#control-driven clients

[expphot0]

The Control Paradox: When Small Business Owners Choose Risk Over Security

When Competence Isn’t Enough: The Client Who Sabotages Their Own Business You deliver exceptional IT service—systems are secure, downtime is minimal, and your team is always responsive. The client even acknowledges your expertise and the value you provide. Then, without warning, they demand full administrative access and soon after, terminate your managed services contract, citing a need for…

[reasonsforhope]

"In some cities, as many as one in four office spaces are vacant. Some start-ups are giving them a second life – as indoor farms growing crops as varied as kale, cucumber and herbs.

Since its 1967 construction, Canada's "Calgary Tower", a 190m (623ft) concrete-and-steel observation tower in Calgary, Alberta, has been home to an observation deck, panoramic restaurants and souvenir shops. Last year, it welcomed a different kind of business: a fully functioning indoor farm.

Sprawling across 6,000sq m (65,000 sq ft), the farm, which produces dozens of crops including strawberries, kale and cucumber, is a striking example of the search for city-grown food. But it's hardly alone. From Japan to Singapore to Dubai, vertical indoor farms – where crops can be grown in climate-controlled environments with hydroponics, aquaponics or aeroponics techniques – have been popping up around the world.

While indoor farming had been on the rise for years, a watershed moment came during the Covid-19 pandemic, when disruptions to the food supply chain underscored the need for local solutions. In 2021, $6bn (£4.8bn) in vertical farming deals were registered globally – the peak year for vertical farming investment. As the global economy entered its post-pandemic phase, some high-profile startups like Fifth Season went out of business, and others including Planted Detroit and AeroFarms running into a period of financial difficulty. Some commentators questioned whether a "vertical farming bubble" had popped.

But a new, post-pandemic trend may give the sector a boost. In countries including Canada and Australia, landlords are struggling to fill vacant office spaces as companies embrace remote and hybrid work. In the US, the office vacancy rate is more than 20%.

"Vertical farms may prove to be a cost-effective way to fill in vacant office buildings," says Warren Seay, Jr, a real estate finance partner in the Washington DC offices of US law firm ArentFox Schiff, who authored an article on urban farm reconversions. 

There are other reasons for the interest in urban farms, too. Though supply chains have largely recovered post-Covid-19, other global shocks, including climate change, geopolitical turmoil and farmers' strikes, mean that they continue to be vulnerable – driving more cities to look for local food production options...

Thanks to artificial light and controlled temperatures, offices are proving surprisingly good environments for indoor agriculture, spurring some companies to convert part of their facilities into small farms. Since 2022, Australia's start-up Greenspace has worked with clients like Deloitte and Commonwealth Bank to turn "dead zones", like the space between lifts and meeting rooms, into 2m (6ft) tall hydroponic cabinets growing leafy greens.

On top of being adaptable to indoor farm operations, vacant office buildings offer the advantage of proximity to final consumers.

In a former paper storage warehouse in Arlington, about a mile outside of Washington DC, Jacqueline Potter and the team at Area 2 Farms are growing over 180 organic varieties of lettuce, greens, root vegetables, herbs and micro-greens. By serving consumers 10 miles away or less, the company has driven down transport costs and associated greenhouse emissions.

This also frees the team up to grow other types of food that can be hard to find elsewhere – such as edible flower species like buzz buttons and nasturtium. "Most crops are now selected to be grown because of their ability to withstand a 1,500-mile journey," Potter says, referring to the average distance covered by crops in the US before reaching customers. "In our farm, we can select crops for other properties like their nutritional value or taste."

Overall, vertical farms have the potential to outperform regular farms on several environmental sustainability metrics like water usage, says Evan Fraser, professor of geography at the University of Guelph in Ontario, Canada and the director of the Arell Food Institute, a research centre on sustainable food production. Most indoor farms report using a tiny fraction of the water that outdoor farms use. Indoor farms also report greater output per square mile than regular farms.

Energy use, however, is the "Achilles heel" of this sector, says Fraser: vertical farms need a lot of electricity to run lighting and ventilation systems, smart sensors and automated harvesting technologies. But if energy is sourced from renewable sources, they can outperform regular farms on this metric too, he says. 

Because of variations in operational setup, it is hard to make a general assessment of the environmental, social and economic sustainability of indoor farms, says Jiangxiao Qiu, a landscape ecologist at the University of Florida and author of a study on urban agriculture's role in sustainability. Still, he agrees with Fraser: in general, urban indoor farms have higher crop yield per square foot, greater water and nutrient-use efficiency, better resistance to pests and shorter distance to market. Downsides include high energy use due to lighting, ventilation and air conditioning.

They face other challenges, too. As Seay notes, zoning laws often do not allow for agricultural activity within urban areas (although some cities like Arlington, Virginia, and Cincinnati, Ohio, have recently updated zoning to allow indoor farms). And, for now, indoor farms have limited crop range. It is hard to produce staple crops like wheat, corn or rice indoors, says Fraser. Aside from leafy greens, most indoor facilities cannot yet produce other types of crops at scale.

But as long as the post-pandemic trends of remote work and corporate downsizing will last, indoor farms may keep popping up in cities around the world, Seay says. 

"One thing cities dislike more than anything is unused spaces that don't drive economic growth," he says. "If indoor farm conversions in cities like Arlington prove successful, others may follow suit.""

-via BBC, January 27, 2025

[drdemonprince]

Is therapy worthless because it’s all a tool of capitalism to correct us into being normal ?

no it's not useless. It can really generate a lot of insight, for example sometimes it can help you realize that you're being abused! a former therapist really helped me crack that a repeated problem that I was having in a social group I was in was caused by the, let's just say, nexus of that social group being a repeated abuser. theracy can help you strategize how to make changes that you are interested in changing in an abstract way, and make them more concrete with weekly goals that they can help you be accountable for. they can recommend different tools, exercises, and readings. The relationship allows you to practice closeness and self-disclosure in a setting where everything is happening on your own terms; one of the most valuable aspects of therapy is critiquing your therapist when they get things wrong and challenging them, and exercising the muscle of ending a relationship we need to. a lot of people find that therapy gives them more perspective on their problems, because they have a dedicated space to externally process them and get some feedback. when someone has no existing close relationships, sometimes the therapeutic relationship is a really important first place to develop certain relational abilities. Therapy can go wrong a lot of the time, part because of the people who are mostly driven to be therapists and their own twisted relationship to power. It tends to be a lot of white women of relative privilege, or people who are similarly positioned to both possess a lot of covert power, and to feel really disempowered and to want to quietly wield power over others. a lot of therapists have really traditional worldviews, even if they don't think they do, and impose those on their clients. therapist could be some of the most judgmental people in the world, and are often uncomfortable with anything that their clients do that is all deviant, no matter how harmless it might be, or how oppressive those rules surrounding deviance are. but there is a lot to be said for having a close, private relationship where you can talk about whatever you want to talk about, get some perspective, get some resources, and most importantly where you are in control of what happens. I think a lot of people miss that last piece. they are fooled by the aura of authority that surrounds therapists, and do not question them or challenge them. but the best way to get the most out of therapy is to come in ready to be messy, critical, open, and to put up a fight.

[sturnzsblog]

Stress reliever

summary:Chris comes home late. The house is quiet. You’re on the couch in his hoodie, all cozy and cute — and that just sets him off.

warnings: Rough sex / power imbalance Dom/sub dynamics ,Light choking (with consent),Degradation (mild, consensual),Orgasm control / overstimulation and Mentions of possessiveness

The front door slams shut.

You don’t flinch — you know that walk, the heavy footsteps, the low mutter under his breath as he kicks off his boots. Chris is home, and he’s pissed.

You peek over the couch, curled up in one of his sweatshirts that still smells like cedarwood and sawdust. He looks wrecked — jaw clenched, brows furrowed, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day.

“Rough day?” you ask softly, tucking your legs under you.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at you — slow, dark, unreadable — then turns off the light with a click and walks toward you.

You sit up straighter, suddenly very aware of your bare thighs, the way his hoodie swallows you. He stops right in front of the couch, towering over you, chest rising and falling like he’s holding something in.

“Up,” he says, voice low, tight.

Your body reacts before your mind does. You stand.

He grabs your wrist — not gentle, not rough, but possessive. The kind of grip that says, I need to touch you or I’ll explode. He doesn’t say a word as he walks you down the hall to the bedroom.

The second the door shuts, he turns to you and mutters:

“Take your fucking shorts off.”

You blink. “Chris, are you—”

“Now.”

You slip them off. He doesn’t wait. Just grabs you by the waist, throws you face-down onto the bed, and pulls your hips up. His hand pushes the hoodie up, exposing your back and ass.

“Do you have any idea how fucking long my day was?”

He pulls his belt off with one smooth motion — the snap of leather making you shiver.

“Clients asking for changes last minute. My truck broke down. And the only thing that kept me from punching a hole in the wall…”

He leans down, his breath hot on your neck.

“…was thinking about this sweet little body waiting for me.”

Then he’s inside you. No warning. No teasing. Just a sharp thrust that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your fingers grip the sheets as you cry out, back arching.

“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”

He groans, dragging his hips back before slamming into you again.

“You like it when I use you like this, don’t you?”

You whimper a yes — and he smacks your ass hard enough to make you jolt.

“Louder.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp.

His hand finds your hair, fisting it, yanking your head back just enough to growl in your ear:

“Good fucking girl.”

He sets a brutal pace — rough, relentless, hips slamming into you like he’s trying to fuck the stress out of his system. You feel your thighs shaking already, pleasure spiraling too fast.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you. Got it?”

You nod quickly, breathless.

He flips you onto your back without pulling out, climbs over you like a storm, and pins your wrists to the bed with one hand. The other slips between your legs, fingers rubbing your clit in fast, tight circles.

He uses your body like it’s his own personal release — his rhythm sharp, punishing, driven by something darker than just lust. His other hand wraps around your throat, pulling your chest up until your back’s arched, your moans muffled by his palm.

“You take me so well, baby. Always so tight. So needy for it.”

You can’t think. Can’t breathe.

But you love it.

Your body’s straining for more, legs shaking already as he hits deeper with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. You’re close. So close.

He knows.

“No,” he growls, pulling out suddenly and flipping you onto your back. “You don’t get to cum yet. Not until Daddy’s done using you.”

He enters you again without warning — one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other between your legs, circling your clit slow just to torture you.

“Beg.”

“Please,” you whisper, hips rocking, desperate.

“Louder.”

“Please, Daddy. Please let me cum, I need it—”

“Then take it. And don’t stop.”

You break.

It hits like lightning — back arching, thighs trembling, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. But Chris doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He keeps going, even as you sob and shake beneath him.

Another orgasm builds. Then another.

Your body obeys before your brain catches up. Your back arches, a loud moan spilling from your lips as your whole body trembles beneath him. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow.

“You’re not done. One more.”

Tears prick your eyes as he keeps going — fucking you through it, overstimulating you until your legs shake and you sob his name. His rhythm stutters — and with a deep growl and one final thrust, he finishes inside you, his body collapsing over yours.

Your mind goes white.

He growls your name, hips stuttering, then thrusts one final time — deep and possessive — as he finishes inside you, loud and low, like a man finally letting go.

Then… silence.

Just heavy breathing. Sweat. His body blanketing yours as he collapses over you, hand still holding yours, lips brushing your temple.

“Too rough?” he whispers, brushing hair from your face.

You shake your head, still trying to breathe. “No. I like it when you lose control.”

His jaw tenses — then softens.

He kisses your forehead. Your cheek. Your lips. Gentle. Slow. Like he’s putting every broken piece of himself back together through you.

“I love you too much not to kiss you after.”

taglist 💋

@n00dl3zzz @pip4444chris @sturnzzlovee @bernardmatthews @xsturnkay @katiebae333 @dummyslut00 @eszt1 @kalel2005 @nessaisabelartemas333 @sturnxvibes @jaybirdie34

[nectar-cellar]

Downtown Roles Mod Tutorial - TS3 - Mature Gameplay Ideas

NSFW 18+ mature content / a long read   

TLDR: this is a compilation/recommendation list of mods, a tutorial on how to set up NPCs, and how to tie it all together to add some mature gameplay to your save. 😈

Misukisu/Virtual Artisan had a “Downtown Roles” mod that sadly does not work anymore for the latest versions of TS3. Her mod basically allowed players to add role sims to community lots so your sims could have more NPCs to interact with, making the lots feel more alive in a mature "downtown" sort of way.

I was inspired by her mod and I want to share how you can recreate and expand her mod’s functions with Nraas Register and Arsil’s Custom Generic Role mod. Some players might already know how these mods work, but it was a new discovery for me. I didn’t know how useful role sims could be! It got the gears in my dirty mind turning.

The main purpose of this mod list/tutorial: to add role sims to community lots for your main sims to interact with, while they’re out on the town. These will be sims outside of your household. Their main “job” is to hang out at the lot. You can let the game generate new sims to fill these roles, or assign existing sims in the town to fill the roles.

Examples of role sims you can create: 

A regular patron at a dive bar for your sim to befriend or make enemies with.

A sexy single sim at a beach, gym, pool, bar or club for your sim to mingle and hook up with. 

An escort at a brothel for your sim to woohoo with (Passion mod). 

A client for your sim to sell drugs/weapons to (MonocoDoll Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod) - I have not tested this but in theory it should work. 

You can add multiple role sims on each lot. You could have a number of partygoers on a club lot/a number of escorts on a brothel lot/a number of mobsters or criminals on a warehouse lot who will always be there when your sim visits.

Why role sims?

Townies are unpredictable - you never know which lot they’ll show up on, and how long they’ll stay. Role sims will consistently be there as the supporting characters in your main sim’s story. 

Having consistent NPCs at certain locations around town can help with story-driven gameplay scenarios.

You can move a household of your own sims into town and assign them to fill various roles. See pretty NPCs around town!

If you let the game generate new sims for the roles, then it saves you the hassle of setting up new households yourself. You can always edit them later in CAS.

Limitations: 

According to Arsil, it seems like sims who are already employed (such as most townies) will be removed from their jobs if they are assigned to be role sims. So I would avoid using any employed townies for this unless you are ok with that. Use unemployed residents instead.

I believe the role sim cannot leave the lot during the designated work hours. Your sim cannot form a group with them and go to another venue. However, you can invite the sim over or hang out afterwards from the relationship panel.

Mods Needed:

Nraas Master Controller + Integration Module

Nraas Register

Arsil‘s Custom Generic Role mod (both the floor marker and the desk)

Passion (if you want your sim to be able to have sex with the role sims on the lot or have the role sims dance on the stripper pole) 

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to) 

MonocoDoll’s Arms Dealing mod (if you want to create NPC clients for your sim to sell to) 

How to Set Up: 

Step 1: Install the mods listed above. Then, open the save file you want to add some downtown sleaze to. 

Step 2: Find a community lot you want to add role sims to. This could be a bar, nightclub, brothel/motel/strip club, a run-down warehouse or block of buildings, casino, etc. I have downloaded many lots from Flora2 at ModtheSims and @simsmidgen here on Tumblr that fit the gritty urban vibe.  

Step 3: Enter Build/Buy mode. You can do this from Live mode. 

Press Ctrl + Shift + C, enter this cheat: testingcheatsenabled true 

Press the Shift key and click on the ground of the community lot. 

Click on “Build on this lot”. 

You can also enter Edit Town mode to renovate the community lot. 

Step 4: Place Arsil’s Custom Generic Role floor marker or desk on the lot. Place one for each role sim you want to create. They are located in Build Mode -> Community Objects -> Misc. If the desk looks out of place, use the floor marker instead. 

Step 5: In Live mode, click on the object -> Settings to set:

The name of the role (clubgoer/stripper/escort/mobster/etc.) 

The “work” hours the sim will be on the lot for 

The days off 

The motives to freeze or not (I recommend freezing all the motives to avoid interactions being interrupted/sims complaining due to low motives) 

If the sim you want to assign to the role already lives in town, click on the object -> Nraas -> Register -> Select -> Choose criteria -> select the sim from the list. I would avoid choosing any employed townies as they may lose their job when switching to this role. Choose unemployed residents to avoid conflicts.

