#/slams project on floor/ ANOTHER!

[spockandawe]

Straw marquetry! Okay, full disclaimer up front, i still barely know what I'm doing here. This is a craft with limited educational resources, and a lot of the inspiration pictures are from high-end french ateliers. But those pictures are SO pretty, plus the cost of buying a bunch of straw is much gentler than the cost of buying a bunch of wood veneer, and the shiny finish activates ALL the corvid instincts in my brain

The rough idea here is that you split and flatten stalks of straw, glue them to a substrate, square up the edges while the glue is still wet, and continue onward. If you want to pursue marquetry in the wood tradition, you can escalate to cutting pictures out of this and piecing them together (fundamentally, if you can't buy your own veneer, homemade is fine), but you can also do a lot just with geometric patterns and the natural color variation of the straw right on your working surface. I have a bunch of fancy empty frames i idly want to fill, so that's what I went with! Also I decided to make my own mat for ???? reasons, ahahaha

My frame opening was about 22x28 inches, so this was a lot of surface area for a first project! But I learned a lot along the way, things like 'oh my god why would you start from the outside instead of the inside' and 'wow small motifs sure are easier than big ones,' but that was part of the goal here! It's hard to identify the things you don't know without wading in and getting your hands dirty. And I had SUCH a fabulous time with this. I ran out of my primary color five triangles from the end, and had to order more, and you know I ordered additional straw for future projects

I might be starting one as soon as I post this, honestly. Because this one is done! It doesn't have a home on my wall yet, I'm still considering locations, but it's all nice and cozy in its frame and I love it so so much. And I'm including a short video showing off its shine, because no still image is ever going to fully do it justice

[lokisgoodgirl]

Liberties [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After ruining the biggest night of your career, Loki ruins you, too. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Dickish Avenger!Loki. Language. Workplace romance. Rough(ish) smut. (w/c 3.1k)

Folds of your expensive black dress swished as you stormed down the corridor of the forty-sixth floor. Everyone was still at the event. Or, The Shitstorm as it would now be known. Shame. Shouting at someone would really help right now.

You tore out the earpiece and slammed it on the nearest desk, shoving a pile of papers off the side for good measure. Laufeyson.

You’d spent months concocting the perfect debut for that greasy-haired, peacocking, gangly-limbed motherfucker. Did he say ‘thank you’? Did he smile and mind his P’s and Q’s and pose with the New York glitterati like he was supposed to for one night?

Nails sank into the soft flesh of your palm. Course he fucking didn’t.

After he’d gone off script during his speech, stating he could fix the woeful state of Earth’s political spectrum in thirty-seven minutes, it had all gone downhill. Insulting politicians, flirting egregiously with their wives…with their husbands.

The cool glass met your forehead as your rested against the door with your name on it. Director, it said. It didn’t feel like it. Fucking Laufeyson. He was unmanageable—just like his hair. He didn’t even comb it—bastard. You’d specifically requested it.

There was a bottle of whisky hidden in the bookcase behind a doorstop project management manual. You glanced down the empty corridor a final time and slipped inside the dark office, making straight for the bookcase. Pulling out the book concealing your beautiful, impending numbness, you frowned. The bottle was—

"I’m afraid I took the liberty," someone said.

You screamed, lobbing the book in the direction of the voice. It hit the flat, black back of your office chair with a pathetic thump.

The chair swivelled: glacial, infuriating. But you already knew. It was that voice; the one that made it impossible not to imagine him making snide remarks while he fucked you from behind with a fist knotted at your scalp. And besides, you could see the wavy, rumpled crown of his greasy fucking hair over the rim of the chair.

"How did you…What the hell are you doing in here? This is restricted—"

"Restricted?" Laufeyson barked out a weak laugh of reprimand. "Please."

He raised a hand, gaze fixed on the ornate glass of amber liquid cupped in his palm. It had been a present from Stark for your promotion, and the sting of your nails on your palm burned new. "This is really rather good, considering."

"Considering what?" "That it was produced on this planet." His eyes slid to yours, upper lip twitching as he said, "Another thing to add to its sparse list of accomplishments."

You pulled another book from the shelf and threw it at his face. It missed.

Loki didn’t flinch. He just sat there wearing his favourite smirk; one foot resting on his knee and his shadowed eyes glinting with curious observation. He’d removed the suit jacket—the one specifically tailored for this event—in his requested colour, a lush emerald green with gold trim.

Dickhead. You’d run yourself ragged for his petty demands. And then he’d fucked it all up anyway.

Realising your eyes were lingering on the suspenders stretched against the wall chest muscle, you tore them up to his face and forced coldness into your voice. "I literally left the event to get away from you, before I punched you in the face; you realise that?"

"I do."

You threw up your hands and turned towards the window, arms folded; watching the flash of traffic on the street below like luminous ants. Spotlights flashed across the night sky, crossing and weaving against each other in celebration of the biggest night of the year. "Stark will fire me for what you did."

Loki’s laugh was accompanied by a splutter of liquid. You shot a glare over your shoulder, catching him press the back of a hand against his mouth and shaking with mirth.

"I think not. Stark cares only for publicity—and…" He extended a hand with a self-congratulatory flourish before resting an elbow on the armrest, brushing a finger to his lips. "He knows what I’m like," he added with a coy brush of a smile.

Heat exploded beneath your skin.

Before you could think it through you were towering over Loki, a hand spread against his sternum. You pushed against muscle, letting the chair tilt ominously backwards. Loki’s eyes widened fractionally, dark eyebrows peaking in genuine surprise. "If you've ruined my career I will hunt you down and I will—"

"Hunt me down?" Loki purred. His eyes dropped to your hand pressed to his chest and rose slowly to your face. "I’m right here, as you can plainly see. No hunting necessary." His rumble caught on the T. "Being accosted, no less."

You released him with a grunt.

"Couldn’t you just behave? This was your big night…your official launch in the team, your new start. Why couldn’t you just be good for once?"

"Good?" Loki’s voice hardened. A green, glowing rectangle unfurled in the empty air beside his shoulder, and a shot from the ad campaign you’d organised several weeks ago filled the space.

Emblazoned in Stark Industries font across the image of Loki looking like a sexual apocalypse in a skin tight leather combat suit were the flickering words, ‘God of Mischief.’ And then, Loki said, "It’s in the name, darling. The one you selected—a new start was never part of the agreement, nor was it suggested. I believe the phrase was, ‘refreshed branding'…Was it not?"

He shifted, and somehow the muscles in his legs were outlined in the soft glow of a thousand skyscraper windows. "Same package, different wrapping, as it were."

Your brows rose, trying to keep the brittle defeat from your eyes. "Your behaviour tonight was unacceptable. You can’t go around comparing global foreign policy to Thanos’s bowel movements."

Loki waved a hand, sliding the glass over the desk with a scoff.

"My behaviour is always unacceptable; it’s part of the allure. The populous long for something raw, something unexpected. Something unmarred by inane pleasantries and fakery." His eyes slid upwards, nailing you like gas lamps in darkness. "Take you, for instance."

It was your turn to scoff. "I don’t see what I have to do with this."

Loki leant back in the chair, eyelids drooping. His tongue nipped over his lips in a flash of pink. "You very much want to have me; I can see it. I can smell it."

Your jaw loosened, mortification prickling over your skin as he added, "Carnally," as if it required explanation.

"You’re out of your fucking mind. I can’t stand you."

Loki’s lips curled, and you hated how much you wanted to suck the smirk off his goddam mouth. "Correct on both counts, I’m sure. It doesn’t change the inescapable reality that you want to know what I taste like."

Your tongue shaped words, and then you choked on them as Loki unfurled from the chair: all long limbs, slutty curls and slimfit tailoring. Oh Christ.

Your bare shoulder-blades met the window as he meandered across the floor without a care in the world; bladed cheekbones casting shadows across his skin; assassins emerging from the dark.

"You want to know what I fuck like," he said, words stirring like treacle. "Whether I’m generous, whether I’m as good as they say, whether I’m as brutish and punishing as part of you hopes I would be."

He stood in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, and leant forwards until his breath was hot on your forehead and the expensive cologne wafting from the open buttons of his shirt drifted up your nostrils. A short puff of mirth exhaled against your skin before he added, piercing, "But most of all, you want to know what I sound like when I cum."

He was awful: conceited, rude, imperious. But, fuck, he was right.

Your sweaty palms slid against the glass as he straightened and waited for a response. He sighed, and you found yourself staring at the strain of the buttons down the front of his shirt as he did.

"As I thought," said Loki, bored. "Paralysed by your desires—wasting away in a pit of indecision and regret as so many of your ilk." He shrugged, arms wide. "So be it."

Your hand shot out, yanking the nearest suspender and pulling his mouth to yours. Loki’s hand flew to the surface behind your head, and the wall of glass trembled.

His warrior body pressed firm against your chest, crushing you in the scent of desire and the primal heat radiating from his skin while your hands fisted in his hair and the god groaned into your throat.

He pulled back, frowning as your hand grasped at the erection pressing against his trousers. "Let me be clear," he growled. ‘I am no one’s pet. I will not be tamed. Is that understood?"

"Oh, will you shut up?" You tore at the buttons of his shirt, regretting the lack of nuance, before adding, "but, like, keep talking though."

Loki’s chuckle vibrated against your palms as the shirt slid over the curve of his biceps and then you were raking at his perfect skin, pulling his mouth to yours in a hateful mess of tongues and need and fire that ripped through your body.

Nimble fingers made quick work of his buckle, and Loki’s hands ran up the curve of your thighs, pushing the folds of your dress around your hips. "I've been longing to break you in..." he muttered, eyes shining in the light from New York’s glittering skyline.

You yanked his hair, and Loki hissed with pleasure. "I’m not a virgin; weirdo," you gasped, grasping his thick, perfect cock in a punishing fist.

His lips spread with a wolfish grin. "Ah, but you’ve never been fucked by me."

One of his hands slipped between your legs and trailed through the wetness it found. He moaned softly, massaging your clit like oil. Your head fell against the window as he slipped a long, elegant finger inside you. It was disgusting how much you wanted him, and you’d let yourself feel every, traitorous moment.

His digits curled, stoking the same, exquisite spot again, and again— "such a pretty, warm cunt," he whispered, filthy—as whines slid from your lips. "And to think, you’ve been denying yourself."

Loki tsk’d, his free hand playing at your exposed neck. He sucked a bruising kiss into your throat as hot cum welled around his fingers, holding you upright, balanced against the thigh shoved between your legs.

"Fuck me," you gasped, grappling at his shoulders. He said nothing. You met his eyes; slivers of blue visible on the rim of wide, black pools. "Like…fuck me, fuck me."

"I knew you’d want me rough," he said quietly, drawing his knuckles down your cheek. The hand fell to the neckline of your dress and before you could even inhale, a mighty rip sent your dress scattering across the floor.

Loki’s covetous eyes roamed your chest, your body; his chin dipped, his eyes glazed with lust. "Over there." He motioned with his head.

You followed the order and gripped the back of one of the two chairs positioned by the window. Leather slid under the sheen clinging to your palms. Loki’s touch cupped your hips, his hands grazing appreciatively over bare skin.

"I knew it would be tonight," he murmured, pressing his cock into the base of your spine. His breath was hot on your throat. "As soon as I saw the utter loathing in your eyes; I knew it would be the one."

He twisted your hair back, biting the curve of your shoulder with unbearable erotic restraint. You pressed your ass into his crotch, moaning his name under your breath as he traced a finger down your spine until he reached the cock leaking precum over your skin.

Positioning between your legs, he rubbed the column twice through your slick lips before sheathing himself on the third.

The two of you gasped in unison; the guttural growl of Loki’s voice making your knees tremble before he delivered the first, devastating thrust. The force of it sent the chair screeching over the floor.

"G-gods…you’re tight," he choked, withdrawing and circling the crown at the tip of your channel. "I knew you would be perfect…but…but…"

Another thrust and the chair hit the window, but you didn’t care. Loki filled every part of you; you’d never felt so exposed, so free, with every fluid buck of his hips which made stars burst behind your eyelids. He bottomed out with a grunt of your name, balls slapping against your clit, one hand flying to the glass above your head and making a messy streak as it fell.

"Not enough," he said, breathless. The god pulled you upright and kissed you with the force of a storm, gathering you in his arms. The next thing you felt was the cool desk on your ass, Loki spreading your thighs and the utter joy of him breaching the empty space inside you he’d ruined for all other men.

One hand roughly palmed at your breasts, the other cradling your skull as every trinket you’d every owned rattled on the desk. Somewhere, something cracked. He went harder, pounding deeper with each snap of his hips that slapped against your skin.

There was a clink, a melodic roll, and then a smash. The sharp scent of whisky filled the air. You began to look but Loki pulled your chin to face him.

"On me," he ordered, eyes narrowed. There was a faint flush in his cheeks. "On me. Always."

Your legs wound around Loki’s hips. One kiss slid into another, his bucks becoming frantic as climax burst inside you with a rattle of his name. He lowered you to the desk, sliding his glistening cock from your cunt and kissing down your abdomen.

As you craned up, slack-jawed, the god delivered a single, earth-trembling lick up the centre of your pussy; gathering himself on his tongue. He swallowed, pacing behind you and seating himself on your chair.

You sat up, observing him over your shoulder. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, thanks to you, pale skin shimmering pearl in the honeyed gloom. He looked up beneath his lashes—smouldering—slender fingers wrapped around the cock protruding from splayed fabric; pumping in fluid strokes.

He cocked an eyebrow, and it was as good as a beckon from one of those slender fingers.

Shifting from the desk, you sank to your knees, and Loki’s legs widened. The fabric of his trousers creased maddeningly over the meat of his thighs.

"Tell me you haven’t thought about this," he said, baiting. He could smell lies as keenly as sulphur. "That you haven’t wanted to choke on my cock."

It wasn’t a question.

You fixed your eyes on his as you settled a hand around the root and swallowed the tip.

Loki’s eyes rolled back, head falling to the back of the chair. Black waves dripped down his shoulders like spilled ink, every thrust of his hips into your mouth making new combinations of filthy curses rattle from his chest.

A hand settled on your head, following the motion as your mouth worked back and forth along the length of him: sucking, licking, grazing the sensitive tip with your teeth. Loki hissed, fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fucking Norns, you are a slut," he muttered appreciatively.

You doubled down, and soon Loki’s balls tightened. Something shifted as he stiffened, the hand in your hair flying to the armrest. His breaths were short, moans brief and ragged as he fought himself. "Finish me," he growled, tapered to a whine. One, calculated suck was all it took. Loki’s climax trembled down his body, spurting into your mouth like a tide of warm, smooth butter. Your tongue circled the tip, massaging him through the throes as his body shuddered a final time and a staggered sigh rocked the air.

A finger slipped beneath your chin, tilting up to meet his expectant smirk. "Well?" Loki asked, eyes glinting. "Was I everything you dreamt of?"

The lazy smile on your face evaporated. You brushed the hand aside, covering your breasts. Loki frowned.

"There’s no need for that, believe me." He guided your hands into his and pulled you to his lap. "Do you recall when I mentioned this realm’s sparse list of accomplishments?" You grunted reluctant confirmation. Loki sucked your earlobe between his teeth, releasing a contented sigh. "Your body is most definitely on that list." He paused, breath catching. "All of you, truth be told," he added quietly.

Before you had time to process what he'd said, you were standing.

Loki’s fingers fastened the buttons of his shirt with unnatural speed as you stared forlornly at the ripped dress on the floor. Fuck. There was a sweatsuit hanging in the small wardrobe stashed in the corner. That would have to do—you could slip out the side entrance, no need to…

"I’ll see you downstairs?" Loki asked, all business. He looked at you expectantly as the bespoke forest green suit jacket melted over his torso like paint. You’d forgotten how good he looked in it and resolved never to forget it ever again.

The god carded a hand through his hair, letting in fall in wild waves. The outline of his erection was still visible through the tight trousers. Did I really just fuck…Loki Laufeyson? A sick pride sprouted in your belly.

You crouched and picked up the tattered, black fabric. "I don’t think so, I mean—" Loki’s kiss cut you off. He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away.

"I’ll see you downstairs," he repeated softly. "Someone has to make sure I’m behaving myself, after all."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to stare as he swaggered to the door and shot a grin through the glass panels as he passed.

He has a point, though. You couldn’t let him go unattended. What if he gets one of the senators’ wives alone? What if he sexes them up...like me?

The thought, however ridiculous it would have been an hour ago, was like a knife between your ribs.

You scurried to the wardrobe concealed in the corner and opened it, cursing the fact you didn’t keep a spare office dress like the slinky bitches on TV.

You stared, blinking several times.

Hanging in the wardrobe was an identical dress to the one lying shredded on the floor. Almost identical. You pulled it out, holding the hanger up. In the glow of the midnight skyline, green jewels glittered around the neckline, woven in intricate patterns that melted into the folds of skirt. A note was pinned to the bodice. I can be good, it said. Our secret.

Tags in comments 💖🥰 Come say hi!

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When they call you clingy, so you distance yourself | Hyung Line Pt. 2

Warnings: Cursing

Pt1, Pt3 Maknaeline

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BANGCHAN|

Chris groaned and put his head into his hands. He stared at the the screen in front of him.

8:28

He had decided to make today an early morning so he could call it an early night, but he wasn't even able to work on what he had actually intended to do because a trainee's mistake. Although he was heated in the moment he had apologized when he had run into the frightened guy in the canteen. It was an honest mistake when laptops looked exactly the same.

He had also realized that he was heated in the moment when you had come to visit him.

His fingers itched to text you an apology but he knew this was something that he needed to apologize for in person. So he shut his laptop and tucked it into his bag and decided to head home rather than starting a new project.

It was eating at his consciousness, the way he brushed you off so easily earlier just because of stress that had nothing to do with you. He reached over the couch in his studio to flick off the light.

A soft ruffling of fabric startled him slightly and he looked down to see your black coat draped over the couch of the same color.

"Its freezing." He mumbled grabbing it and quickly heading out of the building.

I was such a dick. She was so distraught she walked home in this weather without a coat.

Chris drove over to your apartment and parked haphazardly on the street. It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and a small part of him was worried about having something happen to his car, but he couldn't focus on that when he needed to focus on fixing things with you.

He pulled out his keys and found the small silver spare to your apartment.

"Baby?" Chris called out. He slipped off his shoes and he walked from the foyer into your kitchen, his black socks slipping a little on your freshly swept floors.

"Y/N?" Chris called out, flipping the light on in the kitchen. The box of trash bags was sitting on the counter and he placed them back under the sink. "Baby?"

Something was off. Chris felt it in his bones. He tried to steady his heart. Maybe you were asleep? If it wasn't to him, you tended to turn to your bed for comfort when you were sad.

He reached for your door handle out of habit of strolling into the guys room but paused to knock.

"Love?" He called out. He knocked for another minute or two, before turning the handle softly in case you were sleeping. "Baby, I don't know if your asleep but I'm coming in okay?"

Your room was empty, and the fairy lights you always kept on were off.

He flipped on the light and he felt his heart sink to his feet.

He immediately rushed out of your room and started looking through the cabinets and drawers and nooks and crannys of every other space.

Your apartment was bare minus the essentials.

In your guest room you had boxes neatly stacked in various places.

Chris felt tears crawl at his throat.

"Baby?" He tried calling out again. "Y/N this isn't funny! Say something!" He cried out.

He fumbled to grab his phone from his pocket.

His fingers shook as he called you.

The number you have dialed cannot be reached.

"No," He mumbled.

The number you have dialed cannot be reached.

The number you have dialed cannot be reached.

"No," Chris mumbled. "No," He said again.

He felt his heart jump through his throat and he couldn't breathe.

His hands were shaking as he dialed up another number.

"Oi, Chris you coming home soon-"

"Fe-Felix." He choked out. He couldn't even continue without hyperventilating. "Fe-Felix I-I can't breathe. I-I can't-"

"I'm coming to you alright? I have your location I'll be there okay? Okay just try and calm down okay? I'll be there soon." Chris could hear the jingling of keys and the slamming of the door and Minho's voice in the background as Felix panted running to the car. "Stay on the phone Channie-hyung okay, I'll be right there."

"I-I can't breathe." He cried out.

"It'll be okay, I'll be right there hyung." Felix slammed his fist down on his car horn and yelled a string of profanities as another car blared their horn in the distance as well.

By the time Felix had arrived at your house Chris was an absolute mess.

Felix was instantly able to tell what was wrong with Chan when he saw the boxes and Chan desperately trying to unpack them.

"Hey-hey Chris calm down." Felix said as he grabbed onto his hyung's shoulders.

"S-She's leaving me." He cried out. "Felix, she's leaving me. She can't leave me. My heart -my heart can't take it. I don't want-want her to leave m-me."

Felix didn't know what to do as he watched his best friend completely shatter in front of him.

"Hyung I'm sure she is-"

"I-I called her clingy. I told her to leave me alone. I don't want to be alone." He whimpered. "I didn't mean it Felix. I didn't m-mean it." He whimpered his voice cracking. "I-I was stressed and-and I yelled- I called her ob-obsess- Felix, she can't leave me. I don't want to be alone."

Felix pulled out his phone and dialed your number. "Hyung calm down I'm sure she's just angry at the moment, it'll blow over. It'll blow over." He repeated as if convincing himself as well. He chewed on the edge of his thumbnail as your phone rang. Chris was collapsed on his and Felix pet his hair.

The number you have dialed cannot be reached.

Felix looked at the broken man in front of him and swallowed.

"It'll be fine. Y/N wouldn't break up with you over something like that, right?"

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MINHO|

"Do you really think it was necessary to yell at her?" Changbin asked as the guys were walking through the market. You had opted not to join and rather hang out with some of the girls from TWICE who were also in Paris for the same event the Kids had came for. The only problem was you had opted to do that for the entire week. You all were flying home tomorrow and Minho hadn't seen more than a glimpse of you other than a few pictures the girls had posted on their fake accounts, and the few pictures you had posted on your private account.

"Why would it not be necessary?" Minho asked.

"Because you're pissed at something that wasn't even her fault." The shorter male said and he picked up a random little trinket to look at, it was a little heavy so he used it as a makeshift dumbell for a second.

"Ya, she quite literally ruined my entire plan."

Changbin looked at Minho like he had grown a second head. "How the hell was she supposed to know you were trying to propose to her?!"

Minho pursed his lips and turned away and started walking.

Changbin moved his tiny legs to catch up with the cat eyed member.

Felix crossed paths with them and joined the conversation.

"Minho-Hyung you've been miserable all week. Just swallow your pride and apologize."

"I have nothing to apologize fo-"

"Ya! No offense Hyung but you're being a fucking idiot!" Felix said. The two Hyungs of Felix recoiled and looked at the sunshiny Aussie. "Sorry for my tone Hyung but it's true. All she wanted to do was spend time with you because she loves you. And to her it seems like you got upset because you didn't to spend time with you. And you got upset with her because you planned a super elaborate and flamboyant proposal because you love her and you weren't able to execute it. So basically, you are both pissed at each other because you love each other more than anything in this world. So tell me how that makes sense at all?"

Changbin nodded. "He's not wrong at all you're kind of an idiot."

Minho sighed and pouted.

"Which means you need to be the one to apologize because Y/N-ie actually has reason to be mad."

Minho's pout became even more noticeable.

Ugh...apologizing.

Felix seemed to read his elder's mind.

"Its either apologize or ruin your relationship. While it is super easy to replan a propsal, it sure as hell won't be able to replan your future if she walks out on you."

Minho felt that hit his heart hard, but still wanted to be stubborn. "What do you mean easy to replan a proposal? I spent months planning the one I intended to do."

Changbin rolled his eyes. "Ya! Y/N might be your girlfriend but you seem to forget she was all of our friend first. And I sure as hell know she would not care how you proposed to her. Even if you just did it the traditional and plain way of getting down on one knee and saying 'Y/N...will you marry me?" Changbin said mimicking Minho's voice.

Felix shook his head. "No it'd be more like 'Y/N marry me. You have no choice."

"No- 'Y/N, my cats need a mom. You are now their mom.'"

"'Y/N, our wedding is next Friday. Don't be late. Wear white." The happy boy mimicked with a deadpan face.

Changbin and Felix's antics were the thing that made Minho laugh all week. And the levity he felt now was what he felt with you always. And that made the absence of you hit him even harder.

"Can we go back to the hotel? I want- no I need to apologize." He said suddenly.

Changbin sputtered. "Never thought I'd hear that come out of your mouth ever."

Minho playfully shoved Changbin into Felix as they headed back in the direction of the hotel.

"So how do you think you'll propos-"

"Minho-ssi!" The guys stopped and they noticed Chaeyoung running towards them.

Minho felt his heart dip for a second. "What is it?"

"I-I went to get Y/N-ie for a girls night out but she wasn't in her room so I figured maybe she just stepped out to the convenience store with Tzuyu or Momo but she wasn't with them when they came back and Tzuyu said the last time she saw her was this morning after we had brunch." Chaeyoung tried to steady her voice. "And I called her but my calls aren't going throu-"

Minho didn't give Chaeyoung time to finish before he started running.

He didn't know where he was going, he didn't even really know where to find you.

All he knew is that he had to.

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CHANGBIN|

"Y/N." Changbin said. "Jagiya!" You ignored Changbin as you walked into your apartment.

He followed ensuite and was pouting. "Jagiya please talk to me. It's been three weeks."

"Mmmm. Nah. I don't feel like being clingy today." You said as you set your purse down and headed towards your bedroom.

"C'mon please? It was a stupid argument. I'm sorry. I was just upset."

"Hmm. And I'm upset right now too." You said as you started digging through your closest. You pulled out a cute yet sleek dress.

The same dress you had worn on your first date with Changbin oh so long ago.

"Babe?" Changbin asked as he saw you rummage through things on your vanity.

"Red or Pink?" You asked allowed. "Or I guess the question is should I do a matte red or a glossy red?" You turned to Changbin and gave an innocent look at him. "I don't know which one makes me look better."

"Stop that! Thats not funny. At all." Changbin said as he followed you into the bathroom. He stayed planted in the same spot even as you changed, shutting his eyes respectfully until you finished changing.

"Where are you going? Why are you getting dressed up."

You pulled your hair out of the braided updo you had it in and let it fall over your shoulders in a beautiful mix of loose curls and evem looser waves.

Changbin couldn't help but admire just how beautiful you looked right now. Matter of fact you always looked beautiful, but Changbin couldn't help but stare. Since this was the longest he had seen you in the past three weeks.

And seeing you get ready and dolled up worried him. It sparked a jealousy in him that he found himself all too familiar with these past few weeks. It was partly the reason he had snapped at you in the first place.

He had thought it was just a stupid argument but right now it seemed like it was so much more than that.

And it was slowly killing him. Had he really hurt you that bad?

"Jagiya where are you going?"

You ignored Changbin as you touched up your makeup slightly, wiping off the clear gloss you had and favoring a glossy red lip instead. You grabbed your favorite perfume - and Changbin's favorite on you - and sprayed it delicately over yourself.

You looked at your watch and looked up at Changbin. "I have to go I'm meeting someone at five."

You grabbed your purse and Changbin grabbed your wrist.

"W-What do you mean you're meeting someone?" You snatched your wrist away from him gently and made your way towards your car.

"W-Wait Y/N it's not a date is it? You're not going on a date? Wait please tell me you aren't."

"Changbin I have to go. It would be a bad first impression if I was late."

"Can you please at least tell me where you are going?"

You huffed. "I'm going to that one coffee shop next to the karaoke bar? The one we always used to go to when you had first asked me out." You said as you were strapping on a pair of heels.

Changbin felt like his world was collapsing.

"No. We aren't breaking up you're not allowed to do that."

You looked at Changbin with a confused - what the fuck are you on - type look.

"Changbin you realize people have the free will to do whatever they want right? Thats like me telling you you're not allowed to go to the gym anymore."

"You're not breaking up with me Y/N." He said his voice starting to waver. "You can't."

"Yup, Bin." You said as you opened the door and walked to your car. "Lock the door behind you, would ya?" You called out over your shoulder.

The muscular man quickly locked your door and came to the drivers side.

"Y/N," He said tapping on your window.

"Changbin can you make this quick? Like I said being late is a bad first impression."

"Who cares about first impressions! Y/N you can't date someone else!" He cries. "It was an argument! Are you really breaking up with me over this-"

"Damn Changbin I'm no-" Your phones started to ring and you answered it.

Changbin pouted at you as you spoke. Trying his best to listen to the conversation.

"Hello..." Why'd she say hello like that? So nicely... "Yes, I'm on my way right now just leaving my house..." She's already on the stage of letting him know her whereabouts? "Haha no no of course not...yeah....haha!" What could he possibly be saying to make her laugh that much? Only I can make her laugh like that...well I guess Jisung too but mainly me! "Uh I'll just get an iced vanilla latte with all my modifications- just ask Jiwon she'll know...." They have mutuals? "Yeah I'll be there soon....Yep! Can't wait to meet you either...mkay bye!"

Changbin felt his heart constrict as he watched you hang up and start your car.

You gave Changbin a small wave and pulled off, your tires screeching a little as you drove.

He quickly went to follow you. You wouldn't leave him. He wouldn't let you. Because you meant the world to him.

