#and if not that then the way they keep getting torn apart by the damn media

[tojisun]

i need the canucks to win for the love of it all. for the whimsy of it all. for a reminder, for themselves, that hockey is fun as it is tenacious

[tonycries]

Never Ever Seen This Before!

Synopsis. There’s a first time for everything - including trying out dirty little kínks with them.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, cóckwarming, mating press, oral (female + male receiving), manhandling, marking, spitting, bóndage, spanking (Nanami’s), dynamics, degradation, cúmplay, squírting, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.6k

A/N. *sigh* can’t believe I deleted this before. If you know, then YOU KNOW.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Stay still, goddammit!

Was being stuffed full of your boyfriend’s thick cock at all times really too much to ask? You think not. 

Toji, however, really didn’t see the point.

“But, doll.” he groans, dragging his tip lazily in-between your swollen folds. And it was so sloppy - slick trailing down his length, smearing across the sheets. “Jus’ wanna fuck your pretty lil’ cunt.”

It’s not that Toji doesn’t like the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his cock. No, he loves it - is addicted even. And he loves it especially when you attack him in the morning like this - his pretty girl, all splayed out on her side, barely even blinking the sleep out of her eyes before you ache for his dick. 

But, really, what’s the use of staying still - he’d rather fuck you till you’re breathless and creaming around his cock.

“Toji, you promised we’d try. Jus’ want to be stuffed full of your cock.” you pout, batting your lashes behind at him. “Don’ make me go on a sex ban.”

Oh, you little minx. He knew all your dirty tricks - yet, fell for them each time anyway. “Fine. Then fucking-” he lifts your legs a little higher, hips pulling back ever-so-slightly. “Take it.”

You barely even hear the rest of his sentence because Toji’s immediately bullying his throbbing dick into your pussy. Pushing against the resistance as you struggle to take his thick cock, not stopping till he’s buried all the way in your wet cunt.

Smirking at the way you mewl and grind your hips back into his, he wraps two muscled arms around your waist, holding you still on his cock. Murmuring in your ear, low and gravelly, “Not s’pposed to move, doll. Remember?

God, he knows you feel the way he twitches inside your dripping cunt at the way you whisper out a shaky little, “Y-yeah. No moving.”

And stubbornly you grit your teeth, being able to do nothing more than clamp down so deliciously on Toji’s pulsing cock as you stay still, relishing in the burn of him stretching you impossibly.

And maybe it’s been minutes - or even hours, because God did it feel that way to Toji as he watched you being broken by the mere feeling of being split apart on his cock. Patience slowly waning, he snakes down a hand to your poor, forgotten clit. Index tracing lightly over the sensitive bud. 

“T-Toji what-” you immediately jolt, finally getting an ounce of the friction your cunt has been aching for this whole time. Mindlessly grinding into his erection - only to be stopped by a large hand on your hip. 

“No moving, doll. Remember?”

“But-”

“Didn’t say anything about playing with your pretty lil’ clit now, did you?” he hums, knowing you were playing right into his hands. “Now. Don’t move.”

Ah, you can do nothing but lay there and take it as Toji presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Fingers starting to press, frantic, hard little circles on your swollen clit. Over and over- Like he was fucking you with his fingers the way he couldn’t with his dick. 

Ugh, damn him. Damn him and his fingers that knew you so well.

It was maddening.

“Toji- please.” you sob out, powerless against the bruising grip keeping you in place. You wanted to move. You wanted him so bad. 

“‘Please’ what?” he grunts. Clearly torn between focusing on drawing steady, agonizing patterns on your clit and fighting that feral part of himself that just wants to plunge into your pretty pussy over and over. Not stopping till you were cockdrunk and crying to cum.

“Please just fuck me- ah!”

Oh, you didn’t have to tell Toji twice. Because in one, fluid move, Toji’s pulling back, fucking you with harsh, jerky little movements of his hips. Twitching balls smacking you with each thrust. Not even caring to wait and let you adjust because fuck cockwarming, he’s wanted this so long and your needy lil’ pussy is milking him so good- “Shhh, it’s okay, doll. We have lotsa time to practice.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - So mean!

Nanami Kento was a gentleman. Always holding the door open, guiding you through crowds, gifting you bouquets even when there wasn’t a special occasion. 

The only problem was that Nanami was a gentleman even when you didn’t want him to be. Even when what you really wanted was for him to push you down and tease you till you were crying and begging for his cock. 

Like right now - kissing softly down your neck, large hands trailing across your skin as he lays you gently on your bed. Long fingers dipping into your soaked panties, drawing delicate patterns on your quivering thighs. But you’re not in the mood for delicate.

“K-Kento!” you whine, hips bucking into his featherlight touches. “Can we ah- do that thing we talked about?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling.” he murmurs against your skin. 

You let out a pouty whine, one that you knew would make him break. “But I want you to, Kento. Wan’ you to break me. Please.”

He lets out a resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair. A loaded second of silence passes. One. Two. And just as you’re about to admit defeat, surprisingly, it’s Nanami that breaks the silence. “Fine then. Face down, ass up if you want to act like such a lil’ slut.”

You scramble to do what he says, mind reeling from the fact that oh this was Nanami - the same Nanami who’d never raised his voice or ever called you anything other than terms of endearment.

“Hm, good.” he grits out.

And that’s all you hear before a deafening rip! rings through the heady room. Looking back in shock, you realize with a jolt that Nanami had your tattered panties in his hands, your dripping cunt on full display for him. 

As he positions himself behind you, resting his swollen cock the curve of your ass. Mindlessly, you push back against the feeling of Nanami’s achingly hard cock, hot and heavy on your skin, precum smearing everywhere. “Ken-”

Smack!

“Not Kento, darling.” he murmurs, palms smoothing over your ass. Lips kissing down your spine, in a way that would be so sweet if it wasn’t for the way he had you under his mercy. 

You let out a strangled moan at the sharp sting, his large handprint searing into your skin.  “S-sir?” you whisper, almost-experimentally. And oh was it the right answer - because he groans appreciatively, dick jumping so animalistically at the term leaving your swollen lips. 

“Oh? So my slutty girl does know how to be good, huh?” he murmurs, voice so uncharacteristically dangerous. Hands spreading your swollen folds to take in the sight of your wet pussy. “Shit. Since m’feeling so nice, count to five n’ I’ll fill that tight lil’ cunt with my cock.”

You barely have the time to wonder what he means before you feel a sharp slap against your ass. Forcing you to yelp out a strained little, “O-one, sir.”

Nanami hungry eyes greedily take in the fat tears clinging to your lashes, hips bucking into his for more. Your mouth dropping into such a delicious little oh! as you’re torn between pain and pleasure. 

You were so sweet falling apart underneath him that he can’t help but do it again. Smack! And again. Smack! 

“Two. Hah! N’ t-three.”

Good, now it was time to put his good girl to the test. 

With a low hiss of appreciation, he drags his throbbing cock across your wet folds, gathering your sweet juices on his tip. At the same time, Nanami’s hand connects with your ass again. Hard. Smack! 

“Ah! Oh-”

“Count.”

“Four! Ngh- four, sir.”

Nanami’s amusement spikes at the way you were so desperately rutting into his cock. And, well, what his pretty slut wants - she gets, right?

Several things happen at once,  he swiftly raises his hand for a final, hard smack. Hips reeling back ever-so-slightly to ram his cock into your snug cunt at the same time. Smack! 

“Ah! Kento- Kento hgnh- shit feel s’good inside me.” you mewl, drunk off both the sharp sting on your ass and Nanami bullying his thick cock into your tight pussy, filling you up so good. 

But not for long - because as soon as he was stuffing you full of his cock, Nanami’s pulling out just as fast. Your pussy clenching around nothing as you whirl behind to pout at him. Only for whatever whine to get stuck in your throat at two fingers shoving something flimsy and wet in your mouth. Forcing you to taste yourself.

Gagging around your soaked panties, a jolt runs down your spine at the positively feral glint in his eyes. Blinking away the tears in your eyes to take in the cruel little smile playing on his lips as he leans in closer to whisper, “My lil’ slut can’t even seem to remember what to call me, huh? I think she should be punished.”

Oh.

What have you done?

♡ GETO SUGURU - Drown me in it!

Geto Suguru has done it all - folded you in half, stuffed you full from all ends, had you begging and crying for more underneath him. He can confidently say that he hasn’t shied away from ticking off everything on the list.

That is until one random night in the shower, when he gets an epiphany - oh shit, Geto hasn’t made you squirt yet. Yes, it was the sudden image of you covering him in all your sweet juices. But more importantly - how dare he let his pretty girl go so long without cumming so hard you see the pearly gates of heaven? 

So - like any good boyfriend - Geto has you splayed out on his navy sheets, your legs in the air, his painfully hard cock buried in your dripping cunt. 

“Hngh- please. Shit shit shit m’cumming-” you whine, hips bucking wildly into his. Tears streaming down your face, clenching so hard around his dick that it makes it hard for Geto to thrust in and out at his steady, torturous rhythm. Fucking you through- which number orgasm was this again? 

Ah, it doesn’t matter - because you didn’t squirt. Again. 

“Awww…” you can barely hear his words over the blood roaring in your ears. “Didn’t squirt on that one either. C’mon now, my love, I know y’can do it f’me.”

Not wasting a second, Geto’s ramming his cock into your snug cunt once more. Heavy balls stinging your ass with each thrust - not even easing you into it any more because oh your little sobs were so pretty. Squirming and bucking into his touch despite your protests. “S-Sugu- I hah-, can’t-”

Now, as much as Geto loved your smart mouth - he loved it even more when you’re cockdrunk and babbling underneath him. Huffing out a laugh, he murmurs in your ear, “Yes, my love?” Veins grazing that one spot. Hard. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t cum anymore!”