Remove assigned roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role.

Step 6: In Live mode, click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register

Allow immigration: choose whether you want new sims to be moved into town to take the roles (enable this if you want the game to generate new sims for the roles) 

Allow immigration = False: if you set this option to false, then a new option called "Find Empty Roles" should appear. You can then assign any sim to the role object you placed, from City Hall.

Allow resident assignment: choose whether you want existing unemployed townies to be randomly assigned to fill the roles (I recommend to disable this. I had Buster Clavell show up to work at my strip club. NO!)

Pay per hour: I'm not sure how to adjust the pay for each custom role but you can just leave it at the default or change it globally

Remove roles: click on the object to remove the sim from the role, or click on City Hall -> Nraas -> Register -> Global Roles -> Remove by sim

Step 7: In Live mode, give the game some time to generate the role sims. Visit the community lot and have a look at your new role sims. The role sims should autonomously interact with other sims and objects on the lot. Using Nraas Master Controller, you can take the sim into CAS to give them a makeover, edit their traits, or replace them with a sim from your sim bin. 

Step 8: Make your sim interact with the shiny new role sims and play out the storylines you always wished were possible. Public hookups, functioning brothels, selling drugs and guns - this is what The Sims 3 was made for, baby!!! 

Related Mods:

Arsil’s Exotic Dancer Stage - if you have a club community lot, you can use this mod to hire dancers. You can use role sims to add other NPCs to the club such as guests, shady business sims, or non-dancer sex workers. 

Nraas Relativity - this handy mod can slow down the speed of time so your sim can spend more time doing their "activities"

Nraas Woohooer - if you don’t want the explicit sex animations from Passion, you could use this mod instead to provide more woohoo options. 

Passion - for brothels/strip clubs, this mod will add sex animations and the ability to have role sims dance on the stripper pole. 

MonocoDoll’s Vile Ventures mod and Arms Dealing mod - you can use role sims to create more clients for your sim to sell drugs and weapons to, like different individuals/gangs/mobs. You could have different clients hanging out at different spots in the city. 

LazyDuchess Lot Population - this mod populates community lots with townies, and they can interact with the role sims you’ve created. 

Service Sims Out on the Town - this pushes service sims to visit community lots, to add even more variety to your crowds. 

Conclusion

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading. Please let me know if you try out this style of gameplay, and if you have ideas for more role sims and community lots to make. This tutorial was NSFW-oriented but you could easily adapt it to create NPCs for SFW community lots.

[transholmes]

I was browsing through the index of the original Sherlock Holmes story, as one does, when a thought struck me. While Holmes' personal life was utterly devoid of women, his professional one was positively overflowing with them.

I think something like half the stories have a woman as his client. Additionally I'd estimate a solid 3/4 of the stories have a woman or several women, appear in a pivotal role, whether as victim, villain, or heroes.

And quite aside from the sheer number of women in Doyle's stories, there's also the range of them. We're presented with almost every type of woman imaginable. We have clever and competent women, craven women, women driven by ambition and devoid of empathy and compassion. We have warm women, cold women, women caught in circumstances beyond their control and those who take charge of those circumstances.

While I think it would be a reach to call Doyle's writing feminist, the fact remains that in the original Sherlock Holmes stories women are allowed a full range of humanity. Which quite frankly make the fact that adaptions too often fail abysmally on this account, though I think some interesting conclusions can be drawn between an adaptions insistence upon thrusting women into Holmes' personal life while simultaneously removing them from the prominence they held in his professional work.

[xo-hoon]

25 Days Later — p.sh

Continuation of 25 Days Later

pairing: ethical serial dater!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, fake to real relationship trope

synopsis: For Park Sunghoon, relationships should remain uncomplicated. With life already filled with complexities, he believes that dating should only last for twenty-five days—just enough time to enjoy each other's company before parting ways. And there’s Yoon Y/n, who was driven by her curiosity rather than romance, finds herself intrigued by Sunghoon's unconventional plan, prompting her to join him for these twenty-five days. Yet, beneath their playful interactions, an unpredictable tension hints that things may not be as simple as they appear.

word count: 4k

warnings: EXTREME FLUFF! hoon’s a sweet heart (i’m goona cry), mentions of accidents, someone died, hoon being jealous, very very very slight angst. Grammatical and typographical errors ahead!

a/n: It’s finally done! I had a lot of troubles writing this fanfic and experienced many, MANY (MANY) breakdowns throughout the process, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

I really really hope that ya’ll would enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. 🫶🏻

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACKS WOULD BE HIGHLY APPRECIATED!

here you go, bae @zara2318 🧎🏻‍♀️

Day 25

If Jake and the others were to see him now, they'd probably laugh. He was hardly recognizable as the Park Sunghoon they knew. The old him wouldn't have bothered chasing after a woman who clearly didn't want him anymore. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't that simple for you to break things off.

Fine, maybe he was being arrogant. But you had shared something special with him.

Why would you do that if he meant nothing to you?

No, he refused to believe that what happened between you two was just a fleeting moment brought on by the storm.

And you weren't the type to take such a bold step without good reason. You weren't someone who'd make such a move lightly. He couldn't accept that he was just a passing fascination, a curiosity you explored only to move on to the next person. No, it wasn't that shallow.

Alright, maybe it was just his pride speaking, but he wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.

Today, he planned to convince you to give things another chance.

He just hoped you'd agree.

His brow furrowed as he spotted a black sedan parked in front of your house. Slowly, he pulled up beside the unfamiliar car and got out.

Just then, he saw you coming out, laughing with Jiwon, who was following behind. Your smile faded the moment you noticed him, and for a brief second, silence filled the air.

"Hey, man," Jiwon finally broke the tension. "How's it going?"

Fuck off.

He could've said that. But he didn't and just glanced at him briefly and gave him a nod, and then looked back at you.

"Are you heading somewhere?" he asked, despite his racing heart.

"I'm just walking Jiwon to his car."

Sunghoon nodded. "I'll wait for you."

"Ah, I actually have a client waiting on the other side," you explained, referring to the funeral home.

Your voice and gaze pleaded with him.

"Just a quick chat. Five minutes maximum, please,”Sunghoon urged, watching as you considered.

"Alright," you finally agreed. "I'll just walk Jiwon to his car."

"Catch you later, man," Jiwon said, giving a friendly nod.

Sunghoon didn't go inside. Instead, he waited by the door, observing your interaction with Jiwon. He couldn't hear what you were saying, but he saw you laugh at something, and a pang of jealousy hit him.

Why was it so hard for him to see you happy with someone else?

His fists clenched and his jaw tightened when he saw Jiwon give you a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek before getting into his car. You stood there, watching as he drove off. Sunghoon took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He knew he had no right to feel jealous and needed to get his emotions under control.

You turned to him at last. "Let's go inside," you said, leading him in.

"I thought we already cleared things up yesterday?" Your face was expressionless, the opposite of how you'd looked while talking to Jiwon, and that irritated him even more.

"So, is he the one you're replacing me with?" he asked, his voice tense.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And you knowing the answer to that question is important because?"

Sunghoon swallowed hard. "Y/n, I want another chance." You raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. "I believe what we had was something special. You're definitely not like the other girls I've dated."

You crossed your arms. "And?"

"And you said you appreciated honesty. If you're truly being honest with yourself, you’d recognize that what we had was unique."

"Can you just get to the point?" you said, your impatience showing as you glanced at your watch. "I have a client waiting."

Under different circumstances, you might have laughed at the idea of your so called ‘client’ really waiting for you as if it would grow frustrated when you took too long. But he seemed anxious about it and his words spilled out. "I want another shot. Another twenty-five days with you." You paused, staring at him, before letting out a soft, humorless laugh, your eyes starting to water.

"You really are a hopeless case, Park Sunghoon." You looked down, discreetly wiping your eyes. "Just go home. I need to get back to work."

He reached out to grab your hand, trying to stop you from leaving. "Wait, you haven’t given me your answer yet."

"Seriously?" You rubbed your face in exasperation, then you locked eyes with him, tears welling up. "No, Sunghoon. My answer is no. And please, stop coming back here." You stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

You were still feeling down while working on the body of a forty-two-year-old woman who had died from bone cancer. She had implants in her breasts and buttocks that needed to be removed, making the task labor-intensive, which was fine with you. You preferred to stay busy at that moment rather than let your mind wander back to Sunghoon. You were irritated enough as it was.

You sang along to an Ariana Grande song while your hands were busy dressing the body in a white gown.

"Leave that, Y/n," your mother said as she entered the preparation room. It seemed she was going to take care of the remains of a child who had died in a car accident. "Sunghoon is waiting for you at home."

Your expression soured further, and you continued working. You started applying makeup to your client’s face. "You could have just sent him home. We talked earlier, and there's nothing left to discuss."

"Is there a problem between you two?" She began gathering supplies to clean the body.

"I don’t know about him," you replied.

"Have I mentioned that he’s been here almost every day for the past few days?" she said. "He says you aren’t answering his calls or texts. He’s really worried about you."

You grimaced at the mental image of him. "He probably can’t accept that I broke up with him before our twenty-five days were up."

"Why did you break up so quickly, anyway? Didn’t you enjoy his company?"

You sighed and adjusted the skirt of the body. "Mom, can we talk about this later? I feel like it’s disrespectful to our clients to gossip about that jerk."

Your mother chuckled softly. "Alright, we’ll talk later. I just need to finish this up."

After a few minutes, you completed your task. "I’ll be in the office," you said before leaving her in the preparation room. You tidied yourself up and headed to your mother’s office, only to find your father there.

"Oh, too bad. Sunghoon just left."

You secretly frowned. You thought you would need to wait over an hour before facing the conversation about him. Apparently, you didn’t need to wait for your mother to finish after all; here was yet another person ready to pry.

“We already talked,” you said while booting up your laptop, hoping that if you acted busy, your dad wouldn’t ask too many questions.

After a brief silence, you glanced over at him. You met his intense gaze, as if he were scrutinizing you.

“What?” you asked, a bit anxious.

He smiled. “I always say that ‘life is short’ is the most valuable lesson we learn from this business. But there’s something even more significant.”

Ah, yes. You found this kind of discussion preferable. You would rather engage with a philosophical funeral director than a curious father.

“What’s the more important lesson?” you inquired.

“For me, realizing that life is short has taught me not to hold back my feelings. It’s vital for me to express my love for you all. I don’t want to look back with regret for not telling you how much you matter to me.”

You had heard this from him countless times before, but it was alright—even if it was repetitive, as long as the conversation didn’t veer towards the guy you dated for twenty-five days.

You nod to keep the conversation going. “Your mom, since life is short, prioritizes the eternal life in heaven, which is why she's religious.” He smiled. “Daehi enjoys his life and pursues her dreams because she understands her time is limited.” You shrug. “We’re both the same.”

Your father shakes his head. “That’s not all you’ve learned.” He moves closer to you. “You’re hesitant to commit fully to anything—a job, a person—because you fear you’ll be miserable when they’re gone.”

You blinked, feeling a lump in your throat. Clearing your throat, you joked, “Dad, why didn’t you tell us you took Psychology class?”

“I think this explains why you often change jobs, courses, and interests; you’re reluctant to fully commit to just one. Why didn’t you feel pain when your relationships ended, Y/n? Was it because you didn’t really love them? You never allowed yourself to get attached because, deep down, you believed they would leave you eventually.”

The memory of your first client on the embalming table surfaces, the mother in tears over the dreams that were lost with the death of her eldest child.

But what stuck in your mind was the image of the deceased man's girlfriend, nearly beside herself with grief. Misery shone in her eyes. You later learned that she was pregnant at the time. You didn’t want to experience that kind of pain. If love could end like that, you wanted no part of it.

Your eyes burned with emotion. “Isn’t it natural for anyone to avoid pain, Dad? It’s survival of the fittest, right?”

Your father stepped closer and gently stroked your hair. “But living without love isn’t really living at all, my child. And pain is a part of love. We must accept that.”

Well, all your reservations about loving seemed pointless now. Despite your previous reluctance to love fully, it happened anyway. You fell in love.

While you were busy enjoying your dates and casual conversations, you were completely unaware that the man had already took your heart. The irony was that you, who feared falling in love, ended up in love with someone who couldn’t truly love back. For Sunghoon, relationships lasted only twenty-five days; after that, all feelings expired, and it was time to move on to the next.

That was just how it was.

That's why you avoided the guy; you realized you were already in love with him. You couldn’t even bear to imagine a line of people like Yuri waiting to catch Sunghoon after your breakup. The thought of him with someone else was unbearable.

And now, it was happening—the very thing you feared: getting hurt.

Ah, damn it. This was all Sunghoon’s fault!

Is it possible to un-fall for someone? If only it were that easy.

Day 26

He roughly ran his hands over his face, even tugging at his hair in frustration. "Fuck! Is karma getting back at me?"

He looked up, staring blankly at the ceiling as he recalled Y/n's beautiful face-the sweet smile, the lively laugh, the softness of her hair, the smoothness of her skin, and that night…

After that, he remembered what you looked like the last time you spoke—how you held back your tears, the sadness in your eyes, and the words you said that pierced his heart...

"You really are a hopeless case, Park Sunghoon. Just go home. I need to get back to work."

"No, Sunghoon. My answer is no. And please, stop coming back here."

Why is he such a mess?

"I want another shot. Another twenty-five days with you."

That’s what he requested from you...

Who would be pleased with that!?

He’s such an idiot! That’s not what he truly wants from you. He doesn’t want just twenty-five days; he wants twenty-five thousand days with you. Or even better, twenty-five thousand lifetimes with you.

It seems he’s finally discovered a love similar to that of his parents.

Sunghoon no longer cares about what his friends think. He’s ready to admit to anyone that he’s given in and can’t make any more excuses: he loves you wholeheartedly.

He chuckles at himself now. Why was it so difficult to accept that before? Is there anything wrong with falling in love with a beautiful, kind, and intelligent woman?

Speaking of you, he needs to talk to you and share his feelings before you completely turn away and choose a conceited lawyer instead.

He saved his work and shut down his computer. He quickly took a shower and got dressed. And within minutes, he was driving. If he could, he would push his car to the limit just to reach you faster.

He was eager to see you.

He was almost there. The sign for Yoon’s Funeral Service was in view, and he was about to see the woman he missed so much.

He pressed the gas pedal harder, lost in thoughts of her, when suddenly a motorcycle cut in from the side. Sunghoon swerved to avoid it, but a streetlight appeared in front of him. Before he could react again, his car crashed into it. A loud crash filled his ears as he lost consciousness.

—

You wouldn’t have noticed that you were staring at the picture of you and Sunghoon on your phone if you hadn’t heard Daehi calling out to you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, immediately feeling anxious at the sight of your sister entering your room.

“Sunghoon had an accident, just down the street. He’s in our morgue right now, he—“

It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over you.

You weren’t able to let Daehi continue what she was saying as you screamed and rushed down to the funeral home below, nearly tripping in your haste, barely able to see the path through your tear-filled eyes.

This was the nightmare you had feared for all these years.

You didn’t bother putting on a mask or coat; you just ran to the preparation room. There was indeed someone on the embalming table, covered with a white sheet stained with a lot of blood.

You froze near the door and broke down in tears.

A fellow mortician was preparing instruments at the sink on one side of the room and glanced over at you.

“Y/n?” they called out.

You forced yourself to speak. “Just… just give me five minutes, please, Chae.” The employee looked puzzled, but you didn’t notice due to the pain overwhelming you. “Okay, sure?” Chae replied before leaving you alone.

You stepped closer to the body. “You idiot! Damn you, Sunghoon! You made me fall in love with you, and now you’re just gonna leave me!? Again?! You didn’t even give me a chance to tell you I love you…” Despite your trembling knees, you approached the corpse, wanting to see Sunghoon one last time. Taking a deep breath, you slowly pulled back the white sheet.

Your tears hung suspended in the air as you took in the sight of the cadaver: dark skin, a crooked nose, a large face, and a scar on one cheek.

“Y/n?” you heard a familiar voice call out.