And without his world he would be nothing.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

HYUNJIN|

It had been a few days since Hyunjin had felt like he had spent time with you.

Because while you had been in his presence physically he felt like you had something on your mind.

You weren't all up on him like you usually were. And he missed that. He also missed you asking him if he liked your outfits. He missed the little twirl you would do asking if you looked okay; he missed being able to look at you lovingly while you did so; he missed being able to wait a little bit before he could comment how striking you looked; that little pause in time just to assure that he would be the one who could see you in that specific outfit longer than anyone else you would run into or hang out with, even if it was mere seconds more.

The way every part of you took up every aspect of his life was something he was so used to that he longed for it when he couldn't have it.

And for the past eleven days he longed for it.

So bad.

He missed you.

"Do you think I did something wrong?" Hyunjin asked Jisung as they sat down enjoying a cup of coffee together.

"I'm assuming so because she's treating me just fine. We actually just went to the movies the other day. Some random guy tried to hit on her and she made a comment about his hairline and how it showed his age and that shut him down real quick. It was actually fucking hilarious the way-"

"Did she say anything about me upsetting her?" Hyunjin asked, interuppting Jisung's tangent about his trip with the most loved girl of the band.

"Mm...now that I think about it, she made a comment about some other idol. I forget who she was talking about but I remembered her saying you were talking to them because she was just standing there waiting for you to finish and thats why she decided to drink that one drink. Because she didn't want to...how did she put it...look pathetic? Yeah, I think thats what she said. And she said it was no use because she looked pathetic throwing up all over Bangchan." He took a sip of his coffee. "I actually thought it was funny because Chan was saying he was trying to find an excuse to not have to wear that one suit jacket anymore because it was-"

"Jisung you're getting off topic." Hyunjin sighed. "Did she seem upset when she said that?"

Jisung shook his head. "I wouldn't say she seemed upset when she was talking about finding a use for her hands. I think she looked...off afterwards though. Especially whenever your name came up in ocnversation." He looked at Hyunjin pointedly. "But that wasn't that often. She may be your girlfriend but she is my soulmate so we have our own issues to discuss." He said taking another sip of his coffee. "Like all the drama in Hybe right now. Did you see- wait I'm getting off topic."

Hyunjin frowned. "So it was something I did..." He mumbled.

Jisung sniffed once. "Yeah probably." He said scratching his ear. "I can ask her if you'd like me to."

"No I thinks it okay, I'll find time to talk to her."

"Well they say there is no better time than the present because look who just walked in." The chubby cheeked boy nodded his head somewhere behind Hyunjin.

He turned around and saw you walking in with Felix. You walked up to the counter but didn't notice Hyunjin or Jisung sitting there.

Felix greeted the barista and ordered himself a drink while you looked at the menu.

Hyunjin felt the tiniest - the most miniscule pang of jealousy but it was quickly washed away because he knew that you only had eyes for him. You guys hadn't celebrated your first anniversary yet - it was in four days -but he knew just how much you loved him and he loved you.

And just that - he knew how in love you were with each other.

And thats why it hurt him so much to think he had hurt you.

Felix finished ordering and turned to you. Hyunjin had expected you to tell him your order and for Felix to relay it back to the barista but instead you spoke in Korean - hesitantly - but still with an immense amount of effort and obvious intermediate skill.

Felix corrected you on a couple of words, but after a few motivational words from the barista - words you obviously understood - you shined a bright smile and laughed.

"Y/N doesn't speak Korean." Hyunjin turned to Jisung, and the small quokka like boy pouted slightly. "Jisung."

"I walked in on Y/N-ie and Felix-" He blurted out. "God, I've been keeping that secret so long." He let out a breath and looked at Hyunjin's shocked face.

"Walked...in...?"

Jisung put a hand to his forehead. "Sorry I didn't finish my thought. I meant that I like...walked in on them while he was giving her secret korean lessons." He said wiggling his eyebrows.

"Jisung you're not helping my paranoia."

"I was wiggling my eyebrows because of the reason. She said she wanted to learn Korean so when it came time to meet your family she would be able to communicate well with them. It seems like she's actually pretty damn good at it too. Shes a fast learner according to Felix."

Hyunjin groaned. "She's so fucking cute but of all people in our groups she decided to get lessons from Lix? Did she never watch the survival show." He chuckled.

"Yeah...I guess that means I can tell you the actual reason she's upset with you now right?" Jisung said.

Hyunjin's head shot up and he looked at the younger boy expectantly.

"She overheard you calling her clingy. With the idol and his girlfriend..." He looked down and his voice dropped a little. "Its been eating at her a lot. Especially the girl's comment about foreigners and stuff. She was a total bitch for saying that because now it's been making her rethink everything. Because she seems to be convinced that it would be best for your reputation and your future if she ended things with you."

Hyunjin felt his throat constrict slightly. "S-she didn't mean that. She doesn't mean that. She can't."

Jisung hmmed in acknowledgment. "Hyung...she has it rough you know? The pedestal people in our industry put you on - and even in other industries and other countries -is the pedestal you're put on by the same people she consistently is surrounded by when accompanying you. The same people who write all those hateful comments about her on your posts and send even more hateful comments to her private account."

Hyunjin's eyes widened, and his fingers twitched slightly. "What comments? She hasn't told me about any...hate...comments..."

Jisung sighed. "She doesn't want to worry you. And I think she believes those comments too...she can't think of anything else to believe."

Hyunjin felt a knot place itself in his throat to stay as he walked you watch out the coffee shop with Felix trailing you. The thought of your insecurities bothered him immensely. The thought of you thinking you weren't worthy of him when it was the complete opposite; when it was him who wasn't worthy of you. He wished you could see yourself the way he saw you.

And he wished you believed him when he said all the things said.

Believe me when I call you beautiful. When I say I love you...

And if you don't want to in me...

Believe in us.

[seospicybin]

COCKY.

CHAPTER III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (21,2k words)

Author's note: Congratulations on making it to another week! Hope Cocky Chris can help you to unwind and pls share your thoughts after ��

The second the elevator doors slide open, you storm back into your lab, your heels clicking against the tiled floor with a little more force than necessary. The door swings shut behind you, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. The last thing you need is for your team to see just how frustrated you are.

Chris’s words from the meeting echo in your head. Your product needs more time to fully develop as a whole product. His voice had been calm, professional—like he wasn’t just throwing a wrench into everything you had worked for. Like he wasn’t completely undermining you in front of the board.

You rub your temples, inhaling deeply. You don’t understand. You thought he would support you. He’d been testing the product, giving feedback—participating. You thought you were on the same page. So why?

Your team is scattered around the lab, focused on their own tasks, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. Jane is nowhere to be seen, probably still caught up in meetings or schmoozing with the higher-ups after her own product launch. For once, you’re grateful she’s not here to take one look at you and start asking questions.

You sit at your desk, pulling out your notes, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the sharp sting of betrayal sitting heavy in your chest.

But no matter how much you try to push it away, all you can think about is Chris. And how he went against you.

-

As expected, Jane bursts into the lab with her usual energy, her eyes scanning the room until they land on you. “Hey! So, how’d it go?” she asks, striding toward you with a bright, expectant grin.

You don’t even look up from your desk. “It was great—until Chris decided to sabotage me.”

Jane stops mid-step, blinking at you. “Wait, what?”

You slam your notebook shut and finally meet her gaze, frustration boiling over. “He went against me, Jane. Chris. He told the board that my product ‘needs more time to develop.’” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “What does that even mean? We’ve done the tests, the results are solid, and we’re more than ready for production. But no—he had to make it sound like we’re not ready. Like I’m not ready.”

Jane raises an eyebrow, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound like Chris.”

You scoff. “Well, it happened. And now the board is hesitant. They decide to push back production because of his input. I’m screwed.”

Jane crosses her arms, tilting her head in thought. “Did he give any reason? Like, why he thinks it needs more time?”

You shake your head, still fuming. “Not really. Just some vague statement about it needing to be fully developed. He didn’t even look at me when he said it.”

Jane purses her lips, watching you carefully. “Huh.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “I just think it’s weird. Chris has been involved in this project. He knows how much work you’ve put in. If he really thought it wasn’t ready, he would’ve talked to you about it first, wouldn’t he?”

That’s what’s been bothering you the most. Chris didn’t say anything to you beforehand—no warning, no indication that he had doubts. Just blindsiding you in front of the board like it was nothing.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “Maybe I was wrong to trust him.”

Jane watches you carefully, then smirks. “Or maybe there’s something else going on.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. Not everything is some big mystery, Jane. Sometimes people just suck.”

Jane laughs, shaking her head. “If you say so.” She places a coffee cup on your desk. “Here. You look like you need this.”

You sigh, taking the cup and mumbling, “Thanks.”

But even as you sip your coffee, Jane’s words linger in your mind. Or maybe there’s something else going on.

As you bury your face in your hands, your phone vibrates on the desk. You sigh, already feeling exhausted, and glance at the screen. The caller ID makes your stomach flip—Chris Bang.

Jane notices your hesitation. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You inhale sharply before answering. “Hello?”

“Come to my office,” Chris says, his voice steady, unreadable.

You grip the phone tighter. “I’m busy.”

A pause and then he says, “It won’t take long.”

You want to argue, to throw his words from the meeting back in his face, but something about his tone makes you bite your tongue. Instead, you sigh. “Fine.”

The call ends before you can say anything else.

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your notebook and pushing back from your desk. “He wants to see me.”

“Ooooh, sounds serious,” she teases, but when she sees your expression, her smirk softens. “Hey. Just… don’t go in there ready to bite his head off. See what he has to say first.”

You scoff, but deep down, you know she’s right. Still, you can’t shake the frustration burning in your chest as you make your way to Chris’s office.

-

You push open the door to Chris’s office without knocking, not caring about formalities right now. He’s seated at his desk, fingers laced together as he watches you step inside. His expression is unreadable, but his posture is relaxed—too relaxed for someone who just sabotaged your presentation.

You close the door behind you and stand facing his desk. “You called me, Mr. Bang?”

Chris sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You’re upset.”

You can't keep your composure anymore and let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, you think?” You take a step closer, trying to keep your voice even. “I expected the board to be skeptical. I expected questions, concerns—but I didn’t expect you to be the one who held us back.”

Chris doesn’t react immediately. He studies you, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I didn’t hold you back.”

“Then what do you call it?” you snap. “You had the chance to vouch for me. For the project. Instead, you basically told them it’s not ready.”

“Because it’s not ready.” His tone is firm, unwavering.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

Chris stands up then, rounding the desk to stand in front of you. “I get that you’re angry. But I need you to trust me on this.”

You meet his gaze, heart pounding with frustration—and something else, something you don’t want to acknowledge. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves to the door, turning the lock with a quiet click. The sound sends a strange thrill down your spine, but before you can react, he’s walking back toward you.

His hands find your elbows, firm but not forceful, keeping you in place as he looks down at you. “I didn’t say what I said in there to hurt you,” he says, his voice low. “I said it because I know you can do more.”

You glare at him, frustration still simmering beneath your skin. “More? Chris, I’ve put everything into this project.”

“I know.” His thumbs brush your arms, a soothing gesture you don’t want to acknowledge. “But I also know you. You’re not just here to make condoms for guys with big dicks. You’re better than that. Smarter than that.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he steps closer, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “Look at me,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes. They’re steady, unwavering. “I trust you,” he says. “But do you trust me?”

Chris waits, his eyes searching yours, his hands still resting on your arms. He leans in ever so slightly, just enough that you can feel the intensity of his eyes, and for a moment, you feel yourself slipping—drawn in by the heat of his gaze, the quiet intensity of his presence.

But then reality crashes down on you. You remember the meeting. You remember the way he spoke against your project in front of everyone, blindsiding you when you thought he’d be on your side. The frustration in your chest flares up again, and before you can fall any deeper into his gravity, you quickly turn your head away.

“I have work to do,” you say, stepping back, slipping out of his hold. You don’t dare look at him as you move toward the door, your heart pounding. “If that’s all, I’ll be going.”

You don’t wait for a response. You unlock the door and slip out, leaving him standing there in his office, alone.

-

For the next couple of days, you bury yourself in work, but the irritation from your last encounter with Chris still lingers. Every time you think about the meeting, about the way he blindsided you, your blood boils all over again. You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on your research, but the frustration simmers beneath the surface.

Just as you’re lost in thought, the door to your lab swings open, and Han walks in, grinning as usual.

"Guess what time it is," he announces, setting down a cup of coffee and a small paper bag on your desk.

You sigh as you run your hand though your hair. "Is it the time already?"

Han chuckles, pulling out a chair and plopping down across from you. "Don't tell me you forgot about our date?" he corrects, handing you the coffee. "Anyway, I brought a little treat to commemorate the occasion. Cheesecake. I figured I should end our time together on a sweet note."

Despite yourself, you smile. Han’s presence is a welcome distraction from everything else weighing on your mind.

“Thanks,” You mutter before taking a sip of the coffee he brought, you set down your tablet and get ready to dive into the final part of his product testing feedback.

Han occasionally sips his coffee, but his sharp eyes stay locked on you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your face with a look of quiet curiosity before setting his cup down.

"Something’s bothering you," he states, not even phrasing it as a question.

You glance up from your tablet. “Is it that obvious?”

Han leans forward on the table and tilts his head to the side. "Tell me. Who hurt you, baby?”

You rub your temples, feeling the stress of yesterday creeping back in. Han waits patiently, sipping his coffee as if he has all the time in the world. That alone makes you want to talk—it’s rare for someone to actually listen without immediately offering their opinion.

Taking a deep breath, you finally start. “Last Monday was supposed to be the big presentation. I went in there with my team, ready to prove that our product was good to go. We had the results from our test group—82% of participants reported positive experiences. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it was enough to show that this could work.”

Han hums, nodding along. “And...?”

“They were considering it. They were actually talking about approving it for production,” you say, voice tight. “But then he spoke up.”

Han doesn’t need you to say who he is. “Is it the guy with the intense vibe?”

You nod, gripping your coffee cup a little too hard. “Chris, of all people, the product manager, basically told them it needed more time. That it wasn’t ready. That I could do more than just this.”

Han frowns, setting his cup down. “And you didn’t see that coming?”

“Not at all!” you exclaim. “I thought if anything, he’d be on my side. He knew how much effort I put into it. But instead of backing me up, he basically told me I wasn’t enough—like my work wasn’t enough.”

Your frustration is boiling over now, and Han lets you vent without interruption.

“The worst part? He said it like he trusted me. Like he was pushing me because he believed in me. What kind of twisted logic is that?”

Han lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough.”

You shake your head, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t even know if it’s worth doing this anymore. What’s the point if the person in charge is just going to keep moving the goalpost?”

There’s a beat of silence before Han speaks again, his voice calm but firm. “So you’re telling me you’re just gonna give up? Just because of one guy?”

You pick up your pen and bring your clipboard closer to you while trying to push down the bitterness that still lingers from that day. “Let’s just start on the interview.”

Han narrows his eyes as he watches you, arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you’re even in the mood for this interview?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “Honestly? No. I really don’t feel like working today.”

He grins, as if he expected that answer. “Then why don’t you just skip?” he suggests so casually that you blink at him in surprise. “Come on. Go out, have some fun. Forget about work for a while.”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the edge of the papers. “Skip work?”

Han nods, completely unfazed. “Yeah. What, you’ve never played hooky before?”

You chew on your lip, torn between responsibility and temptation. You should be focusing on your project, on fixing what went wrong—but the idea of just leaving, of walking out and not thinking about Chris or the board or your stupid presentation, is suddenly way too tempting to ignore.

Without another thought, you push back your chair, standing up as you yank off your lab coat and toss it onto your chair. “Fine,” you say, crossing your arms. “Where are we going?”

Han’s grin stretches wider. “Oh, I definitely know a place.”

-

The city is scintillating under the afternoon sun as you and Han stroll through the streets, the heat of the day warming your skin. Brunch is the first stop—a cozy little café where he insists on ordering the most extravagant pastries on the menu, just to see which ones make you scrunch your nose.

“You have terrible taste,” you tell him as he bites into a cream-filled croissant with far too much enthusiasm.

After brunch, the two of you wander into shops, browsing through everything from designer boutiques to random trinket stores. Han has a habit of picking up the most ridiculous items—a sequined cowboy hat, a neon pink fanny pack—just to model them in front of you, making exaggerated poses.

“Be honest,” he says, adjusting a pair of oversized sunglasses on his nose. “I look hot, don’t I?”

You snort. “I need a drink to find you attractive.”

Han gasps, clutching his chest as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. Brutal.” Then, his expression turns thoughtful. “Well, bars aren’t open yet… but I do have drinks at my place.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, so that’s your plan? Get me drunk in your apartment?”

Han doesn’t even try to deny it. “Absolutely,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his shamelessness. “Fine. Lead the way, Casanova.”

Han grins, tossing an arm around your shoulders as he steers you toward his place. “Now this is what I call quality product testing.”

Han’s apartment is surprisingly neat, with a warm and lived-in feel. The shelves are stacked with comic books and figurines, and a collection of vinyl records sits beside a turntable in the living room. You wander over, scanning the titles while Han disappears into the kitchen.

“You actually listen to these, or are they just for decoration to make you seem cool?” you tease with a sly smile, running a finger along the spines of the records.

He returns from the kitchen with two glasses of hard liquor, handing one to you. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of taste,” he says, feigning offense. He picks a record and slides it onto the turntable, the soft crackle of vinyl filling the air before smooth, jazzy notes spill from the speakers.

You take a sip of your drink, letting the warmth spread through you as the two of you start moving to the rhythm. Han, being Han, doesn’t keep it simple for long—he breaks into a ridiculous routine, wiggling his arms and shaking his hips like he’s auditioning for a variety show.

You burst out laughing. “What the hell are you doing?”

He grins. “Enjoying myself.”

Still chuckling, you play along, mirroring his moves in exaggerated fashion until you’re both breathless from laughter. Then, suddenly, he takes your hand, pulls you close, and spins you into a slow dance.

Your bodies sway together, the mood shifting effortlessly. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, his touch warm and steady. His eyes lock onto yours, playful but unreadable. And then, just as easily as he jokes, he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips.

It’s light, fleeting—like he’s testing the waters. But the second it happens, an image of Chris flashes through your mind. His voice, his touch, the way he looked at you in his office just the other day. Your body stiffens, your grip on Han’s shirt loosening.

You slowly pull away from Han, your fingers slipping from his shirt as you take a step back. “I—uh, I need a minute,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “Bathroom?”

Han blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he nods and gestures toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down there. First door on the left.”

You don’t waste time, slipping inside and locking the door behind you. Pressing your palms against the cool sink, you take a deep breath, your mind racing. Why did I think of Chris? The kiss had nothing to do with him, yet his face, his touch, his words—all of it came rushing in, uninvited.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Your gaze drifts around the bathroom to find something to distract you, your eyes land on the slightly open drawer beneath the mirror. Idly, you tug it open, rummaging through the contents without much thought—until your fingers brush against something familiar.

The box of condoms you had given Han for testing sits there, three packs still untouched. You pick it up, flipping it over in your hands, your mind now shifting gears. Without thinking too hard about it, you grab the box and head back to the living room.

Han is crouched by the record player, swapping out the vinyl, but when he sees you standing there, he pauses, his brows furrowing in mild concern. “Hey, you okay?”

Instead of answering, you flash him a sly smile and ask, “You know what time is it?”

He smiles but curiosity filled his dark brown eyes. “What?”

You lift the box of condoms slightly, letting it dangle between your fingers as you say, “It’s time for the hands-on research.”

Han’s lips twitch into a smirk, his eyes flicking from the box to you. He pushes himself up from the floor, stepping closer to you with that playful glint in his eyes. He reaches for the box in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, tugging you gently toward him.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice lower now, less teasing, more serious.

You inhale sharply, feeling the weight of his question, but you nod. "Yeah."

That’s all it takes. Han closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, his hands sliding to your waist. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, and before you know it, your hands are tugging at his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, stepping back just enough to let you pull it over his head.

"This is a first for me," he muses, his fingers slipping under the hem of your top, pushing it upward.

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

Han grins, nudging his nose against yours as he lifts your shirt off. "Daylight. Never done it with the sun out."

You pause for a moment, realizing the same thing. "Me neither."

Han hums in amusement. "Guess we’re about to check that off the list."

You laugh softly as his hands roam your bare skin, his touch igniting a slow burn inside you. Piece by piece, you strip each other down, the sunlight shining through the windows, painting golden streaks across your skin. The vulnerability of being so exposed in the daylight should make you feel shy, but with Han, it doesn’t.

He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before murmuring against your skin, “You look even better in the light.”

You smile at his compliment. “And you look... not bad,” you say, followed by playful giggles.

As Han presses you down onto the bed, his body flush against yours, his lips move against yours in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your skin, touching and feeling, occasionally squeezing on the flesh. The warmth of his touch sends a thrill through your body, making you arch into him, wanting more.

When you pull back for air, your eyes drift over his physique, taking in the toned muscles of his arms, the lean definition of his torso, and the ink that decorates his skin. Your fingers reach out instinctively, trailing over the tattoo on his shoulder, feeling the slight difference in texture. Han watches you with a lazy smirk, amused by your fascination.

"You like them?" he asks, voice husky.

You hum in response, letting your fingers travel lower, following the ink down his ribcage. "I do. They suit you."

Han chuckles at that, shifting slightly to give you better access. "You should see the one on my thigh," he teases, winking at you.

You roll your eyes but smile as you bring your lips to his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the tattooed skin. Han's breath catches, and he instinctively tightens his grip on your waist. You keep going, trailing kisses along the curve of his shoulder, down to his collarbone, taking your time to feel him with your lips.

Not to be outdone, Han follows suit, his lips ghosting over your skin in slow, lingering kisses. He moves down your neck, his breath warm and tickling, before pulling back to look at you with eyes filled with something deeper than just lust. There’s admiration there, fondness, and something playful, too.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing over your sides.

You arch an eyebrow. “How so?”

Han grins, leaning in to nip at your lower lip before whispering, “Because you make me want to keep you all to myself.”

His words linger in the air, charged with something unspoken as his hands slowly trail down your sides. His fingers brush over your hipbones, teasing, testing, before one hand wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer against him. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the slow, tantalizing friction as he presses his hand on your sex.

Your breaths mingle as you both move in sync, hands exploring, discovering. His touch is firm yet careful as he lands his fingers on your bundle of nerves, his strokes slow at first, teasing, making you gasp against his lips. In response, your fingers trail lower until you find his swollen cock and wrap your hand around it, feeling the warmth, the way his breath stutters at the first touch. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales a shaky breath.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “You feel so good.”

The pace between you builds naturally, neither of you rushing, just taking the time to savor the way the other reacts. Han groans softly, his hips twitching slightly as your fingers tighten around his length, and in return, he sync his movements with yours, applying gentle pressures on your clit, making you shudder in his grasp. There’s an intimacy in it, beyond just the pleasure—it’s the way he watches your face, the way you both respond to each other, completely in tune.

His lips find yours again, swallowing your soft moans as the pleasure mounts between you. It’s intoxicating, the push and pull, the way you both chase after the same high together, bodies pressed close, hands on each other’s sex, moving in perfect rhythm.

Han groans against your lips as your other hand joins in, moving them in unison, fingers wrapping around him, stroking in sync. His breath is ragged, his body trembling slightly as he thrusts into your joined grip, chasing the pleasure that builds between you. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your movements, completely entranced by the way you touch him.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out, his jaw tightening as he tries to hold himself back. "You're really trying to ruin me, huh?"

You smirk, giving him a gentle, deliberate squeeze, and he groans, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as if to stop himself from losing control. Then, as if realizing just how close he is, he suddenly slows your hands, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Han leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss before pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "As much as I'd love to keep going, I should probably put that condom on before I—" he pauses, inhaling sharply as you teasingly stroke him once more "—burst."

His words make you chuckle, and he grins at you, eyes full of mischief as he reaches for the box beside the bed. You watch as he tears open the foil packet with his teeth, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful glint. He rolls the condom over his length with practiced ease, smoothing it down before giving himself a teasing stroke. Then, with a smirk, he looks at you and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Think it's on securely?" he asks, feigning concern as he lightly tugs at the base. "Or should I call customer service for assistance?"

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "I am customer service, you dummy," you quip, reaching out to flick his arm.

Han chuckles, leaning over you, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Then I guess I’m in good hands."

He gently puts his body on top of you, planting his lips on yours again as he slowly positioning himself and in response, you spread your legs wider for him, letting him settling in between.

He props an elbow against the mattress, finding just the right angle to align his cock to your entrance. He gives it a few strokes before finally, pushing it in.

Low groans spilling out of his mouth as he sinks into you, his grip tightening around your hips as he pushes deeper. He moves slowly at first, letting you adjust, but when he looks down at you, his brows furrow in curiosity. “You okay?”

Your lips curl into a teasing smile as you stretch your arms above your head, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah,” you sigh dramatically. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken bigger before.”

Han freezes mid-thrust, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

You bite back a laugh at the mix of offense and disbelief on his face. “Just saying.”

A scoff leaves his lips before his expression morphs into something more devious. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

Before you can react, he suddenly thrusts forward, catching you off guard, and a loud gasp escapes you. He smirks. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”

You glare at him, cheeks warming. “Shut up and start moving.”

Han clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “Say please.”

You groan in frustration, but before you can argue, he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His hips begin to roll, picking up a steady rhythm, and soon, any witty remark you had is replaced by breathy moans.

“See?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice smug as his hands roam over your body. “Told you we’d have fun.”

You huff, pretending to be unimpressed, but the way your fingers dig into his back says otherwise. He chuckles, dipping his head to kiss the corner of your mouth before whispering, “Let’s see if I can change your mind about size, yeah?”

Han may tease, but when he moves, his touches are surprisingly gentle, his lips soft as they ghost over your skin. He’s still smiling, still throwing in the occasional joke between thrusts, but there’s something warm in the way he looks at you—like he genuinely enjoys just being here with you.

“Damn,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against yours as he moves. “You feel so good, I think I’m seeing my ancestors.”

You snort, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, grinning. “Then why is my great-grandfather giving me a thumbs-up right now?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, you like it,” he says, punctuating his words with a slow, deep thrust that has you sharply inhale air. His eyes flicker with amusement when your breath catches. “See? You love it.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of you. It’s different from what you expected—less pressure, less intensity, just lighthearted fun wrapped up in warmth and pleasure.

In the next moment, he looks at you with this tenderness in his eyes and then, he leans in close, brushing his lips over yours before whispering, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

His words make your heart stutter, and suddenly, the moment feels even sweeter. You cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of him—of this easy, unexpected comfort.

Between the shared laughter and soft moans, it feels less like a conquest and more like something simple, something warm. Something that, for now, just feels good.

-

Through the window, the golden hues of the setting sun looks magnificent, casting a soft glow over the room. You’re tangled together under the sheets, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare shoulder, and every now and then, he presses a soft kiss against your temple, your hair, your forehead—anywhere he can reach.

“You’re so quiet,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to look at you. “Did I wear you out that much?”

You scoff and playfully elbow his side. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckles, then shifts slightly, his lips trailing from your temple down to your cheek, then to your jawline. He pauses, his breath warm against your skin before he dips lower, pressing a teasing kiss to the crook of your neck.

You shiver at the sensation, but just as you start to relax into it, he suddenly blows a raspberry against your skin. “Han!” you shriek, jerking away with a laugh. “Stop that!”

But he only grins mischievously, wrapping an arm around you to keep you from escaping as he does it again—this time nibbling lightly before blowing another raspberry. You squirm in his arms, half laughing, half protesting. “You’re the worst!” you gasp between giggles.

He hums, pretending to consider. “Mmm, but you like me anyway.”

You glare at him through your laughter, and he grins before pressing a much softer, lingering kiss against your neck.

“Alright, alright,” he says, finally relenting. “I’ll stop—for now.”

You let out a breath, still smiling as you settle back into his embrace. Outside, the sky shifts from warm golds to dusky purples, and for a moment, everything just feels… easy. Comfortable.

And as Han idly runs his fingers through your hair, you find yourself wondering how a simple afternoon turned into this—wrapped up in warmth, in laughter, in him.

As the last traces of sunlight fade into the evening sky, you run your fingers through Han’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a contented hum vibrating in his chest.

“You’re gonna put me to sleep like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with drowsiness.

You smile, smoothing his hair again before giving it a playful tug. “Not so fast. You still owe me dinner.”

His eyes peek open, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. “Oh? I do?”

“Yeah,” you say matter-of-factly. “I skipped work today, wasted my precious energy entertaining you, and now I’m starving. It’s only fair that you buy me dinner.”

Han gasps dramatically. “Wasted your precious energy?” He places a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I’ll have you know, that was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach betrays you with a low grumble. Han snickers, clearly pleased with himself.

“Alright, okay,” he relents, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. “What do you want? Something fancy? Something greasy? Or something that’ll make us question our life choices after we eat it?”

You chuckle. “I like the sound of the last one.”

Han grins. “Instant regret it is.”

He lands a long kiss on your lips before getting up, swinging his legs off the bed and starts pulling on his sweatpants, and you do the same, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. It’s not exactly how you expected your day to go, but somehow, you don’t mind at all.