Well - greedy gaze drinking in the way your swollen cunt swallowed him up so well, slick dripping down to his twitching balls - Geto begged to differ.

“Shut up. You will.” he mutters, shifting the angle to hit that one spot that has you gasping and bucking your hips for more. Your fists bunching up the soaked sheets below you, fucking yourself desperately into his throbbing cock. Curling deftly against that one spot. Over and over-

“Close, my love?” Geto sing-songs, “Think this could be the one?”

And oh does he find out. Because you’re cumming again - stars behind your eyes, walls clamping down so sinfully as he fucks you through your high. Your nails claw at his shoulders in an effort to get him to fucking slow down - but no, Geto is ruthless with his abuse. Hips faltering only once you show signs of your high bating. 

And before you can even react, your boyfriend’s starting his movements again. Milking himself on your heavenly pussy. 

You can’t even form coherent sentences at this point, only fucked-out whimpers leaving your swollen lips - it’s been like this for hours now. You’ve cum more times than you can probably count, yet here Geto was - not even once tonight. A slow, agonizing torture for the both of you. All because he wanted you to fucking squirt.

His thumb was ravaging your sensitive clit, pleasure nothing more than tingles now as Geto fucking ruins you. Hips bullying his thick cock into your heated pussy, thrusts no more than sloppy little movements. Your pussy dripping onto your bedroom floor.

Unforgiving. Geto Suguru was absolutely unforgiving. 

“C’mon, my love.” his words were so sweetly whispered in your ear - barely audible over your cries. Geto nips at your earlobe, purring lowly, “Squirt on this one, n’ I’ll fill your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum like you want s’bad.”

And then, it happens - something snaps.

Your orgasm crashes through you. So violent and hard that you see flashes of white behind your eyes. You cry out, trembling as your sloppy pussy squirts all over Geto. Covering him in all your sweet juices till his abs are glistening with your slick. Dripping down his body and absolutely soaking the sheets below.

And oh how he was entranced. Geto barely registers his own orgasm, hips faltering as he pumps thick, hot ropes of seed into your quivering cunt. Cumming at the mere sight of you creaming on his cock. His pretty girl was so gorgeous squirting all over him.

It was so so worth edging the both of you to the brink of insanity. He thinks his only regret was not having you squirt all over his face too.

Well…now he only had to see if he could do it twice.

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Lollipop!

Shit, you thought your best friend would have a huge dick - but this was ridiculous. 

So intimidatingly long and pretty, swollen tip flushed your favorite shade of pink, matching his blushing cheeks. Beads of precum leaking down, down, down the side so mouth-wateringly as you seat yourself in-between those sculpted thighs.

“Y-you sure about this, sweetheart?” Choso hisses, despite the way his cock throbs animalistically in your soft hands. 

You raise a brow, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently. “Are you sure, Cho? S’your first, after all.”

He should say no. He should laugh it off as a joke. He shouldn’t ruin this friendship - but oh how badly he wanted to see your pretty lips wrapped around his dick. Have you choking and gagging around him. So, any rationality thrown out the window, Choso nods slowly. Entranced. 

Grinning wickedly, you whisper, hot breath making his angry cock twitch “Thought so.” 

“But are you su- hngh!” Whatever sentence at the tip of his tongue is cut off as you spit on his length. Once. Twice. Your palms smearing the saliva along his throbbing length. Enough of an answer. And then there’s no more talking. 

Choso’s mouth drops into a fucked-out little oh! of disbelief as your tongue darts out to collect the saliva and precum pooling at his head. 

Moaning at his slightly salty taste, you take in as much of him as you can - inch by fucking inch. Not stopping till your nose meets the small tufts of black hair at this toned pelvis. Because this was your devastatingly sexy best friend and he deserved the best. 

God, Choso already thinks he could pass out. 

Heavy balls squeezing so painfully, his veins graze against the roof of your mouth as you start bobbing your head at a quick, ruthless pace. Milking Choso’s pretty cock for all he’s worth. Not even easing him into his first, because fuck only one taste and you’re already addicted. 

So, really, it only makes sense that Choso was the same. “Oh- Oh fuck! Feels s’good hngh-” he babbles, hips bucking up involuntarily into your warm, plush mouth. “Shit shit shit oh-.” 

Was this what heaven felt like? He really was missing out.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, feel s’good around me, sweetheart.” he groans, as you tongue at his sensitive slit. Fingers digging into the soft armrest while he tries to keep himself together.

You notice - of course you do - because soon enough you’re grabbing his arms to rest on your head, teary eyes blinking up at him so sinfully as you suck the soul out of him. 

In a split-second, Choso’s carding his fingers through your hair, holding you steady as he rams his cock down your throat. 

“Fuck- m’s-sorry, sweetheart. S’too ngh- fucking good.” his words slur together, drunk off the way you gag around him. Letting yourself be so used as he fucks your mouth so ferally. Not half the man he was just a moment ago.

By God were you a vision, he thinks deliriously - tears stinging your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth, lips stretching so lewdly around him as you take him in and out in and out in and- And if he angled your head just right he could see the bulge in your throat. Him - all him. “Sorry- ah! s’pretty hgnh- pretty when you’re full of my cock.”

“Gonna be m’first, huh?” he moans deliriously, “”Gonna let me fuck up into that pretty lil’ mouth whenever I want?” 

The only response he gets are your pathetic, wet gurgles, and the smacking of his heavy balls hitting your chin. This was heaven and you were an angel.

And that only makes Choso speed up his sloppy thrusts more. Each thrust deeper and harder than the last. Balls tightening, feeling his sanity crumbling away each time his throbbing erection hits the back of your throat. Over and over-

“Ah! Sweetheart- m’not gonna last long. M’close-” he lets out a guttural groan, tugging on your hair to pull you away.

But alas, you seemed every bit intent on ruining him. Because the only response he gets are your nails digging deeper into his milky hips, leaving angry, red marks in their wake. Ones for him to remember you by - not that he thinks he could ever forget this.

And that itself is enough to have Choso spilling into your mouth. Shooting thick, hot spurts of seed down your waiting throat. 

Messy. It was so fucking messy.

Heart in his throat, breaths ragged, Choso has to blink his vision back. And if he thought he was going to pass out before then he wasn’t ready for you to proudly stick out your tongue - showing absolutely no trace of his cum. Swallowing everything he gives.

“I-I think,” he starts, voice shot, “S’time for me to return the favor.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Drunk on you(r cunt)!

Why the hell would the King of Curses ever kneel down to anyone? 

Why would he ever wrestle your legs so shamefully open, dive nose-first into your pretty pussy, and tease you with his tongue for hours? Ignoring his angry, achingly hard cock for the sole purpose of making you cum and only making you cum?

But, well, that’s exactly what happened. 

“Oh- Kuna! Please-” you mewl, big fat tears dripping down your face at this point. Not knowing whether to move your hips away or buck up into his tongue for more more more-

“What now, brat?” he hums into your dripping cunt, vibrations making you squeal. “Complained that I don’t eat out your pretty lil’ cunt n’ now you’re acting so spoiled?”

Ah, there it was - that offhand little remark that got you into this mess. “B-but,” you whine, stars behind your eyes each time Sukuna laps at your sweet juices. “Didn’t think you’d be so mean-”

All you get is a dark chuckle as Sukuna sucks on your throbbing clit, so sensitive from his relentless abuse. Rolling his tongue over it so teasingly. 

Now, this might be his first time eating you out, but he knows exactly what you need - what you crave. And the way your body trembled under his touch told Sukuna everything about how you were brinking so dangerously close to the edge. Too close. 

“Please, Kuna! Wan’ cum s’bad.” you cry out, broken little moans of pleasure leaving your swollen lips. Ones which quickly turn into disappointed whines as he pulls away. Again.

“M’not being mean.” he murmurs in your ear, drinking in that adorable little pout on your face. 

In the haze of your lust-addled mind, you barely register the way he flips you two to lay on his back. Manhandling you further up the mattress you to be splayed out so sinfully above him - thighs straddling his devastatingly handsome face, hot breath hitting your dripping cunt.

“See?” Sukuna hums, tongue darting out to catch the obscene drip! drip! drip! of your slick. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “M’the best fucking boyfriend you’ll ever have.” And with that, he’s bullying his tongue through your swollen fold. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Ngh- feels s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Sukuna’s tongue. 

Why was he so reluctant again? Something about stupid fucking pride? Fuck that, Sukuna would be on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal.

God, you were pretty sure you’d be collapsing onto him if it wasn’t for the strong hand holding your hips. Grip almost bruising as he rocks you harder - more obscenely - on his tongue. The other snakes down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your swollen clit - as if you weren’t losing your sanity enough

And maybe if you were in a better state of mind you’d have noticed that Sukuna was, too. Eyes half-lidded, slick glistening down his jaw, pussy-drunk and watching awe-struck at the sinful sight of you. Devouring the sight of you the way he was with your cunt. 

Fuck, why does this feel so good? He wasn’t even fucking getting off, but the more he made out with your sweet cunt, the more he could feel himself edging closer and closer to the edge. Rock-hard cock angry and leaking precum all over his abs. The great Ryomen Sukuna cumming in his pants from eating his pretty girl out? 

Shit, Sukuna thinks deliriously, he was gonna have to make you cum. Soon. 

“Kuna- m’close.” you whimper, voice so soft as if you were afraid of being teased again.

“Oh yeah, brat?” he mutters into your folds, “Want it s’badly, huh? Wan’ cum on my tongue?” 

The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Yes yes yes! Can’t take it anymore, wan’ cum. Make me cum, please!” you keen. Fucked-out little whines of Sukuna’s name leaving your mouth as he speeds up his movements.

“Then cum.”

