus said, smirking. "People know not to mess with my business."

another wheeze was heard on the background.

Her father, still skeptical, finally sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Alright, alright. You seem…decent enough."

"Dad," She groaned, still trying to recover from Sylus’s nonsense.

Her mother ever the cheerful type, grinned at Sylus. "As long as you make my baby girl happy, that’s all that matters!"

Sylus turned to his wife, his crimson eyes softening just a fraction. "She makes me happier than anything, ma’am."

(Name)’s face heated slightly, but she smirked. "See, Dad? He’s not that bad."

Her father let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. But if you ever hurt her, son—"

"That will never happen," Sylus said immediately, voice dead serious. "I would burn the world before letting a single tear fall from her eyes."

For once, her father paused, studying Sylus. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he grunted approvingly. "Hmph. Good answer."

She blinked. "Wait…that’s it? You’re convinced just like that?"

Her father shrugged. "Well, he’s a fruit businessman who manages warehouses. Can’t be that bad."

She facepalmed.

Sylus, utterly amused, simply smirked. "Glad we understand each other then, sir."

As they finished dinner, She finally pulled Sylus aside before they left.

"You absolute menace," she whispered, poking his chest. "A fruit vendor? Warehouses?"

Sylus chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. "It worked, didn’t it?"

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide her smile. "Still, you did good today."

"Of course I did," Sylus murmured, leaning closer. "I always put effort into things that matter to me."

Her heart fluttered. With a grin, she stood on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Sylus smirked. "What’s this for?"

"For effort," she teased. "Consider it a reward."

Sylus hummed, pulling her closer. "Hmm… I think I want more rewards."

The woman in his arms laughed. "Too bad, Mr. Fruit Vendor. Let’s go home."

Sylus chuckled, entwining his fingers with hers. "Yes, sweetie. Let’s go home."

HII IM SO SORRY I WAS GONE FORE 2 DAYS CUZ I WAS SUPER BUSY W EXAMS KSAJDNSKAJNK im still on my exam week /sigh anyways I GOT MY BABY BOYS CARD ON THE 30TH PULL I LOVE HIM SO MUCH THANK YOU SY SY<3 anyways i feel like this chapter is a bit underwhelming so might revise it later.