-

Seated at Han’s small dining table, you poke at your takeout with your chopsticks, watching as he slouches in his chair, looking far too comfortable in just his sweatpants. Meanwhile, you’re drowning in one of his oversized sweaters, the fabric slipping off your shoulder every time you move.

Han takes a big bite of his food, humming in satisfaction before glancing at you. “You’re really not gonna put pants on?” he teases.

“You’re one to talk,” you counter, raising a brow. “Besides, this is more comfortable.”

He grins. “Fine, but if you steal that sweater, I’ll know.”

You ignore his threat, chewing thoughtfully before asking, “So… how was the performance?”

He nearly chokes on his food. He grabs his drink, gulping it down before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You just wanna jump straight into performance reviews, huh?”

You blink at him. “Yeah… why not?”

He leans back in his chair, grinning for ear to ear. “Well, if you ask me, I think I did a solid job. Great rhythm, nice pace, perfect execution. I mean, if I had to rate it—”

“Oh my God,” you groan, throwing a sauce packet at him. “I was talking about the condom performance, not yours.”

He gasps, feigning offense as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Oh. So my performance isn’t important?”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out.

Han seductively winks at you and confidently says, “I know you like it.”

You shake your head, chuckling. “Alright, seriously, though. How was the product? Any complaints?”

He hums, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “No complaints. It’s comfortable, does the job, doesn’t slip. And…” He shoots you a mischievous look. “It didn’t ruin the mood, so I’d say that’s a win.”

You nod, mentally noting his feedback. “That’s good to hear.”

Han grins. “And in case you were wondering, you did great too.”

You groan again, but you can’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. “Just eat your dumpling, Han.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction, before taking another bite, looking far too pleased with himself. He chews thoughtfully for a moment before casually adding, “If I had to say one thing, I kinda wish it was thinner.”

You pause mid-bite, looking at him. “Thinner?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s comfortable and all, but if it were just a little thinner, I feel like I could… you know, feel you more.” He smirks, his gaze flickering over you with something undeniably teasing.

You narrow your eyes at him, but your brain is already running with the idea. “A thinner material…” you murmur, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl.

Han watches you, curiosity piqued. “You’re really thinking about this now?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, sitting up straighter. “If we can make the material thinner while maintaining durability and elasticity, it could enhance sensitivity and comfort. It might actually improve the overall experience for users.”

Han chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re literally fresh off a test run, and you’re already planning upgrades?”

You shrug. “That’s how innovation works.”

After dinner and two glasses of wine, you return to the bedroom. As you slip into your clothes, Han leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with an amused smirk.

“You know,” he muses, “there are still two packs left. Might as well be thorough with the testing.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you adjust your sweater. “It’s getting late, Han.”

“So stay,” he tries again, stepping closer. “Leave in the morning. I make a killer breakfast.”

You laugh while smoothing down your skirt. “I'm sorry but I have to tell you that this is the end of the product test and we won’t see each other again.”

Han tilts his head, unconvinced. “I highly doubt that.”

You roll your eyes, but a chuckle escapes you. “You’re cute.” Then, without thinking too much about it, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. He hums into it, chasing after you when you pull away.

With a lazy grin, he says, “Well, if you ever need a booty call—”

“Now, I highly doubt that,” you cut him off with a playful tease, grabbing your bag.

Han watches as you make your way to the door, still smiling. “Love finds a way, you know,” he calls out after you.

Shaking your head, you turn back for a final glance. “Goodbye, Han.”

He lifts a hand in farewell, and with that, you step out, leaving behind both the product test and the man who helped make it a very memorable one.

-

It's another day at work, another day of burying yourself in your notes, scribbling down ideas for product improvements when Jane bursts into the lab with a dramatic sigh.

“You know,” she starts, plopping down on the nearest chair, “I’m starting to think you love work more than me.”

You glance up, raising a brow. “Are you jealous of my research?”

“No,” she deadpans. “What I'm saying is you’ve been so busy lately, I barely see you anymore. I mean, I get it—scientific breakthroughs, saving the world one condom at a time, blah blah—but can you at least pretend to have a social life?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair. “I do have a social life. We literally went to your product launch.”

Jane waves you off. “That doesn’t count. That was work disguised as a party.” Then, narrowing her eyes at you, she leans forward. “Speaking of which… you never told me what happened after. You left with Chris that night, didn’t you?”

You freeze for half a second before playing it cool. “I went home.”

Jane’s eyes glint with mischief. “Alone?”

You clear your throat, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by your notes. “Why are you here again?”

She groans, throwing her head back. “Ugh, fine, I’ll let it go—for now. But seriously, let’s go out soon. You owe me drinks for neglecting me.”

You smirk. “Fine, but you’re buying the first round.”

Jane grins. “Deal.”

Later that night, you and Jane are seated at a bar, the warm buzz of alcohol settling in as you sip on your drinks. The music is lively but not overbearing, and for the first time in a while, you feel like you can actually unwind.

Jane stirs the straw in her cocktail before shooting you a look. “Alright, so tell me—what did Chris want when he called you to his office?”

You sigh, leaning back against the barstool. “He locked the door the moment I walked in.”

Jane’s eyes widen. “Ooh, now that’s how you start a story.”

You roll your eyes but continue, “Then he told me he went against the board because he believes I can do more. That I shouldn’t settle when I can create something even better.”

Jane hums, taking a sip of her drink. “And how did that make you feel?”

You hesitate, swirling the liquid in your glass. “Angry. Frustrated. Conflicted.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I mean, I get what he’s saying, but at the same time, I worked hard on this. He basically told me it wasn’t good enough.”

Jane tilts her head, considering your words. “But was he wrong?”

You blink at her, taken aback. And then, Jane shrugs. “Look, I know you. You hate doing things halfway. If Chris is saying you can do more, maybe it’s because he knows you actually want to.”

You purse your lips, not quite ready to admit that she might have a point. Instead, you take a long sip of your drink.

Jane smirks knowingly. “So… what else happened in that office?”

You give her a dry look. “I left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Jane whistles, shaking her head. “Damn. If a man locked me in his office, I would’ve at least—”

“Jane.”

She cackles, raising her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! But seriously, what are you going to do now?”

You let out a breath, staring at the ice in your glass. “I don’t know yet.”

Jane squints at you over the rim of her glass, then smirks. "By the way, you skipped work the other day."

You glance at her warily. "And?"

"And I want to know what you were up to," she says, wiggling her eyebrows. "Come on, spill."

You hesitate for a moment, but Jane is relentless, leaning in with eager curiosity. With a sigh, you finally admit, “I went out with Han.”

Her eyes widen in delight. "Ohhh, this is interesting. You and Han, huh? What did you two do?"

"Nothing crazy," you say, taking a sip of your drink. "We had brunch, did some shopping, and then—"

Jane cuts you off with an exaggerated gasp. "And then?! Oh my god, don't tell me you slept with him."

You press your lips together, trying to suppress a smirk.

"You did!" she nearly shrieks, slamming her hand on the bar. "Holy shit, I knew there was something different about you! You got that after sex glow!"

You shake your head, chuckling at her reaction. "It was just… for the product test."

Jane snorts, nearly choking on her drink. "The product test? That has to be the best excuse I’ve ever heard."

"It's the truth," you say, half-laughing. "He was one of the participants, so technically, it was all part of research."

She gives you a deadpan look. "Yeah, sure. Research." Then her smirk returns. "So… how was it?"

You sigh dramatically. "Well, let’s just say… Han is very entertaining."

Jane bursts into laughter. "Oh, I bet he is." She nudges your arm. "And let me guess, he was totally cocky about it, too, wasn’t he?"

You roll your eyes and then crack a smile. "You have no idea."

She grins, taking another sip of her drink. "Damn, I really should’ve joined your project. It sounds way more fun than mine."

The two of you continue sipping your drinks and with more people crowding the bar, it is now buzzing with chatter and laughter. Then, out of nowhere, Jane sets her glass down with a determined look. "You know what?" she says, pointing at you. "You should prove Chris wrong."

You look at her, befuddled. "What?"

"You heard me." She leans in, eyes glinting with mischief. "You should prove to him that you can do more. That you can exceed his expectations."

You scoff lightly, swirling your drink. "Why should I care what he thinks?"

Jane raises a brow. "Oh, come on. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t still be sulking about it."

You open your mouth to argue but shut it again because—well, she’s not wrong.

Jane smirks, seeing your hesitation. "I mean, think about it. What better way to get back at him than to succeed? To improve the product so much that he has no choice but to approve it?"

You exhale, considering her words. Then, your mind flashes back to Han’s comment during dinner—the one about wishing the condom was thinner so he could feel more. And suddenly, an idea clicks.

You straighten up. "That’s it," you say under your breath.

Jane tilts her head. "What’s it?"

You look at her, a slow grin forming. "I know what to do."

Jane claps her hands together. "Now that’s the attitude I like to see! Let’s drink to that."

You clink your glass against hers, a renewed sense of purpose bubbling inside you. Chris may have doubted you, but that only means one thing—you're going to prove him so wrong.

-

In your lab, you throw yourself into research, pouring over formulas, materials, and test results. Your determination fuels you, and over the next several days, you barely notice time passing as you and your team work tirelessly on improving the product.

And finally, after what feels like endless trial and error, the first batch of prototypes arrives. You stand in the lab, staring at the neatly stacked boxes on the counter. A rush of excitement and nervous energy courses through you. This is it—your hard work materialized into something tangible.

Jane walks in just as you’re inspecting one of the boxes. "Ooooh," she hums, coming up beside you. "Are those the babies?"

You smirk. "Fresh out of production."

She picks up a box, turning it in her hands. "Extra large and extra thin, huh? Impressive."

You chuckle, but you’re already thinking about the next step. The real test. "Now, I just need to find people to try them out."

Jane wiggles her brows at you. "I have a feeling you already have someone in mind."

Your smirk falters slightly. There’s one obvious choice, but after everything… should you?

There's the right way to do it. You could present the data, write up a full report, and talk to Chris about the improvements—but you don’t just want to talk about it. You want to show him. Prove it to him. Directly.

Without hesitation, you make your way to his office, determination set in your stride. You knock on the door and wait until your hear his permission to let yourself in.

When you step inside, Chris is flipping through some documents at his desk. He barely acknowledges you at first, but when he glances up and sees the look on your face, his brows lift slightly in curiosity.

“To what do I owe this surprise visit?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting on the desk.

You don’t waste time. “Do you still want to participate in the product tests?”

Chris’s lips twitch into a smirk, intrigue flashing in his eyes. “And why are you asking?”

You hold his gaze, unwavering. “Please just answer. Yes or no.”

That only seems to amuse him more. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening as he stalls on answering. After a moment, he finally says, “Yes.”

You nod, satisfied. You pull out a card of a hotel and place it on his desk. “Meet me at this hotel. Saturday night.”

His brows lift at that, his eyes flicking over you as if trying to decipher your intentions. But before he can ask any questions, you turn on your heel and head for the door.

“See you soon, Mr. Bang,” you say, flashing him a polite, almost teasing smile before walking out.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you don’t look back—but you can practically feel his gaze following you, filled with intrigue and it only motivates you more.

-

On Friday afternoon, you find yourself standing outside Jane’s lab, hesitating for only a moment before pushing the door open. Jane is hunched over her workbench, her brows furrowed in concentration as she adjusts something under a microscope.

When she hears you step inside, she glances up, blinking in surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t our overworked researcher gracing me with her presence.” She leans back, crossing her arms. “What brings you here? Need my genius expertise on something?”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little ridiculous but pushing through anyway. “I need your help with something… off the record.”

Her interest piques immediately. “Ooh, now you’ve got my attention. What kind of help?”

You shift on your feet, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “Shopping.”

Jane stares at you for a second before she bursts into laughter. “You, asking me for shopping help? This must be serious.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Oh, I’m definitely helping. But I need details.” She narrows her eyes mischievously. “Is this for a date? A hot, steamy date?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s for… research purposes.”

Jane snorts. “Right. ‘Research.’” She grabs her coat from the back of her chair. “Come on, let’s get you something that’ll make your ‘research’ partner lose his mind.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your lips as you follow her out.

In a brightly lit makeup store, you sit on a stool in front of a mirror while Jane enthusiastically swatches different lip colors on the back of her hand. She holds up two tubes, squinting at your face.

"Okay, bold red or soft nude?" she asks, tilting her head in deep contemplation.

You raise an eyebrow. "What exactly are we going for here?"

Jane grins. "Something that screams ‘I’m sexy, but I didn’t even try.’ You know, the effortless but deadly kind of look."

You huff out a laugh as she dabs a soft, peachy shade on your lips, then steps back to admire her work.

“So,” she starts casually, leaning against the counter. “This research… It’s with Han, isn’t it?”

You pause, eyes flickering to her through the mirror. Instead of answering directly, you smirk and say, “Does it matter?”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So it is him.”

You chuckle and reach for the lipstick tube, deciding to apply it yourself. “I never said that.”

“But you also didn’t deny it.” Jane wiggles her brows, clearly enjoying this far too much. “I knew it. You totally went back for round two, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, amused. “You have a very active imagination.”

Jane watches you for a moment, then narrows her eyes. “Wait. Wait.” She suddenly grabs your arm, making you almost smudge your lipstick. “If it’s not Han… then who—”

You quickly shove a lip brush into her hand. “Focus, Jane. I need to look good.”

Jane watches you with a knowing smirk as you finish applying the lipstick, pressing your lips together to even out the color. She folds her arms, still leaning against the counter, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

“Well, whoever it is,” she says teasingly, “I hope your research goes well.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile playing on your lips.

Jane winks. “Good luck, professor. Make sure to take very detailed notes.”

You shake your head, laughing as you grab your bag. “I’ll see you on Monday, Jane.”

As you walk away, you hear her call out, “And I expect a full report on my desk by then!”

-

The low hum of jazz music fills the hotel bar, blending with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. You sit at the counter, one leg crossed over the other, slowly swirling the drink in your hand as you wait. The deep red of your lipstick matches the rich hue of the cocktail, and you take a slow sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in your chest.

You glance at the entrance, scanning the room for any sign of Chris. He’s late—not by much, but enough to make you feel the anticipation build. You check your reflection in the mirror behind the bar, ensuring everything is still perfect. The makeup, the dress, the air of confidence you carefully wrapped around yourself like armor.

And then, as if sensing your impatience, he finally arrives.

Chris steps into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. His expression shifts—something unreadable flickering across his face before he starts toward you. Even in the dim lighting, he looks effortlessly good, dressed in all black, his shirt fitted just enough to hint at the body underneath. You lift your glass to your lips again, watching him over the rim as he approaches. This time, you’re the one making him wait.

Chris finally reaches you, his presence demanding attention even in the dimly lit bar. He doesn’t sit right away; instead, he stands beside you, his hand resting lightly against the back of your chair as he takes in your appearance. His gaze lingers, sweeping from your legs crossed at the knee to the curve of your lips as you sip your drink.

"You clean up nice," he murmurs, amusement laced in his tone.

You seductively smile, setting your glass down. "I could say the same about you."

Chris finally takes the seat next to you, signaling the bartender for a drink. "So, are we going to pretend this is just another product test, or are you actually going to tell me why you invited me here?"

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "Can’t I just want to have a drink with my product manager slash test subject?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "You don’t do things without a reason." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "So, what’s the real reason?"

You hold his gaze, letting the tension settle between you before answering. "I told you I wanted to show you something," you say, tapping your fingers lightly against your glass. "But instead of talking about it, I figured I’d demonstrate."

Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You mean—"

You nod, finishing the rest of your drink before sliding off your chair. "Room’s already booked," you say casually, picking up your clutch. "If you’re still interested in participating... that is."

He doesn't say anything but takes the seat next to you, gesturing the bartender that he wants the same drink with yours. He is relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his fingers occasionally tapping against the glass in his other hand.

At one point, he swirls his drink, watching the amber liquid before glancing at you with a smirk. "I have to admit," he says, "I’m a little surprised you asked me to test the product instead of… the other guy."

You pause mid-sip, lowering your glass. "The other guy?"

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I saw you with him the other day," he says, his tone light, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes.

You blink, caught off guard. For a moment, you consider playing coy, but instead, you shrug. "And?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No judgment. Just an observation." He leans in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. "I just figured if you were looking for a test subject, you already had one."

You let out a soft laugh, setting your glass down. "What, jealous?"

Chris raises an eyebrow, lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Should I be?"

You meet his gaze, the challenge lingering between you. "That depends," you murmur, tilting your head. "Are you planning to fail this test?"

Chris huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not a chance." He lifts his drink in a mock toast. "To scientific integrity, then."

You clink your glass against his, your smirk matching his. "To exceeding expectations."

-

As you and Chris step into the elevator, more and more people pile in behind you, filling the small space. The warmth of bodies and the low murmur of conversation surround you, but all you can focus on is Chris.

Without a word, he tugs you closer to his side, his hand resting on your lower back, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel his presence. You tilt your head slightly to glance at him, but he's already watching you, his dark eyes filled with wild glints.

Then, he leans in, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "You look incredible tonight," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since I walked into that bar."

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse, heat creeping up your neck. You don't dare turn your head, knowing just how close your lips would be if you did. Instead, you let out a small exhale, keeping your gaze forward. "Good," you whisper back, just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the elevator. "I dressed up for the occasion."

Chris chuckles under his breath, his fingers pressing just a fraction harder against your back. "Then I better make this worth your while."

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor, and as the doors slide open, Chris guides you out with a firm hand on your waist. The air between you feels heavier now, thick with anticipation. Neither of you say a word as you walk down the hall—but you both know exactly where this night is headed.

Arrived at hotel room 0810, you slide the keycard into the door, and with a soft beep, it unlocks. Pushing it open, you step inside first, Chris following close behind. The moment the door clicks shut, sealing you both in, he speaks.

"You don’t look nervous," he observes, his voice casual yet laced with something deeper, something almost teasing.

You turn to him, raising a brow. "Should I be?"

His lips curling into a small, knowing smile. He doesn't answer—just watches you, his gaze dragging over your face, down to the way your dress hugs your body. The silence between you stretches, thickening, until the tension becomes almost unbearable.

You break it first. "So," you say, crossing your arms, "should we get started? Or do you need some... encouragement?"

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer. "Oh, I think I’ll be just fine," he murmurs, his eyes flickering with amusement and something darker.

The energy shifts. The air feels warmer, heavier. You hold your ground as he closes the distance, your pulse picking up as you realize—this is really happening. He closes the space between you, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against him. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your dress, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He leans in, his lips barely brushing yours, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he lingers, reveling in the closeness, in the way your breath hitches, in the way your body naturally molds against his. His fingers flex at your waist, as if memorizing the shape of you all over again.

A quiet sigh escapes him. "I missed this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the admission is something fragile, something real.

And then, finally, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, almost hesitant, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s waited too long for this to rush it. The kiss deepens gradually, his lips moving against yours with a slow, intoxicating rhythm, his hands tightening their hold on you as if grounding himself to the moment.

You place your hands flat on his chest and steering his body toward the bed, he barely has time to react when you suddenly push him, catching him off guard as he stumbles back onto the bed. His hands press into the mattress, propping himself up as he looks up at you with a mix of surprise and intrigue. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, his smirk playful yet laced with anticipation.

You stand there, letting the moment linger, letting his gaze rake over you. The weight of his stare sends a shiver down your spine, the way he looks at you—like he’s already undressing you with his eyes.

Tilting your head to the side, you exhale a slow, teasing breath. “You know what? I’ll give you some encouragement anyway.”

Then, you reach for the zipper of your dress, sliding it down. The fabric loosens, slipping off your shoulders, gliding down your body until it pools around your ankle. You step out of it, standing in nothing but your silky lingerie, the dim hotel lighting casting shadows over your skin.

Chris lets out a quiet curse under his breath, his smirk faltering just a little as his Adam’s apple bobs. He shifts slightly on the bed, his fingers curling into the sheets as he watches you with darkened eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “That’ll do.”

You crawl onto the bed with deliberate slowness, letting the tension thicken between you. Chris stays where he is, watching your every movement with hooded eyes, his fingers crumpling the sheets as if holding himself back. The moment you hover over him, barely touching, you feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath deep and steady, though you know he’s anything but calm.

Then, you lower yourself onto him, your body molding against his. A low hum vibrates in his throat when you shift, you intentionally rub your clothed core against the growing hardness beneath his slacks. His hands instinctively find your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the silky fabric of your lingerie.

Your lips find his again, slow at first—like savoring a taste you’ve missed. But as he deepens the kiss, his grip tightens, his body responding just as eagerly. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the steady friction sending sparks down your spine.

Chris pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. “If this is your idea of encouragement, I might need a little more.”

In one swift motion, he suddenly flips you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as he settles between your legs. The movement knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you dazed for a second, but then his lips are back on yours, hungry and unrelenting.

His body presses firmly against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable as he moves, rolling his hips into yours in a slow, steady rhythm. Even through the layers of fabric, the friction sends a jolt through your core, and you can’t stop the soft sound that escapes your lips. Chris groans in response, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, swallowing every sound you make.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs against your lips before trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His movements never slow, each grind making you more desperate for something more, something deeper.

His hands roam down your sides, exploring, memorizing, teasing. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “is this enough encouragement for you, or should I keep going?”

You break the kiss to answer him. “More.”

Chris grins and then he pulls away just enough to kneel between your legs, his hands going to the hem of his shirt before tugging it off in one smooth motion. The bedside lamp casts soft shadows over the sculpted lines of his chest, his toned muscles shifting as he moves. He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks down at you, his gaze dark and intense, waiting.

Then, he takes your hands, guiding them to his chest, letting you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand anything—he simply lets you explore, his breath hitching when your fingers trail lower, tracing the ridges of his abs.

His lips curl into a smirk, but he doesn’t give you time to tease him about it. Instead, his hands move to the front of his slacks, undoing them with ease before pushing them down just enough to free his stiffening cock. The sight alone sends a wave of heat through you, but before you can react, he reaches for one of your hands, wrapping your fingers around him.

His sharp inhale is barely audible over the quiet hum of the room. “Now,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick, “do you think I’m encouraged enough, or do you need to convince me a little more?”

Instead of answering, your fingers tighten around his throbbing length as you begin slow, deliberate strokes, watching the way his jaw clenches at the sensation. Chris stays still at first, letting you set the pace, but his breathing grows heavier with each pass of your hand. His eyelids flutter briefly before he focuses on you again, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out—just a sharp exhale.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Let me encourage you a little more,” you murmur, your thumb teasing the tip, spreading the pre-cum.

His hands fist into the sheets beside your hips, his muscles tensing as he fights the urge to move. “You’re—” He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath when you stroke him just a little faster.

You watch him unravel beneath your touch, the way his brows knit together, the way his hips twitch slightly as he nears his breaking point. Then, just as you feel him getting close, you suddenly stop, pulling your hand away with a smirk.

Chris snaps his eyes open, a mixture of frustration and amusement flashing across his face. He exhales a shaky laugh, licking his lips as he looks at you. “Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

He leans down to give you a hard, deep kiss, almost punishing. He groans against your lips as you use all of your strength to roll to the side, shifting your weight and pinning him beneath you. His hands instinctively find your waist, gripping you, but he doesn’t resist—if anything, he looks amused, his eyes flickering with intrigue.

“You're such a tease, you know what?” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk as he watches you.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his in a teasing kiss before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “I need to get the condom first,” you say, voice low but firm.

Chris exhales through his nose, his smirk deepening as his hands skim up your sides. “Responsible and a tease,” he muses. “You’re really making me work for this, huh?”

You give him a knowing smile before slipping off him, making your way across the room to retrieve what you need. Behind you, Chris watches your every move, his eyes dark with anticipation.

You end up taking your bag with you as you return to the bed, putting it down on the bedside table before taking a condom and holding it between your fingers. You pause for a moment at the sight before you—Chris, sitting up naked, waiting for you. His toned body is bathed in the dim hotel lighting, his muscles subtly flexing as he leans back on his hands, watching you approach. His eyes are dark with anticipation, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he reaches out to take the condom from you.

But before he can, you pull your hand back slightly. “Let me put it on for you,” you say, your voice smooth, teasing.

Chris raises a brow, his smirk deepening. “Yeah?” he muses, clearly enjoying the idea. “By all means, then.”

You kneel in front of him on the bed, taking your time as you tear the package open, your fingers working deliberately slow just to watch the way his jaw tenses in restraint. You slide the condom out, meeting his gaze as you hold it between your fingers. His breath hitches slightly as you carefully roll it down his length, your touch light, teasing.

Chris watches you the whole time, his eyes flickering between your face and your hands. “You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “and I might not last long enough to test this properly.”

You smirk, giving him a final slow stroke over the latex before meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “Then I guess we better get started.”

He pulls you close, his lips crashing into yours with a slow but deep intensity. His hands wander, deft fingers working open your bra and pushing the straps off your shoulders before trailing down to slide your underwear down your hips. He takes his time, enjoying the way your skin feels under his fingertips as he undresses you completely, leaving you bare beneath him.

He kisses you again, softer this time, before shifting lower. His mouth leaves a warm trail down your neck, across your collarbone, and on each of your soft mounds, his lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin. When he reaches your abdomen, he lingers, placing slow, deliberate kisses along your stomach, his warm breath sending a shiver through you.

Your anticipation builds as he inches lower, his lips hovering over the most sensitive part of you, teasing, making you wait. You let out a shaky breath, your body reacting to his touch before he even fully gives in. And then, finally, he presses a soft, lingering kiss where you need him most, drawing a breathy moan from your lips.

Then, slowly, he slides his fingers up your thigh, trailing closer until he finally touches you. His fingertips press on your clit, exploring, testing, before slipping between your folds, his touch both delicate and deliberate.

He watches you closely, his eyes locked onto your face, studying every expression, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His fingers move with slow precision, pumping in and out of you, pressing and curling just right, gauging your reactions, adjusting to what makes you shudder and sigh. His gaze darkens with satisfaction as he watches you come undone beneath him, utterly absorbed in the way you respond to his touch.

When he deems that you’re drenched enough for what’s next, he slowly withdraws his fingers, his touch lingering just enough to make you whimper at the loss. Holding your gaze, he brings his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. A satisfied hum rumbles in his chest as he licks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, dark with something almost possessive.

Then, without a word, he shifts, settling himself between your parted legs. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them further as he positions himself, his body warm and solid above you. He takes a slow, measured breath, his fingers gripping your hips, grounding both of you in the moment before he finally moves.

As Chris slowly pushes his cock inside you, he’s careful, his brows furrowed in focus. His hands tighten on your hips, his breath uneven as he inches deeper. But then—he suddenly freezes. His body goes rigid, his fingers twitching against your skin.

A moment passes before he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in what almost looks like disbelief. “Did you…” He swallows, his voice rough. “Did you make the condom thinner?”

You nod, watching the way his throat bobs as he exhales shakily. His gaze flickers downward to where your bodies are joined, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan. “Shit,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “I can feel you—like, really feel you.” His fingers dig into your hips as he lets out another quiet, almost tortured sound. “You feel too good—I need a second.”

A lazy smile tugs at your lips as you brush your fingers through his hair, letting the strands slip between your fingertips. “Take all the time you need,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning lowly against your skin. His breath is hot, his lips brushing against your pulse, and for a moment, he just stays there, like he’s trying to regain control.

Chris lifts his head, his eyes dark and hazy as they search yours. Then, without a word, he leans down and captures your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. His grip on your hips tightens as he begins to move, his first thrust slow, almost experimental, as if he’s still trying to wrap his head around the sensation.

A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls back slightly before pressing in again, his brows furrowing. His gaze flickers downward, to his cock slipping into you, and then back up at you. “Are you sure you put it on?” he asks, his voice rough with disbelief.

You chuckle breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “Positive.”

He groans, shaking his head, his pace gradually increasing. “Fuck, it’s so thin—Oh, I swear it feels like I’m not even wearing one.” His forehead presses against yours for a second, his breath hot against your lips. “I can feel you—every inch of you.” His words are almost a whisper, as if he’s too lost in the sensation to speak any louder.

His hands roam your body as he thrusts into you, his lips brushing over your skin, leaving soft, fleeting kisses. “You feel too good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “Too perfect for me.” His fingers dig into your waist, his movements growing more desperate, more intoxicated by the way your body molds against his. He groans your name, his lips tracing the curve of your jaw before capturing your mouth once more, swallowing the sounds you make as he completely loses himself in you.

The next thing you know, his thrusts become rougher, more desperate, his restraint slipping with every second that passes. His breath is hot against your skin, his body pressed so firmly against yours that there’s no space left between you. His fingers dig into your flesh, his pace relentless, driven purely by the overwhelming sensation of you wrapped around him.

Then, as if catching himself, he slows down just enough to look at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “Am I being too rough?” he asks, his voice husky, laced with concern despite the pleasure clouding his eyes.

Your lips part, but instead of answering immediately, you reach up, fingers threading through his damp hair as you tug him down for a kiss. “It’s nothing I can't handle,” you whisper against his lips, and a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth before he kisses you again, deeper this time, as if sealing your words into him.