And you are, clenching so lewdly around his soft tongue as you ride out your high on his face. Your juices glossing his lips so prettily. And oh Sukuna’s so entranced by you creaming around his tongue that he almost misses the feel of thick, hot spurts of his cum now pooling on his abs. Fuck, he was going to have to do this very often.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Break him!

Gojo always fucked you like his own personal sextoy. And now, it was only time for you to pay back the favor. Which is why you had him handcuffed to the bed, shirtless and splayed out to absolutely fucking ruin. 

“Hah, don’t worry, baby. I’ll be gentle.” Gojo chuckles, tugging on the metal cuffs. Still so cocky despite the way his throbbing dick was leaking all over his sculpted abs, twitching at the mere sound of your voice. 

“How nice.” you hum, sliding your pussy across his swollen cock, drenching him in your juices. “Because I won’t be.” And before Gojo can retort, you’re sinking down on his achingly hard cock, squeezing him inside your tight cunt as much as you can. 

“Shit shit shit, yes. Your pretty lil’ pussy feel s’amazing wrapped around me. You sure you can handle it all, baby?” 

You waste no time. Slamming down on Gojo’s leaking cock in one, abrupt motion, walls burning at the stretch as your ass meets his heavy balls. They twitch against you as you start moving in steady little bounces, sliding his thick cock in and out of your dripping cunt. In out in and out in and-

“Shit, baby. Fuckin’ me s’good ah! Hngh-” Gojo’s sinful moans come in ragged bursts. Fucking up into your pussy in shallow, defiant little thrusts to bully himself deeper and deeper inside you. But not for long - because you’re pushing his hips down, nails digging into the milky skin of his hips.

“Nope.” you hum, grinning at his pout. “Not till you admit defeat, Toru.”

“What defeat? That all you got, baby?” Gojo scoffs.

Stubborn bastard.

“‘What defeat’, huh?” you taunt. Leaning down so your breath fans his pretty face, “Said I couldn’t- handle it-” Each word is punctuated by you slamming down hard onto his swollen cock. Snug cunt massaging his veins as you pull up all the way - till his leaking tip is just kissing your sloppy hole, rocking your hips down hard at a punishing pace. “Look at you now, huh?”

You risk a glance into his eyes and oh- he liked it.

The great Gojo Satoru - revered like a God since birth - liked being treated like a mere fucktoy at your hands. Loved it even - if the way he twitched inside you was anything to go by it. Oh how you enjoyed being the one to bring him down to his knees.

Immediately, your hand reaches to grab the blindfold hanging haphazardly on his neck. “C’mon, Toru.” you warn, breaths ragged at the way his fat tip kissed your cervix. Tugging - hard - Gojo breath hitches in his throat as you whisper, “Jus’ give up.”

His pretty lips part slightly as you speed up your movements. Harsh, purposeful movements just to fuck his soul out. 

“God, fuck- hah. Nah, more talk than walk, huh?”

Your hand tightens around the delicate blindfold, relishing in the wet little gurgles that leave him at the pressure around his throat. Balls squeezing painfully as you hypnotize him with your heavenly cunt. Alternating between agonizingly slow strokes and a sloppy, erratic bouncing - edging him closer and closer to the edge. Only to shatter his orgasm and his ego. Fuck.

“I know you want to cum, Toru.” your sweet voice snaps him out of his reverie, and Gojo stares up into your hazy, powerdrunk eyes. “Just admit defeat.”

“No.”

“Toru.” you start, sultry and dangerous. “Admit it.”

He shakes his head desperately, tears peeking out through those long lashes. “No.” he repeats, jaw clenched tight.

A hand wraps around his blindfold, pulling him impossibly closer, not even a hair’s breadth between your sticky bodies. “Admit defeat, Toru.” your lips ghosting his, nipping at his bottom lip. “Admit defeat, n’ I’ll make your cock cum hard enough to see stars.”

And finally, “I hah- a-admit defeat.”

“Louder.”

“I was wrong! Was wrong, m’girl. Lemme cum please lemme cum-”

Throwing his head back, Gojo’s hips buck wildly into yours as you let him bully his dick into you with reckless abandon. Over and over- Using you just as much as you were using him. Not even an ounce of the God he was raised to be.

And oh does Gojo see stars - and you do too. Because with a strangled gasp of your name, he’s painting your snug cunt white with thick, hot ropes of his cum. 

Fucking his seed deeper and deeper, he fucks you through your high. Dazed blue eyes widening at the way your tight pussy was so overfilled, sticky seed dribbling out of you.  The sight of you creaming around his cock has his balls twitching exhaustedly. Fuck it was all too much. Flimsy handcuffs shattering with one pull, Gojo mutters raggedly, words sending shivers down your spine, “My turn, baby.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[jinwoosungs]

04/07/25; 07:12pm

dante sparda x fem.reader

warnings: somnophilia

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

thinking about riding dante sparda’s abs.

you woke up in the middle of the night, questioning why your boyfriend didn’t join you in bed, yet you swore you could hear his snores echoing throughout your apartment.

dressed in an oversized shirt, you step out of your bedroom, your bare feet touching at the wooden floors that creak with your added weight. as you venture out into the living room, dante’s snores became even more prominent. noticing the way his boots hang precariously off the side of the couch, you inch closer to the piece of furniture only to find dante sprawled out in a deep slumber.

his chest moves in tune to his deep breaths, making you cross your arms upon seeing his torn clothes and how his abdomen was revealed to you. you lean forward, ready to wake him up when a sudden urge-

a compulsion you couldn’t seem to ignore courses through you.

your eyes kept taking in the sinful sight of him, with his torn shirt and how it left nothing to the imagination. dante was laid out so deliciously for you that you had to take a moment to admire him. as if sculpted by the gods themselves, there wasn’t an inch of dante that was short of perfection. while he breathed, you watched with an almost hungry gaze at how his muscles rippled in response.

a familiar ache was settled between your legs when you carefully step out of your panties, kicking them aside when they pool against your ankles. heat was felt blossoming within your veins when you manage to climb on top of your beloved hunter, placing your naked center over his abdomen while trembling at how the first contact made you feel.

low whimpers escape from your parted lips when you brace yourself against his chest, moving your slick heat up and down his abdomen. you allow each muscled ridge to catch at your clit, fueling the bundle of nerves with some much needed friction. your movements succeed in making the couch bounce in response, with dante no longer asleep as he lazily watches you while a storm was felt brewing beneath his eyes.

his low whistle was what makes you stutter in your movements, eyes going wide when his large hands were felt gripping at your waist. “you surprised me with a gift? you shouldn’t have, baby.” taking advantage of your distracted state, dante controls your movements by sliding you up and down the length of his abdomen, your arousal staining at his skin making him groan in response.

“you’re such a pretty girl for me… so damn pretty.” dante praises you in hushed tones, the deep timbre of his voice causing shivers to run up and down your spine. he suddenly removes your aching cunt away from his abs, keeping you still with one hand while freeing his cock from the confines of his pants with the other.

when his belt lands against the floor without a second thought, you found yourself laid back against the couch. dante removes your oversized shirt, giving him the view of your perky breasts and how your nipples hardened beneath his heated gaze. he lets out a low whistle, tossing aside your shirt while cupping one of your breasts within the palm of his hand. “how did a bastard like me get so lucky?”

playing with your nipples for another brief second, he releases them, feigning disappointment when he tosses both of your legs against his shoulder, “as much as i’d love to have my mouth suckling at your tits, ‘m afraid my dick just got way too hard to ignore. it’s practically leaking for you, babygirl.”

with your legs trapped against his shoulder, you could barely move, trembling with anticipation when you felt his cockhead lightly tracing at your outer lips. he collects the evidence of your arousal, slapping his tip playfully against your entrance to draw out even more of your whiny moans.

“ngh, dante…! stop teasing me…”

“heh, as you wish, babe.”

no longer teasing you, dante swiftly enters you, sheathing his cock deep inside your silky walls as he forces you into a mating press. his swift pounds were void of any gentleness as he fucks you with a possessiveness that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. you were so full of him-

so full of his cock that you lost every single thought that didn’t pertain to him.

the sensation of his cock nestled so deeply inside of you was overwhelming, filling you with a red hot pleasure you craved. his balls kept slapping against you, and you swore that he was fucking you so deep that he was practically in your womb at this point. the feeling of being fucked dumb along with the lingering scent of sex in the air were too much to bear when you manage to arch your back against the leather couch, releasing your juices down the length of his cock.

a growl was heard coming from dante as he continues to bully your sensitive walls with his cock, not stopping even when you had him in a vice grip. yet a few moments later, the need to cum overpowers everything else when dante stills his hips, allowing his dick to grow while you milked him for all he was worth.

thick spurts of his cum were felt being pumped inside you, making you drool at the sudden sensation as you were certain you had heart in your eyes for the beast of a man settled above you. when dante was confident that he was completely emptied did he land against you (earning a loud squeak from you).