You turned and saw Sunghoon standing in the doorway. He had bandages on the side of his forehead and one cheek, looking at you in surprise.

You redirected your gaze back to the body before looking at the young man again. “This isn’t you.”

“It’s not,” he responded.

Daehi suddenly appeared next to him, chuckling as she scratched his head. “That’s what I was trying to tell you, right? I was saying that Sunghoon got into an accident and is in the morgue because he wanted to help.”

You stared at your sister in shock for a moment. When you finally understood what had happened, your legs gave way beneath you.

God, forgive me for all the sins I’ve committed….

You felt the urge to blame her for the emotional chaos she caused you, but she wasn’t at fault. That was what your sister had meant to say, but you hadn’t allowed her to finish. So, it was partly your fault.

You glared at Daehi. “Why do you always have to make your sentences so unclear? You made me panic.” You wiped your tears and tried to regain your composure.

You walked out of the preparation room, brushing past the two by the door.

You ran into Chae, who seemed ready to start embalming the body you had mistaken for Sunghoon. She looked at you in surprise, likely noticing your puffy eyes and red nose, but she didn’t say anything.

“Thanks, Chae,” you managed to say as you continued outside. You intended to go home, lock yourself in your room, and just like your sister had suggested, you wanted to cry properly.

But you didn’t even make it to the entrance of the funeral parlor. You were still in the casket showroom when someone grabbed your arm.

“Hey,” Sunghoon greeted you as you turned around.

A surge of emotions hit you all at once—relief that he wasn’t actually dead, embarrassment, sadness, fear…

But you let your annoyance be the only thing he saw.

“What?” you snapped, irritated both from the embarrassment and from realizing how much you actually love him.

A faint smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth, and you noticed for the first time the dried blood on it.

“I’m giving you the chance to say everything you wanted to say to me. That way, when I really do die, you won’t have any regrets—Ow!” He flinched as you punched him in the shoulder.

“You’re so annoying!” you shouted, hitting him repeatedly.

Sunghoon caught hold of your arms to stop you “Come on, have some mercy. I just got out of an accident. I’ll probably have more bruises from you than from the crash.”

You felt a bit sorry for him, but you kept up your glare as he looked ready to burst out laughing at any second. “And you still had the audacity to joke around? Do you think this is funny? I nearly had a heart attack earlier, you jerk!”

Sunghoon pulled you into a hug, and you couldn’t help but relax, surrendering to the warmth of his embrace. "I'm so, so sorry, Y/n. We never meant to scare you," he said softly.

You started to cry against his chest. But this time, it was a tears of pure relief. He held you close, then gently kissed the top of your head. And just like that, all your hurt seemed to dissolve. It felt almost magical.

He raised his hand in a gesture of apology. "I’m really sorry. Scaring you was never our intention."

You reached up, lightly touching the bandage near his eyebrow. "What happened? How did you end up in an accident?"

"I was hurrying to get here," he said. "But don’t get me wrong, I was careful—until a motorbike suddenly cut me off. I swerved to avoid him but ended up crashing into a pole. Luckily, the airbag deployed, so I only got a few scrapes. And guy on the motorbike made it past me safely," he went on. "But he was being reckless, and he ended up cutting off another vehicle. This time, he got hit by a bus."

You closed your eyes, silently praying for the soul of the person left in the morgue, while also thanking the heavens for Sunghoon’s safety. You didn’t even want to think about what you would have done if he hadn’t made it.

"I… I was so scared," you whispered, voice shaky. "I thought… I thought you were gone."

He hugged you tighter, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. Looking up, you saw Sunghoon’s eyes were closed, as if he was savoring having you in his arms. A warm, sweet feeling filled your chest.

"I’ve been dying to do this again; dying to be with you again," Sunghoon whispered, his voice soft and intimate. His eyes opened, and his gaze seemed to pierce right through to your soul. "Why did you suddenly go to Jeju?" he asked, a hint of sulk in his voice.

"I couldn’t say no. It was Jiwon’s sister’s birthday celebration, and she’s my friend, too. Plus, I thought I needed some space to think about us. But I promise, I already turned Jiwon down. Again."

"Good." He smiled. "For days now, my mind’s been filled with nothing but Y/n, Y/n, Y/n. Honestly, I got scared—I thought I was going crazy."

A smile crept onto your face. "Oh? Haven’t you always been a bit crazy?"

"Only for you." He reached out and gently brushed your cheek.

"I’m sorry. The words that came out of my mouth yesterday were wrong. I didn’t mean that I wanted just another twenty-five days with you; I want twenty-five lifetimes with you, Y/n. I love you."

You could only stare into his handsome face, his eyes shimmering with sincerity. There was no way you could say no to him.

"I’d like that, too. Twenty-five lifetimes with you," you replied, making him smile.

"Hold on." He kissed the top of your head before pulling away, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"What’s that for?" you asked, a bit confused.

He started typing on his phone. "I have a letter here that I meant to read to you yesterday. But when I got so annoyed when I saw you with that Jiwon guy that I completely forgot about it.

You chuckled at the sarcastic mention of your former suitor. "Okay, let’s hear it."

"Here it goes." He cleared his throat, lowering his voice as he read. "To my lovely mortician," he began, making you smile. "You brought life to the living dead that I was before I met you. Now, here I am, dying to be yours completely because I simply can’t live without you."

You laughed loudly. "God, Sunghoon! That’s so cheesy!" You rolled your eyes playfully.

"Wait? I’m not finished? I still have a closing line?” he sassily said but laughed as he wrapped his arm around your waist. He looked into your eyes, smiling as he read the final part of his so-called letter. "I’m head over heels, dying for you. Yours truly, Park Sunghoon."

Before you could laugh out loud, he kissed you, silencing your supposed laughter with a passionate embrace that made you melt into him. You moaned softly and kissed him back, realizing how much you missed him… and how much you missed this.

"I love you to death, Yoon Y/n," he whispered against your lips before pulling you into another deep, heated kiss. You clutched the fabric of his shirt, letting your kisses express everything you couldn’t put into words.

Day 803

You looked beautiful in his arms, still catching your breath from what you had just done, but happiness radiated from your face. You reached out and pinched his cheek playfully. "Wow, you’re so good at this!" you gasped. "How did you become such an expert so quickly? Have you been practicing with someone else?"

"No one else. It’s way more enjoyable when I’m with you," he replied, planting a kiss on your lips. "Come on, let’s get up."

You pulled him up from the parachute you had just been lying on. Yes, it was indeed a parachute. You had just finished skydiving. It was your third monthsary when you first introduced him to that extreme sport, and he had become so addicted to the thrill of flying that here you were again for what felt like the umpteenth time.

Life with you—his girlfriend, felt like skydiving—exhilarating, exciting... it was the adrenaline rush of his life.

So much had changed for Sunghoon since you officially became a couple twenty-five days after you first met. Most importantly, he had trashed out his 25-day dating method. People he knew were amused, confused, or even laughed at him, but he didn’t care about their opinions anymore. What mattered to him was that he had seen the light. His life had never been this fun.

Your relationship wasn’t perfect—you had disagreements and problems like anyone else—but you always managed to overcome them. He was confident that you could face anything that came your way because you both had each other's support and love... and, of course, the support of your families.

Now, it felt like he was ready for even more days of joy with you.

Sunghoon sighed contentedly with a smile, pulling you closer to him and kissing your forehead. "I love you." You grinned but didn’t have a response.

"Look over there." He pointed at something flying in the distance.

"Hey, there’s a drone!" you exclaimed. "I wonder if it captured our flight!"

He just smiled at you.

Before long, the drone flew up to you and stopped right at your feet. "What’s this?" you asked, narrowing your eyes as you shot Sunghoon a doubtful look. You noticed a small black coffin taped to the top of the device.

"Just take a look," Sunghoon replied casually.

Together, you both removed the tape from the drone, and then he handed you the small box. Your eyes widened as you examined it. "What now, Park Sunghoon?" you exclaimed, feeling a surge of nerves. It seemed you already guessed what he was planning. "Does your proposal really have to have a Halloween theme?"

He laughed. "What do you mean ‘proposal’? Just open the coffin and see for yourself. You’re so quick to assume, you know that?” he laughed as you playfully punched his arm and slowly opened the tiny box.

"It’s ring!" you squealed when you saw what was inside. You read from the small note attached to the ring.

I’m dying to spend the rest of my life with you.

"Oh my god, Sunghoon, you’re so annoying!" You lightly punched his shoulder.

He cupped your face in his hands, and you felt a rush of butterflies in your stomach from the nerves. You smiled, even though he could tell you were on the verge of tears. He let the words pour out with all the overwhelming emotions inside him. "You’ve brought my faith back to life. You’ve revived my long-lost dreams of finding a love like my parents had." He sighed. "I’m completely down bad dead in love with you. Please m-marry me, Yoon Y/n."

Tears filled your eyes. With love shining brightly, you replied, "Okay, fine. I’ll marry you. I couldn’t say not to a poor thing, can’t I?"

He laughed and wrapped you in a tight embrace, holding the woman he loved more than anything in the world.

[angelpinkfall]

❤Hooker Sukuna X F!Virgin Reader❣Smut❣❤

SFW: (She/Her Pronouns & Genitalia)

Sukuna has spent years mastering his craft as a hooker, building a reputation that places him leagues above the rest.

With no desire to conform to the grind of a 9-to-5, he carved his own path, one paved with charm, confidence, and dominance.

Gender never mattered to him; he was equally adept at controlling and satisfying both men and women, always maintaining the upper hand.

His reputation as the King of Curses came not only from his siren-like allure but also from his cutthroat prices, cocky attitude, and a chilling detachment that ensured no client ever got too close.

For Sukuna, this was just a job, money, power, and freedom rolled into one. He never cared for the people he served… until now.

You are a driven, successful woman in your late 20s. With a thriving career and a busy life, you’ve achieved everything you’ve set out to, everything except the intimacy you’ve secretly craved.

Despite being in relationships before, none of them ever moved beyond the occasional kisses and fumbling touches. Trust and comfort were always missing, and those connections never felt right.

Recently, at your best friend’s bachelor party, something shifted. Watching the vibrant, uninhibited joy around you stirred something you hadn’t felt before: longing. For once, you wanted to let go, to feel confident and in control of your own desires.

A tipsy conversation at the bar introduced you to the infamous King of Curses, a name whispered with awe and intrigue. A professional, someone who could give you the experience you wanted without the complications.

At first, the idea felt absurd and just flat out wrong. Giving your virginity to a man like that? It was outlandish, irresponsible even.

But as days passed and your frustration grew, the rational side of your mind began justifying the choice. Sukuna’s experience, reputation, and confidence made him seem like the safest option. If anyone could make your first time memorable, it was him.

After days of debating with yourself, pacing back and forth, you finally dialed the number. Hearing his smooth, teasing voice on the other end sent a shiver down your spine.

Now, standing at your front door with the King of Curses knocking, you wonder if this was the right decision, or the beginning of something you never saw coming.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

NSFW: (She/Her Pronouns & Genitalia)

When he first sees you, he doesn’t bother hiding his smirk, his crimson eyes lazily raking over your figure. “Not bad,” he says, leaning against your doorframe with an air of cocky indifference, though the heat in his gaze betrays his casual tone.

When you admit it’s your first time, his brow arches sharply. A predator-like grin spreads across his face. “Really? Someone like you? With curves that practically beg for hands to explore them?” His tone is dripping with incredulity and a hint of excitement, already sizing you up for the night ahead.

Your nerves make your voice shake when you ask him to take it slow. He chuckles softly, nodding. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Your money, your rules,” he quips, though his grin suggests he might have other plans once you loosen up.

He starts slowly, true to his word, settling between your thighs with a dangerous glint in his eye. His split tongue flicks out as he leans in, the sight alone making your breath hitch and your core tighten.

His lips press soft, teasing kisses up the inside of your thighs, and you nearly lose your composure. Each nip and suck builds the tension until you feel like you might shatter before he even gets to the main event.

The teasing ends abruptly when his mouth finally meets your clit, the wet heat of his tongue and lips pulling a surprised cry from you. He doesn’t let up, alternating between sucking and rolling his tongue with devastating precision.

The sensation is overwhelming, especially with his split tongue adding a level of skill you’ve never imagined. You clutch at his hair, gasping his name, and the groan he lets out vibrates against your core, pushing you to your first orgasm of the night.

As you clamp your thighs around his head and tug harder on his hair, he moans like a man possessed, his hands gripping your hips to keep you locked in place as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

When you finally release him, panting and dazed, his face is glistening, his eyes half-lidded and hungry. “You’re full of surprises,” he mutters, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, though he’s already moving to position himself over you.

The next part happens in a blur. He presses your legs back, folding you almost in half as he thrusts into you with unrelenting fervor. Each stroke is deep, fast, and demanding, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra.

His pace is feral, and you feel the pulsing of his cock as he drives you both higher, each thrust dragging cries and moans from your lips. He seems addicted to the way your body responds, the way you tremble beneath him.

You lose count of how many times you both climax. By the time his movements finally slow, the sheets are a mess, your body is boneless with exhaustion, and he looks as wrecked as you feel.

Morning comes too soon. You wake up cuddled against his chest, the warmth of his skin and the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you into temporary comfort. That is until you realize where you are.

Your panic sends you flying out of bed, tumbling to the floor in a flurry of blankets and embarrassment. He throws his head back, laughing loudly at your disheveled writhing on the floor. “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t break that pretty neck of yours.”

In that moment, something shifts for him. Maybe it’s the way you blush so easily, the way you nervously fumble to cover yourself with the sheet, or the fact that your scent still clings to his skin. Whatever it is, he knows he doesn’t want this to be the last time.

“Guess I’m sticking around,” he mutters, more to himself than you, a sly grin tugging at his lips. Whether it’s the sex, your innocence, or something else entirely, you’ve somehow managed to ensnare the so-called King of Curses.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

SFW: After 

After that first night, he found himself coming back far more often than he should have.

At first, he chalked it up to your body, the way you responded to him so earnestly, the way your flushed expressions lingered in his mind. But that didn’t explain why he kept offering his services at a "discount," something that was absolutely beneath him.

Each time he visited, his excuses became weaker and it seemed like you were catching on. He continued to deny your prodding questions, but even he couldn’t deny it, he just wanted to see you again.

Then came the day he saw you outside your usual space, in line at a small coffee shop. He almost didn’t recognize you without your usual flustered demeanor. You looked so natural, focused on the menu, lips slightly pursed as you decided what to order.

He debated walking past, but then you turned, your eyes lighting up as you spotted him. That simple reaction knocked the air out of his chest in a way he didn’t expect.

You invited him to sit with you, and as the conversation flowed, he found himself captivated.

You spoke passionately about your work and hobbies, topics he wouldn’t have thought twice about before. But the way your eyes lit up when you talked about them was infectious.

He didn’t even notice his own small smile forming until your face scrunched in confusion.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

That’s when he saw it, a foam mustache from your coffee. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he wanted to reach out and wipe it away himself.

So he did.

His thumb brushed across your lips, leaving a lingering warmth that made your cheeks heat.

“There. All better,” he said with a smug smirk, thoroughly enjoying how flustered you were.

You covered your mouth with your hand and stammered a thank-you, but he was already lost in his own thoughts.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection anymore. For the first time in years, he found himself wanting to stick around, no ulterior motives, no transactions, just… you.

And that scared him more than anything else ever had.

He’s so fucked.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[kiestrokes]

Day 3: Tell Me What to Do | NSFW

▸ Idol: Bang Chan of Stray Kids ▸ Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: active WIP, hired escort, smut, college au. ▸ Vibe: set in 2008, reader/OC (tbd) was on a lacrosse scholarship when she got severely injured, in order to continue attending she has resorted to charging the rich nerds that need a little additional sex education. Chan is the friend of Felix (one of her favorite clients) that hires her, although she is unsure as to why...he's incredibly likeable and attractive. They discover his issues and sexual hangups together. ▸ Warnings: probably some cussing, illusions to feelings.