“Too good,” he groans, rolling his hips into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel too damn good—I don’t wanna stop.” His voice is rough, almost desperate, and the way he’s holding you, touching you, fucking you with such intensity—it’s like he’s completely lost in you.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your heated skin. His rhythm never falters, the weight of his body grounding you beneath him, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And in that moment, it feels like nothing else exists except for the way he’s moving inside you.

A deep, shuddering groan falls out of Chris’s parted mouth as his release finally takes over him, his body trembling slightly as he collapses onto you. His weight is warm, solid, his breath still ragged against your skin as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You gently run your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he takes a moment to gather himself, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Neither of you speak for a moment, the only sound in the room is your steady breathing intertwined. You feel him place a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone before he finally shifts, propping himself up just enough to pull away.

Immediately, he reaches down and removes the condom, tying it off with practiced ease before holding it up. Your gaze follows, and you can clearly see his release pooling inside. But what really catches your attention is when your eyes drop back down to him—because, despite everything, he’s still fully hard.

Your brows furrow as you look back up at him. “How…?” you murmur, clearly confused.

Chris follows your gaze, then looks down at himself before letting out a soft chuckle. “Guess I’m not done yet,” he says, flashing you that familiar cocky smirk, though there’s an edge of surprise in his own expression too.

You blink, still processing, before meeting his eyes again. “Is this normal for you?” you ask, suspicious.

He hums, tilting his head as if thinking about it. “Not usually this quick,” he admits, “but maybe…” He leans in, his lips brushing teasingly against yours. “Maybe it’s just you.”

You try not to let his words get to you, you look away as if looking at him will diminish the effect he has on you.

He twirls the tied-off condom between his fingers before casually tossing it into the trash. Then, he looks at you, eyes dark with something mischievous. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning in so close that his lips nearly brush yours, “we should probably run another test.”

A sly smile curls on your lips as you slowly push yourself up, pressing your palms against his chest to guide him back down onto the mattress. His eyes glimmer with intrigue as he lets you take control.

“Sure,” you simply answer, straddling him, the heat between your bodies reigniting. “But only if I get to be on top this time.”

Chris barely hesitates, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, his voice already thick with anticipation.

You reach over to the nightstand, grabbing another condom from your bag. Holding it up between your fingers, you tilt your head and smirk.

“This isn’t just an extra-large condom,” you tease, tearing the wrapper open. “It’s extra thin, too.”

Chris watches you, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. His hands rest on your thighs as you take your time rolling the condom down his length, your fingers brushing against him in a way that makes him impatient. Maintaining eye contact, you give him a few slow, teasing strokes, enjoying the way his jaw tenses, the way his hands tighten against your skin.

He exhales sharply when you shift, bracing yourself with your hands on his shoulders before you begin to lower yourself onto him. His grip on your hips tightens as you take him in little by little, the stretch making you shiver.

When he sinks too deep, you gasp softly and pause, catching your breath. Chris immediately holds you closer, one arm wrapping around your back, the other caressing your side. He presses his forehead against yours, his lips grazing against yours in a reassuring kiss. “Take your time,” he murmurs.

You nod, letting yourself adjust, your bodies staying connected, lips brushing, breaths mingling. The moment lingers, heavy with warmth and intimacy, before either of you dares to move again.

A moment later, you begin moving, rolling your hips against him, taking in every sensation as you feel his size inside you. His hands grip your waist, guiding your movements, but you set the pace—slow and deliberate at first, savoring the way he feels inside you.

Chris groans, his fingers pressing into your skin, his head tilting back against the pillow. "You feel too fucking good," he breathes, voice thick with pleasure.

You smile, leaning down to kiss him, your lips brushing his as you pick up the rhythm. Every drag of his cock inside you sends shivers through your body, making you crave more, need more. You let yourself get lost in it, chasing the pleasure without restraint.

Chris grips your hips harder, his breath coming out in short, ragged pants. "You're—" he groans, cutting himself off, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold himself back.

But you don’t slow down. If anything, you move faster, lost in the waves of your own pleasure. You tilt your head back, your hands splaying across his chest as you ride him, feeling your release creeping up on you.

Chris curses under his breath, his muscles tensing beneath you. "You're gonna—ah—make me lose it," he warns, his voice tight. His hands slide up your back, trying to ground himself, trying to keep control.

But you don’t stop. You chase your high, focusing on the fire pooling low in your stomach, on the pleasure building with every movement. You know he’s struggling, you know he’s holding on for you, but right now, you’re selfish. You need this. And Chris—he lets you take what you need.

-

The sun is shining brightly outside and it's only a little after eight. You sit by the small table near the window, dressed in the hotel’s robe, sipping on your coffee as you scroll through your phone. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the air, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of last night.

A sleepy groan comes from the bed, followed by the rustling of sheets. Chris shifts, his hair a mess of curls, his bare chest exposed as he blinks against the morning light. His gaze lands on you, and a slow, lazy smile tugs at his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still husky from sleep.

You glance up from your phone as you take another sip of coffee. “Morning.”

Chris rubs the sleeps off his eyes before sitting up, squinting at the trays of food on the table. “You ordered breakfast?”

You glance at him and nod toward the food. “Figured you’d need it.”

He chuckles, stretching his arms over his head, muscles flexing as he lets out a satisfied sigh. “You’re not wrong.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, walking toward you with an easy confidence. “You should’ve woken me up.”

You raise a brow, smirking behind your coffee cup. “Thought I’d let you sleep in after all the work you put in.”

Chris huffs a laugh, settling into the chair across from you. His fingers lazily reach for a slice of toast, tearing off a piece as he studies you. “So… do I get a performance review?”

You don't answer but hands him his glass of orange juice. “Better eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

As you both settle into breakfast, the comfortable clinking of utensils and the occasional sip of coffee filling the air, you decide to bring up the real reason you invited him here in the first place.

“So,” you begin, reaching for a piece of fruit, “about last night—”

Chris immediately smirks, his head tilting slightly as he chews on a bite of his croissant. “Oh? You wanna talk about my performance?”

You roll your eyes but quickly cut in before he gets the wrong idea. “The condom performance, Chris.”

He chuckles, setting down his coffee cup. “Right. The condom.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thinks. “Well, I have to admit, it really is thinner than the previous version. Almost felt like I wasn’t wearing anything at all.”

You nod, pleased with his feedback. “That’s exactly what I was aiming for. And no issues with fit or durability?”

Chris shakes his head. “Nope. Fit was perfect, no slipping, no breaking, and,” he pauses to shoot you a playful grin, “clearly, it held up well despite extensive testing.”

You fight the amused smile threatening to show. “Good to know.”

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and adds with a teasing lilt, “Since we’re giving reviews, though, I think I should also mention your performance.”

You hold your hand up, stopping him. “No one wants to hear it.”

“Oh, I insist.” His grin widens as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Exceptional technique, great stamina, responsiveness was off the charts—”

You throw a piece of toast at him, which he dodges with a laugh. “Please, stop.”

He only smirks, taking another sip of coffee. “Just giving honest feedback. Five stars. Highly recommend.”

You shake your head, but you’re unable to hide your small smile as you sip your own coffee.

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching you with a look that’s softer than before. “You know,” he starts, swirling his coffee, “I was right about you.”

You raise a brow, setting your cup down. “Oh? And what exactly were you right about?”

He smirks but there’s something proud in his gaze as he says, “That you can do more.” He nods toward you, his expression sincere. “You didn’t just meet expectations—you exceeded them.”

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words, but you play it cool, leaning back in your chair. “I had to prove a point,” you say, taking another sip of coffee.

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “That you did. But let’s be honest, you didn’t just do this to prove me wrong.”

You glance at him over your cup, giving him a cryptic smile. “Maybe...”

He rubs his chin and looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. “Maybe...” he repeats the word with a sly grin blooming on his face.

The weight of his words lingers between you, and for the first time in a while, you feel something settle inside you—a quiet sense of accomplishment, knowing that you really did do more.

-

Monday morning arrives, and you’re back in the lab, already deep into reviewing your notes when Jane bursts in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She doesn’t even bother with a greeting—just leans against your desk with her arms crossed, looking at you expectantly.

“So,” she begins, dragging out the word. “How did the ‘research’ go?”

You don’t even look up, keeping your focus on your notes. “Good morning to you too, Jane.”

Jane scoffs. “Oh, don’t even try to deflect. You disappeared all weekend, and now you’re back looking suspiciously… accomplished.”

You finally glance up, giving her a flat look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So secretive! Which means it must’ve been very successful.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “So? Was it Han or Chris?”

You almost choke on nothing. “What?”

Jane grins like a cat who caught a mouse. “You heard me. Did you finish what you started with Han, or was it…?” She trails off, eyes widening when she sees the slight twitch in your expression.

You press your lips together, shaking your head. You refuse to let anything slips out of your mouth but Jane is too smart to not catch it first.

“Oh. My. God.” She claps her hands together. “It was Chris, wasn’t it?”

You blink your eyes one too many times. “I didn’t say that.”

She practically vibrates with excitement. “Okay, tell me everything—was it hot? Was it awkward? Did the prototype work?”

You exhale in defeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You realize I’m not going to give you every detail, right?”

Jane groans, flopping into the chair across from you. “Fine, fine. Just… was it worth it?”

A slow smirk plays on your lips as you close your notes. “Let’s just say… the research was successful.”

Jane gasps, pointing at you. “I knew it!” She then leans forward, resting her elbows on your desk, her eyes practically sparkling. "You know, I kind of guessed something was going on between you and Chris," she says, tilting her head. "And now, I'm right."

"I'm not talking about this at work," you state firmly, turning back to your notes.

Jane groans dramatically. "Ugh! Just a little teaser? A tiny detail?" She wiggles her fingers as if trying to pry the information out of you telepathically.

Before she can push further, the door to your lab opens, and Chris steps inside. You immediately straighten in your seat as he walks in, looking calm and composed, though you catch the subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

"Morning," he greets, his eyes flicking between you and Jane.

Jane wastes no time to greet him back with such enthusiasm. "Good morning, Chris! I was just here to ask someone about her weekend," she says, shooting you a pointed look.

You see Chris suppress a smile as he casually strolls over to your desk. "Is that so?" he muses, his tone neutral but knowing.

Jane raises a brow at both of you before smirking. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "No need. I'm just here to inform that," he says, then turns to you. "I spoke with the board, and they’ve agreed to a meeting with you this Thursday. Be ready for it."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Wait, really?"

Chris nods. "They’re interested in hearing more about your product improvements. Make sure you’re prepared."

You nod, already running through what you need to put together for the meeting. "Got it. Thanks for letting me know."

Jane watches the exchange with narrowed eyes before breaking into a knowing grin. "Hmm. Very professional, you two," she teases.

Chris smirks but says nothing, and you shoot Jane a warning look before she can say anything else. He gives you a small nod, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Good luck," he says simply, his voice laced with quiet confidence.

You meet his gaze, feeling an odd sense of reassurance from his words. "Thank you. I'll be ready."

He lingers for a moment as if he wants to say more, but aware of Jane’s presence so instead, he just gives you a final look before turning and leaving the lab.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you feel Jane’s eyes burning into you. "You two are so obvious," she finally blurts out, leaning in closer with a knowing grin.

You sigh, gently massaging your temple. "Jane—"

"Fine, fine! I’ll focus on you for now," she says dramatically, throwing her hands up. "Because you, my dear, have an important task ahead of you."

You nod, already feeling the weight of responsibility settle in. "Yeah, I have a lot to prepare before Thursday."

Jane claps her hands together. "And you will succeed this time!" she declares.

You chuckle at her enthusiasm, shaking your head. "You sound more confident than I do."

"Because I am!" she says proudly. "This is your chance to prove yourself, and I know you’re gonna nail it. You’re brilliant, and your work is solid. The board would be stupid not to see that."

Her encouragement makes you smile, and for the first time since Chris mentioned the meeting, you feel a spark of excitement instead of just pressure.

"Thanks, Jane," you say sincerely.

"Anytime," she replies, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Now, let’s get to work. You’ve got a company to impress!"

-

Your heart is still racing as you step out of the meeting room, the adrenaline from the meeting pumping through your veins. You exhale sharply, your hands gripping the folder of notes as you replay the last hour in your mind. The back-and-forth discussion, the sharp questions, the skeptical glances—followed by that unmistakable shift in the room when they started to really listen. Your proposal had landed.

The nerves haven’t quite settled yet, but there’s something else bubbling beneath the surface—excitement. Relief. Pride.

As you make your way back to the lab, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. You did it. Now, all that’s left is to wait for the final decision.

The moment you step into the lab, Jane is already there, perched on your workstation with an eager glint in her eyes. "Well?" she asks, barely giving you time to set your things down. "How did it go? Did they love you? Are we celebrating? Should I start ordering drinks now?"

You exhale, running a hand through your hair. The meeting had been intense—filled with tough questions, skeptical expressions, but also moments where you knew you had them intrigued.

You glance at Jane, who is practically vibrating with anticipation. Instead of answering right away, you take your time removing your blazer and adjusting your sleeves.

"Let me guess," Jane continues, dramatically drumming her fingers on the desk. "They were blown away by your brilliance. Chris was all proud, standing there like ‘See? I told you she’s a genius.’ And now they’re going to mass-produce your condom and name it after you."

You snort, finally sitting down. "Okay, first of all, no to that last part. Second—" You pause for effect. "—they liked it."

Jane lets out a victorious squeal. "I knew it! Oh my God!" She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. "I told you, didn’t I? I told you this was your moment!"

You laugh, the weight on your shoulders finally easing a little. "It’s not finalized yet, but they’re considering it for the next phase."

"Which means it’s basically a yes," she says, grinning. "Ugh, I’m so proud of you."

Something about her enthusiasm makes you realize just how big this is. You really did it. All the work, the long nights, the stress—it’s paying off.

Jane suddenly gasps, pointing a finger at you. "Wait, does this mean you’ll finally let yourself have fun now?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Define fun."

She smirks. "Drinks. Tonight. No excuses."

You shake your head with a smile, but before you can answer, your phone buzzes on the desk. You glance at the screen and see a text from Chris.

Please meet me in my office when you’re free.

Your heart does a weird little flip. Jane notices immediately. "Who’s that?"

You grab your phone, locking the screen. "Work."

Jane narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Uh-huh. Work. Sure."

You stand up, smoothing down your outfit. "I’ll see you later."

As you leave the lab, you can still hear Jane behind you. "Don’t think you’re getting out of drinks tonight!"

You roll your eyes but smile to yourself as you make your way to Chris’s office.

-

You knock lightly on Chris’s office door before pushing it open. He’s sitting at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but as soon as he sees you, a proud smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look who just walked in fresh off a successful meeting," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Congratulations. You did amazing."

You give him a small smile as you step inside. "It’s too early to celebrate. The board still has to finalize everything."

Chris shakes his head. "They’re already sold. Your product is basically approved for production—they’re just waiting for the right time to launch it."

Hearing him say it out loud makes it feel even more real. You exhale, nodding. "That’s… really good to hear."

"You should be proud of yourself."

You glance down, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I appreciate all your help," you say sincerely, meeting his gaze again. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I think you could’ve. But I’m glad I could be part of it."

There’s a comfortable pause before you clear your throat. "Uh, actually… my team and I are going for drinks tonight to, you know, de-stress after all this. You’re welcome to join if you want."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused at the way you hesitated before asking. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, you worry that maybe it was a bad idea to invite him. But then he sighs, looking genuinely regretful. "I’d love to, but I have a prior engagement tonight."

You nod, masking any hint of disappointment. "No worries. Maybe next time."

Chris’s eyes glint with something unreadable. "Next time, huh?"

You smirk. "Yeah. I’ll buy you a drink to thank you properly."

He chuckles. "I’ll hold you to that."

With that, you turn to leave, but just as you reach the door, Chris calls out, "Hey."

You glance back with one hand on the handle of the door.

"Have fun tonight," he says, his voice softer.

You nod. "I will."

And with that, you step out of his office, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

-

Everyone raises their glasses in celebration. Jane sits beside you, grinning as she clinks her glass against yours.

“To a successful launch and to our genius researcher!” one of your team members cheers, and everyone echoes the sentiment before taking a sip of their drinks.

You smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment settle in. It had been a long, exhausting process, but seeing everyone so proud and excited made it all worth it. As the laughter and chatter continue, you stand up, raising your glass to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, before we all get too drunk to remember anything,” you begin, earning a round of chuckles from your colleagues, “I just want to take a moment to say thank you. This project was not easy, and we’ve had our fair share of challenges, but we pulled through because of all of you.”

Your team cheers, clinking their glasses together.

“This wouldn’t have been possible without everyone’s hard work and dedication. So, really—thank you. You guys are amazing, and I’m lucky to work with such a great team.”

More cheers erupt, and Jane dramatically wipes an imaginary tear from her eye, making you laugh. “And, since I know you all worked extra hard…” You pause for effect, then grin. “Drinks are on me tonight!”

The bar erupts in cheers, your team raising their glasses in excitement. Someone pats you on the back, and Jane throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Now that’s the best speech I’ve ever heard!” she exclaims, making everyone laugh.

With the energy high and spirits lifted, the night truly begins. It goes on with rounds of drinks and playful banter, but at some point, Jane leans in closer, eyeing you with a knowing smirk.

“You’re not having fun,” she accuses, nudging your arm.

You blink at her, taken aback. “What? I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she insists, swirling her drink. “Everyone else is laughing, making dumb jokes, and you’re just sitting here, sipping your drink like you’re deep in thought.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just tired, Jane. It’s been a long week.”

She hums in amusement before tilting her head. “Or maybe… you’re thinking about Chris.”

You scoff, nearly choking on your drink. “What? Why would I—”

“Oh, please.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t act like I didn’t see you sneaking glances at your phone earlier. Waiting for a text, maybe?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I was not.”

She nudges you with her elbow, leaning in close. “You should text Chris,” she says with a knowing smirk.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been thinking about him all night?”

You roll your eyes. “I haven’t.”

Jane gives you a deadpan look. “You're getting too good at lying now.”

Sighing, you take a sip of your drink. “Look, the product is going into production soon, which means I’m done with the testing. And that also means…” You hesitate for a second before forcing yourself to say it. “Chris and I have no reason to meet anymore.”

Jane pulls back, frowning. “Wow. That’s… kind of depressing to hear.”

“It’s the truth,” you say, keeping your expression neutral, but Jane isn’t buying it. She suddenly claps her hands together. “Okay, enough of this sad talk. Take a shot with me!”

Before you can protest, she waves down the bartender and orders two shots of tequila. “We are celebrating, remember?”

You sigh but take the shot glass from her. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” Jane clinks her glass against yours, and together, you down the shot, the burn spreading through your chest.

The moment you set the empty glass down, Jane grabs your wrist. “Now, let’s dance!”

“What—Jane, wait—”

“Yes, you're coming with me!” She pulls you toward the dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. “Come on, have fun with me!”

You sigh but eventually give in, letting yourself move with the music. And slowly, just for tonight, you let yourself forget everything else.

Jane twirls you around, both of you laughing as the music pulses through the air. The bass vibrates under your feet, and for the first time tonight, you’re letting yourself enjoy the moment—until Jane suddenly gasps and grabs your arm.

She stops dancing abruptly, pulling you close. “Oh my God.”

You blink at her, slightly breathless. “What?”

Jane leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “Chris is here.”

You lean in close to hear her better. “What?”

She subtly nods toward the entrance of the bar, and your body moves on instinct, spinning around on your feet. And there he is.

Chris stands near the entrance, effortlessly catching your gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, and under the dim lights of the bar, his eyes glint with amusement. Then, as if he knew exactly when you would turn around, he raises a hand and waves.

You don’t know whether to be surprised or flustered, but the way Jane is gripping your arm tells you that she is already freaking out for the both of you.

“Looks like someone changed their plans,” she singsongs in your ear, nudging you toward him. “Go say hi.”

You swallow, exhaling softly. Yeah, you should probably do that. You weave through the crowd, making your way toward Chris. He watches you approach, his smirk never wavering. When you reach him, you tilt your head, crossing your arms.

“Hey, I’m surprised to see you here,” you say over the music.

Chris shrugs, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “My prior engagement finished early.” He glances past you toward your table, where Jane and your team are still celebrating. “Figured I’d come see how your celebration is going.”

You arch a brow. “And here I thought you weren’t one for company outings.”

He chuckles. “I’m not. But you do owe me a drink, remember?”

You roll your eyes but gesture toward your table. “Come on, then.”

As you and Chris settle at the table, an awkward silence briefly lingers between you. Jane, ever the social butterfly, takes it upon herself to fill the void, coming to the table and panting from the dancing

“Well, this is a surprise,” she muses, waving down a server. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight, Chris.”

Chris smiles at her. “Change of plans.”

Jane eyes him knowingly but doesn’t press further. Instead, she orders another round of drinks for the three of you. As she and Chris fall into casual conversation, you find yourself shifting in your seat, feeling the weight of Chris’s occasional glances your way.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you announce, pushing back your chair.

Jane shoots you a quick look, one that says really? but she doesn’t stop you. Chris watches as you leave, and though you don’t turn back, you can still feel his gaze on you.

In the restroom, you take a moment to collect yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You should at least thank him properly, you remind yourself. After all, without him, your product wouldn't have been as successful. You fix your hair and the smudged eye makeup with your finger before taking a deep breath and head back to the table.

You find Chris and Jane laughing over their drinks. The sight of them getting along so well makes you hesitate for a second, but before you can sit, Jane notices you and stands up.

“It's my turn now,” she announces, grabbing her pack of cigarettes from her bag. “Going outside for a smoke. You two behave.” She winks at you before slipping away, leaving you alone with Chris.

The silence that follows is thick, though not necessarily uncomfortable. Chris leans back in his chair, watching you with quiet curiosity. You take your seat and reach for your drink, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I never got the chance to properly thank you,” you swirl your drink absentmindedly, glancing at Chris before finally speaking. "I really mean it, you know," you say, your voice softer than before. "Thank you—for everything."

Chris tilts his head slightly, watching you with a flicker of curiosity. "For testing the product?" he teases, smirking.

You roll your eyes but smile. "Not just that. For believing in me. For pushing me to prove myself when I was starting to doubt. I wanted to do more than just create a product—I wanted to make something better. And without your help, I might not have had the chance to."

Chris listens quietly, his gaze steady. Then, with a small exhale, he reaches for the collar of his shirt and undoes another button, his fingers moving slowly. He shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if the room is suddenly too warm.

"You’re giving me too much credit," he says, his voice slightly husky. "You were always going to make this happen. I just… got to be the lucky guy who helped."

You shake your head. "Maybe. But I still appreciate it."

Chris watches you for a moment, his eyes darker under the dim bar lighting. Then, with a lazy smile, he leans in just a little. "You're welcome," he murmurs.

It’s subtle, but the way his voice drops sends a faint shiver through you. Chris exhales and tugs at the collar of his shirt again. "Is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

You quirk a brow, watching him shift in his seat. His usually composed demeanor is slightly off, his body language restless. "Do you want to go outside for some air?" you offer.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I’m fine. Just need a second." He pushes himself up from his seat. "Gonna hit the restroom."

As he walks away, something about his behavior feels… off. Your eyes narrow slightly, the way he loosened his shirt, the way he kept shifting—something clicks in your head.

Just as the realization strikes, Jane returns from her smoke break, brushing ash off her fingers. "He’s gone already?" she asks, looking at Chris’s empty seat.

You turn to her with suspicion. "Jane."

She freezes mid-motion, giving you a dramatic blink. "Yes?"

You lean in, lowering your voice. "Did you—" you gesture vaguely toward the hallway where Chris had disappeared. "Did you do something to him?"

Jane smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What? Me? I would never."

"Jane," you say more firmly, arms crossing over your chest and narrow your eyes in suspiciously at her.

She tilts her head innocently before finally cracking a grin. "Okay, fine. Maybe I slipped him a little something."

Your stomach drops. "You didn’t—"

"Relax!" she laughs. "It’s just the same aphrodisiac pill I gave you that one time! You survived, didn’t you?"

You groan, running a hand over your face. "Jane, what the hell?! That’s completely different!"

"Yeah, yeah, details," she waves you off, grinning as if this is the funniest thing in the world. "He looked so tense! I thought I’d help him loosen up a bit."

You don’t waste another second arguing with her. Instead, you push away from the table and rush toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms. If that pill is hitting Chris the same way it hit you, you need to warn him—fast.

You find Chris leaning against the wall in the hallway, his head slightly bowed as he breathes in slow, measured breaths. When he hears your footsteps approaching, he looks up, and for a second, you’re taken aback by the way his eyes seem darker, hazier than before.

"Chris," you say carefully, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don’t know," he mutters. "I feel… weird." His voice is lower, rougher than usual. His fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt again, like he can’t stand how warm he feels.

You swallow, already feeling guilty. "Chris, listen to me," you begin, watching his expression closely. "Jane gave you something."

He blinks slowly. "Something?"

"An aphrodisiac," you admit, wincing a little.

Chris processes that for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge of frustration behind it. "Well, that explains a lot." He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "I was starting to think it was just you."

Your breath catches in your throat at that, but you shake it off. "Come on," you say, stepping closer. "I’ll take you home."

To your surprise, Chris doesn’t argue. He opens his eyes, looking at you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Okay."

His easy agreement makes you pause. You expected him to insist he was fine or brush you off. But the way he’s looking at you—like he’s holding himself back, like he knows staying here will only make things worse—tells you everything you need to know.

You gently take his wrist, guiding him away from the hallway. "Let’s get you out of here," you say, keeping your voice steady.

You help Chris into the taxi, making sure he doesn’t stumble as he slides into the seat beside you. As soon as he settles, he tells the driver his address in a low, slightly slurred voice.

The moment the car starts moving, Chris lets out a heavy sigh and slumps against you, his head resting on your shoulder. You tense at the unexpected weight, but before you can say anything, he shifts even closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

"Mm," he hums, cutting you off. "You smell good." His voice is muffled, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat, and you fight the urge to push him away—not because you don’t like it, but because you do.

"You’re really out of it, huh?" you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady.

Chris doesn’t answer, just lets out a small, contented sigh as he burrows closer. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, his scent—a mix of cologne and something inherently him—making your head spin.

The driver doesn’t seem to care about the scene unfolding in his backseat, but you can feel your face heating up as Chris stays glued to your side for the entire ride. Every few moments, he shifts slightly, his nose brushing your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard and stare out the window, counting the streetlights as they pass, praying you’ll get to his place soon before you do something reckless—like lean into him instead of away.

-

When the taxi pulls up to Chris’s building, you pay the fare and help him out of the car. He stumbles slightly, and you quickly grab his arm, steadying him.

“Alright, let’s get you inside,” you say, guiding him toward the entrance.

Chris doesn’t argue, just hums in acknowledgment as you lead him through the lobby to the elevator. When the doors slide open, you help him inside, pressing the button for his floor. As soon as the doors close, Chris leans into you again, his arms lazily wrapping around your waist.

“Mmh...” he hums, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “You’re warm.”

You let out a breath, trying to ignore the way his touch sends a strange flutter through your chest. “You’re really affectionate when you’re drunk,” you comment, keeping your voice light.

He chuckles softly against your skin. “Maybe,” he admits, his grip tightening slightly. “But I like holding you.”

You suddenly turn quiet and you’re grateful when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at his floor.

Chris groans dramatically but lets you guide him out of the elevator, his arm still draped around you as you make your way to his apartment. He fumbles with his keys, and after a few tries, he finally gets the door open. You help him inside, steadying him as he kicks off his shoes.

Just as you’re about to step back and say your goodbyes, his grip tightens around your wrist, keeping you in place. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with something deeper than just intoxication.

You shake your head gently. “Chris, I'd better go—”

But he steps closer, his hands sliding to your waist, his touch warm even through your clothes. “Please, stay,” he coaxes, his voice like a slow pull, dragging you toward him. “Stay with me tonight.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with another excuse, his lips press against yours. Soft at first, like he’s waiting for you to push him away—but you don’t. You should.

You try to remind yourself that he’s been drinking, that Jane did something completely reckless, but when he deepens the kiss, his fingers splaying against the small of your back, your resolve begins to slip. You press your hands against his chest, intending to push him away—but instead, your fingers curl against the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him.

Chris hums against your lips, sensing your resistance fading. He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips move against his. And the more he kisses you, the more you realize… you don’t want to resist him at all.

The heat between you grows as he kisses you harder, his hands firm on your waist as he pulls you flush against him and before you can even process it, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you up onto the nearest surface—his dining table. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips are relentless, moving from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck. You tilt your head back, granting him more access as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his breath hot against you.

His fingers skim the hem of your blouse before slipping underneath, palms grazing your bare skin. Then, with a smooth motion, he pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. His lips return to you immediately, trailing along your shoulder, pressing heated kisses against every inch of exposed skin.

You sigh at the sensation, your hands gripping his shoulders as he buries his face against your collarbone, his breath uneven, his body pressed firm between your legs. Your hands move to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as you undo them one by one. But before you can get through them all, Chris huffs impatiently and shrugs the shirt off himself, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

The moment it’s gone, his lips crash onto yours again, urgent and hungry. His hands grip your waist as he presses himself against you, his hips rolling forward in slow, deliberate movements. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you can feel his cock, hard and insistent, the friction making your breath hitch.

He groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you steady, his movements controlled but desperate. Your hands roam over his bare chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as you gasp into his mouth.

Chris pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and ragged. "...Want you so much," he murmurs, his hips still grinding into you with slow, teasing movements, making it clear just how much he wants you.

A moment later, his grip tightens on you as he lifts you from the table with ease, his strong arms holding you close against his bare chest. His lips never stray far, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

When he reaches the bedroom, he carefully lays you down on the bed, his body following yours as he settles on top of you. His weight is comforting, his warmth seeping into your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, languid kiss.

His hands roam over your body, caressing, exploring, as his kisses become slower, more indulgent. The heat between you builds with every movement, every press of his body against yours. But just as his hands begin to wander lower, you pull away slightly, breathless.

“Chris,” you murmur, voice soft but firm.

He hums against your lips, eyes dark with need as he gazes down at you.

“The condom,” you remind him, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “It’s in my bag.”

He exhales a short, amused laugh and then drops his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You really came prepared, huh?” he teases, his voice husky.

Your bag in his hand as he returns to bed and his eyes flicker toward you as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything as he sets the bag down on the bed, fingers expertly rummaging through its contents until he pulls out the box of condoms. With a small smirk, he places it on the bedside table, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, he straightens, standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours as his hands move to the waistband of his pants. His fingers make quick work of the button and zipper before he pushes them down, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them. The last remaining piece of fabric soon follows, leaving him bare before you.

You sit up slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of him—his toned body, his firm stance, the way he watches you with dark, expectant eyes. There’s something about the way he stands there, unashamed, that makes your skin heat under his gaze.

Not wanting to be the only one still clothed, you slowly peel off the remaining fabric on your body. Your movements are unhurried, teasing almost, as you slide your underwear down your legs and toss it aside. You see the way Chris’s eyes trace every inch of newly exposed skin, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

For a moment, the two of you simply take each other in, the air between you thick with anticipation. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet hum of desire, crackling like electricity in the space between you.

Chris picks up a condom before crawling over to you, his eyes fixed on yours as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss against your lips. His warmth surrounds you almost immediately.

You take the condom from his hand, meeting his gaze as you offer, “Let me.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips, and he nods, settling himself against the headboard. He shifts, leaning back comfortably, watching as you move onto his lap, your back resting against his chest. His hands skim over your arms, tracing light patterns on your skin as you tear open the packet.

As you roll the condom down his length, your touch is slow, deliberate. You can feel the way his body reacts beneath you, the quiet intake of breath, the way his muscles tense ever so slightly. His hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin as if grounding himself.

Chris gently grabs your chin before turning your face toward him. His lips find yours again, the kiss deep, lingering. His hands glide over your body until they settle on the softness of your breasts, palming them and using his fingers to tease your already erected nipples.

In return, your hand wrapped around his cock, moving in slow, measured strokes, feeling the way Chris tenses beneath you. His breath grows heavier against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. His restraint is evident, the way he lets you take your time, but you can feel the subtle tremor in his grip, the quiet urgency simmering just beneath the surface.

Tilting your hips, you guide his cock into your entrance and once the crest is pushed inside, you ease yourself down onto him, taking him in and taking him in inches more until you can’t take it. Your breath stutters as you adjust to the feeling, your body molding against his as you rest in his lap, fully connected.

A soft gasp leaves your lips, muffled by the way he captures your mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. His hand trails up, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles. His other hand finds its way between your legs, fingers circling on your clit in a way that makes you shudder. He continues in slow, teasing movements, pressing and circling on your clit, making you instinctively arching into his touch. The sensations are overwhelming, his touch purposeful and knowing, driving you higher with every stroke.

Chris groans at the way you clench around him. "You're so sensitive," he murmurs against your ear, his voice husky with restraint.

Your hands grip onto his forearm, searching for something to ground yourself, but the pleasure only intensifies. You squirm in his lap, your movements making him hiss as he digs his fingers into your skin, holding you still.

"You're making this hard for me," he breathes out with a strained chuckle, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. "You feel too good."

His groans grow louder as he feels the way you pulse and tighten around him, your body reacting so intensely to his touch. His fingers continue their delightful assault, drawing out every shudder, every whimper, until the pleasure overwhelms you completely.

A breathless cry escapes your lips as the tension snaps, your body trembling against his hand. Chris holds you close, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your neck, as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

The way you squeeze around him has him teetering on the edge, his breathing ragged, his grip tightening on your waist. “Shit,” he mutters, his voice strained. His hands grasp at you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin, sucking and biting lightly, lost in the sensation as his own climax rushes through him. A deep, low groan rumbles against your throat as he finally lets go, his body shuddering with release.

You turn your head slightly, finding his lips with yours and kissing him deeply. He hums against your mouth, his hands still roaming your body, his touch warm and firm. Your bodies remain tangled in the sheets, heat still lingering between you as your lips move together in slow, lazy kisses. Chris runs his fingers along your bare skin, tracing patterns as if memorizing every inch of you. His kisses deepen, his tongue teasing against yours, and you sigh into his mouth, already feeling the slow burn reigniting between you.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze heavy-lidded and full of something almost reverent as he reaches for a new condom. Sitting up against the headboard, he rolls it on with practiced ease before shifting back between your legs, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down to kiss you again.

This time, he takes his time, positioning himself carefully. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he pushes his cock into you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. His breath catches, a low groan escaping him as he fills you, enjoying the way your body welcomes him.

"Always perfect for me," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours as he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to the sensation. His hands find yours, fingers lacing together as he begins to move, each thrust measured, purposeful, as if he wants to make this last as long as possible.

Chris intently watches every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands hold you firmly but gently, grounding you as he sinks deeper into your warmth, pausing when he feels resistance. His breath is heavy, voice low and husky as he murmurs, "Is it okay if I go deeper?"

You nod, your fingers tightening against his shoulders in silent encouragement. "I can take it," you assure him, your voice breathless.

He exhales shakily, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" Then, with measured control, he pushes his swollen cock another inch into you, groaning at the way your body tightens around him.

"You feel too good," he rasps, his grip on you firm yet careful, his entire body tensed with restraint.

A shuddering moan escapes you as your back arches slightly. The stretch is intense, but the pleasure rolling through you drowns out everything else. "A little more," you whisper.

Chris hesitates, his dark eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?"

You nod, biting your lip, and he swallows hard before easing the rest of himself inside you, slow and deliberate, until there’s nothing left between you. He exhales sharply, looking down where his big cock is fully disappeared in your little cunt, the sight alone making him groan. "It’s all in now," he murmurs, his voice full of awe. His hands stroke your sides soothingly, his lips brushing over your cheek. "You took me so well."

The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body against yours, the deep pressure—it all builds too fast, too intensely. A wave of pleasure crashes over you before you can even brace yourself, pulling a cry from your lips as your body tightens and trembles around him. It’s too much, too consuming, and the last thing you hear is Chris’s voice calling your name before everything fades into darkness.

-

✨ The fourth & final chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page ✨

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[taintandviolent]

Turbo Lover ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: After getting fed up with Jason Carver and his gross attitude, reader decides to take him up on a dare. That dare, is kissing Eddie Munson on the mouth. Something she's been longing to do since she arrived in Hawkins.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.5K | female reader, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), fingering, handjobs.

a/n: started writing this back in *checks watch* july of 2022....... ahem. finished writing this to turbo lover by judas priest, if you wanna listen! just felt like an eddie song to me, don't ask for clarification. this could possibly be a multi-parter, haven't decided yet. my first (technically) eddie fic...... do not come for my throat, thanks. not beta-read, yada yada yada. divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

“Oh, choke on it, Jason.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Mrs. Cowan for a replacement lab partner.”

Rolling your eyes, you resist the urge to fling your forkful of corn at him. “Hah! Please do. I’d rather stick my tongue down Eddie Munson’s throat and spend the weekend with mono than spend another blissful second trying to watch you figure out anatomy, dipshit.”

“Go do it then. I dare you.” Jason barks, nostrils flaring. He was going to call your bluff. There was no way that you were going to go over to that weird satanist’s table. Being more of a rocker, you weren’t posh and cute like Chrissy was, but you still had boundaries. And a good head on your shoulders. He knew you did. He hoped you did.

“Fine,” you snap, slamming both palms onto the table. “I hope you fail your science project.” Jason’s confident expression falls. Your rings scrape against the plastic as you push yourself up. With more determination than you’d had the entire semester, you swing both your legs over the bench and head for Eddie’s table, navigating around the other tables. The rest of his little dungeon buddies are already gawking at you as they’d been paying attention to the shouting. Confidently, you take a running leap up onto the table, and stomp your way down its length like a soldier marching towards enemy fire. The target, Eddie Munson, was staring at you with wide eyes and brows lifted.

“Outta my way.” The pointed tip of your boot sends an empty lunch tray flying off the table and clattering onto the floor.

“Hey, Munson!” You drop down onto your haunches, and now, eye-level with him, grab his face and pull it towards you, crushing your lips against his. The roll he’s holding drops from his grasp, falling lifelessly onto his tray. As soon as his plush lips press into yours, giving way to your tugging, your shoulders relax, melting into the kiss. You had been waiting for an excuse to get his attention since you’d sat down in your first class at Hawkins High, daydreaming about talking to him. You’d spent many a class period staring at Eddie’s lips, so you expected the kiss would be enjoyable… but not like this.

At first, both of your lips were closed, smushed together in the hurriedness of the moment, but when you exhale and his lips part, your tongue delves into his mouth, sweeping along his. To your surprise, he reciprocates the action, and presses his chin up into yours, asserting a new sort of need. Despondent groans and laughs of shock pepper the cafeteria around you, and from behind you, came the confusion of the other residents of the table. As you take Eddie Munson in literal mouthfuls, you felt something shift in him, and the noise started to fade away. You tilt your head, and push deeper into the kiss.

“Who the hell is she?” One of the boys asks, clearly as confused as everyone else was.

You shudder against him, feeling a burning heat between your legs, and immediately pull away to stand up, turning to face the far table. Jason was staring at you, looking more embarrassed than disgusted, but he did well hiding it with his scholarship scowl. You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, drawing your — Eddie’s— the mutual saliva across your cheek. Triumphantly, you hold your arms out, daring the blonde haired moron to say anything further. He doesn’t. 

With a proud smirk on your face, you pivot back to Eddie, lips parted to speak, maybe to apologize to him for being so forward. All that comes out though, is the jarring echo of the lunch bell as it rings loudly through the cafeteria. You take that as an excuse to get out of the situation, and step down onto the bench between two of his little minions, then onto the floor. With your heart pounding in your chest like a drum, you make a beeline for the lockers. You’re practically running down the halls, and for what? To get away from Eddie? The guy you had just swapped spit with? And liked it?  

After shaking his head free of the shock, Eddie hurriedly bins his lunch and takes off after you, leaving the boys to their own devices. He was panting quietly once he’d finally caught up to you. “Hey, just wait a minute, okay?”

You say nothing, and keep digging in your locker for a book you knew wasn’t there. You’d left it at home, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

“Come on, you can’t just plant something like that on me and run away, man.” You hear a thump against the locker next to you, and out of the corner of your eye, see him leaning his shoulder into it. You huff and keep digging.

“You really think I’d give you mono?” He asks, sounding hurt.

Forcing your breath out through your teeth, you stop digging, and lean back to look at him. Those puppy eyes…

“No,” you say, feeling bad that he even heard that to begin with. You shut the locker. “I don’t. But the point was that I’d rather suffer with y— errr suffer any sort of wicked sickness than be even remotely happy around him.”

“So… why’d you stop? Was it that bad?”

“No, actually. It wasn’t. I stopped because I… um, the bell was going to ring.” That was a lie. You stopped because your beating heart had sunk between your legs. Kissing him was a massive turn-on, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“That it did…” he starts, absentmindedly playing with a strand of his own hair. “And now we’re late.”

You narrow your eyes. His brows flick upwards and the tip of his tongue presses pointedly into his lower lip, a little glimmer of mischief in his expression. Ready to prove him wrong, your eyes dart to the clock above the lockers, the visual causing you to curse under your breath. You hadn’t even heard the second bell, but he was right. Three minutes past. And Mr. Jenkins? Didn’t let anyone in after the bell rang. Fucker. Eddie shimmies closer, his soft, brown eyes falling to your lips. He was smiling, watching you and looking like he was daydreaming about having those soft lips against his again. 

“You wanna’... maybe show me what else you’d rather be doing than spending your time with brainless Ken dolls?”

You considered the offer for a moment. You had been pining after him since your first English class with him, and now… your split decision had thrown open the door to opportunity. When you’d tried to close it, Eddie had put his dirty white Reebok right in the way.

“Screw it, let’s go.” 

“Yeah?” He confirms, excited.

“Yeah.” 

Eddie wastes no time, taking hold of your hand as he passes you, towing you in the direction of the doors and out into the parking lot. 

How did you end up here? In retrospect; you’d probably have to thank Jason for pissing you off that day, in that particular way that really drove you over the edge. Because if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been crawling into the back of Eddie Munson’s van while he stood behind you, looking at the gentle curve of your ass.

After throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder, making sure there weren’t any prying eyes watching the two of you, Eddie follows you inside and pulls the door shut behind him, the metal squeaking loudly. You sit down and cross your legs, resting against the interior wall. The inside of his van is warm, having baked in the sun all afternoon. Cassette tapes litter the floor behind the seats, and a Judas Priest shirt hangs over the headrest of the passenger seat. A few undisclosed cables are wadded up in the corner, you assume they were musical in nature. He seemed like the type. It’s exactly what you’d pictured his van to look like. 

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry about the… mess.” 

You chuckle, looking brightly at him. “I don’t care. Plus, Judas Priest is rad. That song that came out last month… Turbo Lover? Gets stuck in my head all the time.” 

Delighted by this reaction, Eddie knee-walks over to you, that same mischievous smile on his face as before. He leans down, exhaling over your lips before looking into your eyes with a burning curiosity.

“Why were you sitting at his table anyway? You don’t seem like his type.” 

“His type? Gah, gross. No. We’re lab partners. Regrettably. Turns out, he’s kind of a massive dolt when it comes to science.” You pause and heave a sigh, your breath rushing out over his cheeks. He blinks. “I really don’t want to talk about Jason right now, Eddie.” 

“Oh yeah, totally.” With that, his hand snaps to your jaw, where he holds it gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You wanna’ makeout or something?” 

You can’t help but laugh, unsure if it’s because of the butterflies in your stomach, or because he’s kind of a dork. Smooth and very charming, but a dork all the same. You chalk it up to a combination of both and lean forward until the tips of your noses touch. “Yeah, Eddie, I wanna’ makeout. Again.”

This time, Eddie is the one to initiate the kiss. He presses his lips against yours softly a few times, your lips sticking together each time he pulls away. Relishing in the taste of you, he hums into the kiss, pressing himself closer to you. After a few moments, he breaks the kiss to readjust his position. The break is too long, it seems, because before you know it, he’s back to leaning over you and craning his neck down to kiss you from above. His hands drop to find your neck, his thumb trailing down over the front of it while the others stay tenderly wrapped around the side, squeezing slightly. The motion sends a deep shiver down your spine, reigniting the embers of your arousal. Eddie laughed breathily into the kiss. 

“Quite the reaction…” he murmurs over your lips.

“Oh, shuttup.” Your hand makes a fist in his shirt, pulling him back onto you. “Keep kissing me.” 

“As you wish.” He says dreamily, with lust woozying his speech. His voice is slightly deeper now, laced with hunger, and you whimper, pressing your knees together. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices this, and moves his free hand to your kneecaps, wriggling in between them to separate them. They fall apart with no resistance, and again, Eddie’s chuckle vibrates against your lips, sending a tickling wave over them. Your willingness almost embarrasses you, but when Eddie says nothing, only moves to slot himself in between your thighs, you realize that he’s into it. 

“No need to be shy here, princess. Just you and me.”

Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers splaying out over his back. “God, you’re cute.” 

“So are you.” 

“No, you’re really cute.” 

Eddie pulls away, furrowing his brow as if he’s confused. He is – he’s confused on whether or not you realize he thinks you’re a catch, too. You sense the confusion, and roll your hips up against his. His breath hitches in his throat, eyeing you pleadingly. It’s a warning – you can’t do things like that lest he lose control.  

“Uuughh,” you moan. “I don’t know why it took me this long to kiss you.” 

“Me neither.” 

He presses his lips against yours again, his tongue slipping past the two plush pillows, tasting the waxiness of your lipstick. Swiping his tongue along yours, he deepened the kiss, enticing you to join in a painfully erotic dance of spit-swapping. He exhales hotly over your mouth and grinds his hips against yours, groaning softly into your mouth. You grind back, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You can feel what you’re doing to him; it was currently pressed against your inner thigh. 

You reach down between your bodies, finding the warm bulge in the front of his black jeans and give him a soft squeeze. The sudden contact makes him lurch forward, crushing himself somehow further against you. He can’t get any closer to you without melting into your body which, in truth, makes him crazy. He makes a sound — something between a whine and a gasp — and ruts his hips against your center. The pressure has you reeling, pressing your back against the inside of the van. 

“Eddie, fuck…” 

“Yeah,” he echoes your sentiment, nodding his head so enthusiastically that his soft brown hair flutters. 

“Can I…?” 

He grins. “You can if I can. It’s only fair.” 

You let your legs fall farther apart, granting him access. With a newfound urgency, you quickly yank on his waistband, pull the silver button from its slit and maneuver your hand inside the elastic of his boxers. On the way down, you rake your fingers through the thatch of brown hair above his cock. Eddie responds by tightening his grip on your neck instinctively. The tips of your fingers find the searing hot head of his cock, precum leaking from the slit. With an audible mmmm, you swipe your thumb over it, smearing around the underside of the tip. Eddie hisses through his teeth, rutting his hips over and over again – forcing you to jerk him off a little. The tip slides through your fist, slippery and warm and you can’t help but let out a satisfied sound. 

“Wow,” you breathe, in awe. You weren’t sure what you expected, but feeling a cock this heavy wasn’t on the menu. You’d been with a few metalheads before, and they were all average at best. You thought he’d follow suit. Not heavy in your hand. But he is. God, he is. Eddie licks hungrily at your mouth before running his tongue along your bottom lip and taking it between his teeth, biting down slightly. You groan, pressing your head back against the wall. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you say, breathlessly before squeezing his cock again. It twitches in your grip, hardening just a little bit further. You can feel the tension in his lower abdomen every time you slip your hand deeper into his boxers, tugging at his cock as you slide back up. 

His hands drop from your neck to your waist to your hips, his thumb making circles on the strip of exposed stomach flesh between your black leather skirt and your shirt. One hand sinks lower,  moving from your hip to your leg, sliding against the pillowy, cream soft flesh of your inner thigh.  It slides up your skirt, pressing against the nylons, and grazing your cunt from the outside. Inside his jeans, your hand starts to go slack, but Eddie quickly snaps you back to attention.

“I’m gonna’ need you to stay focused, baby. Don’t stop.”  

“S-sorry.” You pick up the pace, stroking his cock again at a much steadier speed. He lets out a soft groan, the feeling of your hand gently stroking his dick sending him into a haze of pleasure. But, he, too, has to focus. 

Eddie gets back to work, carefully undoing the zipper on the side of your skirt. He tugs, shimmying the skirt down over your hips and continues pulling until he pauses to pull your legs from the black circle, tossing it towards the van doors. Now, the only thing between him and your cunt is the fabric of your tights and your white satin underwear. You’re painfully aware of this fact and so is Eddie – the look on his face says it all. He sweeps you into another kiss. 

It’s almost as if he was using the kiss as a distraction from the adept way he’s rolling your nylons off your hips and down your thighs. You almost don’t feel it and don’t notice until he’s got them down around your ankles. 

“May I?” 

“May you? What is this –” You asked, trying to tease him, but your voice is so high pitched, so feathery with lust, that it just sounds ridiculous. You huff and nod, giving him whatever permission he felt he needed. 

His middle finger traces the visible slit in your underwear and embarrassingly, your whole body responds. From your legs snapping shut on his hand to the utterly humiliating moan that tumbled off your lips, there’s no coming back from that reaction. Eddie laughs quietly, almost devilishly and you relax your legs again. 

“Sorry, I’ve… I’ve been…. Um…” 

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.”

“Oh god, fuck… I’ve kinda’ sorta’ had a thing for you since English with M–”

“Mrs. Lawrence? Last semester.” 

Your mouth hung slack. He knew? 

“You really thought you’d walk in, looking the way you do, and I wouldn’t remember?” 

Your stomach tightens underneath your shirt; butterflies are erupting beneath the skin. Any further jabs to your heart and they actually might rupture through your ribcage.

His finger sweeps along your center again, before hooking around the scalloped edge of the panties and pulling them down over the curve of your hip. A clear, slick strand stretches between your cunt and the fabric before snapping. Eddie growls, a deeply pleased sound erupting from his throat. 

Two fingers part your folds, sweeping tantalizingly at the underside of your clit before sliding down to your entrance. He prods the opening with his middle first, making tiny circles and spreading your arousal around your cunt. Finally, he inserts both fingers, sinking them to the knuckle. Moving his arm, you watch as the bats literally fly back and forth and let out a small, breathy laugh. The way he was working you felt so good, your hand instinctively tightened around his cock. Eddie shuffled closer, his knee in front of your cunt. Before you have time to react, Eddie abruptly takes hold of your left hand and brings it above your head, holding it tight against the wall of his van, his rings pressing into your fingers. Your digits tangle with his and he flays them open.

He continues thrusting his fingers in and out, watching your every move. You looked up and whined loudly; the sight of your smaller hand entangled with his larger one was divine, and sent another shockwave through your core. The coil in your stomach wound tighter, and tighter. Your body flushed with heat, and you were suddenly wishing you were naked underneath him. Eddie suddenly leans over you, pressing the side of his face against yours. 

“I’m your turbo lover…” He sings quietly in your ear, his tone honeyed and low, absolutely dripping with sex appeal. Your eyes roll back in your head, your jaw falling open. “...tell me there’s no other…” 

“Oh fuck, Eddie, oh my god-!”

At the singing, your needy pussy clenched around his digits, shivering violently. His thumb moves to your swollen, tender clit, rubbing it back and forth expertly. The coil snaps, and you moan loudly, banging your head against the wall a few times. 

“OH MY GOD!” 

You shouldn’t have found it so hot, but the way he sung the lyrics into your ear sent a wave of electricity through your entire body. As the sound of your moans reach his ears, Eddie groans and bucks his hips rhythmically, pumping himself closer to the edge of orgasm. 

After a few more pumps from you, his back arches and he groans your name – another surprise that he knows that – as his hot, sticky release coats your fingers as wave after wave of pleasure surges through him. The flushed, pink tip was exposed enough that when he does finally lose it, the first spurts of cum find their way onto your shirt. He doesn’t notice right away, still thrusting his hips into your loose fist. Finally, he brings his head forward to look at you again. His chest is heaving, panting from the exertion, and his eyes trail from your face down to your shirt. The wanton look is replaced with one of horror. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry! Here uh,” Eddie paused, stretching over to yank the shirt from the seat. “Wear this. I promise it’s clean. Decently… uh… clean.” 

You didn’t care if it wasn’t. The fact that he had given you his shirt because he accidentally came on yours was single handedly the cutest thing you’d ever had a guy do for you. You withdrew your hand from his boxers, and he let go of your other hand. Quickly, you pulled your shirt over your head and wadded it up in a ball, setting it next to you. His shirt was baggy, but you quickly remedy that by tying the front in a knot. The way that Eddie’s eyes skirted over your breasts wasn’t lost on you. You smirk. 

“Think Mr. Jenkins noticed we were both gone?” He asks as you fluff your hair. 

“Probably. F’s for both of us.” 

Eddie smiles.

You look down at the shirt, trying to talk your blushing cheeks down. “I’ll give this back to you. Remind me.” 

“Sure,” he says, not fully convinced he wants it back. He likes the idea of you wearing his shirt around school. A dirty little reminder of what occurred. “You should come to one of our meetings.” 

“Meetings?” You ask, quirking a brow. 

“Yeah,” he says, plucking his shirt. Your eyes drift down to the red, snarling demon on his chest. The words Hellfire Club crown the demon, decorated with medieval looking weapons.

“Right, right. Dungeons and Dragons… I’ve never played it.”

“I’ll teach you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

[PART TWO HERE]

[cavegirlpoems]

The problem with the 'play another game that isn't D&D' thing is that every time it comes around, inevitably, somebody says something to the effect of: "So what's the game should I play instead of it" and this just makes me want to slam my head into the floor in frustration because it totally misses the point. There is not, and cannot be, a single game that I can cheerfully reccomend blind to everybody to replace D&D as their forever game. This is for two reasons: 1) Different players (which includes GMs) have different tastes. People look for different levels of complexity, levels of narrative control, levels of competitiveness, amounts of customisability, genres, tones, settings, campaign-lengths, degrees of generic or specificness, and required arts-and-crafts projects. Without knowing somebody's specific tastes - which they might not even really be sure of themselves if all they know is D&D - you can't reccomend them a game that will suit those tastes, because taste is subjective. 2) you don't actually want a single forever game that you play to the exclusion of all else. People will want a change of pace, or to explore different ideas, or the excitement of novelty. Instead of simply having 'my game that I play', you want to pick the game that works best for what you want to do today. "Oh, what game should I swap in to replace D&D?" is a fucking assinine question. It's like asking "you're into music, what song should I listen to?" My man I don't know you, and even if I did even the best song is gonna suck after the 500th repetition if its all you listen to.

[v1sexual]

dive | vi, arcane

drummer & hockey player! vi x reader

based on this request

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol, loser lesbians, and author having no hockey knowledge

preface: a quick little blurb (its actually not quick and little) on how you and vi met.

note: okay omg i loved this idea sm thank u anon for this request! i do apologize if this is ass LMAO like all of my fics this was written at around 3am-7am 😔 anyways, should i make this into like a little series or smth also could not think of a title but i was listening to “dive” by ed sheeran while writing this so here we are.

you first met drummer and hockey player vi! during a year-end party on your freshman year of college. it was at a pub called “the last drop” that the student’s from zaun university claimed as theirs. hosting parties, celebrations, wins, and every little victory that they had during the school year at the said pub.

the last dropped was packed. a sea of sweaty bodies, filled every nook and cranny of the place.

you were getting antsy, tucked away in the corner of the booth you and your friends were sitting. as the night dragged on, one by one your friends left the table. some went to go get drinks, some went to socialize, and some went to go dance.

taking that as a sign to leave, you fished your phone from the back pocket of your jeans to text the group chat that you were heading home. but then the loud music stopped, and someone spoke into a mic.

you looked up from your phone, your gaze snapping to the massive stage at the other side of the dance floor. powder, another freshman whom you knew from one of your classes, spoke into the mic. she introduced their band, arcane, and that’s when you saw her.

dark pink hair cut short, she was rocking a black tank top showing her arms as the muscle flexed as she gripped her drumsticks.

“— and lastly we have my older sister vi playing the drums! you probably already knew her she’s pretty popular with the ladies, AND she’s single! but she’s pretty fucking gay though sorry boys.”

you zoned out after that, watching as the band started to play their rendition of a popular song that you couldn’t care less about. the sea of people blended in the background, you kept your eyes on vi watching her every movement in awe. the way she played kept you captivated you swore you could feel every beat of her drums, and then her eyes meets yours.

then she winked at you, her lips stretching into a smile as your heart stuttered against your chest. just as you were about to smile back your best-friend crashed next to you, her body slumping down against your side as she begged you to take her home. sighing, you obliged. you walked out the door supporting your friend’s body weight as much as you can and never looked back.

˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ ⋆ﾟ

weeks have passed and you’re back home, you still think about her though. you think about her a lot. you followed arcane’s official instagram account but never followed the members officially, except for powder of course since you two exchanged accounts when paired up for a project.

having nothing better to do, you decided to stalk the band’s instagram. watching reels of them doing song covers, playing pranks on each other, snippets of their original songs, etc.

just as you were about to doze off your door slammed open.

“(name)!!” your five year old sister, andie, shouts. “can you pleaseeee take me to hockey camp?”

you laughed, taking in the younger girl’s appearance. she was wearing full-on hockey gear, her hair in two braid, and she was clutching a duffel bag twice her size in one hand while the other held a hockey stick (that was seconds away from slipping and falling).

you stood up, taking the duffel bag from her, “i thought mom was taking you.”

“she was but i wanted you to go with me,” she shrugged and used her free hand to hold yours. “please?”

you swore your heart melted on sight. you loved your younger sister more than everything in the world, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger from the moment she was born. at first your parents were actually worried at the fifteen year age gap that you and andie had, but fortunately they were worried for nothing when you and your sister became attached to the hip.

“let me know how it goes okay?” your mom says as she kissed the two of you goodbye.

the drive to the rink was fast, only fifteen minutes. it honestly would have been only ten but andie pleaded for you to stop by your favorite café for a pastry and some strawberry lemonade, she was all pouty and batting her eyelashes so who were you to say no. when you arrived, you carried her duffel bag and hockey stick as she held on to the almost empty cup of strawberry lemonade.

andie led you to the locker rooms when she met up with her friends, they were such a cute bunch and you couldn’t help but snap a picture to send to your mom.