“whoa, dante…! you’re so heavy…” his rich chuckle fills at your ear, with dante removing your legs from his shoulder and back down to his waist. he says your name in an almost reverent manner, his usually gruff voice tinged with an unusual softness that he reserves only for you. you meet his gaze, seeing the perfect quality of his true blue eyes, reminding you of clear ocean waters for a brief second until he leans forward to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

you respond eagerly, kissing him back with just as much passion when you opened up to him. tongues battled for dominance, yet you lost as soon as you felt his tongue pinning yours down. he explores your taste with a slowness that conveyed he had all the time in the world-

yet the sensation of something hard growing from inside you breaks you out of your haze, all too eager to delve in both of your hedonistic desires when dante pulls away from your lips.

with a cocky grin on his face, he spreads your legs wide open for him, allowing both of your legs to hang off either sides of the couch before pistoning his cock back into you. “heh, sorry princess, i guess once wasn’t enough f’ me. but… you’ll forgive me, right?”

and with how good dante was making you feel, you would have done anything and everything for him.

end notes: dante was made for the feminine gaze 🫦

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

babes idk this has been plaguing me all damn day okay? angsty, grumpy, eventually fluffy Joel Miller. im all about the drama today I've been getting a lot of requests about Joel tending to reader on a patrol gone wrong / Jackson!Joel so here is a whole one shot dedicated to all of you ♥︎

When Joel Miller came back to Jackson after taking Ellie from that hospital, he was on edge. Always on edge. The bags under his eyes darkened by the day, deep-set proof of sleepless nights spent tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that left him breathless and clawing at the past. So he worked. Took on more patrols, fixed fences, chopped wood—kept his hands busy, his mind busier. If he let up, even for a second, the memories crept in like rot in the walls. That way when his head hit the pillow at night, he was too exhausted for dreams.

Then spring came, and with it, something new. Something warm. Something bright.

You.

He didn’t know where the hell you came from at first. Just that Tommy had dragged you in, half-dead and shaking, after your group got torn apart by Infected out near the old hunting cabins. He heard about it once Tommy could stomach telling the story—another tragedy, more unknown lives lost—but you? You survived.

And now he hardly recognized you as that scared, bloody thing they found in the snow. You were—Jesus—you were everywhere. Helping in the garden, stacking supplies, chattering with the old folks who baked you fresh bread or cookies because they liked how sweet you were. It was annoying. Distracting. You were too...bright. Too alive. Too much of a reminder of something he shouldn’t want. He didn’t even want to know your name, but it found him anyway.

“She wants to start helping on patrols,” Tommy said casually, slicing into his steak one Sunday night over dinner. Maria nodded, considering.

“We could always put her with—”

No. It was all Joel could think. Not you, not out there in the wilderness again. There was so much shit out there, you’d faced enough. Couldn't you just stay here, safe?

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “No?” he echoed, a little amused, a little suspicious.

Joel clenched his jaw, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, chewing slow to buy himself time as he realized he must’ve said it out loud. His throat went dry as he forced himself to swallow.

Joel forced a grunt, waved a hand vaguely. “Just think she’s too young to be goin’ out there. Didn’t she just get here?”

“She’s older than Ellie,” Tommy pointed out, spearing a potato on his fork. “And Ellie’s out there right now, you know that.”

Joel’s fingers curled tight around his knife. Yeah, he knew. Ellie was out on her first real two-day patrol, and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours half-sick over it. His eyes flickered to her empty seat, and he sent up a silent prayer that she was still safe.

“Well,” Tommy continued, oblivious, “I’m plannin’ on buddyin’ her up with one of my best guys. Jesse can take her. Shouldn’t be an issue. He’s quick on his feet, got a good eye.”

Jesse. Joel barely held back a sneer. The kid was fine, sure. But Jesse wasn’t the issue.

You were.

Joel sipped his shitty, lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug, scowling at how diluted it was as it settled on his tongue. He missed real coffee. Hated that he had to drink this watered-down bullshit. The only thing worse was the sharp knock at his door.

His jaw clenched.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the mug, already annoyed, and stomped over. If this was Tommy with more goddamn chores or Maria with another lecture about community responsibility, he was gonna—

Joel yanked the door open, glare already in place. But then he saw you, and his stomach dropped.

You stood there, a little breathless, strands of hair falling loose around your face despite how you’d tied it back. Morning sun caught on your skin, the warm glow of sweat making you look… Fuck. His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"Oh–Hi," you said, a little uncertain, shifting on your feet.

Joel just stared.

He hadn’t spoken to you. Not once. Hadn’t let himself. You were too damn…well, whatever you were, whatever part of him that couldn’t quite place what you did to him…he wanted no part of it. But now you were standing at his door, looking at him with those bright, wide eyes, and he felt like a teenage boy again.

His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He had no clue what the hell to even say.

Your blush deepened under his stare. "Um," you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Ellie told me to come grab her before I left for patrol. First time and all." A nervous laugh puffed out of you, light and breathy. "She said she keeps a map of the area—marked with all the bad spots. Ya know."

Joel blinked. His brain finally caught up.

Patrol.

Your patrol.

His jaw ticked. So Tommy still had you paired with Jessie then?

"Ellie," Joel called behind him, finally tearing his gaze from you.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs before Ellie appeared, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Hey!" she called when she met your gaze, brightening.

Joel grumbled something low and incoherent, something that excused him as he turned on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. He didn’t dare look at you again. But he felt your eyes on him. Questioning. Curious.

He hated it.

You were in his house.

Moving around upstairs. Talking to Ellie. When the hell had you two become friends? Your voice filtered down, mixing with the soft creak of the floorboards, and Joel stood in the kitchen, fuming.

He shouldn’t care.

Shouldn’t give a shit about where Tommy had you stationed, who you were paired with, how ready you were or weren’t for the outside. It wasn’t his goddamn business. But the thought of you out there—stumbling into an ambush, stepping too loud in a place you shouldn’t, a clicker lurking just out of sight, waiting for one wrong move—made his chest tighten in a way he really didn’t like.

He braced a hand on the counter, fingers drumming against the wood.

A few minutes later, your footsteps padded back down as Joel was heading out the door for his own chores. He didn’t turn, didn’t move as you crossed through the house. Just as you made your way past him, your flowery scent, so feminine and light and soft—

"Bye, Joel."

Your voice was light. Casual. Like it was nothing. Like saying his name didn’t do anything.

But it did.

His body went rigid, like something had yanked him back into himself, back into that dark and tangled place in his head where things got real complicated real quick. His name in your mouth, soft and easy, made his skin prickle, made something heavy settle deep in his chest. It stuck to him like a damn burr, taking place and nestling tight in his mind. His name on your lips was like a song, something like a siren’s call made specifically for him. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

He was so fucked.

Joel spent the day trying not to think about you.

And managed to do a shit job of it.

His hands worked—fixing a busted stable door, making sure the latch held, leading the horses out into the pasture on the warmest day so far—but his mind stayed locked on one thing. Had you made it to the outpost? Was the trip quiet? Had Jesse kept you close? Had he been watching your back?

It was pissing him off, all this worrying about someone he barely even knew.

Joel huffed, trying to shake the gnawing in his chest. He just needed to get through the work. Keep his head down, get home, and sleep it off.

Then he saw Jesse.

The kid was near the stables, talking to Dina, grinning like he didn’t have a single worry in the goddamn world. Joel’s brow furrowed. His steps slowed as he stared, confusion creeping in. Jesse was back? Already? That didn’t make sense. It had only been half a day. Patrols didn’t wrap this early, not unless something had happened.

For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was grateful that the hours had passed without sight of you. Maybe that meant his mind was finally loosening the barb you’d stuck in him. Maybe, after today, he wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about you.

But that was a damn lie.

Because hadn’t he thought of you every single hour since you left his house this morning? Hadn’t his eyes kept tracking the road, half-expecting you to appear? Hadn’t he been waiting—hoping—for some confirmation that you were fine, that patrol had been canceled, that you had never even needed to go in the first place?

Something was wrong. He felt it.

His jaw clenched. “Jesse.”

The kid turned, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey, Mr. Miller. What’s up?”

Joel frowned, eyes narrowing. “You’re already back?”

Jesse tilted his head, looking confused. “Uh… yeah?”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing thin. His fingers twitched at his side, a slow, creeping sense of unease taking root in his chest. “Patrols don’t usually wrap this early.”

Jesse blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, right—yeah, I didn’t go. Switched last minute, said it was some schedule mix-up.”

Joel barely heard the rest of the explanation.

I didn’t go.

The words hammered around his skull, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t been with Jesse.

You’d been out there—out in those woods—this whole time without one of the few people in this place who could actually handle themselves.

His fingers twitched at his side, curling and uncurling. His breathing stayed slow, even, controlled—but that was only because every part of him was focusing on not snapping. “Who’d you switch with?” His voice came out too sharp, too flat, but he didn’t care.

Jesse shrugged, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Joel’s eyes. “Uh… can’t remember his name. New guy. Kinda scrawny, blond—”

Joel didn’t need to hear any more.

He knew exactly who Jesse was talking about.

Fucking Caleb.

Barely twenty. Couldn’t shoot for shit. Slow on his feet. Jumpy. The kind of kid who hesitated. And Joel had seen firsthand what hesitation got people. It got them killed.

His vision went red. You. Out there. With some stupid kid.

His pulse was a dull, thudding roar in his ears. He should’ve put his foot down with Tommy. Should’ve stopped you from leaving his house this morning. You might've thought he was insane, maybe even hated him for it. But he had known it was a bad idea. He felt it in his gut. And now you were out in the goddamn wilderness with someone who barely knew his left from his right, and there wasn’t a damn thing Joel could do about it.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. His hands curled into fists.

Dina and Jesse went back to talking, still existing like everything was fine, like nothing had shifted, like nothing had gone wrong.

But Joel was already moving.

He needed his gun, he needed a horse.

And he needed to get to you—now.

Joel stormed toward the gates, his blood hot in his veins, fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The second he spotted Tommy, standing near the watch post, chatting with one of the patrol leads, he nearly exploded.

"What the hell were you thinkin’?" Joel’s voice came sharp, cutting through the quiet.

Tommy turned, brow furrowing. "What?"

"You sent that girl out with Caleb for her first patrol?" Joel seethed, stepping closer, his frame tense, his breath coming out hard and fast. "Are you kidding me? You said she was goin’ with Jesse, and I just saw him at the barn."

Tommy’s face darkened. "I didn’t do that."