Sexually Explicit Content: this is a smut excerpt that happens quite a bit later in the actual story! semipublic sex, Chan has reserved a private single studio for the evening, female ejaculation? squirting, intercourse (penis in vagina), clit stim, fingering, aftercare, dirty talk?

🗝️ Note: Like every other 2008 alt kid, metro station had a chokehold on me. Kinda a spin on the Avril Lavigne lyrics too "he was a punk, she did ballet" as Chan is our ballerina. This Chan has just been living rent free see May or June of this year, but I had other things I wanted (and still need to) complete. Just a reminder this is a WIP, it is not close to the finished product this is actually the first draft of this scene!

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

Chan has her bent over the ballet bar moaning as he fucks her slow from behind, “shit this is so good.”

“You can speed up.”

“Do I have to?”

“No,” you groan as he circles his hips.

“You like this right?”

“Yes!” You bite your lip, “fuck Chan I don’t think you need my help.”

His hand slips to your stomach, “maybe I just like fucking you.”

He speeds up making you moans climb in volume.

“Think you like fucking me too,” he thrusts hard, “right?”

“Fuck, yes, whatever Channie.”

Your eyebrows converge as he presses your stomach and quickens his stroke.

“Right there?”

His eyes find yours in the mirror and you almost come on the spot. Chan bites his lip, head tossing back as your body clamps down around him.

“Go ahead.”

You try to fight it off but he braces the other hand on the small of you back, sandwiching you between his palms. His hips pistoning until you’re crying out. Coming hard, arousal leaking down your legs and onto the floor.

“Fuck,” you gasp as you catch your breath.

Chans hands move to grip your hips, thrusts having slowed to help you come down. Slowly losing himself in the feel of you.

“You squeezed me so hard, did it feel good?”

“What do you think?”

Your body shakes as he continues his journey to release, folding over your back to whisper in your ear.

“I think you want another.”

Your spine snaps your sagging body upright as he rubs almost harshly into the front wall of your cunt.

“Ngh Chan,” you grasp as his hands as his lips suck on your neck.

“You made a mess.”

You simply whine at him.

“Can I come on you?”

“Fuck Chan, yes.”

He moans picking up pace then he’s folding you over the bar again. Chan pulls out to rip off the condom and thrusts back inside you.

“Holy shit,” you say in unison.

“God you feel good.”

“Don’t come inside, birth control only prevents so much ahh-” you break off into a gasp.

“I won’t, oh wow, you’re so wet.”

Your brain errors at the feel of him raw, the skin to skin contact creating more drag along the sensitive nerves of your intimate walls. Chan is not doing much better.

He pulls out before you’re ready and comes on your back. His tongue tracing his top teeth in amazement as he sprays you.

You gasp, “ok back in.”

“What?”

You catch his panic gaze through your orgasm driven haze in the mirror but you brush it off. Nobody had ever made you come as hard as Chan and you were close to a level of addiction at this point.

“I’m so close,” you pant.

Chan thinks quickly, shoving two fingers inside you to the knuckle. Your head snaps back at the feeling and roll you hips back into him. Chan working his fingers the way you’ve taught him. Fingers curling slightly after a steady rhythm was established.

“Ahhh yes, yes!”

Chan reaches around to strum your clit with his other hand, and like that you’re gone, over the edge.

“Oh god,” your knees buckle as you soak his hand, and he holds you up with a surprised laugh.

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes 

All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the writing of this work. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this for purposes of training AI technologies to generate text, including without the limitation technologies capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 5: Heartbeat Havoc

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 6.3k

Chapter 5/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: it's only up from here

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

"So, the release went well, but now we need to capitalize on the momentum. What we don't want is for you to disappear after the premiere," You leaned back into your chair, twirling a pen between your fingers as you spoke on the call. Your tone was confident but measured, ensuring there wasn't too much enthusiasm. You knew your client well enough to know this was a serious conversation.

Tanya Lawrence, an early twenties actress who had just starred in a blockbuster film, was on speaker, along with her agent and manager. You were coming up with a game plan to keep her in the spotlight and sustain the momentum—not only to continue promoting the film but to elevate Tanya herself.

Tanya's voice was thoughtful as she replied, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. But I don’t want to do the same press rounds everyone else does. I mean, how many times can you sit on a couch and tell the same story?”

You smiled, fully expecting her reluctance. Tanya was always searching for something fresh. It was part of what made her appealing, but also part of the challenge of keeping her relevant without overexposing her.

"I hear you," You said, jotting down a note on your tablet. "The late-night circuit can get a bit tired, but we still need to keep you visible. How about this: we skip the talk shows and go for an exclusive feature with Vogue or Elle? We’ll craft a personal story—something deeper than just promoting the film. We’ll show your evolution from indie darling to blockbuster star. It’s more narrative-driven, more you."

There was a pause, then her manager chimed in, his voice skeptical but intrigued. “How personal are we talking?”

“Not too much," You assured him. "We’re not looking to dig into her private life—just enough to give the audience something to connect with. We’ll focus on her as an actress and philanthropist. Maybe highlight her charity work? The key is controlling the narrative.”

Tanya's voice came through, warmer now. “I love that idea. I’ve been wanting to talk more about the foundation. If we can connect that, it would feel real, not like I’m just selling myself.”

You nodded, already sketching out the potential angles. "Exactly. And we can play it across platforms—get some behind-the-scenes content on social media to drive engagement, maybe even a short Instagram series showing a day in your life. That way, you’re not just doing the standard PR push but building a brand around authenticity.”

The enthusiasm on the other end was palpable now. Tanya's agent was already chiming in with ideas on how to expand the campaign, and her manager was starting to see the vision.

"You’ve always got the best ideas," Tanya said, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

You chuckled. "That’s why you keep me around."

The call wrapped up, and you took a moment to breathe. Another client managed, another fire successfully put out. You were in the zone—this was what you were good at. A notification lit up the screen as you closed your notebook and checked your phone.

"Is Love in the Air? Natasha Romanoff Seen Leaving Concert with New Flame"

Your stomach did a little flip. The photo was grainy and interesting for today’s time, but you knew it was the two of you leaving the concert venue last weekend. It hadn’t taken long for people to start talking, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it all. You tried not to think about the sudden influx of followers you’d gotten or the interest of every possible gossip rag in suddenly taking a deep dive into your life.

As a publicist, you were no stranger to media frenzy, but it was different when you were the story. You’d spent years helping clients navigate this kind of attention, knowing exactly how to spin, deflect, and maintain privacy. But now, as the headlines circled you and Natasha, it felt oddly invasive.

You sighed, locking your phone and rubbing your temples. This wasn’t exactly how you imagined things going with Natasha. A quiet fling, maybe, or just a few months of fun before things inevitably fizzled. But the way her hand had lingered on yours that night, the way she looked at you when she thought no one was watching—something about it felt more... real. And now, the world was catching on.

Focus, y/n, you told yourself, pushing the thought aside. You weren’t going to let this derail your work. Natasha had dealt with the media for years—she could handle it. The question was, could you?

Your office door creaked open, and Monica strolled in, her usual swagger in every step. She leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing her arms with an amused smile.

“You see the headlines?” She asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You shot her a look, already knowing where this was headed. “You mean the ones making me sound like some groupie?”

Monica laughed, moving to sit across from you. “Please, Natasha Romanoff’s mystery woman has a much better ring to it. Plus, who says groupies can’t be successful?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I didn’t ask for this attention, Mon.”

“You’re dating a rockstar. What did you expect?” she teased before her tone softened. “But for real, how are you feeling about it?”

You hesitated, twirling the pen in your fingers, not quite sure how to put it into words. “It’s... strange. I’ve always kept my private life private, you know? And now I’m on the front page, just because I went on a date.”

Monica nodded, her expression shifting to something more serious. “It’s a lot. But you’re the queen of handling this kind of thing. You’ve dealt with bigger fires. And Natasha... well, she’s used to it.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, but this feels different. It’s one thing to be in control of someone else’s narrative, but when it’s you...”

Monica tilted her head, studying you. “You really like her, don’t you?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the question. You hadn’t even allowed yourself to fully consider that yet. Did you? The two of you were just getting to know each other. It wasn’t supposed to be serious. But the way you smiled at the thought of her, the way your stomach fluttered when her name popped up on your phone—it was all too familiar.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “It’s moving fast.”

“You fucked didn’t you?” Monica began to grin.

Your eyes widened. “Jesus, Monica." You cursed. You looked back to your office door, the one she'd decided to leave open, and then back to her. She folded her arms knowingly and you sighed.

"Maybe?" You responded with a smirk. "Or... several times? I lost count that night."

"Oh my god!" Monica cackled. "I knew it. I'm so proud of you."

"Proud shouldn't be the word used for that," You shook your head. "Oh, and Sam decided to bring Isabella home early the next morning so they met each other much sooner than I expected. She also introduced herself as my girlfriend."

"Ooh, and how did Sam react?" Monica knew your ex-husband just as well as she knew you.

"He was shocked but also not shocked." You begin. "I just hoped it wasn't something that made Natasha question what we have going on. I mean anyone would be threatened to have the ex just casually standing in the living room."

"Nah, the woman is head over heels," Monica assured. "Besides, Sam's a good guy, and he's not a possessive ex. So, back to the importance, was she good?"

You couldn't help but smirk. "Yes, she was very good."

Monica smiled, nodding approvingly. "Good. Well, I'm happy for you. It's been a while since you've had some good sex, and even longer since you've had a good woman."

"Somehow you and my daughter are the same person just in different fonts," You mused at her words. "You have no idea how much Bella asked about her."

"What can I say, we both have good taste," Monica smiled. "Anyway, back to work. I'll let you enjoy your celebrity-adjacent status. It’s interesting really how you’ve managed to stay so lowkey. I mean Sam is famous, your parents are famous…”

You chuckled. "It's a blessing and a curse. You can't blame them for being overprotective though. They just wanted to protect their daughter and granddaughter from the limelight. It's why I stayed off the radar."

Before she could question it further, there was a slight knock at the door. An unassuming man with a delivery hat and a gorgeous bouquet caught your attention.

"Are you, Y/n?" He asked.

"Yes," You replied, a little surprised. You watched as the man set the vase down, signed for the delivery, and thanked him. Monica watched in interest.

"What's that for?" Monica asked.

"I have no idea," You replied, a little puzzled. You plucked the card from the bouquet and unfolded it, curious. As your eyes skimmed the neat handwriting, your heart skipped a beat.

“Just in case you needed a little brightness in your day. My time with you was amazing, being with you makes everything even better. — N”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through your chest. Natasha had a way of being sweet without overdoing it—something that caught you off guard every time.

Monica raised an eyebrow, leaning over to get a glimpse of the card. “Ohhh, so the rockstar is a romantic.”

You laughed softly, tucking the card back into the bouquet. “Apparently. She’s full of surprises.”

Monica grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Girl, you’ve got it bad.”

You tried to ignore the flush that crept up your neck, your eyes drifting back to the bouquet on your desk. Maybe you did.

**********

Natasha wiped the sweat from her forehead, adjusting her grip on the barbell before settling into her seat. The gym was practically empty, just the way she liked it. Wanda was a few feet away, doing leg presses with ease while music pulsed through the space, the rhythm of the beats syncing with the steady clank of weights hitting the floor. Just as Natasha was about to dive into her next rep, her phone buzzed on the bench beside her. She hesitated for a second, but the moment she saw your name flash across the screen, she abandoned the barbell with zero hesitation.

Y/N: Thank you for the flowers 🌸 They’re almost as beautiful as the woman who sent them. Almost.

Natasha smirked as she leaned against the bench, typing back with one hand while the other still held onto the towel slung around her neck.

Natasha: Almost? I must be slipping. I’ll have to step up my game. 😏

She hit send, already imagining the soft laugh she knew you would give at the response. She wasn’t usually one for the whole romantic gesture thing, but with you, it felt... right. You were different, and Natasha could feel herself getting pulled deeper into this thing between you.

Wanda finished her set and glanced over, eyebrow arched as she caught Natasha mid-text. “You’re supposed to be working out, not flirting,” Wanda teased, giving her a knowing look.

Natasha didn’t bother hiding her smile. “Can’t help it. It’s... motivation.”

Wanda chuckled, moving to grab her water bottle. “Yeah? Motivation or distraction?”

Natasha shrugged, her eyes flicking back to her phone as it buzzed again.

Y/n: If this is you slipping, I can’t wait to see you in top form. Maybe tonight?

Natasha’s breath hitched slightly at the invitation, her mind already racing ahead to the possibilities of your date later. She glanced over at Wanda, who was watching her with mild amusement.

Natasha: Tonight, then. I’ll pick you up. Get ready to be impressed. 😉

Wanda raised an eyebrow as she stretched her arms. “You’re really into her, huh?”

Natasha paused, glancing at her friend before nodding. “Yeah, I think I am.”

Wanda smiled, something in her expression softening. She knew how guarded Natasha could be when it came to dating, so it was a relief to see her opening up again.

"Good," Wanda said simply. "I think you two look cute together. She's a breath of fresh air."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed. "She's different."

Wanda's smile grew wider. "You're different with her."

"Different how? I mean you've only seen us together once," Natasha wiped her brow again.

"Just different, a good different. You've got that glow that you used to have when you and Carol were first starting." Wanda pointed out. "You know before shit hit the fan."

"Hmm, maybe. We'll see." Natasha took a swig from her water bottle. "She's cool. She's secure in herself which is a pretty huge deal. It doesn't come across as cocky or anything."

"That's important. Especially in our field." Wanda nodded.

Natasha smiled to herself as she thought about the last time you’d kissed her goodbye. Your lips had tasted like mint toothpaste, your hands gentle and warm against her skin. It was such a simple thing—just a goodbye kiss—but it had stayed with her all day. She couldn’t wait to spend more time with you tonight.

"Well, I’m happy for you," Wanda said, breaking Natasha from her thoughts.

"Thanks," Natasha replied, feeling her cheeks warm as she thought about you again. "I'm... happy too."

It was true. Happy wasn’t a word Natasha often used to describe herself when it came to relationships. Her past romances had always been complicated, intense, and full of drama. It was almost a given that things would eventually blow up—whether it was her fault or the other person’s. But with you? It felt different.

She wanted it to be distinguishable.

For once, Natasha didn’t want a relationship that was marked by chaos or suffocating intensity. She didn’t want someone who would cling to her or become overly dependent, and she didn’t want to lose herself in someone else’s need for attention or validation. She’d been there before—too many times—and it always ended with someone getting hurt, usually her.

But with you, it felt like things could be... simple. Easy, even.

You weren’t trying to force your way into her life or demand all her time. You didn’t seem interested in changing her, and you weren’t fazed by her fame or reputation. If anything, you were the one who kept a distance from the spotlight, which Natasha found both refreshing and grounding. She liked that you had your own life, your own career, and your daughter to focus on. You didn’t need her to complete you.

That’s what Natasha craved—someone who wanted her but didn’t need her in the way that had always made her feel trapped before. She wanted love, yes, but not the kind that suffocated. She just wanted something real, something healthy. She wanted to feel safe and comfortable, the way she already did with you.

For the first time in a long time, Natasha felt like this could work. It was early, sure, but she couldn’t help but hope that maybe this time things would be different. Maybe this time she wouldn’t screw it up.

She glanced at her phone again, re-reading your last message. Her heart did that annoying little flip it had been doing more often these days, and she chuckled to herself.

***********

You stood in front of the mirror, staring at the dress you’d just slipped into, second-guessing yourself for what felt like the tenth time in an hour. It was a deep burgundy, with a flattering neckline, but was it too much? You tugged at the hem, frowning.

“I don’t know about this one,” You muttered, glancing over your shoulder at Monica and Isabella, who were both sitting on your bed, staring at you with varying levels of judgment.

Monica leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. "It’s cute, but it feels a little... formal."

"Yeah, Mom," Isabella added, making a face. "It’s like you’re going to a wedding."

You sighed dramatically, turning back to the mirror. "Why is this so hard?" you grumbled, tossing your hair over your shoulder. "It’s just a date."

Isabella giggled, swinging her legs back and forth. "Not just any date. It’s Natasha Romanoff!"