“can you help me put my skates on please?” andie asks, her small fingers tugging on your sweatshirt.

“of course you little gremlin,” you grinned and picked her up, setting her down on one of the benches. when you finished, andie hopped down the bench and waddled as she grabbed her hockey stick.

before you let her walk off, you grabbed her helmet and secured it onto her head. she thanked you with a hug then proceeds to hold your hand, dragging you out the locker room and into the rink.

“can you come with me (name)? im really nervous,” she whispered.

you nodded. “of course i will bub, plus i have to talk to your coaches.” andie cheers and hugs your leg as the two of you walked to the rink.

the rink was smaller than you remembered, you swore that it was at least two times bigger two years ago during your last figure skating competition. a smile forms on your lips as old memories began to resurface, if only you didn’t injure yourself then you would have probably still be skating.

“(name)! oh my god what’re you doing here?”

powder’s familiar voice brings you back to the present as she stood up from one of the seats.

“hey pow,” you greeted as she pulled you in for a hug. andie looks away shyly, her small frame hugged your leg as she hid behind you.

“aww, who’s this?” powder asked as she crouched down to andie’s height. your sister peeked at her then buries her face on your leg.

“this is andie, my younger sister.” you said. “say hi to powder ands.” andie detaches herself from your leg and whispered a small “hey”, before running off (more like waddling) when one of her friends called out to her.

you watched as your sister and her friend goes inside the rink with the help of one of her teammate’s parents. once she’s happily skating across the rink, you turned back to powder who dragged you to one of the seats.

the two of you engaged in small talk, asking how each other’s summer were going, the band, etc.

“so,” you started. “why are you here?”

“my sister vi is here! she’s helping coach the kids as a summer job.”

you short-circuited then turned your head to the side of the rink were the coaches are, then lo and behold there she is. violet lanes. she wore a black long sleeve compression shirt, white breezers, and her hair was in a low-bun. she held a clipboard, occasionally writing on it as she talked to the huddle of parents surrounding her.

while you were busy staring at vi, you don’t notice powder as her lips turn up into a shit-eating grin clearly noticing that you’re focus was on something else entirely.

“you should talk to her,” she says casually pulling you away from your thoughts.

“uhm what? no? why would i?” you rambled.

powder laughs at you, clearly entertained as you mutter under your breath. “well for starters she’ll need to talk you about practice schedules, you or your parent’s contact info,”

you let out a small “oh” before sinking back into your chair, holding your head in your hands embarrassed. this only makes powder laugh harder, the blue haired girl clutching her stomach and wiping away an invisible tear.

“oh god you have a crush on my sister!” she exclaims, you only groaned in response.

powder teases you for a good couple of minutes before settling down next to you.

“you know,” she starts. “you’re gonna have to actually talk to her right?”

“yeah i know,” you nodded.

powder hums. “want me to go with you? i can introduce you first, help break the ice?”

“huh, that’s actually not a bad idea.” you tell her. she then stands and pulled you up with her, powder link her arm with yours as she lead you to where vi was.

violet lets out a sigh of relief as the last parent walks off, practice hasn’t even started yet and she was already this tired from just talking to a whole crowd of anxious parents. she checks her clipboard again, eyes flicking through the names of the kids she’ll be coaching today.

“heyyy,” she heard powder call out. vi chose to ignore her sister and continued to check her clipboard, she then stumbles upon a name.

andie (last name).

vi knew that the kid was here, one of the other parent’s mentioned how sweet andie’s older sister was for always showing up to her extracurriculars especially when she was away for university and how she’d always drive the kid around no matter what.

“yo vi?” powder says but this time vi’s younger sister flicks the clipboard she held.

she groans, annoyed at her sister’s antics. “can you not? im busy pow, there’s this kid and i haven’t talked to her guardian yet and i can’t start without—“ your eyes meet and vi stopped talking, from that moment forward she knew she was a goner. she knew you, not personally of course, but she remembered that night from a couple of weeks ago when she first saw you at the last drop.

from the moment you entered her father’s pub, vi could not take her eyes off of you. she debated on wether or not to approach you but her nerves got the best of her so she stayed glued to her seat, pretending to listen to whatever her sister was saying.

“she doesn’t bite you know,” powder said pointing to your direction. “we were paired up for a project and she’s literally the sweetest person to ever exist, talk to her.”

“i don’t know,” vi shrugs and looked at her half empty glass, suddenly finding the half drunken liquor interesting. powder rolls her eyes and decided to talk to their other bandmates, leaving vi alone with her thoughts.

vi downs the rest of her liquor and decided to talk to you, but just as she was about to walk to where you were seated powder grabs her arm. “it’s showtime.” her sister says and violet tries her hardest not to pout as they walked backstage. she drowns the noise out as powder began talking into the mic, to introduce the band. during the time that they were playing she mostly kept her eyes closed or just looking at her drum set, focusing on hitting the right beats.

but then she looked at the crowd, eyes scanning the crowd for you. she wondered if you went home already or if you’ve left with someone or if you’re watching them perform, watching her perform. when vi finally spots you she felt her heart stutter when she found that you were already looking at her, then she winked at you. with a new found energy she played harder, eyes never leaving yours until she saw your friend (who was also powder’s friend) throw herself against you probably drunk out of her mind. vi didn’t take her eyes off you even when you helped steady your friend as the two of you attempted to leave the last drop.

vi thought about that night a lot, she wished she wasn’t such a pussy and approached you. but now you’re here, standing in front of her arms linked with her sister’s. vi opened her mouth and closed it, she didn’t know what to say.

“oh brother,” powder murmured under her breath. “vi this is (name), andie’s older sister.”

“huh?” vi responds which made powder roll her eyes for the millionth time.

“christ on a cracker, remember the kid whose guardian hasn’t talk to you yet? the one you were ranting about two minutes ago? well this is her. (name)’s her older sister and her guardian.”

vi let’s out a small “oh” which made you laugh a bit. “shit im sorry,” she tells you. “i’m just a bit distracted— nervous, i haven’t coached before.”

“oh don’t worry about it,” you smiled. “i’d be nervous too, kids are terrifying.”

as you and vi engaged in small talk, powder took that as a sign and quietly slipped away. she walked towards the side of the rink where ekko was rounding the kids up, she tapped on the glass and pointed to where you and vi were. ekko followed the direction where powder was pointing, he sent her a knowing smile and laughed.

“i didn’t know you play hockey?” you tell her, vi’s eyebrow twitched in amusement. “yeah im actually team captain of our uni’s hockey team.”

you looked at her, surprise and awe evident on your eyes. holy shit not only is she hot, ripped, tattooed, and a drummer, but she’s also the ding dang captain of your university’s hockey team? if you didn’t know you were gay you’d definitely know now.

“guess i’ll have to watch one of your games,” you shrugged. vi grins at you and nodded “guess you should.”

as the two of you talked the more comfortable you became with vi, “how do you manage that though? hockey, school, and the band?” you asked her to which she replied with a shrug.

“i don’t know either,”

you hummed in response as she glanced at her clipboard again. vi cleared her throat and began to discuss your sister’s practice schedule, safety concerns, gear, etc. you happily listened, nodding along and taking mental notes of important stuff you need to let your mom know when you get home.

vi finally looked up from her clipboard and smiled, “so yeah that’s pretty much it.” you replied with a nod.”

“will you be staying?” she asks you. “i mean uhm, are you going to wait for your sister?”

“yeah, im pretty much her chaperone so…” you replied with a smile, your gaze finding andie’s. your little sister waived at you, smiling from ear to ear as you waived back.

if vi wasn’t already smitten with you she definitely would be now as she watched the small exchange between you and your sister. vi has always been a family oriented person, she and her family were close (especially her and powder), and knowing that you were pretty much the same? you just got promoted from being a small crush to her literal ideal woman.

“so does that mean you’ll be dropping her off every practice?” she asks excitedly, which made you chuckle in response. “yeah,” you nodded. “our parents are pretty much swamped with work and my shifts are usually in the mornings sooo, yeah. i’ll be dropping her off and picking her up from practice.”

vi nodded, trying to act as normal as she can when in reality she’s mentally cheering. just as she was about to say something, ekko called out for her. and just like that vi remembered that she was actually supposed to be coaching and teaching the kids hockey.

“i need to help ekko out,” she says. “but uh— can i grab your number?”

“is this you shooting your shot at me or?” you joked. you swore vi’s cheeks became the same hue as her hair, she playfully rolled her eyes at you.

she huffed, “it’s for your sister’s contact information you dummy.”

“sure,” you replied, taking her pen and writing your number down next to your sister’s name in her clipboard.

vi smiles at you and began to head towards the rink, but just before she skated towards ekko and the kids she called out to you. “i lied, that was just me shooting your shot.”

you smiled at her, cheeks heating up. you watched as vi effortlessly skated, her posture and aura changing. watching her demonstrate how to play (with ekko’s help), sent butterflies to your stomach.

oh boy, you can’t wait to actually get to see her play.

note: this is literal ass im so sorry😔 i still hoped ya’ll enjoyed it though.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 1

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Notes: Descriptions of DA scenario, mentions of drug use

Part 2

You tried to go over every thing you did throughout your day that might've caused your boyfriend to be so upset but couldn't think of anything. Maybe it was because you didn't stay up to wait for him to get home last night, even though you gave him till midnight. Or maybe you left some dishes in the sink that he had to clean up.

Either way, his anger was inconsolable and you knew better than to even utter a word as he slammed the doors and walked around the house with a hard set scowl on his face. You just took shelter in the kitchen as you nervously cleaned out the fridge, tossing the expired condiments away.

"This house is always such a fucking mess! You spend at least half the day here, you'd think it would look spotless!"

You knew he wasn't really mad about the cleanliness. You deep cleaned the house every single day till it was shining, he was just projecting. You weren't sure whether to respond to his outburst or just let it go but didn't even have time to make a decision once he came walking into the kitchen. The hairs on the back of your neck raised and your face heated up in anxiety as he stood there staring at you.

That's when you noticed the all too familiar state he was in. Dilated pupils, rapid breathing, slight sweat forming around his brows. He was high.

"What are you doing, huh? Throwing shit away? He said, grabbing the box of leftovers you had saved from a few days ago. "What if I still wanted to eat this? Were you going to bother to ask me?"

"I- uh- it's from a few days ago. I didn't think-

"Exactly! You didn't think! Just fucking throwing away whatever you want!"

You weren't expecting the box of expired food to be thrown at you, hitting you square in the chest, sticky noodles getting in your hair and falling into your lap.

"This is my fucking house! My fucking food! You don't get to throw away anything unless I say you can!"

You had barely recovered from food being thrown at you, you didn't realize he made a moved in on you and grabbing your arm tightly, jerking you up to your feet and pushing you towards the other side of the kitchen, the momentum causing you to lose your footing and fall to the floor.

Your senses were kicking into overdrive as you scrambled to your feet just as he grabbed a jar of pickles and launched it in your direction. It shattered on the wall besides you and you felt the sharp pain of small glass pieces cutting your skin.

You had never seen him this out of control before. There was something behind his eyes that scared you more than normal and you knew you needed to get out of his path of blinding rage. You made a run towards the hallway, him chasing you close behind but you managed to close and lock the bathroom door just in time.

"Oh, you wanna play this game now? Ok."

Your breaths were heavy, so much adrenaline flowing through your veins it almost made you woozy. There was a moment of silence, making you think he had walked away but was completely mistaken once you watched the whole door shake at the impact as he attempted to break it down. Another slam and you saw small cracks forming in the middle of the only thing keeping you safe.

You made a split second decision to escape through the window, sliding it open and trying your best to undo the screen that didn't want to cooperate. Another slam.

You looked behind you at the battered door and knew it could only hold maybe one more before he was able to get through- so like a rat trapped in a corner, you began banging on the screen until it popped off, quickly pulling your body to climb out, scraping your hips on the ledge in the process.

The gravel floor did no favors for you as you landed awkwardly, but at this point you couldn't feel anything. Or at least your brain wasn't giving you any time to register the pain. Springing to your feet, you ran out to the front of the house, your first thought to take the car but realized the keys were inside.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing on his porch going through his mail, seemingly looking like he had just gotten home from somewhere. You had heard rumors from some of the neighbors that he worked for the government or something, giving you some hope.

You began running over to him, not daring to look back to see if your boyfriend was chasing you or not.

He has seen you coming over and immediately looked concerned, putting his mail back in the mailbox and practically catching you in his arms once you reached him.

"Please. Help me- my boyfriend. H-he's gonna kill me."

You were crying now, trying to form sentences when he asked you what happened but couldn't.

When you spotted your boyfriend walk out the front door of your house and look over in your direction, a bat in hand your heart stopped.

"Please. Please," you pleaded, hiding behind his tall frame and holding onto his quarter zip for dear life.

"Here, get inside," he said, opening his front door, the both of you entering as he walked over to his kitchen counter where a gun, badge and handcuffs were set. He grabbed the gun and cuffs, clipping both of them on his waist band and turning to you.

"Stay here."

You nodded obediently and watched him walked back out. He didn't close the door so you were able to watch everything from the moment your boyfriend began waving the bat around crazily towards your neighbor to him pulling out his gun and pointing it at him.

"Get down on the ground!"

For a second you thought your boyfriend wasn't going to listen as he stared at your neighbor with fury but seemed to be coherent enough to drop the bat and put his hands in the air, looking over at you.

"Just you wait, bitch. You'll get yours."

By now, everyone was either peeping through their windows or standing on the sidewalk, nosey to see what all the commotion was about as your neighbor pushed your boyfriend to the floor and handcuffed him.

It wasn't long before multiple cop cars showed up, taking over the scene. Your neighbor made his way over to you and offered you a hand, making you realize that you were sitting on the floor, frozen to the spot, hugging your legs.

"The officers are going to want a report but I want you checked out by the paramedics first."

You took his hand but relied all on him to pull you up as your legs felt like jello. The feeling of relief and sadness overtook you as you fell into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Instead of being pushed away and teased for it like you were used to, you got pulled in tighter and long strong arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in a warm protective embrace.

He let you cry like that for a little until you calmed down enough to walk with him outside to the ambulance that was waiting. He didn't leave as they had you climb inside and lay on the stretcher so one of the paramedics could clean up the small cuts around your arm caused by the glass jar.

"How long have you lived there?" he asked, from besides you on the bench. You hoped he didn't feel guilty for not catching the abuse sooner.

"Not very long. He's been there for years but I just moved in about a few months ago. I don't usually leave the house since I work from home so that's probably why you didn't see me too often," you answered, wincing as the antiseptic touched your raw skin.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hotchner....I'm actually busy at the moment but you can reach out to my Communications liason, Jennifer Jareau at the office....yes of course....goodbye."

"So you're names Hotchner?" you inquired, wanting to talk about something to keep your mind off the stinging pain.

"Aaron. Hotchners my last name."

"Nice to meet you Aaron. I'm Y/N," you greeted, offering your hand for a shake. He took it with a small smile and shook it gently.

"I wish it was under different circumstances but I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks to you. I appreciate you by the way. You handled the situation really well."

He did that half smile again and played with his hands, almost nervously.

"Well unfortunately I deal with a lot of high stress situations like that so it was almost second nature."

"Cop?" you prodded, wanting to know if there was any truth to the rumors.

"FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit to be specific."

He didn't go into anymore detail than that but that was more than enough for you. So he's an Federal Agent. You literally couldn't have picked a better neighbor to run to.

- - - -

After the paramedic was done cleaning you up and you gave your report to the officer, Aaron came over, hanging up the phone.

"I know the house is technically not yours but he won't be back anytime soon and I'm sure you need to get cleaned up and everything. I'm gonna give you my card, I wrote my personal cell number in case you need anything but also feel free to come over if my car is in the driveway."

You took the card, reading his slightly sloppy writing and nodded with a smile.

"Thank you again Aaron. Really, you're a lifesaver."

He pulled you in for another hug, surprising you but you accepted it happily.

"No strenuous activity until those cuts and bruises heal," he advised seriously, making you laugh. You both pulled away and it took you a second to actually walk away, not really wanting to leave the comfort of his safe presence but you did and went back into the house, ignoring all of the mess and taking a long needed shower, thinking about everything that happened.

[witchesballad]

hero and villain

THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILER

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Widow!Reader

Warnings: Forced pregnancy (backstory) and discussion of sexual assault

Summary:

From what Yelena and John spoke of, Bucky expected to see some montage of Winter Soldier highlights. Not the bright and cozy family room, not you standing opposite of him watching the scene unfold with tears streaming down your face. A duplicate of you, younger, your hair a different colour, was handing a package over to a woman he didn't know.

A/N: im weak, i wont survive the winter.... baby fic. We were all talking about the Found Family of it all, what about the Found "Baby I Abandoned and Didn't Tell You About" in the Void?

   From what Yelena and John spoke of, Bucky expected to see some of the Winter Soldier highlights - an innocent's warm blood coating his face, the scream of one of his victims echoing in the inky black, a hit on an uncooperative politician. Not the bright and cozy family room, not you standing opposite of him watching the scene unfold with tears streaming down your face.

A duplicate of you, younger, your hair a different colour, was handing a package over to a woman he didn't know. They're speaking to each other. He opens his mouth to interrupt them, when he's shoved back.

"What-" Another shove. "Are-" Another. "You-" The hands pushing him become fists. "Doing-!?"

He snatches you by the wrists to stop you, and all of the fight seeps out of you. You're still sneering at him as though you hate him for stopping you and not fighting. The two of you were excellent at fighting.

"I thought you died, coming in here." he states, calm enough to set you off again.

You roll your eyes at him, scoffing. It doesn’t convince him that you are as untouchable and unphased as you want it to come across. The tear tracks that had cut through the dust and grime on your face from that last fight, had him thinking otherwise.

A mask for what he can see is a deep sadness. This room...what was so traumatic about a room? He moves to pass you, to get a closer look at the woman he didn't know. 

Your instinct is to grapple him to the ground. It didn’t matter that you were one of the best fighters this world had known, he wasn’t going to use his strength. The two of you had fought each other in the past, but he never hurt you. This has not been the first time you have pinned him, and knowing you, it will not be the last. Your knee is in his back, his hands twisted into your grip.

The door slams shut as your younger self nearly runs away. A second later, you come back in with the unfamiliar woman.

“Is she one of the younger ones?” she asks as they step through the door, around the two of you on the floor.

There is a whimper of a response, but Bucky can’t see from his position who it comes from.

“I-I-I-I’m next-” 

His chest feels like it collapses in on itself. That’s your voice, he’s never heard you cry before. When he speaks, he directs it up to you, “Your next what? What is she saying?”

You take a deep breath above him, in through the nose out through the mouth, before ordering, “Stay down.”

His hands are released and you get off his back. You don’t move too far, simply sitting with him on the ground. Not risking another grapple, Bucky places his hands palm down, lifts his head to tilt his ear toward the conversation taking place.

“So he’s going to come then?” 

Younger you sniffs and hums an acknowledgement. “I lost him in DC, I think he was assigned another mission.”

The other woman gasps, “Project Insight. SHIELD’s entire archive was released. Three helicarriers crashed into the Potomac.”

“Knowing my luck, he survived.”

Older you snorts in amusement. 

Bucky twists his head to give you a bemused look. He had gathered that they were talking about him - or, the Winter Soldier. But the look fades as the realization sets in. Bob was showing them their fears. Yelena had described this as a shame room.

You were afraid of him. 

The you of the memory continues talking, “I can lead them away. No one will know about this, and when I tell you, you will be the only person to know. It has to stay that way. You will be in danger from HYDRA, the Red Room, and who knows who else. I am telling you because you got me out. You are the only person I trust, Oksana.”

“сестра, you are one of the nests. They will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

“I’ll do it for her. Just take her far away.”

“She’s yours! You can hide now, with her.”

“I can lead them away. She’s his. They will come for her. They’ll send him. Maybe he’ll kill her outright, he won’t know she’s his daughter.”

The revelation takes its time sinking in. He doesn’t get up, doesn’t move. He just turns onto his back, now trapped between you and a couch on the floor of a memory that isn’t even his. He was wrong. This wasn’t your shame room. It was built for him. The Winter Soldier had committed many atrocities but this was the worst. 

This was a shame room built for him. He had done— that to you.

You take his closest hand - the metal one - in your two, and pull the pair of you to your feet. 

“Your next.” he says, his voice thin. He had misheard your younger self, “You’re a nest.”

He had heard about a subsect of the Widow program, the Nest, dedicated to the repopulation of the small army. The few of the Widows who were left in tact for Dreykov’s nefarious purposes. A program for training swallows. Teenage baby factories. 

You squeeze his hand. “Yes, and you-”

“How can you even look at me?” he was shaking his head,  “It’s not right. What I did-”

“Was as much assault on you as it was for me. You aren’t the only one in therapy. Bucky, this room is not for you. I’m the one that left her. Didn’t tell you.”

“I hunted you, of course you didn’t tell me.” 

As if he could dismiss your self-hatred with his own. The easy forgiveness brought the tears back to your eyes. You close your eyes to block them, gritting your teeth. He brushes your tears away for you, and rests his hand on your cheek. The hesitance in the air makes you open your eyes and make eye contact.

He takes in a breath, as if steeling himself.

“Can I look at her?”

You take his hand and lead him over to the back of the couch so the pair of you might lean over the memory. He had seen the baby as a package of some sort earlier, because younger you had used a shipping box as a makeshift carrier. The cardboard box was stuffed with a soft hoodie as a blanket. The baby had not made a sound the entire time, even as a younger you shoved the box into the other woman, Oksana’s, hands. Ignoring her protests, you tell her, “Don’t tell me where you’re going. Protect her.”

And you leave. Bucky turns his head to watch you go, and when he turns back - Oksana and the baby are nowhere to be found. 

The door opens again. The two Widows walk in, and Bucky trails them back to the couch that they sit down on.

“She’s so little,” he comments. He does not look at you, lest he acknowledge the fact that seeing a reflection of you holding his baby was plucking a heart string.

The pair of you lean in, and you huff out a laugh, as you nudge him, “Looks like you from tip to tail, doesn’t she?”

He looks up at you, sees the tiny features that made the baby beautiful to him. His jaw is left hanging. “Looks like you.”

You grimace and apologize to the baby, “Sorry, junior.” You reach down to poke the baby’s nose.

Bucky’s heart clenches, imagining it all turn to smoke and shadow. He had not touched anything to do with this room, contributing to the dreamlike quality that this all held. But you touch the baby, scrunching your nose when the baby adorably wrinkles her face against your finger.

A voice, not yours, and yours at the same time speaks from the younger you.

“You knew then. Don’t be stupid. You don’t deserve her. ” 

There is something behind you - and on the wall. Bucky puts his hand on your shoulder to move you and the baby behind him, put himself in between. Instinctively, you scoop up the baby. 

But there is no standing between you and your shadow. As if you had a second arm attached at the elbow, a darkness - a void - clamps down on your wrist and twists.

When you yelp, Bucky reaches into the split in space and yanks the shadow from you. You recoil, hunching over the baby. Your good arm still cradling her to your body, turned away from the chaos. The darkness manifests itself as the younger you. She sneers at Bucky. 

“Look at me, Soldat.” she says, enraged, “You forgot a name on the list. Where is the effort to make amends, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes?”

She goes for a strike. Pale and frozen, he takes the hits. You can see the pattern, the memory is taking the same moves you would use now, not the Red Room clone that you used to be. Or have you always been that obvious, telegraphing your punches? You watch Bucky and understand him. You understand why you could pin a super soldier like the Winter Soldier.

He has never hurt you, but you know that’s because he would never fight you.

You draw your gun to help, but your aim shakes with the weight of it on your broken wrist. In that instance, the woman who had rescued you from Dreykov restrains you. With her arm around your throat, and your injured arm twisted behind.

With her holding your arms and dragging you back, you can only call out.

“She’s not me, Barnes!” you shout at him, “Kick her ass!”

You watch him sink into a place he hasn’t in a long time. Bucky would never hurt you, but the Winter Soldier has no mercy. Following your command, the metal hand reaches back and grabs the ankle of the twenty year old assassin on his back. In a maneuver too quick to track, he has her pinned and her throat caught in his hands. She gasps for air, tilting her head up- to look at you. Her mouth moves - and you hear her (not yours and yours at the same time) voice from Oksana behind you.

“See how he hates you? See how the hero will never love the villain? He will always hurt us.”

That’s not true. He never fought back.

With that flimsy plate of armor around your heart, you bend your head to bite Oksana. Her recoil gives you enough room to drop and spin, knocking her feet from under her. You use the momentum to slide yourself away and point your gun up at her. She drops and you turn the muzzle on yourself - your younger self. Two bullets for your ledger. Daddy Alexei would be so proud of his little murderer, dripping red.

Bucky staggers to his feet, eyes wide and fearful before he looks at you. Child murderer. There’s no shadow to remind you of what you are, but you know. This memory is a decade old. You have just shot a twenty year old who has just escaped the prison that held her for her entire life. He must see the same child you do. 

His face twists into something else, and it’s worse than you could have dreaded. He looks at you with pity.

You feel it then.

That same rush of adrenaline that comes with firing a shot - that same rush of adrenaline that comes with quarrel for the sake of quarrel - that same rush of adrenaline when he looks at you with any other expression, when he shines that spotlight attention on even a fraction of you. 

You want to be mad, to tell him off for pitying you, but the relief that all of you are okay hits you before the urge to fight comes up like nausea.

He steps forward, and you think he’s just going to leave you. But he comes behind you to help you to your feet.

You take the opportunity to put the gun away and cradle the baby. You trace her fragile skull with your finger. The pain radiates from your wrist to the tips of your fingers. You deserve this pain. You don’t deserve to touch her. This is why you left her behind.

Bucky still hasn’t stopped supporting you, leaning into your back as he wraps his metal arm around your waist. You feel his other hand move to support your wrist, careful to not touch the inflamed bruising. 

“Do you want me to take her?” he asks. You take a breath to steady yourself. He’s standing so close that swaying on your feet leans you into his chest. You shake your head, but hand her over all the same. “We have to find Sentry.”

“Bob.” you correct. You still had the image of that sweet civilian who grabbed a gun and ran into a field of soldiers to distract them. It didn’t matter that Valentina dyed his hair and poisoned him against you and the team. “His name is Bob. He needs our help.”

There’s no Winter Soldier in the soft look you receive. “You came in here not knowing if we can save him.”

“We haven’t moved on. Can you carry her?”

“Yes, of course,” He adjusted the baby as if to show off how capable he was. You grit your teeth at the back of your mouth to not see a father holding his baby. You have a mission. Save Bob.

You nod and lead the way to the door out of the room.

---

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15 P16

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: unwanted touching, hints towards dark themes

A/N: I'd eat a brick for Chris tbh

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P11: Bricked Up

He’s fucking annoying. 

The sunlight does little to ease my frustrations as we sit in the bay window of my room. Shawn keeps inching closer—and closer. My ass is practically numb from sitting halfway off the fucking bench. 

And he’s still touching me. His knee is prodding into the side of my thigh, his legs parted as he slouches against my window. I can see grease stains from his hair wiping on the window pane.

Fucking gross. 

“C’monnnnn.” he whines, his hand falling onto my knee and gently squeezing. My body tenses from the action. “Let’s just—let’s take a break!” he exclaims. 

A break? 

“Shawn, we haven’t even really started.” I point out. 

This was only the second time he had come over to work on the project. The first time went about the same—maybe worse. At least this time he wasn’t trying to pull my legs into his lap. 

“But I wanna talk with you.” he sighs, rubbing his hand over my knee, his fingers inching upwards. I would move but any further and I’d fall to the floor. My body stays frozen. I inhale a shaky breath, my nails digging into my palm as I clench my fists. 

I miss Matt. 

This project wouldn’t be so miserable if I hadn’t gone behind his back and did the one thing he told me not to. Why did I have to be so stupid? 

Part of me is livid at this entire situation—Shawn in my room, a lack of any progress on our projects, and his damn hand on my leg. But maybe I deserve it. Maybe this is karma. 

“How about we go on another date soon, yeah?” 

My head turns as I look at Shawn with squinted eyes. I can feel my heart pumping in my chest as I try to take a deep breath. Is he serious?

Snapping my eyes shut, I attempt to ground myself. “Shawn, I’m not—-”

And then I feel it—his hand on my knee moving up to the middle of my thigh, his other hand cupping my jaw as I blink my eyes open, finding him staring at me—well, at my lips. 

No. 

I don’t want this. 

The feeling of his breath fanning on my face makes my body recoil. I place my hand on his chest, pushing him away as I stand up. 

My arms cross as I hug myself, my eyes stay trained on the floor as I clear my throat. “Shawn, I think you should go.” I say, wincing as I hear him let out a humorless laugh. My brows scrunch together as I hear him aggressively collect his things. The sound of my door slamming echoes as I hear him mumble incoherent words under his breath. 

I hate this. It’s exhausting. Nothing is going right—nothing is even tolerable anymore. I have no friends, no one who understands me. 

I slump back on the bench of the bay window. My hands rub over my face as I try to take a deep breath. 

I need to sit up and just breathe. 

My spine straightens as I fix my posture, allowing more air to fill my lungs as I stare out my window. 

