AAHHAHAHA CHANCE X YOU!!
(creds to the person for the pfp)

Late-night poker at Chance’s sleek apartment. Neon lights, vodka flowing, cards hot in your favor—until the drinks hit too hard. You pass out across the table.

Chance smirks, scoops your limp body up, carries you to his bedroom, and lies back on black silk sheets. You end up straddling him in a drunken haze, his hands already working the buttons of your shirt open while he murmurs, “Jackpot.”