Joel let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his hands going to his hips like he was physically holding himself back from breaking something, “That so? So why is Jesse tellin’ me you did?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "No, Joel, I wouldn’t send two damn novices out together. They must’ve switched last minute and didn’t tell anybody."

Joel’s jaw locked. That answer didn’t make him feel any better.

"Christ," Tommy muttered, shaking his head. "Look, we’ll deal with it when they get back—"

"Deal with it?" Joel barked. "If they get back, Tommy. That dumbass kid don’t know his left from his right. He hesitates, he panics—she’s out there alone."

Tommy held up a hand, voice leveling. "Joel. Just wait. We don’t even—"

"RIDERLESS HORSE COMING IN!"

The shout came from above.

Both brothers whipped their heads toward the gate as someone from the watchtower pointed out toward the open plains.

Joel’s stomach plummeted. Every muscle in his body went tight as the gallop of hooves thundered against the dirt, stirrups flapping madly at its sides, the dark blur of a horse sprinting toward the gates.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, already waving for them to get it open. "Whose is it?"

The guard peered over the ledge, adjusting his scope. "Looks like… it’s Eclipse. Who took him out today?"

The world dropped out from under Joel’s feet. The barn door he was working on, it was that horse. He saw your name on the check out clipboard by his stall. No, no no. This was all some sick nightmare he was in. 

Tommy’s eyes went wide as he looked at Joel, all the color draining from his face.

The sound of his own breath—too loud, too ragged—roared in his ears. That was your horse. Your only goddamn way back. And now it was here. Without you.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. His feet were already moving, shoving past Tommy, heading straight for the stables.

"Joel—"

He ignored Tommy, grabbing his saddle, moving with a purpose that wouldn’t be stopped. Strapped on his rifle as he checked it out at the booth, barely sparing a glance at the patrol guard logging the weapons. His hands worked fast, quicker than they had in a long time, muscle memory kicking in as he moved on autopilot.

He made his way straight to his usual horse, Diablo, getting him tacked up in record speed. The gelding shifted under his hands, picking up on the tight, coiled tension radiating off of him. Joel didn’t ease him. Didn’t whisper the usual steadying words, consumed only with thoughts of where you could be.

"Joel, dammit—think about this," Tommy’s voice rang out behind him, stepping up into the stall, frustration biting at the edges of his words. "You can’t just go out there alone. We’ll send a group—"

"Don’t have time," Joel muttered, cinching the saddle tight.

"You don’t even know what happened—"

"Exactly."

Joel’s voice came sharp, bitter, final. He turned, finally looking at Tommy, and his brother must’ve seen something in his face—something dark, something unmoving—because whatever argument he was about to make died on his tongue.

Joel led the horse out of the stables quickly, boots heavy against the dirt. Diablo tossed his head, nostrils flaring, sensing the shift in him. Once they were outside, Joel hoisted himself into the saddle in one swift motion, gathering the reins, already angling the horse toward the gates.

"Joel, for fuck’s sake—"

"Open the gate."

His voice was low, commanding.

The men guarding the post hesitated, glancing at each other, then at Tommy.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Joel’s jaw ticked, grip tightening. "Open the damn gate!" he snapped, his voice a sharp crack of thunder, booming across the yard. Diablo snorted beneath him, ears pinning back as his hooves shifted nervously in the dirt.

Still, no one made a move. Joel’s patience snapped.

He swung his glare back to Tommy, voice low, dangerous. "You can stay here and play it safe, but I’m going."

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath. But he gave a quick nod to the men at the gate.

The locks disengaged. The doors groaned.

Joel didn’t wait.

The second the opening was wide enough, he kicked his heels in, sending Diablo into a hard gallop, tearing out into the open.

He didn’t care what Tommy had to say.

Didn’t care that he was riding into the unknown, alone.

Didn’t care that this wasn’t his fight.

He didn’t care that he hardly knew you.

Because he did know you, after all.

You were light and soft and gentle in a world that hardened even the best of souls. You smiled at people when they spoke to you, laughed easily, touched others when you talked—little brushes of your fingers over an arm, a squeeze to a shoulder, things Joel wasn’t used to seeing anymore. You had no reason to be kind, no reason to be so goddamn good, and yet, you were.

And now the world had you.

It didn’t matter that he’d never spoken to you, that he had tried so damn hard to keep his distance. He had stayed away, convinced himself it was better that way, easier. But that hadn’t stopped you from getting into his head, hadn’t stopped you from settling into the places he didn’t have room for you, hadn’t stopped his chest from tightening all goddamn day wondering if you were still breathing.

Because he knew what was out there.

He knew what waited in the trees, in the shadows, in the abandoned places people never came back from. He knew how quickly a routine patrol could turn into a massacre, how easy it was to be there one second and gone the next. He knew how fast infected could pop up from the dark, how quickly a gun barrel could press against a skull, how little it took for someone like you to disappear forever.

And if that happened—if he found you out there, lifeless and cold—Joel didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

Joel spotted the outpost cabin up ahead, barely visible through the dense green of the trees, its frame old and weather-worn. A lone horse stood tied outside, shifting restlessly. As he rode closer, his eyes flicked to the J brand on its croup. Caleb’s.

His stomach twisted.

He swung off Diablo without thinking, barely registering his own movements as he tied the reins to the nearest branch. His heart was hammering, his breath coming hard and fast, sweat slicking the back of his neck as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His heart launched into his throat when he first saw you. You were slightly slumped against the wall, your fingers curled tenderly around your leg, face pale.

Joel could barely breathe. His body moved quickly, crossing the space in seconds. You were alive, you were alive. Everything was fine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but then something in your face softened—relief, gratitude. "Joel?"

His throat was dry. "What happened?" His voice came rough, low, sharp with something too close to panic.

Your lips parted like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. This was the first time he had ever spoken to you—really spoken to you—but right now, none of that mattered.

You exhaled shakily. "Eclipse spooked at something. Threw me off. I-I landed wrong." You grimaced, shifting slightly as you gripped your leg. "I think it’s broken.”

Joel’s chest went tight. Broke your leg. Out here. With no way back.

The scenario was too damn close to something worse, and he hated how easily his brain filled in the gaps. If you hadn’t made it to the outpost…if you’d landed just a little worse. Where the hell was your supposed patrol partner and why wasn’t he taking you back to Jackson?

"How long you been here?" His voice was clipped, his hands already moving, pushing back the fabric of your pants to see the damage.

"Couple hours," you murmured, watching him. "We managed to get here, checked the logbook like we were told to. I didn’t know what else to do."

Joel’s jaw flexed. You were trying to be strong. He could see it in the way you held yourself, in the way you downplayed the situation, like you weren’t sitting here with a broken goddamn leg and no real protection.

Before he could say anything else, footsteps sounded at the doorway.

Caleb.

Joel looked up, and something in him snapped.

The kid had the nerve to look relieved. "Oh—Joel, you found us."

Joel was already on his feet, moving. He shoved the kid—hard.

Caleb stumbled back, barely catching himself against the doorframe. "H-hey—!"

"The hell were you doin' leaving her here?," Joel seethed, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. "You left her here hurt and alone while you what? Sat on your ass?"

Caleb swallowed hard, eyes flickering between him and you. "I didn’t—I didn’t leave, I was out checking the perimeter—"

"Checking the perimeter?" Joel’s breath came sharp, bitter. "She’s got a broken goddamn leg. What the hell were you gonna do if something came through that door? If infected caught her like this? Why didn’t you turn back and take her home?!”

Caleb’s face flushed, his mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but Joel was already done listening.

"Get back to Jackson." He shoved the kid toward the door again, barely resisting the urge to do worse. "Tell ‘em she’s alive. Tell ‘em we’ll be back once I've patched her up.” Joel leaned in, voice dropping into something dangerous. "I’ll deal with you later."

Caleb hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but one more look at Joel’s face must’ve changed his mind.

He left, the door shutting behind him, and only silence followed.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, still standing there, still furious, still running too hot, his hands clenched into fists.

“You didn’t need to be so hard on him,” you said softly from where you sat.

Joel’s scowl was back in full force as he turned toward you. "And you—" His voice came sharp, and that was when it hit him.

He was here. With you. Alone. And he was speaking to you for the first time. He had been so panicked when he walked in he barely noticed.  The words he was ready to lash at you to you weren’t kind, weren’t measured. They were biting. They came with anger and frustration and fear and all the shit he hadn’t let himself process on the ride over.

He scrubbed a rough hand down his face, trying to reel himself in. "What the hell were you thinkin’? Switching out Jesse from your crew? Ain’t this your first patrol?"

Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard. "I didn’t—" you hesitated. "I didn’t think it was a big deal. Jesse misses Dina, they wanted to spend more time—"

"Jesus, girl," Joel muttered, shaking his head. "That shit don’t matter! He was supposed to watch you because this is your first time out here. You needed someone in charge. Someone who knows the way."

You scrunched your nose, a flicker of irritation sparking across your face. "We were doin’ just fine."

Joel let out a dry, humorless scoff. "Yeah, looks fine to me."

And then—he stopped himself.

The words sat between you both, heavy, cutting.

This wasn’t how this should go.

He didn’t want this to go like this. Didn’t want the first real conversation between you to be this snappy, this barbed. You’d just made him so goddamn angry with your irresponsibility, had scared him too damn bad, and now he was running his mouth like some short-tempered asshole.

He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down.

Joel took a slow breath, scratching his beard before crouching back down in front of you. His fingers were still twitching, his body still wired too tight, but he forced himself to focus.

"Let me see again," he muttered, voice still gruff, but quieter now.

Your eyes flickered over his face, searching, but you didn’t argue. You shifted slightly, biting down a wince as you let him push the fabric of your pants up further to assess the break.

Joel’s jaw ticked. It was swelling badly already, bruising and tender to the touch, but at least it was something that could be fixed. That he could fix.