Monica snorted. "Right? Rockstar extraordinaire."

You rolled your eyes, walking over to the closet and grabbing another dress off the hanger. "She’s just... Natasha," you said, trying to sound casual, but the butterflies in your stomach betrayed you. The truth was, Natasha wasn’t just any date. She had a way of making you feel both grounded and completely out of control, and that was terrifying.

Monica raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."

You tossed the burgundy dress on the bed and slipped into a simpler black one. “Okay, how about this?” you asked, turning to face them again.

Isabella tilted her head, considering it. “Better,” she said. “But... kind of boring.”

Monica nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it’s cute, but you can do better. You’re going on a date with a rockstar, not attending a PTA meeting."

You huffed, pulling the dress off and tossing it aside, feeling a mix of frustration and nervous energy. "I just... want to look good," you admitted. "Not too overdressed, not too underdressed. Just right."

Monica smiled gently, getting up from the bed and walking over to your closet. "You’re overthinking it," she said, flipping through the hangers. "Natasha likes you, right? So whatever you wear, she’s going to think you look great."

You sighed, sitting down on the bed next to Isabella, who leaned against you, her little arm wrapping around your waist. "You think so?"

"Definitely!" Isabella chirped. "Plus, you always look pretty, Mama."

You kissed the top of her head. "Thanks, baby."

Monica finally pulled out a deep green two-piece pantsuit, simple but elegant, with just the right amount of edge. "What about this one?" she asked, holding it up.

You stared at it for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah... I like that one."

Monica tossed it over to you with a grin. "Perfect. Now go get ready so I can get the scoop later."

You laughed, slipping into the outfit and smoothing the top down over your belly. "You’re not getting any scoop."

"We’ll see about that," Monica teased, winking at Isabella, who giggled.

As you slipped on a pair of heels and checked your reflection one last time, Isabella tugged at your hand. “Mom?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

"Do you like Natasha?" she asked, her voice innocent but curious. "Like... like like her?"

You paused, looking down at your daughter’s wide eyes. Monica raised an eyebrow, waiting for your response. It was a fair question, and one you’d been asking yourself a lot lately.

"I do," You finally said, feeling a little nervous saying it out loud. "I really do."

Isabella smiled. "Good. I think she likes you too."

You chuckled, smoothing a hand over her hair. "Yeah? You think so?"

Isabella nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I saw the way she looked at you when she came over last time. She was smiling a lot."

Monica smirked from the corner of the room. "Out of the mouths of babes..."

You laughed, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered at Isabella's words. Was it possible Natasha was already falling for you too?

A knock on the door made you jump, and Isabella squealed, running towards the door. "She's here!"

You took a deep breath, smoothing the front of your shirt and trying to calm your nerves. "Tell her I'll be right there."You called after her.

Isabella was more than happy to answer the door for Natasha. She swung it open with gusto, Bear hot on her tail, as she greeted the woman.

"Hey," Natasha said with a big smile.

"Hi, Natasha," Isabella said with a toothy grin. "Mama's almost ready. You can come in." She leads Natasha over to the living room and sits across from her on the couch. "Before she comes out I want to ask you a few questions."

Natasha was taken aback in an amused sort of way. "Questions?"

"Yup," Isabella said, a serious look on her face. "If my mom makes you mad, are you gonna write a mean song about her?"

Natasha had to hold back her laughter. She loved Isabella's forwardness and honesty. It was refreshing. "No. I don't write songs about people I care about. Plus, I'm not sure your mom could ever make me mad."

"She has her moments," Isabella shrugged. "Another question, Why do you like my mom? Not just for her body or her money or anything. I've been reading a lot of old school magazines lately and I have all of the information."

Natasha bit her lip and cleared her throat. "Uh, well, your mom is very kind and sweet. She's smart, and she has a really good sense of humor."

"And you're not using her for money?"

"Of course not."

Isabella seemed satisfied with her answers. She nodded. "Okay. Good. I like you, Natasha."

"Thanks, kiddo. I like you, too," Natasha chuckled.

"Do you think I could score backstage tickets to your next concert? I promise I'll behave."

"Isabella..."

Isabella rolled her eyes at your stern tone as you rounded the corner. "Fine." She sighed.

"Hey," You said softly, walking up to the pair, a small smile on your lips.

"Wow." Natasha breathed, taking in the sight of you. You looked incredible. "You look... good."

"Thank you so do you," You leaned into her embrace when she stood to kiss you on the cheek. You subtly glanced at her outfit, glad that you'd picked your casual one too. Natasa's dark denim jacket draped effortlessly over a loose white t-shirt. She wore Black skinny jeans, slightly distressed at the knees, and hugged her legs, giving her a subtle edge without trying too hard. Clean white sneakers grounded her look. A simple silver chain glinted at her collarbone, and her hair fell in tousled waves around her face, giving the impression that she hadn’t overthought any of it—yet still managed to look effortlessly striking.

"Thank you," Natasha said.

"You're welcome," You hummed as you pulled back from the hug, the scent of her perfume filling your nose.

"Okay, we'll be fine, Mama." Isabella gave a thumbs up. "Go have fun. Don't stay out too late."

You laughed. "We'll try not to," you promised. "And no ice cream past ten, okay?"

"Okay," Isabella rolled her eyes.

"Don't forget Bear's walk," you added.

"Mama," Isabella whined. "We got this. Go!"

"Alright, alright," You chuckled, turning to Natasha. "Ready?"

"Lead the way," Natasha smiled.

"Have a good time, ladies!" Monica called as the two of you made your way out the door.

Natasha held your hand as the two of you walked to the car, her fingers rubbing your knuckles soothingly.

"So where are we going?" You asked, glancing over at her.

Natasha grinned, squeezing your hand. "It's a surprise."

"Oh, a surprise?"

"Yup," She said. "Wait," She said just before opening the door. You turned to face her questioningly. She leaned forward, pressing her lips gently against yours.

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected move, and you let yourself sink into the kiss, savoring the way her lips felt against yours. It was soft and sweet.

"I figured you wouldn't want to do that in front of your daughter," Natasha mumbled awkwardly.

You laughed, resting your hands on her shoulders and pecking her lips again. "That was very thoughtful. Are you really not going to tell me where we are going?"

"I could tell you, but where's the fun in that?" She smiled, opening the car door and ushering you inside. As the car rolled down the busy streets, you found yourself stealing glances at Natasha. The way she carried herself, with a mix of confidence and ease, was enchanting. Her posture was relaxed but commanding, and even the simple act of driving seemed to radiate a kind of effortless cool.

The radio played a mix of tracks that Natasha had curated—a blend of classic rock and some modern hits that seamlessly complemented her edgy style. You could see the genuine enjoyment on her face as she sang along to the lyrics, her voice harmonizing effortlessly with the tunes. It was moments like these that made you appreciate the depth of her passion for music and the way it intertwined with every part of her life.

As the car pulled up to the restaurant, Natasha turned to you with a soft smile. "Hope you like this place. I've been wanting to check it out for a while."

You read the giant side on the outside of the building, The Cooking Institute.

"Cooking classes?" You guessed aloud. Natasha glanced over at you.

"I hope that's okay," She said quickly, suddenly a bit unsure of her plan. "I know it's a little unconventional, but I figured it could be fun. If not, we can just grab a drink somewhere or-"

"Natasha," You cut her off, resting a hand on her knee. "It's perfect."

Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave you a relieved smile. "Great. I'm glad."

You were soon ushered inside by an eager host, who led you to a spacious kitchen, equipped with every cooking appliance imaginable. You expected to see more guests inside of the space but instead only found an instructor.

"Welcome to Cooking Institute," The woman, who appeared to be in her mid-40s, greeted the two of you with a warm smile. "My name is Lisa. We're so excited to have you."

"Is this only for us?" You questioned Natasha.

"I rented it out for the night," She shrugged. "So, we could have some privacy."

You nodded, appreciating the gesture.

Lisa clapped her hands together. "Well, I'll let you two get settled and we can get started." She gave the pair of you a thumbs up and made her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen.

"So," You glanced over at Natasha. "What's the plan here?"

"Well," She grinned. "We're going to cook some food."

"Gee, I never would have guessed," You teased. "But what kind of food?"

Natasha's eyes twinkled with amusement. She leaned against the counter, her excitement barely contained as she outlined the evening’s menu. "Alright, here’s the plan," she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

"We’re starting with a Classic Wedge Salad—simple, and something I can make with no problem." She paused, savoring the anticipation. "Next up, we’ve got Cheesy Potatoes Au Gratin." Natasha’s smile widened, clearly proud of the menu.

"And then," she continued, "we’re making Oscar-Style Beef Filet. It’s a bit fancy but worth it." She chuckled at the look of awe on your face, clearly pleased with herself. "So, ready to get cooking?"

You nodded, laughing. "This sounds amazing. Let's do it."

As the night progressed, the two of you quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm. It was easy, being around her, and the conversation flowed naturally. The host led you both to your designated cooking station, complete with all the utensils and ingredients needed for the evening’s menu. Natasha's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she glanced around, her enthusiasm contagious. You could see the genuine pleasure on her face, which made you smile even more.

"How do you like your steak?" You asked.

"Medium rare," She said.

You nodded. "Same. This looks so amazing. I can't wait to taste it."

"Me too," Natasha admitted, glancing over at you. "I love a good steak."

You smiled, shaking your head in amusement. "Of course you do."

"What?" She chuckled.

"Nothing," You said. "It's just... you're very cool, Natasha Romanoff."

She grinned, leaning closer to you. "Well, thank you. That's very sweet."

You bit your lip, feeling a blush creeping up your neck.

"See, blushing," Natasha said smugly.

You nudged her, trying to hide your grin. "Stop it."

She smiled, her eyes softening. "Never."

As the meal came together, you were surprised by how much fun you were having. It turned out your cooking ability was light years beyond Nataha's. Which wasn't that surprising. It's not like she had a child to cook for or anything.

"Nope. You've got it all wrong," You said, trying to keep a straight face.

"What?" Natasha looked at you, perplexed.

"The salt, Natasha," You chuckled. "You need a lot more salt."

"Are you sure?" Natasha looked down at her mashed potatoes.

"Yes, I'm sure," You replied, trying not to laugh. "You can't eat those."

"Aw," Natasha frowned.

"It's okay baby," You assured her, patting her shoulder. "I'm here to help."

Natasha grinned. "Okay, Chef."

You smiled, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. "You're cute."

"Thank you," Natasha said.

"Alright, enough messing around," You declared, picking up the wooden spoon. "Let's keep this going." As you both continued to cook, the kitchen became a lively space filled with laughter and playful banter. Natasha's attempts at seasoning and timing were endearing, though they often resulted in humorous mishaps. The contrast between her occasional culinary blunders and your surprisingly deft cooking skills became a running joke.

Often there were times you two forgot Lisa was even there, too wrapped up in each other to notice her. Finally, your meal was finished and you both sat in the dining area to enjoy it.

"Okay, I've got to admit, that was pretty amazing," Natasha said, sipping her wine.

You smiled, savoring the bite of tender beef. "It really was. Thanks for bringing me here."

"You're welcome," Natasha said. "I'm glad you liked it."

You looked up at her, your heart beating a little faster. She was looking at you with such fondness that it made your chest ache. "So, I figured we should get to know each other a little better."

"You mean we don't already know each other well?" She smirked, referring to your night together.

You blushed. "You know what I mean. I mean, the basic stuff. What's your favorite color? Your favorite movie? Things like that."

Natasha nodded, smiling softly. "Sure. My favorite color is blue."

"Like the ocean?" You asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "What about you?"

"Green," You answered. "Like the trees."

"Interesting," she murmured. "Movie?"

"I'm a big fan of romcoms," You confessed.

"Really?" Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," You shrugged. "The Proposal. Anything with Sandra Bullock or Jennifer Lopez and I'm sold."

Natasha laughed. "Good to know."

"What about you?" You questioned.

"Well, I'm a sucker for anything with Ryan Gosling." She grinned.

"Good choice," You agreed.

"Favorite food?"

"Anything sweet," She winked.

"I can work with that," You chuckled.

"Favorite TV show?"

"That's a tough one," She paused, thinking. "House."

"Nice," You said.

"Favorite song?"

"Don't you already know?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," You laughed. "But I want to hear you say it."

"Fine," She sighed dramatically. "The Scientist by Coldplay."

"You have a good taste," You mused.

"I think so," She said, winking at you.

"I like The Night We Met," You replied.

"Really?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah," You said. "It's a great song."

"It is," She agreed. "I just didn't think you had a real liking for that particular genre."

"I'm full of surprises," You wiggled your fingers.

Natasha took a sip of her wine. "Clearly."

"Okay, last one," You said. "Favorite band."

"The Beatles," She replied without hesitation.

"Nice," You said.

"They're classics," She shrugged. "Can't go wrong with them."

"That's true," You said. "I think I have a lot more to learn about you, Natasha Romanoff."

She smiled softly. "Same goes for you, Y/N, Y/L/N."

As the two of you finished dinner, the conversation shifted into a more relaxed tone.

"So," You said, leaning back in your seat. "What's next on the agenda?"

"That depends," Natasha replied. "Do you trust me?"

You grinned, your heart skipping a beat. "With my life."

"Well, then, let's get going."

As the night progressed, you found yourself growing more and more intrigued by Natasha. She was intelligent and witty and had a surprisingly dry sense of humor. Her eyes lit up when she spoke about the things she was passionate about, and it was clear she was truly a free spirit. You could see why she had risen to fame so quickly.

***************

The next stop was Echo Park’s Swan Boat line, the sight of the bustling park filled with families and couples enjoying the evening brought a smile to your face. The iconic swan boats bobbed gently on the water, their white feathers illuminated by the soft glow of park lights.

"This is beautiful," You breathed, taking in the sight.

"It is," Natasha agreed, slipping her hand into yours.

"You ready to get out there?" She asked, grinning.

"I'm a little nervous but I'll get over it," You held her hand. You joined the queue, the line stretching a bit as people chatted and waited for their turn on the boats. As you neared the front of the line, you noticed a group of teenagers in front of you. One of them, a lanky teen with a mop of curly hair, kept glancing back at Natasha with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. After a few moments, his eyes widened, and he nudged his friend, whispering loudly, “Hey, isn’t that Natasha Romanoff?”

Natasha caught their gaze and offered a friendly if slightly reserved, smile. She knew being recognized was part of her life, but she also valued moments like these where she could enjoy a quiet, semi-anonymous outing. There was a moment when both of them argued about who would talk to her before they made a choice.

The teen, gathering his courage, turned around and said with a shy grin, “Hi, um, I don’t mean to bother you, but are you Natasha Romanoff?”

Natasha chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Guilty as charged. How are you doing tonight?”

The teen’s friends crowded closer, their excitement palpable. “We’re huge fans! This is so cool,” one of them exclaimed.

"Would you guys mind taking a picture with us?" Another asked, pulling out their phone.

Natasha's smile grew warmer. "Of course not. " She pulled you in close, wrapping an arm around your waist. You tried not to blush as the teens gathered around you, their phones held high.

"On the count of three, smile!" The first teen instructed. You obliged, smiling brightly as the phone flashed.

"Thank you so much," he gushed. "This is so awesome. My friends won't believe this."

Natasha grinned, giving them a wink.

"Are you guys on a date?" One of the teens, a girl with an oversized hoodie and glasses asked.

"Maybe," Natasha's eyes sparkled. "Or maybe it's just a casual hangout between friends."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I can tell you that I'm a fan of hers." You played along.

"Me too!" The girl squealed. "I'm your biggest fan, Ms. Romanoff."

"I'm flattered," Natasha chuckled. "Well, have a good night, everyone." She pulled you toward the front of the line as it was now your turn to ride.

"Thank you, Ms. Romanoff!" The girl called out. "This is the best night ever!"

"Any time," Natasha called back. You couldn't help but smile as the teens began animatedly talking amongst themselves.

"That was nice of you," You murmured.

Natasha's gaze softened. "They were sweet kids. Besides, I don't mind the occasional photo op. It's all part of the job. You ready?"