Oh.

Oh. 

The sight of Chris standing with Trevor’s leash in hand makes my stomach roll into knots. How long has he been standing there? I can’t do this. Not today. 

Before any movement can happen from his end, I dart up and escape to my bathroom. I shut the door, sliding down with a defeated huff. The cold tile makes my sore bottom hurt more. But I don’t care. Not right now at least. 

___

|  From Matt: Hey, can you come over?  | 

I’ve been staring at the message for five minutes, completely frozen as my thumbs hover over the screen. This could be good—or even worse. 

I find myself in front of his front door, my hands clenched into a tight fist as I knock softly. I don’t like how this feels. Everything is so tense. My bones are practically vibrating, my skin pulsing with an unsatisfiable itch as my feet shift on the wooden porch. 

Footsteps echoing make my palms sweat. I rub my hands on my shirt, swallowing thickly as the door swings open. Matt stares back at me. His eyes seem sullen, his face flushed as his brows wrinkle together. 

Silently, he steps to the side. “Hi, um—let’s talk in my room?” he offers.

I walk inside the home, my nose twitching as I breathe in the familiar scent. I slide my shoes off my feet, my eyes scan my surroundings. Everything seems messier—blankets are sloppily falling off the couch, a large indent of a body imprint on the cushions. 

“C’mon.” Matt says. I nod, slowly following his footsteps as we move towards his room. My arms cross tightly over my chest, my fingers clutching into my sides as my heart hammers throughout my body. 

I don’t want this friendship to be over. Being away from Matt is tough, but the unknown feels better than the closure of completely losing him as a friend. 

“Do you wanna… sit?” Matt asks, patting the edge of his bed as he sits down on the blankets stiffly. 

My feet stutter on the ground. I take small steps, letting out a deep sigh as I plop on the soft mattress. Silence echoes through the air. I watch from the corner of my eye as he scratches the back of his neck, clearing his throat. 

“I’m really sorry.” I mutter, breaking the silence. 

He shifts next to me, his shoulder bumping into mine. “It’s—it’s okay. I’m sorry too. There’s no reason for me to be shoving into business that’s not mine. I… I guess I’m just overprotective, you know? I mean, I miss my brothers. Nick’s gone, but Chris isn’t exactly… here—not like he used to be.” 

Not like he used to be. 

Something about the words dig deep in my heart, a sharp sting in my chest making my teeth pierce into my bottom lip. 

I remember that feeling—I live that feeling everyday. 

My mom and Baylen weren’t always so distant. I remember sleeping in Baylen’s room when I couldn’t sleep, I remember the mountains of legos he’d pull out just to keep me from crying in the middle of the night when I kept having accidents. 

It was humiliating. I could never understand why it was so different for me. I’d try so hard, purposefully not drinking water before night just so I wouldn’t wake up in a soaked bed. But it just wouldn’t work. It took me a lot longer to be potty trained. But Baylen made it tolerable. He’d let me sleep in his bed, telling me about his video games until I fell asleep. 

I missed that Baylen. 

“I get it.” I reply, placing my hand on Matt’s shoulder, gently patting his back with reassurance. 

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to switch partners and everything, but I wanna try. Shawn… I know he’s a dick and I’m sorry I pushed you into that situation.” he says. 

My eyes squint towards the ground. Matt has always seemed oblivious—even during our double date. He failed to realize how much Shawn made me uncomfortable then. So how does he know now? 

Chris. 

He saw me through the window. Chris watched me push Shawn away—he saw everything. 

My head sways towards the side, my lips pulling into a tight line as I feel my eyes glaze over. “Chris talked to you, didn’t he?” I ask. 

Silence. 

“Is that the only reason you’re–”

“No!” Matt cuts off, his face turning to mine as he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “I mean, he talked to me, he told me what he saw with Shawn, but… he’s right. It might’ve taken him screaming at me for shit to actually make me realize, but he’s right. I shouldn’t be so…” 

“Controlling?” I huff. 

Matt lets out a dry laugh, standing up and offering me a hand. I slide mine in his, my knees locking as I get up. “Yeah, controlling. Now, are we good?” he asks. 

I nod, trying to pull my hand back to my side. His grip gets tighter, his hand pulling me closer, his arms wrapping around me in a hug. “Umph–” I let out, my eyes going wide. His embrace is warm, tight, and comforting. The touch brings me reassurance, a wave of peace climbing over me. 

It’s okay. 

He understands. 

My lip gets caught between my teeth. I feel the muscle quiver as I slowly wrap my arms around him, taking in a shaky breath. As I go to pull back, his arms tighten. The movement makes something inside of me crumble, my body fully relaxing as I close my eyes and take in the moment. 

“We’re all good. I’m sorry I was being a dick, but we’re still friends, alright?” he remarks. 

I nod against him, slowly pulling back as he lets his arms fall. His hands callus around the tops of my arms. He squeezes gently, his eyes gleaming into mine with a certain softness that makes everything feel okay. 

“My dad has missed you too. He, uh—he got a bunch of bacon and hashbrowns, just in case you end up spending the night again.” Matt mentions, laughing softly as he brings his hands upward, ruffling his hair. “And he sent me a picture of some movie he wants to watch with you. He literally sent it to me so he wouldn’t forget the name. If you wanna stay and um, watch that with him later.” he says. 

A light, feathery feeling flutters in my chest. I feel so cared for, so valued—so understood. “I’d love to.” I announce, smiling as I watch Matt fiddle with the rings on his hand. 

He nods affirmatively, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Good. He’ll be back from work in a bit. Do you wanna… do wanna see what I’ve been planning for Mia?” he asks. 

My eyes burst wide with excitement. I vigorously nod my head, clapping my hands together. 

“Okay, but… no judging. Chris already let me know how I’m such a fuckin’ lover-boy. I don’t need that shit from you too.” Matt mutters. 

“Show me!” I urge, slapping his arm lightly. “Don’t listen to Chris, he wouldn't know romance if it hit him with a brick. Just—ugh, show me before I slap you!” I exclaim. The slight noise of Matt’s cracked room door creaking open a bit more makes my head turn. Before I can see anything, my eyes dart back to Matt, seeing him holding up a paper flower. 

“Awwww, oh my god.” I coo, my hand hesitantly reaching out as I trace over the edge of the paper petals. Matt smiles down at me proudly. My brows furrow as I analyze the petals closer, certain words and letters circled in pen with cute heart shapes. 

“Matt.” I gasp, reading the cryptic message as my jaw drops. Each letter circled with a heart;

WILL YOU BE MY GF

“Do you think she’ll like it? It’s from her favorite book.” he says, his words rushed with excitement. 

I blink up at him, a sound of disbelief pursing through my lips. “If someone put that much effort into something for me, I’d literally cry. She’ll love it. This is… ugh, so sweet.” I say, pulling my hands back to my chest as I stare down at the flower. 

“Thank god. It took me five different tries to even get it to look like a flower.” he says, nudging his head over to the trash can in the corner of his room. A laugh muffles through my lips, the sight of paper scraps pilling over the basket making my chest vibrate with a giggle. 

“Anyhow, my dad will be home soon. He usually gets home from work around 6-ish. Do you… do you wanna—” 

“You need to catch me up on everything with Mia.” I interrupt. 

Matt smiles, his cheeks flushing with a red hue as he pulls out his phone. “She’s—I don’t even know. She’s just perfect. I really, really like her.” he breathes. 

His smitten expression makes my heart pound in my chest. Relief and excitement make my body feel incredibly light, my cheeks burning from the smile stuck on my face. 

He’s a good person. 

I’m glad to have someone like him as a friend. 

___

“Do you like it?” Jimmy asks, petting Trevor as we sit on the couch. I nod. The movie is funny, but his laugh is even funnier—especially when he looks over to me, just to make sure I caught the joke. 

The past few days have been so lonely. But now I feel like I have everything and more. Well, besides one lingering thought.

Chris. 

He talked to Matt. The thought of him yelling at Matt for me makes my chest tighten, my brain looping around endless questions as my teeth gnaw into my lip. 

“Alright.” Jimmy sighs, stretching his arms out before relaxing them back into his lap. My eyes float to the screen, end credits scrolling with a lighthearted tune echoing from the speakers. “Now, tell me what’s been going on. I can tell something’s happened and—”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it. I—I wouldn’t even know where to start.” I huff. 

“Okay…” he sighs, standing up and rubbing over his face. 

The march of steps makes my heart jolt in my chest. I hear keys jingling, looking over to find Matt. My chest falls with a long breath. I’m not sure if it’s disappointment or relief. 

“Ready to go?” Matt asks, looking towards his dad. 

Jimmy scratches above his brow, his eyes squinting as he stutters. “Uhh…”

“You said you’d take Trev out for a pup cup with me.” Matt says, nodding his head towards the door. 

“Oh yeah, yeah. I… sorry, kid.” Jimmy says, patting my shoulder. 

My face scrunches as Matt rushes to put the dog’s leash on, his eyes bulging as he ushers Jimmy out the door. As soon as they’re gone, my body stiffens on the couch. 

The fuck? What am I supposed to do?

“Hey.”

Chris. 

My head turns, my eyes landing on him as he slowly walks towards the back of the couch, resting his elbows on the furniture as he stares down at me. I gulp, my toes cracking as they curl from my body tensing. 

“Um… hi?” I remark, my statement sounding like a question as my voice raises in pitch. Chris lets out a dry laugh, licking over his teeth as he spares me a soft smile. His eyes are shifting all around the room, blinking furiously while his fingers pluck at a loose string on the sofa. 

Is he… nervous?

I sit up straighter, watching as Chris stands tall, holding out an open hand. My eyes squint at the sight. I feel a hesitant laugh purse through my lips, my head tilting to the side as I analyze his expression. 

“What? Do you want my phone again?” I joke. 

Chris shakes his head. “No. I was holding my hand out for you, idiot.” he mumbles. 

My eyes shift, squinting as I raise a brow at him. “Really? Chris—why would I come with you if you’re calling me an idiot?” I snort, licking over my teeth as I shovel my hands in my lap. 

Noticing my lack of movement, Chris sighs, his hand reaching down and grabbing my phone. “Um, excuse me?” I remark, getting up and walking behind him as he marches down the hall and to his room. 

His hand lands on the closed door, his fingers grasping the knob as he shoves my phone into his pocket, outreaching his other hand towards me. I look down at his hand, my eyes floating back up as I try to read his expression. His face is a bit paler, his eyes blinking a little more than usual. 

My lips curl into a smirk. “Are you—are you nervous?” I ask, confidence boosting my chest as he shakes his head a little too quickly. His brows furrow as I let out a laugh, his knuckles turning white as he grasps the door knob harder. 

“I’m not fuckin’ nerv—you know what? I’m trying something here, give me a break.” he breathes. 

Licking over my lips, I slide my hand into his, my head tilting further to the side as I feel him gently grasp my hand, his thumb swiveling over the back of my palm. 

“Trying what?” I question. The heat from his palm radiating to mine makes me feel a little dizzy. Warmth spreads through my body, the lower part of my stomach curling as he stares into my eyes. 

Chris lets out a shaky breath, his hand clutching mine tighter. “I… I’m trying to be romantic or whatever. Just—I’m fuckin’ trying here, okay? I don’t need a damn brick to know how to be all… ugh.” he puffs. 

“You’re such a snooper! Oh my god!” I exclaim, my jaw dropping as I connect the dots yet again. 

He eavesdropped on me when I was in Matt’s room. I distinctly remember a slight movement from the crack of Matt’s bedroom door when I said Chris wouldn’t know romance if a brick hit his head—or something along those lines. 

A brick was definitely involved. 

“I’m not a snooper.” he snorts, his tongue prodding his cheek from the inside of his mouth. “I just… wanted to make sure everything went… smoothly—I don’t know, I—”

I grip his hand a little bit tighter, my eyes darting into his. “It’s fine. Honestly, I appreciate it. I wouldn’t have had the guts to scream at Matt and whatever else you had to do.” I say. 

Chris licks over his lips, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Yeah, well—I wanted to help. I wanted to, um—to try.” he sighs, his nose scrunching as his face twitches. 

The swarm of knots in my gut tightens as he clears his throat. His hand gently holds mine, his other hand pushing open his bedroom door. 

Oh. My. God. 

My jaw drops at the scene in front of me. I feel Chris tug me forward, my feet stumbling as we make our way inside of his room. 

“Is this… okay?” he asks, his teeth nervously chewing on his bottom lip as he stares at me, waiting for a response. 

And all I can do is nod with wide eyes. 

How hard did a damn brick hit him? 

[whoreforhorror]

Savior complex Pt. 1 (Billy Loomis X Reader X Stu Macher)

You weren’t close friends. Not really, anyway.

You’d sat next to them in class once, back when you’d been forced into a group project. Billy and Stu were the only ones without a group, and you quickly learned why—you ended up doing basically the entire thing on your own while they goofed off. To Billy’s credit, he did just enough that you didn’t report him to the teacher. Stu made you laugh once, but you weren’t even sure if he meant to. The moment the project ended, it was back to strangers. You were vaguely aware of them, as you were of every other person you’d been forced to work with.

They, on the other hand, were very aware of you. Whether you noticed or not, they lingered. Just in the periphery. It became a habit of Billy’s to trail you through the hallways like a shadow. Stu, being much louder than his counterpart, would shout to you from time to time across the quad. It earned little more than a passive, mostly subconscious nod from you. He was like that with everyone, after all.

Like last night, and the night before that, you were home alone once again. You weren’t entirely sure your parents even lived at your house anymore, given how infrequently you saw them. Decked out in a massively oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, you found yourself standing in front of the microwave, heating up whatever was quick and cheap from the gas station.

Halfway through, the microwave died with a sad chime. Everything else in the house—the appliances, the TV, the digital clocks, and then the lights—followed in rapid procession. You froze in an instant, long enough to feel your stomach twist into uncertain knots. The power wasn’t prone to cutting out randomly. In fact, in all your time living here, it had only failed under the pressure of two particularly nasty storms. But tonight? It was clear, dark, and silent outside.

The air was still, like the house itself was holding its breath alongside you. The dead silence made your ears ring—so loud you nearly missed the creak of a floorboard not even twenty feet behind you. You spun around just fast enough to see him sprinting at you.

Ghostface.

Just like on the news. Draped in black, bone-white mask, and a gleaming hunting knife that caught the moonlight like it wanted to be seen.

You ran on instinct, trying and failing to pry the front door open. You didn’t have even a second to question why. You were already halfway to the stairs, hammering one foot after the other upward. Your fuzzy socks betrayed you—your foot slipped, flew out from under you.

In a blink, your head was on the ground. A distinctly copper taste coated your tongue. Ghostface was on top of you just as fast, knife raised.

And then, just as suddenly, he flew off of you.

A loud thud cracked through the suffocating silence as Ghostface slammed to the ground, another body wrestling on top of him. The fight was loud. Violent. There was yelling, and a scuffle—the knife skittered across the floor, far out of reach.

You shut your eyes tight, trying to quiet the screaming in your ears, the spinning in your vision, the stabbing pain in your skull. In the moment your eyes were closed, the struggle ended.

Ghostface was gone.

And crouched in front of you was none other than Billy Loomis.

“Are you okay?? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Billy placed a hand under your jaw, tilting your head to inspect where it had smacked against the stair. His fingers brushed the side of your scalp, and you flinched. Not bleeding—but definitely bruised.

“Billy? What—where—?” You had to take a breath, gather your thoughts before anything coherent came out. “Why are you here? Where did he go? How did you know that—?”

“Easy, easy,” Billy said softly, backing up just a little. “I was walking down the street when I saw your house go dark. I was just about to knock when I heard you at the front door, then saw you take off up the stairs. I saw him behind you, knew I had to get in. There was an open window—the same one I’m guessing he came and went through.”

Everything after that was a blur. Cops. Questions. Your parents swearing they’d never leave you alone again. The officers grilled you on why Billy was there. You knew what he said, but you didn’t think they’d believe it. Everyone at Woodsboro High knew the cops already had eyes on him. So you lied.

“We were studying,” you said. “We have the same chemistry class, and—” The cops cut you off with more questions. Less interested in class and more in the killer.

The important part is—they bought it.

Billy drove you home after the cops cleared you and the paramedics ruled out a concussion. Shock was their final diagnosis. You were inclined to agree. Billy walked you inside, helped you onto the couch. He offered to stay. You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no either.

The house was quiet again. You stared at the wall, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes unfocused. Billy watched you like you were something fragile. He offered you water. You didn’t take it.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured. “He’s gone. I won’t let him come near you.”

“Yeah,” was all you could manage. And even then, it was barely a whisper. You didn’t see it—but you could feel him roll his eyes.

The silence returned, heavy and oppressive. You shifted slightly, uncomfortable on the couch. It was too stiff. Your skin too cold. Your hoodie did nothing to help. The humming alertness in your nerves hadn’t dulled, not even slightly. Your hands still trembled in your lap.

Then—a knock.

Three of them. Quick succession. Not loud. Not frantic. Measured. Too soft to be a cop following up. Too calm to be a reporter sniffing for a quote. Billy was already on his feet before your brain had caught up.

“I’ll get it,” he said easily, hopping over the back of the couch.

“You’re not even supposed to be here, Billy, you can’t just—” But he had the door open before you could even finish. Stu stood on the porch like he belonged there. Slouched against the frame, grinning ear to ear.

“Hey, cutie,” he said, voice syrupy. “Heard you had a hell of a night.”

“What are you doing here?” Even in your rattled state, you managed to sound as exasperated as you felt. Stu just shrugged, waltzing in like he’d been here a hundred times before.

“What, I can’t check up on a friend? Billy said—” Click. The front door’s lock. “—you got roughed up, and I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but no words came out. Billy said? When would Billy have had time to talk to Stu? You’d been with him nonstop since the incident. Your eyes snapped to Billy, who had returned from the front door. He leaned on the couch behind you, draping one arm casually across your shoulder. Stu flopped down beside you, tossing his crossed legs into your lap like this was any other Tuesday.

“We’re just worried about you, is all,” Billy murmured into your ear, tone silk-soft. Almost a purr. “After everything… you really shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“You… should both go. I… I can’t. Not after everything.” Your voice was barely above a murmur. Neither of them moved. Stu didn’t even bother to fake concern. He just laughed—low and soft.

“Oh, come on now. You don’t want us to leave. What if he comes back, huh? I doubt he’d let you live a second time.” He said it with just a little too much certainty. Your eyes flicked to him, but before you could speak, Billy gently took your chin and guided your face back toward him.

“Don’t pretend like you want us gone, sweetheart. You don’t want to be alone again. Vulnerable. Afraid.” Stu doesn’t take his eyes off you while Billy speaks. His legs are still sprawled lazily across your lap, like this is his couch, like you’re his armrest. His smile is too wide, but his eyes are sharp now—cutting through you. Watching. Billy hasn’t moved his hand from your jaw.

You can feel his thumb brush over the edge of your cheekbone in a slow, almost absentminded arc. It should be comforting. It isn’t. Not really. But your skin prickles under the contact anyway. The air between the three of you starts to shift—less like static, more like something coiled and ready to snap. You swallow hard.

“Why are you really here?” you ask, your voice quieter now. Not accusing. Not exactly. Billy leans in just enough for his breath to skim your ear.

“Maybe we were worried about you,” he says. “Maybe we didn’t like the idea of you being scared and alone.”

Stu hums low in his throat. “Or maybe we just didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting to you first.” That draws your eyes back to him.

“To me?”

His grin deepens. “Yeah. You.” Billy shifts behind you. His arm brushes yours as he sits down beside you this time, close enough for your knees to touch. His hand rests on your thigh—not quite possessive, but grounding. You don’t move it.

“You’ve always been kind of interesting,” Billy says, tone casual, like he’s talking about the weather. “Even when you pretended not to notice us.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

Stu snorts. “Sure you weren’t.” There’s a pause—just long enough for you to notice how warm the room feels, how close they’ve drawn in. You feel like prey, but you don’t run.

“Why now?” you ask. Billy’s eyes meet yours. Cold, unreadable.

“Because now you’re listening.” Your pulse jumps.

Stu leans in next, grinning like he knows something you don’t. “And we figured you might be ready for the truth.” You don’t ask what that truth is. You don’t think you want the answer—not yet. Billy brushes a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering just a little too long.

“You’re not afraid of us,” he says. “Not really.”

You hesitate. “Should I be?”

“Probably,” Stu answers.

“But we’d never hurt you,” Billy murmurs, and it sounds almost honest. Almost. His hand curls against your jaw again, tilting your face toward him. “We like you too much.” Stu shifts, swinging his legs off of you, by your side in a swift motion. He leans into you with a grin. “Besides,” he drawls, “how could we ever hurt our alibi? We need you.”

“Alibi?” You shoot Billy a look, your voice sharp with confusion. “What are you talking about?” Billy’s smile turns patient. Almost patronizing.

“You know the cops have been hounding me for weeks now. And you, my darling…” He turns your face more firmly to meet his gaze—dead-on, unblinking. “You just cleared me of all suspicion. I wasn’t expecting you to lie for me.” His smile deepens. “Truly, that was the cherry on top. You’re a natural.”

You feel your breath catch. “What are you saying?”

“How could I be Ghostface if you and I were in the same room when it happened, hmm?” Your mouth opens—for a moment, no sound comes out.

“Why would you…” You swallow hard. “Billy. You’re not—”

“Oh, but I am,” he says, voice dipping into something low and wicked. “Meet Ghostface One and Two, sweetheart.” 

Your head snaps toward Stu—he’s already holding up the mask, mockingly poised in front of his face. One gloved finger taps the chin of the skull-white visage. You jolt back, panic flaring, but Billy’s hand doesn’t let you move. It stays firm, grounding, like an anchor—or a shackle. Stu laughs. Full-bodied, wild. He tosses the mask aside, like it’s a party trick.  “We owe you a little appreciation, darling. You did us a big favor.” Stu comments, still cackling. Your breath catches.

“No,” you whisper. “No, you’re lying.” Billy’s expression doesn’t change.

“If I were lying,” he says calmly, “would you still be sitting here?”

You shake your head. “You saved me. You—he had the knife—”

“You think it’s that hard to stage a fight?” Stu cuts in, grinning. “God, you’re cute.” You pull away from Billy’s hand. This time, he lets you.

“You used me,” you say, voice breaking on the words. “You planned this. The break-in. The timing. All of it.”

“Not all of it,” Billy says. “The lying part? That was a surprise. But a welcome one.”

Your hands start to tremble again. You push up from the couch on instinct, needing distance, needing air, but your knees buckle from the lingering adrenaline. You catch yourself on the edge of the coffee table.

Stu’s beside you before you can move. “Careful, princess. That head’s still ringing, huh? You hit it pretty hard.” Another laugh.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, shoving him back—he stumbles, but it’s theatrical. He’s laughing before he even regains balance.

“I knew she had claws,” Stu grins. Billy rises slower. Methodical. Controlled.

“You can scream if you want to,” he says, voice almost soft. “Your neighbors won’t hear you. But I don’t think you will.”

Your heart pounds like a drum against your ribs. “What do you want from me?”

Billy doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, eyes locked on yours—not a threat, not a taunt. Just steady. Focused.

“We want you to stop pretending you don’t already know.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” he cuts in. “You noticed the glances. The way we lingered. You liked it. You just didn’t know what to do with it.” You don’t deny it. Not fast enough.

Stu moves again, behind you this time. Not touching—but close enough that you feel the pull. “You ever wonder why we picked your house?” he says, breath ghosting over your shoulder. “Why we wanted you to be the one we saved?”

“You could’ve killed me.”

“But we didn’t,” Billy says.

“We wouldn’t,” Stu adds.

Your throat tightens. “You can’t expect me to be okay with this.”

Billy reaches out slowly, brushes a thumb under your eye. “We don’t want you to be okay. We want you to understand.”

“Understand what?” you breathe.

“That you’re ours now.” There’s a long silence.

Something inside you coils, ready to snap. Your mind screams to run, to fight, to do something—but your body stays frozen. And worse? Part of you wants to believe him. Wants to believe them. Because the truth is, ever since the encounter—ever since the lights went out and the door refused to open—nothing has felt as real as this moment. Not the police, not your parents’ concerned stares, not the fluorescent interrogation lights.

Just this. Them. The space between you and the question you’re terrified to answer.

You should resist. You should scream.

Instead, you whisper, “Then show me. Show me that you won’t hurt me.”

Billy’s smile curves slow and sharp, like a match catching fire.

Stu exhales a low, delighted laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” That’s all the confirmation they need. They’re on you in an instant.

Stu grabs you by the neck, your breath hitching sharply as his lips crash against yours—soft, but greedy in their movements, like he’s been starving for this. His grip is firm, bordering on possessive.

Billy is just as fast. His hands start at your hips, grounding you, then slip beneath your hoodie—fingers tracing up your sides with practiced ease, dragging goosebumps in their wake.

END OF PART ONE~ Comment/repost if you want more! :)

@aghostlywhisper @stanseventeen

[ashwhowrites]

Hiiii I’m so excited that ur requests are open again!! Could you do a fic with Eddie and reader that are enemies but are in a parenting class and get partnered to take care of a fake baby together this causes them to get to know one another better and eventually fall for each other

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Parenting class

Eddie and Y/N did not get along and everyone knew that. Eddie wasn't sure why he hated Y/N but he knew he did. Y/N thought Eddie was loud and annoying. They bickered anytime they were in a room together.

They only had one class together and it was health. Most of the time Eddie ditched so Y/N lived in her small victories. But a new lesson was being taught- parenting. And to make it worse, they got partnered together.

Y/N groaned as she walked over to Eddie's table and slammed her books down.

"Well hello to you too, gorgeous." Eddie teased. He loved getting under her skin and driving her insane.

"Shut up," she rolled her eyes and sat down

They sat in silence as the teacher explained the project and then handed them a fake baby doll.

"Look, he's kinda ugly, like you!" Eddie smirked as he held the baby and shoved it in her face

"I would rather be a single mom than spend a second pretending to have a child together."

~~~

Eddie had the first shift with the baby. They flipped a coin and he lost. Now he was listening to a fake baby cry non-stop as he tried to sleep. He swore he tried everything, he fed him, changed him, burped him, he did everything Y/N wrote on the list, but the fucker wouldn't stop crying.

He got out of bed and turned on his lamp, he grabbed his dirty jeans off the floor and dug in the pockets. Once he found the piece of paper he was looking for, he walked out to the kitchen to grab the phone.

He tried to zone out the crying as the phone rang, sighing in relief when someone picked up

"Hello?"

"I can't get that baby to shut up," Eddie growled into the phone

"Eddie, I wrote everything down, just read. Goodnight," Y/N yawned

"You don't think I've tried everything? Trust me, calling you is my last resort. Can you come over and just help me?"

"Why should I do that?" she scoffed

"Fine, but if you ever need help I ain't coming," Eddie argued, he went to hang up but she stopped him

"What's your address?"

~

Eddie was cradling the baby doll as he waited for Y/N to arrive. He sighed in relief when he heard a knock on the door. He opened the door and Y/N slipped inside.

"My uncle is in bed so we'll go to my room," Eddie whispered, even though he was sure the baby woke him up

Y/N nodded and followed him into the room

"Hand him over," Y/N sighed, her eyes heavy as the sleep never left her body.

Eddie handed him over, watching with curious eyes as she tucked the baby in her arms. He watched in awe as she cradled the baby and bounced him in her arms, the cries dying out.

Y/N smiled as the baby seemed to calm down

"Do you have a magical touch or something?" Eddie joked, wiping the tiredness from his eyes

Y/N looked up at him, just noticing he was shirtless. She quickly looked at his face and gave him a smirk

"Wouldn't you like to know," she teased

Eddie rolled his eyes but he couldn't help smiling

"Not even if I was dying, dear," he joked.

"Where does he sleep? I'll set him down," Y/N offered as she stood up

"On the bed," Eddie shrugged. He stood up and pulled the sheets back, she stepped next to him. Her soft skin touched his as she set the baby on the bed.

"Hopefully he'll stay asleep until the morning," Y/N said

"I'll walk you out," Eddie offered, Y/N nodded and walked behind him.

"Thank you for helping," he said as he opened the door

"I was helping the baby, don't flatter yourself."

Eddie smiled to himself as she walked out.

~~~

Over the next few weeks, Eddie and Y/N found themselves calling each other for help. Which forced them to hang out and talk to each other.

They learned a few things about each other, which seemed to humanize them. Y/N learned things about Eddie that she liked, and made her look at him differently. Eddie knew that Y/N had struggles in her own life and maybe he was too hard on her.

They didn't realize how easy it was to get along. Eddie found himself enjoying Y/N's presence and wanted her around more. He liked how soft and gentle she was with the baby, it showed a different side of her that he didn't know existed.

Y/N liked seeing Eddie try at something and seeing him care. She even began to find herself attracted to him. He was more open with her and she found herself wishing she could heal all his wounds.

By the time they finished the project, they both formed a huge crush on each other. They got comfortable and began to flirt, testing the waters.

Eddie wanted to ask her out but he was a bit nervous she would say no. He didn't know if being together changed anything or if it was just him. With the project finished, they didn't have an excuse to see each other and Eddie knew the longer he waited the easier it would be for her to find someone else.