"Don’t look too bad," he murmured, rolling his shoulders to shake off some of the tension.

"Really?" you huffed, shaking your head. "Cause it sure hurts."

Joel reached for his pack, pulling out what little medical supplies he had before scanning the cabin. "Just need to make a splint," he muttered.

His hands moved carefully, barely grazing you, barely touching you any more than he needed to. He worked in silence at first, securing the wood, wrapping the bandage around your leg in tight, practiced motions. You kept still, your breath catching here and there when he adjusted the angle, but otherwise, you didn’t complain.

And maybe that should have been his first sign.

Joel wasn’t sure when he noticed it—the way you were watching him, the way your fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of your pants, like you were bracing yourself for something more than just the pain in your leg.

He should have ignored it. Should have finished his work and moved on. 

But something about the way you stayed quiet, your lips pressed together like you were holding something back, made him pause.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, tying the last knot in place.

You blinked. "What?"

Joel smirked, just slightly. "Was expectin’ more complainin’. But you’re sittin’ awful still."

You swallowed, your eyes flicking away for just a second before you forced a small, breathless laugh. "Just tryin’ to be a good patient, I guess."

He could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. And for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing.

"That so?" His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, grazing against the bandage before he pulled back. "You ain’t the nervous type, are ya?"

You let out a soft scoff, but your voice was quieter now. "No."

But you hesitated, and Joel noticed. He wasn’t supposed to like that. Wasn’t supposed to let it sit in his chest the way it did. But you did things to him, even from the very moment you’d arrived. You’d gotten under his skin in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and even now, as he knelt beside you, his fingers still lingering over the bandage, he wondered—

He thought he’d been the one avoiding you at all costs. He thought he’d been keeping clear of the girl who was too bright and bushy-tailed, someone who was so different from him, so good. He thought he’d done a damn good job of steering clear, of making sure he was just another face in Jackson to you.

But now, looking at you—your cheeks tinged pink, your breath just a little uneven, your hands clenching and unclenching like you didn’t know what to do with them—his mind pulled back to the little things. The way you would duck out of his way every time too. The way, if he ever caught your eye across a room, your cheeks would flush, your fingers would twitch, and you’d excuse yourself just as quickly as he had. 

And when you had come to his house to find Ellie… You had been flustered then, just as uncertain as him, though he had been too wrapped up in his own damn head to see it. He’d been too focused on why the hell you were standing there in his doorway, too busy trying to tamp down the immediate, sharp pull in his chest that had threatened to unravel him the second he saw you in the morning light. He had been so sure he was the only one feeling it, so convinced he was the only one being rattled by your presence. 

But he remembered the way you had blushed under his stare, shifting on your feet, your voice softer than usual, your breath catching just slightly when he didn’t say anything right away.

Jesus. Had you felt it too? 

Had you been trying to stay away from him just as much as he had been trying to stay away from you?

Had it been there this whole time?

And if it had…

Then Joel didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

Something slow and warm uncurled in his chest, something dangerous that he swore he’d lost for forever. His fingers brushed against your knee as he adjusted the wrap, just the lightest graze, but it was enough to make you shift, to make you pull in a breath.

His throat very dry suddenly as he spoke, "Somethin’ wrong?" His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked, shaking your head too quickly. "No."

But you hesitated. Joel smirked. "No?"

You exhaled sharply, dropping your gaze. "Joel—"

His name in your mouth did something to him. Something deep and warm and dangerous.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges.

You hesitated, shifting slightly under his touch again, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your pants before you finally looked up at him again. There was something in your eyes—uncertainty, hesitation, something else—and for a second, he almost thought you wouldn’t say it.

Then, softly, you whispered, "Why’d you come all the way out here?"

His chest went tight, his breath uneven. There were a hundred ways he could answer, a hundred ways he could try to explain what had driven him out here, why he had stormed out of Jackson without a second thought, why he had spent every damn second of the day thinking about whether you were still alive.

His fingers found yours, brushing over your knuckles before he took them, his touch hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he had any business holding you like this. His grip was steady, warm, his thumb grazing over your skin in slow, careful circles—maybe to soothe you, maybe to soothe himself.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to just say it.

"I had to," he murmured.

And then, before he could stop himself, before he could think about how much of a fool he was making of himself if you pulled away, how out of his depth he was, he kissed your hand.

Your fingers were so soft, so small in his wide grip, his calloused palm swallowing yours as his lips pressed into your knuckles. His eyes stayed on you all the while, drinking in every shift, every reaction—how your pupils blew wide, how the flush crept hot across your cheeks, how your tongue darted out to wet your lips like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t let go, didn’t do a damn thing but hold you there, feel you there, his lips pressed against you like he had any right to be touching you like this.

Slowly and carefully, as if you didn’t want to startle him, you lifted your free hand. Your fingers brushed tentatively along his jaw, skimming through the rough patch of stubble on his cheek, tracing over the lines life had carved into him. You were watching him now, your eyes flickering down, settling on his lips.

Joel only released your knuckles from his lips when he felt your hand pulling him closer to you, and he let you. 

For once, after so many years of feeling like he needed to always be thinking of the next move, to be in control at every turn, his mind went quiet.

It was never quiet.

Not since the world had ended. Not since he’d lost everything. His thoughts had become a constant, grinding machine—always assessing, always calculating, always searching for the next threat, the next weak spot, the next thing that could go wrong. He had learned, too many times over, that the second you let your guard down, you paid for it in blood.

So he never let himself stop.

But now, you were touching him. So soft, so gentle, so careful. Your fingers running over his jaw like he was something worth handling carefully. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

And for the first time in years, that instinct—the one that told him to always be ready, to be hard, detached, sharp—just… stopped.

His mind went quiet.

And then your mouth found his.

The kiss was tentative at first, cautious, like neither of you wanted to be the one to break it, to admit this was happening. But then your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, your breath warm against his, and Joel—god help him—tipped his head and deepened it.

His hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, holding you there, steadying you like he needed to, like he had to.

And for the first time in a long, long time,

Joel let himself have something good.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Werewolf

There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

There's something terrorising your town.

The chickens are turning up dead, torn apart with their feathers and blood clumped together all over the yard. The pigs spend every full moon squealing and running around their pens like they can smell a predator in the air. The hunters say there's strange tracks out in the deep woods, tracks bigger than any wolf they've ever seen.

And there's scratches on your door - deep, gouged out claw marks like something wants to dig its way into your house.

You try not to get worked up about it.

It's probably just a fox or a coyote, right? Everyone knows they steal a chicken now and then. And you've seen the six-packs of beer your dad takes when he goes hunting. Dog tracks look pretty damn big when you're drunk and it's dark out, don't they?

You try not to get worked up about it, but every full moon you double check your locks.

You're squinting at the local paper when your best friend comes up behind you and slings his arm across your shoulders. He plucks the paper out of your hand and scoffs at the headline.

"Chickens found dead at McKinnly farm? No one should be surprised by that. Old McKinnly doesn't even have the coop properly fenced in."

"Hey! I wasn't done reading that."

He balls the paper up and tosses it into the dustbin with a smooth overhead throw.

"You are now. C'mon y/n, don't tell me you're buying into all this werewolf business too?"

Your best friend towers over you, every inch of him well bred, football star muscle. You have to crane your neck to properly glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just sensational nonsense."

"Oh yeah? So you ain't scared of a big bad wolf breaking into your bedroom one night?"

It's your turn to scoff. "That's a pervert, not a wolf. How's a wolf even supposed to open a window?"

The school bell rings before he can give you an answer.

He groans. "I've got extra practice again tonight. Will you come watch me? We can get pizza after."

You grin. "Breaking News! Star quarterback needs his favourite cheerleader around to make life bearable."

He flicks your forehead. "Damn right I do. So whatcha say?"

"Sure. Someone's gotta be around to keep you on your toes."

It's only when he's long out of sight that you remember - you're one night away from the full moon.

He destroys his team mates at practice. When he's pounding down the field, head down and his fingers curled like claws around the ball, he almost looks inhuman.

After practice, he catches you before you can scramble away and rubs his sweaty face all over you.

"Ewwww." You shove him at him unsuccessfully. "You do that every time! It's so gross!"

"Gotta be faster than that squirt," he laughs.

By the time he's done in the locker room, you've already ordered pizza for the both of you.

You head up to the overlook, his old Mustang growling down the highway.

The overlook is exactly what it sounds like - a hill high over town with a great view of the twinkling streets far below. It's a clear night, and the almost full moon casts a silvery shadow over everything.

He slings his arm across the back of your seat and complains when you pick the olives off your side of the pizza.

"God, I hope your taste in men is better than your taste in pizza."

"My taste in men and pizza are equally questionable, thank you very much."

He laughs, "At least you're self aware. Speaking of guys, I know Murrey from Algebra asked you to prom, and Dave from Homeroom."

You groan. "How did you even hear about that?"

"I've got ears like a wolf." He turns to face you. "What did you tell them?"

"I said no. You and I go together every year."

"Atta girl." He sounds pleased.

You offer him some of your discarded olives and he bites them straight out of your fingers.

"Y'know, lots of girls were awfully disappointed you didn't ask them. When are you gonna get yourself a girlfriend, mister star quarterback?"

He leans down and ruffles your hair. "I got you in my life, don't I? That's plenty."

Eventually, his arm finds it's way to your shoulder, and he pulls you against his side. He's warmer than you and when you curl up against him, he smirks and says that's what you get for being hopelessly under dressed.

There's an old love song on the radio and you fall asleep with your hand knotted in his jacket.

He drives home extra slow and when he shakes you awake, his hands linger on your waist.

You rub your eyes groggily. "Goodnight mister wolf."

You're already halfway up the driveway before he replies, his voice too soft to hear.