You looked at the small boat tethered to the dock, a mix of nervousness and excitement fluttering in your chest. "Is it safe?"

Natasha laughed softly. "It's perfectly safe. I promise."

With a deep breath, you nodded. "Alright, let’s do it."

You both climbed into the boat, Natasha taking the oars and maneuvering it gently away from the dock. As the boat drifted into the middle of the pond, the moonlight cast a soft glow over the water, creating a serene and almost magical atmosphere.

The gentle lapping of the water against the boat was soothing, and you glanced at Natasha, who was focused and confident as she rowed. After a few moments, she set the oars aside and leaned back, her gaze meeting yours.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, a teasing smile on her lips.

"Surprisingly well," you replied, your heart racing a little from the adventure. "This is actually kind of thrilling."

"I'm glad," Natasha grinned, reaching for your hand and squeezing it.

You gazed up at the night sky, admiring the twinkling stars and the bright moon. It was a beautiful night, and you were happy to be sharing it with her.

"I know this is a little cheesy," She started, her gaze turning soft. "But I've always loved the idea of a first date."

"I love a good first date," You chuckled. "I think you knocked it out of the park for sure." You said.

"I'm glad," She whispered. "I was hoping you'd like it."

You smiled, your chest tightening with emotion. You felt a connection with Natasha that you couldn't explain.

"So, my girlfriend..." You grinned, alluding to Natasha's introduction of herself to Sam.

"It has a nice ring to it," She laughed aloud. "I saw you fumbling and took the opportunity."

"Thank God for it," You shook your head. "I don't think I would have known what to say."

"You would have figured it out," She assured.

"Not fast enough," You replied. "I want you to be my girlfriend." You said with such confidence Natasha's head whipped over to you.

"Wait, really?" She asked. 

"Really," You nodded.

Natasha smiled, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"I was hoping you would," She replied.

"Well, consider me your girlfriend," You declared, feeling your stomach do flips.

Natasha's gaze met yours, and she leaned in, kissing you tenderly. The kiss was soft and sweet, filled with the promise of something more.

"Thank you," She whispered, her breath warm against your skin.

"You're welcome," You murmured, your heart pounding.

You sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, simply enjoying each other's presence.

"So," She finally spoke, her voice quiet. "Where do we go from here?"

"I guess we figure it out together," You replied, your gaze locked on hers.

"I can't wait," She said, her eyes shining.

---> next part

[dingodad]

Ambient thought: if you're determined to remove Sburb from the movie, you should at least structure the story around its movements of descent and ascent. Have John descend into the underbelly of the house, come upstairs to breath, then down again to jack Dad's car and drive off and meet the others. Rose ascends to the observatory, descends into Mom's lab (which now linked to Condy-centric reproduction plot?), and gets warped into the trunk of John's car (Mom has modified Dad's car at some point). Dave ascends to fight Bro, falls down every single flight of stairs in building, then everyone flies off to meet Jade cause Bro converts Dad's car into a ROCKET CAR. Jade descends to address monsters and ascends for the finale as the rocket car arrives with her friends. Or something, idk. But if the physical traversal of domestic spaces weren't a core mechanic of a Homestuck movie what are we even doing

i hadn't even been thinking about the tower of babel aspect of sburb but i'm with you on this one. the relationship between child and household / suburb is one of the key points i think an adaptation SHOULD keep so if we dispense with extravagant setpieces like the lands it makes perfect sense to get as much mileage out of the houses themselves that you possibly can. imo the literal building up of the houses even works if we can simultaneously use that to manifest those child/household relationships visually, like an antagonistic force (trolls i guess?) is warping the homes to suit their needs in some way? -> prefiguring lord english warping entire universes to suit his needs perhaps

the client/server interactions are such a funny and iconic bit from the original text it would be so sad to see them go but again having the four main characters literally take turns either doing things or not doing things is such a sludgy plot structure for the big screen... or maybe rose's 'pulling things apart to see how they work' arc can culminate in her learning to magically take control of the house-warping process and we can still have the bathtub scene? THIS SHIT HAS LEGS!!

skaia itself is such a visually interesting and memorable setpiece that i think it would be a huge plus to find a way to still include it, so all of this obviously points in the direction of a building-toward-skaia climax. but this reminds me again of something i'd already kind of been thinking about, which is that Problem Sleuth already being Homestuck's action-driven ancestor naturally lends itself to being a great template for an action-driven Homestuck feature film. and right now i've just done it again by reinventing Problem Sleuth's whole four-heroes-climbing-a-tower thing. so i'm trying to figure out if this is a good thing or not? is it okay or a good idea to use Problem Sleuth as the blueprint for 'Action Homestuck'; or is it a kind of incestuous disrespect to rebuild Homestuck using pieces of its own 'lesser' first draft? is it a Homestuck adaptation's solemn duty to look forward instead of backward in such a way? i'm not sure

[sk-lumen]

People that have a secure attachment style, you have no idea how privileged you are from so many points of view. Your healthy childhood upbringing or healthy primary caregiver dynamic has blessed you with more benefits than you can imagine. It's given you confidence, a healthy self-respect, a sense of security that you are resilient and can fall back on your community, your family in the face of any challenges. It's given you the ability to walk away from what's toxic or non-reciprocal. You don't tolerate toxic jobs, you don't tolerate partners that abuse or breadcrumb or manipulate you. The truth that love is simply given, instead of fought for or earned or sacrificed for, is simply embedded into you. You navigate through life and relationships with a clear head, no false-belief blueprints blinding you or making you see red where there are only opportunities or lessons.

Meanwhile, avoidants felt neglected or ignored from a young age. So they learned to turn away from those that should've protected them the most. They grew up learning that nobody can be trusted, nobody can be relied upon, so they crave closeness but push anyone who does get too close, worse yet they resent anyone who does display vulnerability or softness or unconditional love towards them. They go through life thinking they're not enough, they're broken, whatever they are isn't worthy of being loved. They'd rather sabotage every relationship around them and remain alone than to face their discomfort. Even so, at least they savour their independence, and they usually excel professionally because they're more detached and self-driven.

Anxious attachers have it worse. In their formative years, they were consistently abandoned and shown that asking for love will get them nowhere, until they begged and begged and internalized that love is something to be fought for, something they have to sacrifice their needs for, that love...is inextricably tied to loss. To someone forever leaving and walking out on them. They learned that the more vigilant they are of every detail of every day, the more control they exert, the more power they could have in changing the outcome. But that's the lie, the fantasy, right there. The more they client, the more the other pulls away. There is no other ending to this story. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Life has proven to them that everyone always leaves, and everyone abandons them, so in any dynamic the fear of being left is so deeply engrained that the anxiety just consumes them. They learned they are too much, asking for too much, needing too much, always too much. And that to be loved, they have to be less. Less of themselves. Less of everything. Love becomes self-denial, self-sabotage, self-sacrifice. They're stuck in the pattern, scrambling this way and that, and just when they think they've escaped the maze and healed their attachment disorder, the pattern repeats yet again, turning their favorite person into a lesson. Again. And again. And it seems to never end. And even profesionally, they simultaneously feel like they're not enough of the right thing, and too much of the wrong thing.

And the disorganized attachment? They have it worst, according to science. Whereas the other two developed a single strategy to win back love, the disorganized have fallen into such a tangled chaos that they're stuck between both. If their partner runs, they start chasing after them. But if the partner stops, and the disorganized reaches out for love and it's given, they're the ones to run away. There is no relief, no finality, no cohesion. They're chasing or being chased, there's no stopping. They never learned to properly connect or regulate.

My point is, the latter three have a universal disadvantage to fight against, overcome, struggle with again and again until somehow they can heal what was never their fault to begin with. Disadvantage in love, in career, in worldviews, in false limited beliefs that are toxic to both self and others, it's having doubts and anxieties and second-guessing everything especially their own judgement. It's no easy feat.

So yes, the securely attached are way ahead of the game.

[descargueestoporgojosatoru]

Shades of cool— Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo x reader, Geto suguru x reader.

Angst, obsession, violence, power dynamics, toxic! Satoru Gojo.

Summary: Under the neon glow of a Tokyo burlesque, a single glance from him was enough to seal your fate. Satoru Gojo is a man who takes what he wants without caring for any consequence. And what's mistaken for love turns into something sickening very quickly. Soon enough you'll learn love can't put together what insist on remaining broken, and he's not meant to be saved, he's meant to be survived.

Chapter 1:

It’s well known that humans are greedy by nature—always clawing for more, driven by desire, by the sheer hunger to take everything life has to offer. And modernity has only made it easier, placing every indulgence within reach. Sex, money, power. The fastest car, the most exquisite clothes. We are creatures of competition, hands forever outstretched toward whatever makes us feel alive.

People will do whatever it takes to get ahead, to exploit every talent, every advantage they were born with. But luck is not distributed equally. And you—you were born into the filthiest corners of Tokyo, the places people pretend not to see. Yet God, in his twisted generosity, gifted you with beauty and grace.

And that is how you ended up here—center stage in a burlesque cabaret, dancing, singing, draped in glamour and drowning in drama.

A bouquet of blue flowers waited on the vanity in your dressing room. It wasn’t unusual—dancers often received gifts. But these were different. It had been three weeks now, and each new bouquet felt more deliberate, more expensive. Not the usual twenty, fifty, or even a hundred roses. No, these were carefully chosen. Every flower whispered of luxury. And they all came from the same person.

The first one arrived on a Saturday, just before your performance. You remember it well—a bouquet of deep red carnations and chrysanthemums, their arrangement meticulous, their presentation flawless. Whoever sent it knew exactly what they were doing. And they knew how to show off.

“I wish you an amazing performance. Although I’m more fond of the color blue, these flowers will suit you better tonight. — S.G.”

The next delivery came last week—three stunning bouquets of lilies, orchids, and peonies. All in shades of purple.

“I apologize if I startled you with my last bouquet. I don’t mean to come across as a stalker. Just an admirer. — S.G.”

Your secret admirer had revealed nothing but their initials: S.G.

You walk toward the blue bouquet, fingers grazing the petals before delicately picking up the note. Almost eager.

“Lovely performance. Blue is my color. Hopefully, if you let me, I’ll pay for a private meeting tonight. — S.G.”

You pause, the words lingering in your mind. Private meetings are safe—at least in theory—but they can mean anything to the client. Sometimes it’s just polite conversation, a drink, a little flirtation. Other times, it’s the kind of company that leaves you sore in the morning. You don’t enjoy them, not really, but with bills piling up, dancing alone won’t cut it.

Mei Mei doesn’t care about you. Not personally. But she cares about money, and you make her money. She books more meetings than you’d like, but at least she keeps them controlled. Safe. As safe as this world allows.

So, you don’t remove your makeup. You ignore the ache in your legs and smooth down your white lingerie just as a knock echoes at the door.

You hesitate. Him?

“Is it him?”

— Who? — Your voice is steady, but your pulse isn’t.

— May I come in? — Mei Mei’s voice, sharp and certain. She doesn’t wait for an answer. The door swings open, and she strides in.

— My dear, you have a meeting tonight. Have you read the note? — She moves straight to the bouquet, plucking up the card with keen eyes. A knowing smirk tugs at her lips. — You shouldn’t, no—you can’t refuse this one. He’s a big fish. You’ll be well paid.

Your gaze flickers to her through the mirror.

— You know him? — You ask, voice even, though your grip tightens around the armrest. — Who is he?

Mei Mei steps behind you, hands sliding onto your shoulders as she leans in. Her head tilts next to yours, eyes gleaming in the reflection. There’s hunger there—not for you, but for the money she smells in the air.

— I can’t tell you that. — Her fingers squeeze lightly. — He wants to introduce himself. But you’d better catch him. I’ll give you 70% this time. What do you say?

Your mind clicks into gear. Seventy? Normally, you only get fifty. It’s your body, but it’s her cabaret, her protection. You don’t argue. Not when you’re making the kind of money you do.

— How long did he pay for?

Mei Mei’s smirk widens.

— The whole night. But he says everything plays by your rules. — A pause, calculated. — By morning, you’ll be 222,000 yen richer.

You stare at Mei Mei. The way she stands, arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward—it’s clear she won’t let you refuse. She said it herself. “You can’t refuse this one.” And the money… 222,000 yen isn’t something to turn down. It could cover another hospital bill for your mother. Maybe even buy your family something decent to eat for once.

— Deal. Let him in.

You see it instantly—the way Mei Mei’s eyes gleam, like she’s just closed a perfect deal. That kind of joy is rare on her face, reserved only for moments when money falls into her hands. She strides toward the door, pausing only briefly before stepping out.

— He’ll be here in ten minutes. — Then, with a knowing glance, she adds, — And make sure he comes back.

It sounds like a suggestion. It isn’t. You nod, saying nothing as the door clicks shut behind her.

Turning to the mirror, you check your appearance, smoothing your outfit, fixing stray strands of hair. A few minutes pass before another knock echoes through the room.

Your stomach tightens.

Call it intuition. Call it survival instinct. Whatever it is, it grips your body in a way you can’t ignore.

Taking a steady breath, you open the door.

The first thing you see is a pair of electric blue eyes—sharp, bright, and filled with something between mischief and malice. They don’t just look at you. They see through you.

He isn’t what you expected. Not an old man, not some desperate businessman throwing money for a night of company. No, he’s tall, composed, with hair as white as snow and a suit as black as the night.

And he looks like he’s enjoying your reaction.

— I hope I didn’t freak you out too much with my little game. — His voice is smooth, confident, laced with amusement. — Just thought it’d be more fun if I left my name out of it for a while. You know, build the suspense.

That charming, easy smile—it’s dangerous.

— I’m Satoru. Gojo Satoru. But you can call me Gojo.

The way he says it—casual, like an invitation, but with the weight of someone who expects to be remembered. And respected.

Why would that be necessary?

— No need to apologize. — You watch as his lips twitch slightly, like he’s pleased just by hearing you speak. — I’m ___(Y/N). Performer at this burlesque.

You step aside, letting him in. He moves with purpose, his sharp gaze taking in everything—the room, the flowers, you. But you recover quickly, slipping into the role you know best. A cabaret seductress. Smooth, controlled, untouchable.

— Make yourself at home. — You watch as his attention flickers to the bouquet. — And thank you for the flowers. They’re gorgeous.

He turns his head slightly, eyes back on you.

— You like them?

There’s something unreadable in his expression, his voice casual yet deliberate. As if your answer matters.

— All of them. You have good taste.

He exhales softly, a satisfied hum as he continues his slow inspection of the room, hands still tucked in his pockets.

— What can I say? I know quality when I see it. — He glances back at you, that same lazy smile in place. — And judging by the way you perform, those were the right flowers to send.

Something about the way he says it—calm, assured, like everything has already fallen into place—sends a quiet shiver down your spine.

— I don’t like mediocrity, you know?

You hold your ground, keeping your smile intact.

— You flatter me. I only enjoy my job. — Then, tilting your head slightly, voice softer, more inviting, — What’s your plan for tonight?

He watches you shift, notices how your demeanor changes, how your words become silkier. And he enjoys it.

— Just getting to know you. — His voice is smooth, unhurried, but firm. — No more than that. We can sit here, talk. About your job. About what you enjoy, what you despise.

He leans in slightly, just enough to make the air feel warmer.

— I’ll take everything you’re willing to give me, sweetheart.

You study him.

He paid all that money just for conversation? Most clients wouldn’t pay half of that for the full experience, yet here he is, asking for nothing but words.

And yet, nothing about him suggests he’s easy to please. Not the way he carries himself. Not the way Mei Mei wants him to come back.

Whatever he’s doing, he’s good at it. Too good.

His gaze flickers to your lips—just for a moment—before returning to your eyes, his smile widening.

— You’re fascinating.

It’s a simple statement. But something about the way he says it —so sure, so pleased—sets off a quiet alarm in the back of your mind.

You smile, keeping up the act. But now, you’re certain.

This man is dangerous. And he knows it.

Note: this was the first chapter, I hope you enjoy as much as I do. Thank you so much for reading and I'd be more than grateful if you let me know what you think.