He didn't know that she was thinking the same thing. She noticed that he didn't pick on her to make her insecure, but more of picking on her to make her blush. Their comments were less harsh, and he began to compliment her.

Eddie was too chicken to do it in person, so he waited until he got home from school and could ask over the phone.

He gave himself a little pep-talk before he picked up the phone and dialed her number

"Hello?"

He smiled when he heard her voice

"Hey, it's Eddie, I was wondering if you might be interested in getting food together? Like on a date," he swore he was holding his breath once he finished his sentence.

"I'll be ready at seven, and I'd bring flowers if I were you," she said before she hung up, smiling to herself.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlx @ineedmentalhelp123

[kirain]

Part ten of my appreciation project.

@zecarnevilcat A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The Fade closed in, a haze of twisting shadows and distant whispers. Varric was gone, and Lenore stood in the gloom, friendless and adrift. The air smelled of old magic, thick and cloying, the only light straight ahead—a soft, flickering glow that pulsed like a dying star.

Through the silence, she heard it.

"Lenore!"

A voice—rough, desperate—cut through the abyss like a blade. Her breath caught.

"Emmrich?"

There, beyond the shifting mists, a figure emerged, silhouetted against the light, reaching for her.

"Here! I'm right here!" The voice came again, urgent, distressed.

Despair curled around her, nipping at her heels like a pack of ravenous wolves. Even after Varric's reassurance, it was inescapable—a curse inherent to that awful place. Panic surged through her every muscle, every nerve as the rift began to close, the edges fraying like torn cloth. If she hesitated now, she would be lost forever.

Arm outstretched, she hurled herself forward.

Closer.

Almost.

Then—fingers locked painfully around her wrist, and the world cracked apart.

With a lurch, she was ripped from the Fade, her body slamming into the earth. The sudden change in pressure made her feel weak, nauseous, but warmth enveloped her—slender hands gripping her tightly.

An anchor in the chaos.

As she gasped, the air heavy but familiar in her lungs, a pair of arms wrapped around her, tormented and shaking.

"Darling..."

Her eyes widened. She could feel a man's breath in her hair, his chest rising and falling with dry, shuddering sobs. He was clinging to her as though she might vanish again, as though sheer will alone could keep her bound to reality.

Though dizzy and disoriented, she managed to lift her head, glancing up at him.

"...Emmrich?"

She barely recognised him—his shirt wrinkled, face dirty, somehow older.

"Are you—?" Her throat clenched. "Are you real?”

He inhaled sharply, and for a moment, he simply stared at her, his expression caught between agony and relief. Then, his grip on her tightened, his lips parting around a trembling breath.

"Yes, darling. It's me."

The emotion in his voice nearly undid her, but before she could say another word, darkness clouded her vision, her mind reeling.

And then—nothing.

-----

Weeks earlier, Emmrich's study lay in ruins. Parchments littered the desk, torn and crumpled in frustration. Broken daggers lined the floor, their runes inert or ineffective. The air reeked of burnt ink and scorched metal—remnants of his failed attempts at replication. No matter the method, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he begged, the result was the same.

Worthless.

He sat hunched at his desk, head hanging, fingers knotted in his hair. His shoulders throbbed from relentless work, and his breath came slow and shallow, as if even that required too much effort.

"Professor?"

The door creaked open. Bellara shuffled inside, the rich aroma of spiced tea trailing behind her. She entered with a smile, but she barely took two steps before her eyes swept over the shambles of his study, her legs numbing at the sight. She had never seen it, or him, in such disarray. It was unbearably worrisome, but when she spoke, her inflection was sweet, attempting to pull him from his sorrow.

"Where's Manfred?" she asked, his absence palpable.

Eventually, Emmrich whispered, "With Myrna."

Bellara's eyes drifted to Johanna's perch. Empty.

"And Hezenkoss?"

"I couldn't stomach her snide remarks," he rasped, his eyes shut tight. "Vorgoth is watching her for now."

Bellara frowned, hurrying to his side.

"Emmrich, listen." Her tone was soft, careful. "We'll get her back."

She placed the tea by his elbow, but he didn't drink it. He didn't move at all. Not a twitch. Not a breath deeper than the last.

"Emmrich..."

Her hand found his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. She could feel the tension beneath his shirt, the grief woven into his stillness.

"Don't give up. If anyone can crack Solas' prison, it's you."

He didn't respond, on the verge of collapse. He needed rest, food, company—he didn't deserve to suffer like this—but she didn't want to push him.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I'll come running," she giggled. "We all will. We're here for you."

She then turned away, respecting his space.

"I told her to do it."

Bellara froze.

"What?"

Emmrich's fingers curled against his scalp, his voice faint. "Lenore... I told her to break the knife's contact with Ghilan'nain."

Bellara blinked, too stunned to speak. Then, the words tumbled from her lips, eager to sever his guilt.

"Emmrich, no. Don't do that to yourself. If the process hadn't been interrupted, that whole region would've been swarmed by spirits and blight. You made the right call."

"It should've been me..."

She stepped closer, her brows drawn. "Emmrich, you can't blame yourself for—"

His head snapped up, the movement sudden, rigid.

"And we argued! I argued. Before the attack. I was so stubborn and cruel, disregarding everything she said. And now—!" His breath hitched, fingers clawing at his silver strands. "I may never get a chance to apologise. How do I—?"

His composure shattered.

"How the fuck do I save her?!"

Bellara winced. She reached out to comfort him, but he barely seemed aware of her presence as he shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor. His hands braced against the desk, his eyes scanning the useless notes, the barren runes, the impure lyrium—all pathetic imitations of power he had no hope of rivalling.

Fury erupted.

He snatched a blade from the pile, carving tool in his other hand, and dragged the tip across the lyrium. Magic flared in a reckless surge—an obvious warning—but his grip tightened, his hews frenzied, erratic, desperate to force enchantment where none could take root.

The rune on the handle sparked, then sizzled with an angry hiss.

"Emmrich!" Bellara stumbled back. "Emmrich, don't—!"

The blade split.

A violent explosion of arcane energy burst outward, flinging the desk and all of its contents across the room. The loud crash echoed off the walls, reverberating down the hall, betoning his folly.

As smoke filled the air, Bellara covered her mouth, her heart aching.

"Emmrich?" she coughed.

He stood amidst the wreckage, his head bowed, hands battered. His ears rang from the blast, but the only sound he heard was the one that had lingered for weeks—Lenore's scream.

"F-forgive me..."

His vision blurred, though whether from the smoke or his tears, he couldn't say.

-----

Lenore woke with a start.

Air flooded her lungs as if she'd surfaced from drowning, her chest heaving. The world around her was bleary, bright—but before she could panic, strong arms pulled her against a solid chest, so tight that it hurt.

"You're safe," a voice hushed, quiet and restless. "You're home."

Her eyes fluttered, the weight of exhaustion pressing on her lids, but she forced them open—to see who held her in such a protective embrace.

"Emmrich?" she whispered, his name a soothing caress.

He sat beside her on the bed, his grip fierce, afraid she might slip through his fingers if he so much as flinched. When he drew back, it was only enough to cup her face, his palms unusually coarse, the skin scabby and yellowed.

"It's me," he promised.

The moment their eyes met, his breath seized. Lilac. His favourite colour.

Maker, how he'd missed it.

Seeing her again—uninjured and alive—sent a pang through his heart, his fingers brushing over her cheeks, her neck, her lips. The touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared she might break if he pressed too hard.

"Emmrich? Are you—?"

She stilled, letting him trace her features as disbelief flickered in his gaze. He looked terrible—his normally neat hair disheveled, dark circles bruising the hollows of his eyes, a wispy scruff marring his jaw. This wasn't the wear of hours, but days—days he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't stopped.

"How long?" she choked.

Emmrich paled, wishing he could spare her the truth. "Three and a half weeks."

Her gasp was guttural, the revelation hitting her like a blow. She hadn't known, she couldn't have known, but she swallowed it down. Her time in the Fade had been an endless, confusing blur of despair, the loss of Varric fresh, but seeing Emmrich's anguish made her own pain seem trivial.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"What?"

Her brow furrowed, her nails digging into his sleeves. "You must've been so scared. You must've been—" She bit down, ruing all the ways he'd clearly tortured himself. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"No." He shook his head insistently. "No, no, no, darling. None of this is your fault."

"But—"

He hugged her again, his fingers threading through her long, fragranced hair. "I have you back. That's all that matters."

He kissed her temple, drinking her in. Few escaped the Fade unscathed—mind or body—and he couldn't begin to fathom what horrors she had endured.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

The question struck harder than he intended, splintering her resolve. A shudder racked her very soul, and before she could stop them, the words spilled free.

"I... I saw them," she stuttered, her voice cracking.

"Who?" Emmrich asked.

"Varric, Neve... Harding."

"Oh, Lenore. My darling, it wasn't—"

"I saw all of them. Everything. My regrets. Every life I shouldn't have taken. Every contract that felt wrong. It was all there, Emmrich... taunting me."

Her eyes stung. She tried to hold back, but the memories—the nightmare—haunted her.

"Emmrich," she wept, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Have we helped anyone?" She gestured weakly between them. "Is this even real... or am I still trapped?"

"What?" he wheezed, startled by the suggestion.

"I still feel like I'm falling," she admitted. "Like at any moment this room will crumble, and I'll wake up in some past hell I'd give anything to forget."

"Lenore..."

"I'm sorry. I just can't tell. I can't—"

Before she could spiral further, Emmrich leaned in, pressing his lips into hers.

The kiss was overwhelming, confident, erasing her doubts in an instant. As he held her close, pouring every ounce of certainty into her, his hands slid up her shirt, stroking her back, shredding the hints of despair that dared to dwell in his presence.

He wouldn't allow it.

As he deepened the kiss, his tongue skimmed the outline of her lips before slipping inside, seeking hers with a slow, passionate rhythm.

"Mmph..." Lenore moaned, melting into it.

The heat of his mouth, the command, the way he trembled against her—it was real. He was real.

This was real.

And she let herself enjoy it, as he desired.

When he pulled away, they were both panting, flushed and lustful.

"You didn't give in," he praised, gently grinding his forehead into hers. "That's how I found you. You never stopped fighting." His hands moved to her face, thumbs wiping her tears. "Don't stop now, Lenore. You're strong. You're a good person. And I love you."

"I love you, too," she sniffed.

For a while, they sat in each other's arms, eyes closed, listening, tasting. He kissed her again, ashamed of his slovenly state, but wanting her—needing her—to believe him. She wasn't alone, and she never would be again.

"And I'm the one who should be apologising. Not you."

Lenore tilted her head. "What for?"

"For the argument. I was a fool. I should've—"

She smiled. It was small at first, hesitant. But it grew, beautiful and sure, a spark reigniting behind her tired eyes. She forgave him without a single word, and it nearly broke him.

"Thank you," he whimpered. He cradled her face a moment longer before rising to his feet. "Rest now. You need to recover."

But Lenore shook her head, swinging her legs over the bed. As she struggled to stand, Emmrich rushed to her aid, his hands grasping hers.

"What are you doing?" he asked, concern laced through every syllable.

She met his gaze, her lilac eyes shining with renewed purpose.

"Gather the team," she grinned. "We're going after Elgar'nan."

[smallestapplin]

Could I request a NSFW megatron x cybertronian reader. The reader is the ship's draftsman usually he works with brainstorm and preceptor and often reports back to rodimus but the one time they report to megatron, they come back to brainstorm with their brain fucked silly, their valve nice and full, and with their blueprints scrunched up and damaged.

:0!! Big brained anon lets go. Also I’m sorry if I read your ask wrong or just typos, so I went with a he/they reader if that’s okay! If not tell me and I’ll change it.

Warnings : Cybertronian reader referred with He/They pronouns, semi-public fucking, office fucking, cybertronian have both valves and spikes, reader gets called ‘good boy’ once. Percy and Brainstorm have implied feelings for you (this was by accident I swear)

Mdni you will be blocked! Adults only please!

-

-

Perceptor hums curiously, where on the ship are you? Surely it doesn’t take you this long to delivery blueprints and get the captains approval, right? You are a dutiful bot, you like staying on time and you’d usually send him or Brainstorm a message if things came up…speaking of.

The red bot looks over to his colleague, not at all surprised to find the teal bot oblivious to the world around him, it would be easy for him to miss anything.

“Brainstorm?”

Perceptor sighs watching the other bot strip was wires. 

“Brainstorm!”

“Huh? Oh, yeah?” Brainstorm blinks his optics rapidly, clearly having been so lost in his project.

“Our assisant has been gone a while, do you think we should comm him?” Perceptor looks to the time, noting you’ve been for nearly an hour.

Brainstorm waves him off with ‘pff’

“You worry too much, for all you know Rodimus is stalling and Ultra Magnus got off topic.”

“And Megatron?’

“Now why would they have to go to him for those blueprints? Ah…I guess he is also Captain, meh, our little draftsmech probably got to rambling, they’ll be back.”

Perceptor just hopes he’s right, trusting Megatron is still new, but surely he wouldn’t hurt or yell at you, you’re too sweet!

How you wish you could talk, to babble off nonsense that Megatron loves to hear so much, but he can’t risk anyone else hearing how fragged out you are in his office. your back strut arched perfectly for him.

Your optics roll back feeling Megatron’s large chassis pressing into you, your intake stuffed with two of his thick digits muffling your pitiful cries. He’s so big, almost too big for your valve to take, yet you take him like you were made for him. Transfluid from pervious overloads sliding down your legs and twitching spike, dripping to the floor below.

You are a stunning mess.

“As much as I’d love to hear your voice, you don’t want the others to hear just how good you’re taking my spike, do you?”

You sob around his digits, muttering something or trying too as your valve clenches down on him trying to milk him once more of his transfluid. Megatron doesn’t understand how Rodimus or Ultra Magnus do it, being able to sit there while you so passionately and excitedly explain the blueprints you worked on, and the plans for it.

Such a sparkle in your optics, he wanted you to come undone.

His engines purrs lowly as your servos claw at his desk.

“You’re making such a mess…frag…” he groans. His free servo on your hips keeping them up and arch to take all of his spike.

Your optics leaking lubricant as your frame is wracked with sensitivity. His spike slams so deeply into you, stretching you out and denting your metal just to make all of him fit! You’re gonna overload again—!!

Megatron curses under his harsh ex-vent, red optics burning brightly as he leans back watching your valve clench down around him, your own fluid gushing from around him, sending him into yet another climax himself.

His transfluid is so hot inside you, painting your insides pink. He pauses, savoring the warmth and closeness you two have in this moment with you warming his spike. Megatron slides his digits from your intake, letting you speak freely, or you would if your brain module wasn’t static.

Megatron chuckles, gazing tenderly at your fucked out expression, such a smart bot fragged so dumb over his desk. He almost wants to coo when you let out a broken whine, so pitifully too, sad he’s pulling his spike from your well loved puffy valve.

Once empty you fall limp across his desk, your frame trembling and twitching, he can’t help but find you so intoxicating. His servos gently rub across your back, slowly bringing you down from your high.

“Think you can stand?”

“Mm…gah…”

Megatron stifles a chuckle at your sounds, you’re just asking to get bent over again. He helps you steady yourself, your blueprints in your servos wrinkled and partially torn down the middle from your previous grip on them.

“Fix up those plans of yours and I’ll sign off on it, okay?”

You nod dumbly, legs shaking and threatening to give out from underneath you. Megatron smiles at you, placing a servo on your cheek to give you a gentle pet before letting you melt into his touch.

“Good boy. Now, you might want to head back before your coworkers get suspicious.”

Oh. My. Primus.

You forgot.

You forgot you needed to head back to the lab and help run some diagnostics, oh no-

“Right! Right I just….” You’re shaking so bad, your modesty paneling doing a horrible job keep all his thick transfluid inside.

But he doesn’t telling you that as you hobble out of his office, and back to the lab.

The cycle is almost over, surely no one is still in there. You can barely think, the only thing your foggy mind can think of his obeying Megatron’s order to get to the lab. Perceptor awakes from his near half stasis at the sound of the door sliding open and someone stumbling, it even catches Brainstrom’s attention.

Both sets of optics widen at the sight of you, drool still wet down your chin, optics glazed over with bite marks denting your neck cables. Down your legs is raw evidence of what possibly could’ve happened to you, with the transfluid staring brightly back at them.

Brainstorm is frozen in shock, completely blind to Perceptor rushing to your quaking form to help you sit down. Your words slurring, all he can manage to hear is ‘plans’ ‘made it’ ‘did..good.’

“Brainstorm don’t just sit there, bring them some energon!”

Perceptor helps clean you up, wiping away any coolant and spit from your face plate. His face burning when faced with the mess between your legs, he isn’t sure who or how this even happened but he will be raising several problems until he finds out.

Brainstorms coos softly at you, helping you drink the energon which you are swift to guzzle down, desperate for something to eat.

You could pass out right here and die one happy bot.

Though it’s hard to when Percy and Brainstorm are asking you so many questions, even arguing amongst each other.

[dindjarindiaries]

Quiet Minds

character: Hunter (The Bad Batch)

prompts: "You know you can always talk to me." / "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

warnings: anxiety attack

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

Your durasteel grip on the refresher's sink was the only thing keeping you steady as you spiraled quickly, descending into darkness like the water that circled the drain. Each breath you took was a battle, evidenced by your shaky inhales and gasping exhales.

Your chest squeezed just as tight as your eyelids, adding yet another distraction that kept you from steadying your breath. Everything was just happening too fast. Your mind, heart, and body were competing in an endless, impossible race, and there was no way for you to catch up.

When every day was spent on the cusp of danger, it was hard not to fall into this pit of despair time and time again, especially when you were haunted by the close calls you had witnessed every time you closed your eyes.

It was a combination of Hunter's smoking chestplate and his figure descending from the Marauder's ramp that had gotten you this time. It always came back to him somehow.

You tucked your chin towards your chest in a futile effort to loosen the pressure in your chest. Your arms were starting to tremble with the rest of your body, making them even less reliable supports as you continued to lean upon the sink.

What if, those two words taunted you relentlessly. What if. What if. What if.

What if Hunter hadn't made it. What if something actually happened to him, or any of them. What if you were alone again.

The cacophony of dark thoughts was so loud inside your own mind that you barely heard the sound of the refresher door sliding open. Still, your head jerked in that direction as a fresh wave of dread washed over you. You had come in here because you hadn't wanted anyone to see you like this.

But there he was, as if you'd somehow summoned him. Any traces of exhaustion vanished from Hunter's expression as he observed you with wide, concerned eyes.

He stepped inside the refresher and all but slammed his hand on the panel to secure it closed behind him in one fluid movement. "What's going on?" He was at your side in seconds, his hands set on your shoulders as he began to turn you towards him. "I could hear you from my bunk."

As soon as your grip was forced away from the edge of the sink, your unsteady knees buckled beneath you. Hunter caught you the best he could, but he was still forced to kneel down onto the durasteel floor with you. Every breath had turned into nothing but gasps as you held onto his arms like they were buoys in the middle of a vast, endless ocean.

You forced out whatever words you could into a single, breathless gasp. "Can't breathe."

Hunter's brow furrowed even more in both concern and distress. His dark gaze gave you a worried once-over. "Okay." His voice was shakier than usual, but still projected the same comforting firmness you needed. "Okay, hold on."

Hunter stayed on the floor with you as he eased himself towards the nearest hull, taking you with him. His back rested against the hull as he gently pulled you against him. With your back upon his chest, you moved with each steady breath he took, already establishing a calming rhythm for you to follow. Hunter's arms wrapped around your middle, keeping you even more steady, as the side of his head rested against yours.

"Breathe with me. Okay?" Hunter's characteristically smoky voice was as low as usual, but it was also softer, no more than a whisper that was as gentle as the accidental brush of his lips over your ear. "You're alright. You're safe here. We're all safe."

It was the repetition of those words along with the steady rise-and-fall of his chest underneath you that finally pulled you from your endless spiral. You closed your eyes and focused on his voice and his breathing, letting it drown out the sounds of your own struggle. There wasn't time to be embarrassed yet about being caught by him, though it was certainly inevitable. For now, you let him comfort you and pull you out of the crashing waves of fear and dread.

Once you had settled down enough to mostly settle back into your rational mind, you had to fight the urge to push Hunter away, as desperate as you were to have him this close. You hadn't wanted any of them to see you like this, but Hunter least of all. Becoming another worry on his list was your greatest fear.

He had enough to worry about as it was. All you wanted to be for him was a source of joy and light, not the darkness that weighed heavier and heavier on his shoulders with each unpredictable passing day on the run.

"I'm sorry."

Your voice was just as hushed as Hunter's had been, your gaze downcast as you gently eased his hands off you and instead turned around to face him. Hunter's brow furrowed in questioning as he returned your stare.

"I didn't mean to wake you up."

Hunter let out a grunt of clear disapproval. "You should've woken me up." His expression morphed into something like desperation. "Why would you try to get through that alone?"

You shook your head. "It's fine, Hunter, I swear. I'm used..."

You inhaled a sharp breath and forced yourself to stop. Your eyes widened, because the damage had already been done, even if you tried to stop it. Hunter's own eyes grew larger as the realization dawned upon him, his body tensing along with the muscle that flexed in his jaw.

"This... isn't the first time something like this has happened?"

You couldn't look at him anymore. You stared at the durasteel floor as your fingers fumbled with one another in your lap. "No, it's not."

Hunter let out a sigh, but it was far from being one of annoyance. He waited a few beats before speaking again, his voice strained in sweet severity. "You know you can always talk to me."

You could have physically cringed at the hint of hurt you caught in his tone, as if he feared that you didn't trust him enough to tell him. It caused your gaze to snap back up to him, but the way his eyes searched yours was too beautifully sincere for you to handle. You diverted your stare once again and could only let out your confession in a whisper.

"I don't want you to have to take on another burden. You have enough to worry about as it is."

Hunter didn't respond right away. Instead, he shuffled closer to you again, close enough that he could set a careful hand on your shoulder. The touch earned him your attention again, and your mouth nearly went dry at how close he truly was to you.

"You're not a burden." Hunter shook his head, his eyes more expressive than you'd ever seen them before as he begged for you to believe his words. "Don't ever think of yourself like that."

He let out another sigh, but this one was lighter than before. Your lips parted in surprise as he closed his eyes and leaned closer to you, only stopping once his forehead was touching yours in the most intimate, gentle way.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me."

It was hard not to soften as soon as you heard the honest, genuine words leave his lips. It would be so unfair for you not to reciprocate the vulnerable gesture.

"I think I do."

Your words caused Hunter to reopen his eyes, his amber gaze filling with curiosity as it searched your own up close. You steadied yourself with a quiet breath and went on.

"Because it was you I was worrying about."

Hunter leaned back from you and blinked a few times in surprise. "Me?"

You looked down in embarrassment again. "You've had some close calls lately. I just... I can't stop thinking about the what-ifs. What if something had happened to you. What if something does happen to you. Or the rest of them. I can't..."

"Hey."

Hunter's voice perfectly balanced gentleness with firmness as he set a hand on your cheek. The gesture earned your attention again, and it was easy to lose yourself in the pure comfort of his soft gaze. His eyes flitted between yours before he nodded.

"You don't have to worry about me."

You frowned. "But I do anyway." Your brow creased in your own desperation for understanding. "Because you mean a lot to me, too."

Hunter softened, but only for a moment. His jaw was soon hardening as his gaze fell to the floor. His thumb was gently running over your cheek in absentminded strokes, but everything else was hard edges as his stare searched the durasteel beneath you.

"I hate that I'm putting you through this."

You frowned even more harshly than before. "You're not." You wrapped your hand around his wrist in an attempt to comfort him. "It's not your fault. It's just..."

You trailed off, trying to find the right words. Hunter was eventually able to fill the space.

"I understand."

Your gaze met Hunter's as he nodded and went on.

"It's the same reason why I don't sleep well. I never have. I'm always thinking about the what-ifs, and... especially recently... the what-I-could-have-done-betters."

You took his hand from your face and set it between both of yours. "Hunter..."

"I think..." The sergeant was rarely shy, but now, he seemed timid as he watched your hands and made his suggestion. "We just have to stop worrying on our own." He let out a huff and shook his head. "Our minds are doing us no favors."

You were able to offer him a small smile. "I think you're right."

You quieted your mind for once, taking Hunter's advice, and leaned towards him. You wrapped your arms around his waist the way he had with you not long ago, but this time, your chest was upon his own as you rested your cheek against his shoulder and relaxed into him. It only took Hunter a single breath to do the same, his arms circling you as he relaxed underneath your touch.

"No more listening to our minds."

You felt Hunter's chin rest upon your head before he responded with a smile in his voice. "No more. Just... whatever this is."

You closed your eyes and smiled. "Agreed."

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

i saw you were open for requests and I had an idea in mind‼️‼️

a shy!reader who is just a ball of sunshine and horrendously down bad for Logan, while Logan is just grumpy as shit (myb Worst!Wolverine??) and basically hates the reader. Lets just assume that they are roommates, and one night, the reader was just being nice or something and Logan absolutely snapped at them for no reason and kicked them out of the apartment. And he never realized how much he cared for them until he had to nervously wait for them to come home, praying that they are ok. (bonus points if its raining outside cuz we love angst) And ofc fluffy ending if you're up for it :)

(Absolutely fine if you choose to ignore this, i understand and also feel free to change any parts of the prompt if you feel like doing so. Love you and wish you all the best <3 ).

A/N: I HAVE A PART TWO!!!! Please tell me you want a part two 🥺As always if you like my work please like, comment, and reblog! It means the world and keeps me motivated. Thank you so much for the request, sorry it took a while for me to get to it

The apartment was always felt a little warmer when you were in it. Logan hated how quickly he noticed how cold he felt now that you were gone. You were quiet. Sweet. A little skittish, like a bird that never realized the cage was open. You said “good morning” like it was a sacred ritual and left little sticky notes reminding him to eat or drink water sometimes with doodled smiley faces that made his chest tighten.

You never took up space. You never yelled. And you never stopped being kind, even when he gave you nothing but his usual gruffness and grunted responses. You called him “Logan” like it was a soft word. Like it meant something.

And tonight, you’d offered him a cup of tea. That was it. Just a warm mug, he glanced down at it and noticed it was your favorite one. It was held in your hands, cradled so softly it seemed like you were holding pure crystal and that gentle smile graced your face like always. You’d said, “Thought you might want something to wind down. It’s chamomile.”

He snapped.

“What the hell is this, huh? You think I need you mothering me like I'm some lost cause? I’m not a damn project!” You blinked. Just once and flinched like the words physically hit you.

“N-No, I just--I didn’t mean...”

“You never mean anything, do you?” he snarled. “You’re always flutterin’ around here, bein’ nice like it’s gonna fix something. Just… leave me alone.”

Your breath caught and Logan noticed how you physically seemed smaller after his words flooded your ears. You looked like he’d struck you. And then without another word you slipped on your shoes and left. The door clicked shut. Not slammed. Just clicked. Quiet as always.

An hour passed. Then two.

Logan paced. Growled. Poured out the tea in the sink and slammed the mug on the counter, the handle breaks off from the bluntness and his eyes followed it as it fell to the floor. Guilt immediately filled him. Shit. Where the hell did you go?

He thought about calling. He didn’t. You were grown, surely you were fine. Anxiety was clawing at him as he kept glancing at the door like he could will you through it. But you weren’t made of metal. You were made of warmth, of sunlight and gentle hands and those stupid little sticky notes. He kicked out one of the brightest lights he's ever seen into the cold night like some sort of trash.

At some point, guilt and anxiety bloomed into fear. And that fear bloomed into panic. What if something happened? What if you're hurt? What if you don’t come back? What if someone takes you?

The lock clicked. He's entire body jumps at the noise. You stepped in, clutching a paper bag from the 24-hour corner store. You looked damp, and cold, and small. “Hey,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “I got you those protein bars you like. Thought… you might want some for the morning.”

Logan didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You gave him a little smile much more broken than usual and quickly moved past him toward your room.

“Wait.”

You froze.

He stepped closer. “I didn’t mean it. What I said.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“You--you should’ve yelled back or somethin’. Thrown somethin’ at my head.” You laughed once; soft, tired, broken. “I don’t like yelling.” Logan stared at you. The way your shoulders curved inward. The way your hands trembled slightly, still holding that dumb bag of snacks. “I didn’t deserve that tea,” he said. “No. You didn’t,” you said gently. “But I'll make it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. You finally looked at him. “I missed you,” he said. “I was only gone a few hours.” You responded with a confused chuckle. “Felt longer,” he shrugged before quietly muttering, “So much longer.”

Silence again. Then, softly: “You want tea now?” you asked. “Only if you sit with me while I drink it.” You smiled. For real, this time. Later, the two of you sat on the worn couch, your knee barely brushing his. Logan nursed the tea like it was pure crystal. "I'm sorry I broke your mug..." He mumbled guilty. You shake your head against his words. "It's just a mug."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, tentative at first—then fully. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t growl. He just sat there, letting the warmth bleed back in. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he mumbled. You hummed. “So are you.” Logan reached over, laced his fingers with yours. Maybe he wasn’t good with words. But he could be good with you. Eventually... Maybe. As long as you kept making him warm.

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