"Goodnight little lamb."

On the night of the full moon, you wake up to a cloudy sky and your dog scratching at your bedroom door to be let out.

You struggle into your slippers and mutter about better toilet training. When you open the back door, he slips past your legs and shoots off into the trees. Yawning, you rest your elbows on the porch railing and try not to fall asleep.

It's only when you hear him yelping that you come awake fully.

"Cruiser? What's wrong boy?"

The street lights reach all the way to the edge of your lawn but the trees beyond are black dark. You make you way down carefully, your sense of unease growing with every whistle he ignores.

Your dad left his old wind up torch near the shed and you grab it. It whirs to life with a dull flicker.

Cruiser is whimpering louder now. You follow the sound of it, ducking under branches and trying not to slip in your flimsy slippers.

The clouds clear and for a minute or two, the forest is bright enough that you barely need the torch. You find Crusier backed up against a tree, his tail tucked between his legs. He ignores you when you call him, staring out into the dark and whining like you've never heard before.

"What's wrong boy? What's out there?"

You can't help the fear you feel. Your dog is hard to scare and you've never seen him this frightened.

Twigs snap in the gloom and you swing your torch around wildly. You try and tell yourself that it might be a deer, wandering in from the deep forest. But all you can think about is the local paper.

"Chickens torn apart. Vet suspects large wolf on the prowl."

But it can't be here, right? You're practically on the main road. You reach down and grab Cruiser's collar, your heart racing. The dog barely acknowledges you when you tug on it.

"Heel Cruiser. C'mon boy."

You try and whisper, but your voice comes out high and nervous. His whimper changes into a low growl that vibrates through his collar.

That's when the moon comes out again. And you see the werewolf.

It's coat is dark and thick, and it's crouched halfway behind a tree. Less than twenty feet away.

How the hell did it get so close without you hearing it?! Adrenaline slams into you and your heart skips into overdrive. You turn on your heel and run.

The funny thing about adrenaline is the way your own body takes control. You duck under branches before your conscious mind even realises they're there. You run faster than you ever thought possible, trees streaking by in black blurs.

You hear footsteps behind you but you can't tell if it's Cruiser or the wolf. You don't bother checking. You just keep your head down and sprint like the Devil is on your heels. Hell, he might be.

The werewolf catches you just as you break out of the tree-line. It slams into you from the side and sends you sprawling.

As you scramble to your knees, you get your first good look at the terror of the town. It's bigger than any wolf you've ever seen. Closer to the size of a small grizzly, with the thick fur to match. It's down on all fours, but it's forelegs are unusually long. It's paws are strangely misshapen and for a second, they look almost like hands. It's body feels more ape than wolf.

Oh, but it's teeth are all canine. All sharp, curving fangs, shining with spit.

It sniffs the air and with a start you realise that you're bleeding. Your palms are sliced up from trying to cushion your fall. Blood, you think numbly. Blood is supposed to make carnivores more aggressive. Whett their appetite.

Staring up at its drooling maw and narrowed eyes, you find it hard to believe anything could be more bloodthirsty.

It lunges for your throat and if it weren't for Cruiser, you'd be dead.

The dog shoots out from the forest, barking loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. He jumps at the creature's back, sinking his teeth into the fleshy muscle where neck and shoulder meet.

The werewolf roars.

It reaches up and tears Cruiser off with one nasty yank. Your dog thuds into the ground with an ugly cracking sound.

You scream - half terror and half rage. Cruiser is trying to stand, but can't manage it. One paw hangs uselessly. Oh, your poor, brave dog.

You act without thinking.

You lunge forward and punch straight at the werewolf's nose. It's hard and wet, and your fist keeps going even after contact. His teeth leave shallow cuts on your knuckles.

The werewolf yelps. Like a kicked puppy.

It backs away a few steps before lowering it's head and snarling. It gears up for another pounce.

That's when your daddy shoots it. The blast from his shotgun knocks the werewolf right out of the air.

It crashes down and scrambles to its feet. Its head swings wildly between you and your father. It growls one final time before turning on its heel and bounding into the trees.

How the hell could it even stand after a blast like that? You shudder, your eyes fixed on the trees.

You can hear your dad on the phone, frantically reporting to the Sheriff's office. You sink to your knees next to Cruiser. He draws his eyes up to yours and whines.

"My brave boy..." You stroke his head with the back of your hand and accidentally stain his fur with blood. "I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

He cranes his neck and licks the tears off your cheek. Just like when he was a puppy. You laugh, high and hysterical. And once you start, you can't stop.

Somewhere in the forest, the wolf howls.

You can't sleep at all after that. And when the Deputies question you, it takes almost all night. They don't believe you entirely, but the tracks their dogs pick up are strange enough to garner a few nervous looks.

You're on the porch, clutching a warm drink and watching the sunrise, when your best friend finds you.

He sweeps you up in a crushing hug, his cheek pressed firmly against your hair.

"Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard."

You pull away, confused. He cups your face in his hand and gently twists it left and right, scanning for any cuts or bruises.

"What? Who told you?"

He cooks his head. "You did. A few minutes ago."

Did you? You don't remember calling him. But you're tired and frightened. Maybe you just can't remember everything.

He sits you down on the porch swing and carefully inspects your palms while you tell him what happened.

"It wasn't a wolf. You believe me right? I saw it clear as day."

"You were pumped up on adrenaline and fighting for your life. You can't be sure what you saw." He sighs, "Maybe it was a wolf or maybe it was a bear or maybe it was some exotic animal that we've never heard about. But really y/n, it sure as hell wasn't a werewolf."

"Yeah... but..."

In the daylight, werewolves and horror feel silly. Illogical. You aren't a kid anymore, you shouldn't be letting your imagination run wild. There's definitely a reasonable explanation.

But every time you think about it, the more sure you feel. That creature was nothing normal or logical at all. It was wrong. Anatomy all out of proportion, eyes too bright and aware, the smell of it more like human sweat than dog musk.

No, you didn't imagine any of it. It wasn't a wolf at all.

"How's Cruiser doing?"

You take a sip of your drink and try not to cry. "Not good. The emergency vet came by and rushed him to surgery. Multiple broken bones they say, maybe some internal bleeding."

He sucks in a breath. "Oh y/n, I'm so sorry."

He opens his arms and you curl up against him gratefully. His letterman jacket is soft against your skin and the smell of him envelopes you.

"I still remember the day you got him for me," you say.

He rubs soothing circles across your back.

"He was such a runt back then. All eyes and big floppy ears. When you pulled him out of your jacket, I didn't realise he was a puppy. I thought you got me some weird stuffed teddy."

He laughs. "I tried putting a bow on him y'know. But he kept tryna bite my fingers off."

You laugh too. "I could never figure out why he didn't like you."

"Jealousy I say. Didn't want me to steal you away."

You punch his arm, smiling. "You're the only guy who'll compete with a dog for my attention."

"If that's what it takes. Put a leash on me right now if you want."

You scoff and curl up closer against him. "I would but they don't come in your size big guy."

You're too tired to notice the bruise on your best friend's nose, or the way he flinches when you touch his side. For a little while, you make the awful mistake of forgetting about the beast.

Prom comes faster then you expect. Your dress gets measured and tailored and steamed. You spend days practicing different hair styles. Cruiser limps around behind you, whining for treats like he wasn't touch and go just a month ago. The moon grows thin and then round again.

When you pull up at your best friend's house, his parents are on their way to a party of their own. His mother gives you a peck on the cheek and says you look stunning and to not forget the keys when you leave.

You laugh and wave them off and almost forget about the full moon streaming through the trees.

The house is quiet and you make your way to his room, your heels hanging from your fingers.

"Hey princess!" You knock on his door. "Are you ready yet? I'm coming in!"

You open the door to an empty room, his tux still on its hanger.

"Oh. My. God. How are you still not done?"

You can hear the shower running and you pound at the door. "We're gonna be late! I swear I'm going to kill you when you get out of there."

No response.

"Hey! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing.

You try the handle and the door swings open a crack. Steam billows out and you slap a hand over your eyes before you can see anything too revealing.

"Hurry it up! We're gonna miss all the good songs if you don't get dressed soon. Do you really wanna slow dance to something Mr Jared the gym teacher picks out?"

You hear the slap of footsteps on wet tile and breath a sigh of relief. "Did all that football practice knock your ears outta wack? I've been yelling at you since I got here."

Something growls, low and deep.

Your eyes shoot open and you step back. But you're still too slow to react and the werewolf leaps at you. Its heavier than a man and you tumble to the floor together, its paws pinning you down by the shoulders.

Its snout is right in front of your face, almost touching your nose. Lips curl away from awfully long fangs.

It growls almost like a man, almost like it's saying, "Mine."

You scream, kicking and tossing and failing to get away. It's claws prick holes in the satin of your dress and draw little beads of blood.

You scream your best friend's name, terrified that the beast got him too. You're going to die, you think desperately, you're going to die and your poor mother won't even be able to refund your prom dress. If you weren't screaming, you might have laughed.

But the monster doesn't kill you.

Instead, it licks the tears off your cheek. Just like Cruiser did a month ago. It growls again, but the sound is lighter. Pleased almost.

You grow still, confused and terrified of provoking it. Your best friend's room is cluttered with football gear - trophies and jerseys and signed helmets. The moon shines dully off all of it. And you're in the very centre, with a monster pinning you to the ground.

The moon dips behind a cloud and the werewolf changes right before your eyes. Hair and snout receding, his eyes darkening from wolf amber to warm brown.

It's only his teeth that stay the same. All sharp points that peak through his lips.

Your best friend is on top of you, totally naked and still warm from the shower.

"I didn't want to hurt you y/n, I swear."

His voice is lower somehow, like the wolf's growl is just under the surface.