Taglist (open): @ekaterinatepes

[coastalcowplant]

Lucas “Luca” Palladio for Penny’s BC by @bunnithechubs

“Designing dreams is my business. Will you be my next masterpiece?”

traits: self-absorbed, creative, ambitious

aspiration: serial romantic

career: luxury architect & designer

Lucas specializes in designing exclusive, high-end homes and spaces for elite clients, blending architecture with bespoke interior design. Known for his meticulous attention to detail and ability to bring a client’s most ambitious dreams to life, he’s built a reputation in elite circles. He’s worked with celebrities, CEOs, and international clients, making him a sought-after name in luxury architecture.

A recent breakup with model, Dina Caliente, shook him, though he’ll never admit it. It made him realize that, beneath his flashy exterior, he craves something real but doesn’t know how to get it. He’s entering the bachelor contest for Penny partly to show off but also because he sees her as someone who could challenge him and help him break out of his shallow patterns.

Read more about Luca’s backstory/personality below:

Backstory | Lucas “Luca” Palladio is a luxury architect with roots deeply planted in two cultures. His father, a successful diplomat from Tartosa, instilled in him a love for artistry and elegance, while his mother, an interior designer from Mt. Komorebi, introduced him to the principles of harmony and balance in design.

Luca grew up in a family where success and appearances meant everything. He was raised to believe that image and charm could get him anywhere, and it has—sort of. He’s charming, well-dressed, and knows how to work a crowd, but despite his success, Luca feels a void that material wealth can’t fill, though you won’t catch him admitting it.

Personality | Luca is charming, but he can be controlling and has a tendency to get possessive when things don’t go his way. He’s used to getting what he wants and has a bit of a temper, though he’s careful to hide it in public. Deep down, he’s vulnerable, carrying insecurities he masks with bravado. He feels pressured to keep up his polished image.

His work demands a high degree of control and precision, which bleeds into his personal life. Luca has a clear vision of how things should be, and he struggles when things don’t align with his expectations. He sometimes sees relationships as projects that need to meet his standards, which could lead to possessive or controlling tendencies. However, his career also hints at a hidden vulnerability: behind the polished exterior, he’s terrified of things falling apart, as failure is something he can’t easily handle.

Although he can be overbearing, Luca is also driven by a genuine desire to create beauty and leave a mark on the world. Deep down, he wants to be valued for who he is, not just what he creates, even if he’s unsure how to show that vulnerability. If he can learn to let go of his rigid expectations and trust in others, there’s potential for him to become a more genuine and supportive partner.

[wisesoultarot]

🔥 Pick-a-Card: What’s the Next Step Towards Financial Success & Stability? 💰✨

The journey to financial success isn’t just about luck—it’s about strategy, mindset, and aligned action. 🏆 Choose the pile that calls to you, and let’s uncover your next step toward financial growth and stability.

✨ Take a deep breath. ✨ Focus on your financial goals. ✨ Pick the image that pulls you in the most.

IMAGE 1: (Left)

🔮 1️⃣ What steady actions will lead to more money? – The Magician 🪄 💡 Your Power: You already have everything you need to create financial success! The Magician reminds you that your skills, creativity, and ideas are valuable—but they need action. ✅ Next Step: Stop doubting yourself! Whether it’s launching that side hustle, increasing your prices, or promoting your tarot services more boldly, it’s time to step into your power.

🔮 2️⃣ What’s blocking your financial success? – King of Swords ⚔️ 💡 Your Block: Your logical mind is overanalyzing, doubting, or fearing failure. You might be caught in “analysis paralysis” instead of taking action. ✅ Next Step: Get clear on your financial goals and cut through distractions. Whether it’s a budgeting plan, setting firm prices, or learning a new business skill, discipline is key.

🔮 3️⃣ What opportunities are coming to build long-term wealth? – The emperor 🏛️ 💡 Your Opportunity: Structure, authority, and long-term success. Whether it’s building your tarot business, creating passive income, or stepping into a leadership role, your future is stable and strong. ✅ Next Step: Set up systems that keep your money flowing. Price your services confidently, build a long-term plan, and take control.

👉 Ko-fi Upsell: Want a personalized roadmap for long-term financial success? Let’s dive into your path with a powerful tarot session! [BOOK HERE]

💰 Final Message: You are on the path to financial growth and stability. Consistency, strategy, and belief in your worth will take you there. 🌟

📌 Like, reblog & comment with your pile! 🔥 Want deeper guidance? Book a personal reading: [KO-FI] 💖

IMAGE 2: (Middle)

🔮 1️⃣ What steady actions will lead to more money? – Knight of Swords ⚔️ 💡 Your Power: You are driven, ambitious, and full of ideas. The Knight of Swords urges you to move fast and take action. Waiting for the "perfect time" is a trap—momentum is key. ✅ Next Step: If you’ve been hesitating to promote your business, raise your prices, or launch that new offer, now is the time! Speed up, be bold, and go all in.

🔮 2️⃣ What’s blocking your financial success? – 10 of Wands 🏋️ 💡 Your Block: You’re carrying too much weight—whether it’s burnout, overworking, or trying to do everything alone. Success is stalled because you’re exhausted and need to lighten the load. ✅ Next Step: Delegate, simplify, and set boundaries. Not every task is urgent. Focus on income-generating actions and stop overextending yourself.

🔮 3️⃣ What opportunities are coming to build long-term wealth? – 2 of Cups 💞 💡 Your Opportunity: Partnerships, collaborations, and soulful connections will open doors to financial growth. Whether it’s clients who deeply value your work or business collaborations, success comes through relationships. ✅ Next Step: Network, connect, and seek aligned partnerships. Your financial success will grow through loyal clients, referrals, or working with like-minded people.

👉 Ko-fi Upsell: Want a personalized roadmap for long-term financial success? Let’s dive into your path with a powerful tarot session! [BOOK HERE]

💰 Final Message: You are closer to financial success than you think. Take bold action, release the burden of doing everything alone, and embrace the right partnerships. 🌟

📌 Like, reblog & comment with your pile! 🔥 Want deeper guidance? Book a personal reading: [KO-FI] 💖

IMAGE 3: (Right)

🔮 1️⃣ What steady actions will lead to more money? – The Hanged Man ⏳ 💡 Your Power: The Hanged Man calls for patience, a shift in perspective, and surrender. Right now, financial success won’t come from pushing harder—but from seeing things differently. ✅ Next Step: Take a step back and reassess your strategy. Are you offering what truly aligns with your gifts? Are you pricing yourself fairly? Sometimes, pausing leads to the biggest breakthroughs.

🔮 2️⃣ What’s blocking your financial success? – The emperor 🏛️ 💡 Your Block: Control, rigidity, and strict structures. You might be too attached to one way of making money, which is limiting your growth. Financial success requires flexibility and adaptability. ✅ Next Step: Be open to new opportunities, different pricing models, or fresh ways to promote your business. A more structured yet adaptable approach will serve you better than forcing one rigid plan.

🔮 3️⃣ What opportunities are coming to build long-term wealth? – 8 of Wands 🚀 💡 Your Opportunity: Rapid growth, momentum, and unexpected opportunities. Money will start flowing in faster once you remove resistance and take inspired action. ✅ Next Step: Be ready to say yes to new clients, opportunities, or collaborations. Speed up your efforts—post more, promote your website, and act on intuitive nudges. Things are about to move FAST.

👉 Ko-fi Upsell: Want a personalized roadmap for long-term financial success? Let’s dive into your path with a powerful tarot session! [BOOK HERE]

💰 Final Message: Sometimes, financial success comes when we pause and reflect (Hanged Man), release rigid expectations (Emperor), and then take fast action when the moment arrives (8 of Wands). Trust your journey. 🌟

📌 Like, reblog & comment with your pile! 🔥 Want deeper guidance? Book a personal reading: [KO-FI] 💖

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 03

<< Chapter 02　|　Chapter 04 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

-

Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

-

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

The late morning light filters through the city, casting a muted glow over the winding streets as you make your way to a hidden corner of Istanbul. It’s a place few know, tucked between half-collapsed buildings and overshadowed by a forgotten marketplace that rarely sees life at this hour. You’ve been here before on other mornings, seeking a moment of quiet in a city that never truly sleeps.

You haven’t been able to sleep since Ghost visited your room before dawn, his presence stirring a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that kept you tossing and turning. The gravity of your decision looms over you, and every step feels heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’ll find him here. Something about last night—the way his words hung heavy in the air, how he left without waiting for your answer—left a nagging sense that your conversation needs to continue as soon as possible. Ghost might be a ghost to everyone else, but to you, his sudden reappearance has made him an unavoidable presence once more, a shadow that insists on following no matter how far you run.

Your steps are soft and cautious, as you slip past the abandoned vendors’ stalls, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination.

You spot him before he sees you, standing at the edge of the alley, half-hidden in the shadows cast by the crumbling stone walls. He’s a dark figure in the early light, his stance rigid, as if he’s both waiting and watching, prepared for anything. And in that moment, you realize he’s just as out of place as you are, a soldier alone in an unfamiliar city, driven by obligations neither of you fully control.

When he finally notices you, there’s no surprise in his gaze, only a flicker of acknowledgment, as though he, too, knew you’d come. It’s an unspoken understanding, the air between you as thick as the stillness of the dawn.

“So,” you start, crossing your arms to steady yourself. “I came to hear you out.” You keep your voice even, masking the frustration that still lingers.

His eyes narrow, studying you with that cold, piercing stare that feels like it could cut through stone. For a moment, he doesn’t answer, and you wonder if he’s going to leave you standing there without an explanation.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and unyielding. “As I mentioned, Aegis has overstepped. They’re not just mercs anymore. They’ve taken on clients who deal in… sensitive intel, information that could tip the scales in the wrong hands. We can’t ignore that.”

It’s not the answer you expected, and for a second, you feel a twinge of doubt. Aegis had always operated in gray areas, but this… this sounds like something darker, something you’d never been privy to. A part of you wants to believe he’s exaggerating, but another part knows better. Ten years with Aegis, and you saw enough to know there were layers you weren’t allowed to question.

“And what, you expect me to help bring them down?” you scoff, the bitterness breaking through.

Ghost’s jaw tightens, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “They're hunting for you, that we already know,” he says, voice edged with blunt certainty. “But you're not one to sit back and wait for them to box you in, are you?”

He studies you, his gaze sharp, as if weighing your next move. “This isn’t about owing anyone or taking orders,” he continues. “It’s about keeping yourself one step ahead. If you want to let them corner you, go ahead. But from what I remember, that’s never been your style. This is your chance."

The challenge is clear, and the implication weighs heavy on you, and it feels like he’s daring you to prove him wrong.

You look away, the resentment and regret swirling together in a mess of tangled emotions. You’d spent years defending Aegis, justifying the choices they made because they’d given you a place when no one else had. But now, standing here, realizing they’ve crossed lines you never agreed to, it feels as if all of it—every mission, every oath—was nothing more than a lie.

Still, the firmness in Ghost’s voice gnaws at you, as if he sees something in you that you’re not sure you’re ready to admit. That maybe he’s right, and maybe you’ve been searching for a way out, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge it.

“You say this is my chance, but we both know what it really is,” you murmur, voice soft but sharp. “Another leash. Another game. And when it’s over, you’ll be just like the rest of them, won’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it, his gaze remaining steady. “Maybe. But if you don’t take this chance, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

The words hang heavy, and you feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you, as unyielding as the stone walls around you. You could walk away, disappear into the city’s shadows once more. Or you could stay, take control of whatever future remains—on your terms, for once.

After a long pause, you nod, a faint spark of resolve lighting up the fatigue that had clouded your heart. “Fine. I’ll consider it. But this time, Ghost… this time, I’m doing this for myself."

Ghost studies you in silence, and this time, he doesn’t rush you. There’s a different kind of resolve in his gaze, as though he knows the weight of what he’s asking.

“You’re not on your own,” he says, voice low but unyielding. “If we’re going to do this, it won’t be overnight. Aegis has a reach, connections—even we don’t know the full extent. We’ll need intel, inside details only you can confirm. This isn’t a takedown; it’s a dismantling, piece by piece. It's going to be a long ride."

The words land heavily, and despite yourself, you feel the faintest flicker of understanding. This isn’t a hasty mission, not something reckless. It’s careful, deliberate.

“What exactly would you need from me?” you ask, your voice measured, uncertain. Ghost catches the hesitation and answers directly, as if sensing your need for clarity.

“First, we need information—details on Aegis’s operations here in Istanbul, who their main players are, any caches or safehouses they might have set up.” He pauses, letting the task sink in. “You know them better than anyone else on the outside. With that intel, we can start building a strategy.”

You absorb his words, realizing that the offer he’s laying out isn’t just another mission—it’s an alliance, one grounded in pragmatism more than trust.

“And the others? Price, the rest of your Task Force?” You half expect resistance, but Ghost’s response is calm.

Ghost’s gaze is steady as he considers your question about Task Force 141. A hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth underneath his balaclava.

“They’re on board,” he says, tone laced with a subtle bite. “Told them I ran into you yesterday. Price and the others agreed to let you help—on one condition.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline.

“They want you under my watch,” he adds dryly, as if the notion is just as irritating to him as it is to you. “Turns out they think it’ll keep things… orderly.”

A bark of a laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “So, I’m back to being your problem?”

“Looks that way,” he replies, his voice dropping to a sardonic drawl. “And don’t think for a second it’s because they’re thrilled about it. They just figure if you go rogue, they’d rather I’m the one who has to deal with you.”

He doesn’t let the words linger long, his expression shifting back to the hard mask you’re used to. “So, whatever you’re thinking—don’t. If you’re in, you’re in my sight at all times.”

You shake your head, stifling a grin. “Lucky me.”

“Likewise,” he deadpans, eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and irritation. The arrangement might be official, but from the look on his face, he’s already prepared for the headache you’ll be giving him.

“So, what now?” you ask, half-committed, half-apprehensive.

“We start slow. Establish patterns, confirm contacts. You’ll need to gather whatever intel you can without setting off alarms.” His tone is firm, but there’s an undercurrent of something softer, almost like understanding. “If this is going to work, we can’t rush it. You do this on your own terms, and we build from there.”

The heavy atmosphere between you eases slightly, though the enormity of the task ahead looms. For the first time in a long time, you’re not running. Instead, you’re standing in place, facing the complexity of a world that had, until now, seen you as disposable. And Ghost—whether he realizes it or not—is offering something rare: a second chance, albeit one layered with caution and calculated risks.

You nod, the decision settling over you slowly, cautiously. “Alright. I’m in. But this doesn’t mean I’m all in with the SAS,” you add, voice guarded. “I’ll help you with Aegis, but that’s all.”

A flicker of approval crosses Ghost’s gaze, subtle yet unmistakable. “That’s all we’re asking.”

He turns to leave, pausing just before he disappears into the city’s dawn-tinged shadows. “Meet me tomorrow. Same place. We’ll go over the first steps then.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you alone to digest the gravity of what you’ve agreed to, the pulse of Istanbul a reminder of the fight just beginning.

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The next day arrives in a veil of quiet anticipation, and before the sun has fully risen over Istanbul, you find yourself stepping into the hidden depths of the Task Force’s temporary base. It’s nothing ostentatious—just an inconspicuous building on the outskirts of the city, concealed behind layers of mundane facades and enough security to keep it under the radar. The narrow corridors, dimly lit and labyrinthine, only add to the strange weight in your chest.

Ghost leads the way without a word, his silent presence commanding as you trail behind him. The base is busy with muffled voices and faint electronic hums, and it’s not long before you turn a corner and see them—Captain Price, Soap, and Gaz—already gathered and waiting in a makeshift meeting room.

Price is the first to look up, his expression neutral, but you catch a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. He’s wearing the same battered cap, his stance as unyielding as ever. “Well, if it isn’t our prodigal merc,” he says, his voice low and carrying amusement. “Back to help clean up a mess left behind?”

The words sting, but they’re not unexpected. Price was never one to sugarcoat anything.

Soap’s eyes narrow slightly, his gaze flickering over you with something between curiosity and wariness. “Didn’t think we’d be seein’ you again after…well, y’know,” he says, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d have gone halfway ‘round the world by now.”

You give a small shrug, keeping your expression carefully composed. “Funny how things turn out.”

Gaz, standing beside Soap, crosses his arms, eyeing you with a critical gaze that feels just a shade warmer than the others. “Guess we all have our reasons for bein’ here,” he remarks, his tone less guarded than his teammates. “But this time, let’s make sure you don't cause us a headache, yeah?"

There’s a brief silence as you absorb the weight of their words, each one a reminder of the tangled history between you and the mission a year ago that set off this chain of events.

Price straightens, looking past you to Ghost. “You truly vouch for her, don't you?”

Ghost doesn’t hesitate. “She knows what’s at stake. And if anyone’s got reason to see Aegis burn, it’s her.” His gaze flickers to you, unreadable behind his mask. “She’s not gonna sit around and let them pin her down. Not her style.”

A low hum of approval rumbles from Soap, who exchanges a look with Gaz. “As long as you’re under his wing,” he mutters, jerking a thumb at Ghost. “Last time, we damn near saw heaven. Not too keen on a repeat.”

Price gives a slight nod, though his expression remains stern. “You’re here because the situation’s changed. We’ll be digging into intel on Aegis, collecting everything we can before we make a move. But if you’re back with us, you’re all in—no lone wolf nonsense.”

You meet his gaze and nod. “Understood.”

Price’s expression softens just slightly, though there’s still a hard edge to his eyes. “Good.”

Ghost leads you through the narrow hallways of the base, stopping in front of a utilitarian room with nothing but a bed, a plain wooden dresser, and a dusty window barely big enough to let in any light. It’s a far cry from luxurious, but it’s quiet and safe.

“This your idea of ‘five-star accommodations,’ then?” you ask, stepping inside and eyeing the bare-bones setup.

Ghost crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Welcome to the high life. Didn’t peg you for the ‘complains about the sheets’ type.”

“Just saying, a few throw pillows wouldn’t kill the SAS’s budget, would it?” you raise an eyebrow, smirking as you catch the faintest hint of amusement beneath his mask.

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Didn’t think a merc like you would care, long as the bed’s solid and the door locks.”

“True, but I thought for someone who’s practically dragged me out of hiding, you’d at least set me up somewhere better than a broom closet.”

“Think of it as a chance to relive your glory days with Aegis,” he counters, shrugging. “Bet their accommodations weren’t much better.”

You chuckle, leaning against the wall with a look of mock disappointment. “Oh, I dunno. Aegis at least knew how to stock a decent stash of coffee.”

A flicker of amusement crosses his face as he steps into the room. “Don’t get your hopes up. You’re lookin’ at the last of the rations.” He taps his pocket, producing a small, worn tin of instant coffee packets, the label barely legible. “Courtesy of Price’s ‘emergency stash.’”

“Oh, an SAS delicacy?” you deadpan, folding your arms. “Clearly, I’ve been spoiled.”

“Consider it your initiation,” he shoots back, slipping the tin back into his pocket with an unapologetic shrug. “Besides, no one asked you to have refined tastes.”

“Right, because you lot are just swimming in refinement,” you reply, letting a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth.

He steps forward, his gaze locking with yours. “You’re just lucky there’s a bed at all. Normally, strays don’t get so many perks.”

“Strays? I seem to remember being invited.” You hold his gaze, matching the intensity with a raised eyebrow. “Or was that just an act of desperation?”

He scoffs, crossing his arms as he stares down at you, his posture casual but his gaze locked onto yours. “Desperation? Don’t flatter yourself. If I had my way, you’d be keeping watch outside in the cold.”

You smirk, closing the space just slightly, enough to make his eyes narrow in response. “Well, Ghost, if you had your way, I wouldn’t be here at all, now would I?”

“Damn right,” he mutters, though his voice softens just slightly. He glances toward the door, then back at you, as if sizing you up all over again. “But we’re here now. Try not to get in the way, yeah?”

“Only if you try not to get in mine,” you reply smoothly, crossing your arms as you meet his stare, the tension in the air settling into a familiar, comfortable rivalry.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then steps back, hands still crossed, his voice low. “We’ll see.”

Ghost lingers by the door, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. You shift, crossing your arms as you study him, your voice steady but probing.

“Why did you ask me to work with you once again?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even. “We just ran into each other by chance. If it weren’t for that… Was it really just because I have intel on Aegis?”

Ghost's shoulders tense at your question. He doesn’t respond right away, and you’re almost certain he’ll just walk out. But then he turns, his gaze hard, and something unreadable flickers in his eyes.

“Ran into you or not,” he begins, his voice low, almost guarded, “you're here, and you know more about Aegis than anyone else on the ground.” His tone is measured, deliberate, as though he’s weighing every word. “But this isn’t just intel. You understand how they think, how they’ll react. You’ve survived them so far. That’s something we need.”

You hold his stare, not letting him dodge the question so easily. “That’s all? Just good timing and insider knowledge?”

He lets out a breath, almost an exasperated sigh. “This isn’t a bloody charity if that’s what you’re asking."

His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes flicker for a split second, betraying something raw beneath the mask. “You gave off an impression that you wanted to prove you’re more than just some soldier-for-hire. I’m giving you a shot to do that,” he says, his tone rougher.

The air feels thick, every word laced with something unspoken. You swallow, a thousand responses flashing through your mind, but none of them seem quite right. You settle on one. “And here I thought you just missed my company.”

Ghost’s gaze hardens, but a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You wish. The only reason you’re here is to keep Aegis from pulling one over on us.”

His tone is sharp and final, but the way he holds your gaze for just a second longer than necessary leaves you with a feeling you can’t quite shake.

“Get some rest,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, without another word, he slips out, leaving you alone in the quiet stillness of the room, your thoughts spinning in the empty space he’s left behind. You sit on the edge of the bed, a small, satisfied smile crossing your face. It’s strange, but for the first time in months, you almost feel like you're finally able to breathe.

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Dinner finds you seated around a rough-hewn table with Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz, the low buzz of a small heater working against the evening chill in their hidden base. Plates are scattered with an assortment of Istanbul street foods: kebabs, stuffed grape leaves, pide, and a scattering of mezze Price proudly claims he picked up from "a lad down in the market who swore they were the best around." The smell is warm, savory, and oddly comforting.

“Not bad for field rations, eh?” Soap comments, reaching for another helping of hummus. He shoots Price a smirk. “All this effort just to impress us?”

Price grunts, rolling his eyes as he helps himself to a kebab. “You lot eat like you’ve been starved. Figured I’d prevent you from picking the city clean. Besides, thought we’d try somethin’ authentic for once.”

“Authentic, right,” Gaz mutters, inspecting a piece of bread dubiously. “When’s the last time you had a kebab, Price? Not exactly military standard issue.”

“Guess you’ll just have to get used to some culture, Sergeant,” Price retorts with a hint of a grin, passing him the plate.

You can’t help but chuckle at their banter, but then your eyes drift to Ghost as he pulls down his skull balaclava to eat. The motion is surprisingly intimate, revealing the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, it feels surreal. The last time you were this close, he had been all business, his face obscured, nothing but a mask of authority. Now, you see the man behind the legend—gruff, rugged, and, unexpectedly, handsome. His strong features, the slight scar tracing his cheek, the way his eyes hold an unsettling mix of warmth and wariness—all of it catches you off guard.

You hadn’t anticipated this; it’s hard to reconcile the imposing figure you remember with the man sitting across from you, eating with the ease of someone who belongs. There’s a strange flutter in your stomach, a mixture of surprise and confusion. Why did you assume he would be just a soldier, tough and unapproachable? It’s a fleeting thought, one you quickly push aside, but it lingers, tugging at something you can’t quite name.

He catches you watching him and gives you a nod toward the plate. “Aren’t you going to eat? Got to keep your energy up.”

You scoff but reach for the food anyway, feeling oddly out of place, yet comfortable. It’s surreal, this easy banter around the table—a sharp contrast to how things were last time you were with them. A year ago, you’d been brought in as nothing more than a liability, someone they held with a mixture of suspicion and restraint. But tonight, it feels… normal. Relaxed, almost.

Soap notices your expression, smirking. “Aye, somethin’ on your mind? Or you just baffled by all this hospitality?”

You raise an eyebrow, aiming for nonchalance. “Guess I’m just waiting for the catch. Hard to believe you lot are sharing food willingly.”

“That, or she’s waitin’ to see if it’s poisoned,” Ghost quips, deadpan. The corner of his mouth twitches, and you realize he’s messing with you.

“Oh, come on, the only thing lethal here is Price’s idea of spice,” Gaz throws in, earning a glare from the captain.

“You lot have no appreciation,” Price grumbles, though there’s an unmistakable warmth beneath his words. “And you—” he says, nodding at you. “You’re part of this now. So sit back, eat, and consider yourself lucky you’re not choking down MREs.”

There’s an ease in his words that’s surprisingly genuine, like he doesn’t question your place at the table. You try to ignore the strange feeling stirring in your chest, but it’s hard not to notice the difference. The camaraderie here isn’t forced, and even if the banter’s sharp, there’s a warmth to it—a sense that you’re part of something again, if only for a while.

“Better enjoy it,” Ghost says quietly, eyeing you with a look that’s hard to decipher. “We’re not exactly in the business of second chances, y’know.”

His words are harsh, but there’s something in his tone—a small, guarded hint that maybe this isn’t just about business. It throws you off-balance, but somehow, you can’t help feeling a strange sense of belonging, even if it's just fleeting.

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“Not the most glamorous work, is it?” Soap’s voice breaks the quiet, his tone laced with sarcasm as he leans over your shoulder, glancing at the endless lines of data on your screen. “Thought you merc types only cared about the big explosions and the payday.”

“Yeah? Keep talking, maybe I’ll start charging by the hour,” you shoot back.

He chuckles, nudging you with his elbow. “Don’t tempt me, lass. We’re already paying you in kebabs and a seat at the table, which is more than most get.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth in the banter that feels almost… easy. After all the strained silence and sharp edges of the past, the back-and-forth now has an unexpected comfort to it.

Price walks over, hands on his hips as he surveys the monitors. “What have we got so far?” he asks, his attention shifting from the screen to you.

“Locations Aegis has been using for supplies,” you say, pointing to a few spots on the map. “But these are just guesses. I’d need more than backdoor codes to get us exact details.”

“Better than guesses, though,” Gaz chimes in from across the room. “Most of us wouldn’t even know where to start looking if it weren’t for you.”

You shrug, brushing it off, though his words linger. It’s a strange feeling—being valued, not as a liability or a threat but as part of the team.

“Good work,” Price nods, adding with a wry smile, “though I’d like to see how you handle yourself in a less… academic setting again. We’re heading out tomorrow for a low-profile recon; your expertise will be needed.”

Across the table, Ghost catches your eye, and there’s that faint, unreadable intensity in his gaze again. He says nothing, but the look tells you he’s assessing, weighing. It almost feels like he’s daring you to keep proving yourself.

As the others continue sorting through files and intel, you and Ghost find yourselves momentarily alone, and you can’t help but voice the thought that’s been gnawing at you.

“Are they always like this?” you ask, tilting your head in the direction of Price, Soap, and Gaz, who are laughing about some half-mumbled joke you didn’t quite catch. “I mean, it’s almost… domestic.”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the others. “What, expecting us to be a bunch of cold, unfeeling robots?”

You smirk, rolling your eyes. “Considering the whole, you know, secret task force thing… I was expecting a little more ‘strict orders’ and less ‘family dinner.’”

“Don’t be fooled,” he replies, his tone dry but with the faintest glint of amusement. “We’re still all about strict orders when it counts. But,” he adds, almost as if mulling it over himself, “it's different when you’ve got to rely on each other to stay alive. It… builds a sort of bond.”

You nod, absorbing his words. It makes sense—out in the field, your life is in each other’s hands, and that changes things. Still, there’s a warmth here, a camaraderie, that you didn’t expect to find.

“Never seen anything like it,” you admit, your voice softer than you meant. “With Aegis, it was just… who could outlast who. Survive the longest, maybe make a name for yourself.”

He catches your eye, his expression unreadable. “I’m not surprised.”

You watch as Price nudges Gaz with a knowing grin when he tries to sneak the last piece of bread, and Soap rolls his eyes at Ghost’s silent, unyielding presence. It’s a warmth you hadn’t expected—a familiarity you’d almost forgotten was possible.

Looking around, you murmur, “You guys are… close.”

Ghost’s gaze shifts to you, thoughtful, as though considering just how much to reveal. “Closest I’ve ever been with anyone,” he admits, his voice low but firm. “These lads? They’re my brothers.”

He glances around at his team, eyes softer than you’ve seen before. “You don’t survive this long in Task Force 141 without knowing who’ll have your back, no matter what. Price, Soap, Gaz… they’re family. It’s not just about loyalty; it’s knowing you’d take a bullet for them without question. And that they’d do the same for me.”

There’s a brief, raw vulnerability in his gaze that he quickly shields, but you’ve already seen it. It hits you that beneath the layers of armor, the walls, and the mask he wears, Ghost’s loyalty runs deep. His faith in his team isn’t just a matter of trust—it’s a lifeline, one he clings to in the darkest moments.

He clears his throat, shifting his focus back to you, his usual edge returning. “So don’t get too comfortable,” he warns. “These lads may’ve warmed up, but they’re still trained to keep their guard up.”

The weight of his words hits you. Ghost doesn’t let many people in—he’s all walls and shadows, carefully guarded edges. To hear him say this, you can tell it’s not a statement he makes lightly.

“It’s different now,” you say, almost to yourself. “Last time… with Kozlov… you all kept me at arm’s length. Felt like I was walking on eggshells around you.”

Back then, every look they sent your way was cold, every word edged with mistrust. You remember it clearly: no one had gone out of their way to make you feel welcome. It was just a matter of completing the mission and keeping their distance—nothing more.

Ghost glances at you, picking up on the weight behind your realization. “Think you know the answer to that,” he replies quietly. “Back then, you were an unknown; dangerous, unpredictable. Nobody was sure you weren’t playing us for fools.”

“Now?” you ask, still surprised by how easy they all seem with you now. “What’s different?”

Ghost pauses, seeming to consider his response. “You’re still unpredictable,” he says, with that dry edge of humor you’ve come to recognize. “But after all you’ve been through, you’re still here. That counts for something.”

You can’t argue with that; you were playing things close to the chest, keeping secrets that weighed down every move you made. But things feel different now, somehow. It's the first time you want to take matters into your own hands.

As you let Ghost's words process through your mind, you can’t help but feel like an outsider, looking in on something you’ll never truly understand. His loyalty to the others is clear, like a bond threaded so tightly it seems unbreakable. You see it in the way they talk, in the effortless rhythm of their banter, in the comfortable pauses and easy laughter they share. They’re more than just teammates—they’re a family, one that’s been shaped and strengthened by every battle, every mission, every risk they’ve taken together.

And as much as you try to brush it aside, the reality stings. They’re all so fiercely loyal to one another, something you’ve never really known. Over the years, you’ve been surrounded by colleagues, acquaintances, and alliances built more on necessity than trust. But this? This is different. They’re bound by more than duty or obligation, by a camaraderie you can’t quite touch.

You steal a glance around the table, wondering if you’ll ever find a place like this. Will you ever have the kind of trust that doesn’t have to be questioned, the assurance that someone’s got your back, no matter what? A familiar ache pulls at you—a quiet, persistent longing. You try to shake it off, but it clings, a reminder of how far you are from the closeness they share.

Ghost glances at you, and for a moment, you wonder if he can read the thoughts etched on your face. But he says nothing, just gives a slight nod, as if acknowledging your presence here—temporary, uncertain, yet tolerated for now.

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Author's Note: i guess i should be tagging this as a slow burn lolol i’m honestly so glad i’ve written several chapters in advance; it makes sticking to an upload schedule way easier since i only need to focus on proofreading. also, just a heads-up: i take back what i said about the rest of Task Force 141 having a minimal role, i decided to make them a tad bit more involved in the story after all. and to those of you reading along, thank you so much for checking out this fic! you have no idea how much i appreciate it <3