You're too shocked to move. Too shocked to scream. This must be a dream. It's too surreal to be real.

He leans down and kisses you on the cheek. "I wanted to tell you. But it would have sounded crazy. I grow claws and teeth on the full moon? I heal faster than I used to? I can smell when you're ovulating and when you're on your period?"

He pulls back and tilts his head. "When we were kids, we promised we wouldn't keep secrets. And now you know."

"You...you were outside my house that night."

He laughs. "I'm outside your house every night dummy. That was just the night you caught me."

"Why?"

He shakes his head the way he always does when you say something dumb. "To keep you safe. To keep other animals away from you. To protect you, like I said I would."

His hands slip from your shoulders to your waist. "But now you know."

He grins, his teeth awfully sharp. "Now I can make you just like me."

He holds you down and kisses you and nips at your neck hard enough to draw blood. And when the clouds clear from the moon, you feel your teeth start to lengthen.

Something is terrorising your town. And you should have know better than to cross its path.

[seospicybin]

COCKY.

FINAL CHAPTER

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III

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. (16,4k words)

Author's note: Thank you for patiently waiting and for following Cocky series. Hope you enjoy this one too and don't forget to share your thoughts on it ♡

As the morning sun kisses your bare skin, you slowly stir awake, feeling oddly disoriented. Your body feels heavy, sore in places that make last night come rushing back in vivid detail.

Blinking, you turn your head to the side—and there he is. Chris, lying beside you, his bare chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. His face is relaxed in sleep, hair slightly tousled, lips parted just slightly.

Your eyes drift to the bedside table, where the evidence of the night lingers—torn condom wrappers scattered messily across the surface. Heat creeps up your neck as memories flood in. How Jane had slipped Chris that damn pill. How you got him home. And how you… passed out. During sex.

You groan internally, mortified. Of all the things that could’ve happened, that had to be the way the night ended? You can’t even begin to imagine what Chris must have thought.

Heart hammering, you slowly shift in bed, careful not to disturb him. The last thing you want is to wake up to his teasing or—worse—his concern. You can’t face that right now.

Holding your breath, you slip the covers off and carefully climb out of bed, moving as silently as possible. Your clothes are scattered around the room, but you grab the nearest things, pulling them on hastily. You just need to get out before he wakes up. You take one last glance at him—still fast asleep—and then, as quietly as possible, you head for the door.

-

Despite the late start to your morning, you make it to the office just in time. Your heart is pounding, anxiety creeping up your spine. After sneaking out of Chris’s apartment that morning, all you could think about was avoiding Jane. There’s no way she wouldn’t interrogate you about last night, and you are not ready for that conversation.

However, the moment you step into the lab, Jane comes rushing toward you. You brace yourself, expecting the worst.

“You’re finally here!” she exclaims, gripping your arm.

“I—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Check your email. Now.”

She’s not asking about last night? You blink at her, confused. “Wait, what?”

Jane huffs impatiently and practically drags you to your desk. “The company sent out an announcement this morning. Your product? It’s officially launching.”

Your breath catches. Already?

“Go on,” she urges, gesturing at your laptop.

Hands slightly trembling, you open your inbox. Sure enough, the company-wide email is sitting at the top, bold and unread. When you click on it, the subject line says it all:

Official Product Launch Announcement – New Innovations in Health & Wellness

And there, among the listed products, is yours.

Jane claps her hands together, grinning. “This is huge! Congratulations, genius!” She doesn't shy away from placing a kiss on your cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on it.

You force a smile, but your stomach churns. The launch means more than just success—it means presenting your product to a lot of people at the expo. Investors, media, potential buyers… all eyes on you.

Jane notices your expression and narrows her eyes. “Wait. Why do you look like someone just told you your dog ran away?”

You sigh, slumping in your chair. “Because this means I have to present at the expo.”

“So?” Jane tilts her head. “You’re brilliant. You worked so hard on this. You’re the best person to introduce it.”

You groan. “But I hate public speaking.”

Jane scoffs. “Oh, please. You literally had to interview men about their dick sizes for this research. If you survived that, you can survive anything.”

You open your mouth to argue but—okay, fair point.

Jane smirks in triumph and pats your shoulder. “You got this. Just picture everyone in their underwear or something.” Then, she glances at her watch. “Alright, gotta go back to my lab before someone notices I ditched work.”

She turns to leave but pauses. Her eyes zero in on your neck, and her smirk deepens. “By the way,” she says sweetly, “nice hickey.”

Your blood runs cold. “What?”

Jane bursts out laughing when she sees how horrified you look. “Oh my god! You didn’t even notice?!”

You slap a hand over your neck, face burning. “JANE!”

She cackles as she heads for the door. “Good luck explaining that on your presentation.” Then, with one last wicked grin, she disappears, leaving you in utter mortification.

-

You gather in the meeting room with your team, everyone chatting excitedly about the upcoming expo. The atmosphere is buzzing with energy, but you sit stiffly in your chair, gripping your pen like it’s a lifeline.

“Alright,” you start, clearing your throat. “Let’s go over our presentation plan for the expo.”

Your lead assistant, Mark, grins. “We’re finally getting the recognition we deserve. This is huge.”

“It is,” you agree, forcing a smile. “Which is why we need to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

You run through the details—booth setup, product demonstrations, key talking points—but the whole time, one thought lingers in the back of your mind: Chris will be there. He has to be. As the product manager, he’ll be involved in the official launch. And after what happened last night… well, you’re not sure how to face him yet.

“Will you be handling the main presentation yourself?” another team member asks.

You hesitate. “I’ll be leading it, yes. But I’ll need all of you to help with different parts of the demonstration.”

Mark nods and gives you a reassuring smile. “You’ll do fine. Just be confident.”

“Right,” you mutter. Easier said than done.

The meeting continues, and you do your best to focus. But no matter how much you plan, one thing is clear—there’s no avoiding Chris at the expo.

And there's no way of avoiding him in the office no matter how big this building is. As you head back to your lab, still lost in thought from the meeting, you turn a corner and collide with someone. Strong hands catch your arms before you can stumble, and when you look up, air caught in your throat.

Chris. He smiles down at you, his expression easy, like nothing is out of the ordinary. “Hey.”

You force an awkward smile back, hyper-aware of the people moving past you in the hallway. Good. An open space. He can’t bring it up here.

“Congrats on the launch,” he says, his voice warm. “You really did it.”

“Thank you,” you reply, gripping the tablet in your hands a little tighter.

Chris nods, but then, to your surprise, he takes a step closer. The shift is subtle, but the space between you suddenly feels smaller. Your breath catches, nerves prickling as you stare up at him.

He opens his mouth, and for a second, you’re sure he’s about to mention last night. But instead, he says, “Good luck with everything.”

You get taken aback. But the way he looks at you—like he wants to say something else entirely—keeps you frozen in place. Your heart pounds. You don’t trust yourself to respond properly, so you quickly mumble, “Thanks,” before stepping back. “I should, um—get back to work.”

Chris watches you for a beat, unreadable, but he doesn’t stop you. As you walk away, you exhale slowly, feeling like you just dodged a bullet. For now.

-

The expo is in full swing, the grand hall filled with a hum of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the constant shuffle of people moving between booths. Bright banners and LED screens flash promotional videos, showcasing the latest products and innovations. The air carries a mix of fresh coffee from a nearby vendor and the faint scent of brand-new packaging materials.

Despite the excitement buzzing around you, a tight knot of nerves sits heavy in your stomach. Today is a big day—your product is being introduced to the public, and soon, you’ll have to engage with potential clients, answer questions, and confidently present everything you’ve worked so hard for. You exhale, trying to push aside the anxiety.

Jane, walking beside you, nudges your arm playfully. “Relax, you’re going to do great.”

You give her a small, unsure smile, but before you can say anything, she suddenly stops in her tracks and tugs at your sleeve. “Oh, look who’s here,” she sing-songs, pointing toward a booth a few meters away.

Your eyes follow her gesture, and sure enough, there’s Chris. He’s casually checking out a product display, dressed sharp as ever, dark navy with suit with silk tie, exuding that effortless confidence that always makes him stand out.

Jane smirks. “So... about that night. You took him home, right?” She gives you a knowing look. “Did anything happen?”

You quickly shake your head, keeping your tone light. “Nothing happened.”

Jane raises a brow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you insist, glancing away.

You sigh, but before you can say anything else, Jane shifts gears. “Well, whatever. I just hope you’re not looking for a thing with him.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, hands in her pockets. “I mean, Chris would be a lot to handle. He’s not just—” she gestures vaguely, “—big in that way, but he’s also charming, super friendly, and he just knows his way around girls.” She gives you a look. “And you know what they say with guys with big dicks, they're fucking insatiable and I'm talking about him not getting it enough with just one girl.”

You don’t respond right away, but your gaze flickers toward Chris again. There are a few girls gathered around him, clearly drawn in by whatever he’s saying. He’s smiling, laughing at something, effortlessly charismatic. You watch as one of them leans in a little closer, her eyes bright with interest.

Jane turns back to you, tilting her head with a knowing smile. “Do you like him?”

You immediately shake your head. “No.”

Her smirk deepens. “You sure?”

You exhale, rolling your shoulders back. “Chris is just the product manager. That’s all he is to me.”

Jane gives you a long, doubtful look, as if waiting for you to crack under pressure. But you meet her gaze with firm resolve. “What happened between us was strictly professional,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “And even that has ended.”

For a moment, she studies you, as if weighing your words. Then, to your relief, she shrugs. “If you say so.”

Before she can push the conversation any further, her eyes catch on something across the expo hall. “Oh! That looks interesting—come on.” She grabs your wrist, tugging you toward a display booth showcasing the latest advancements in health supplements.

You let her pull you along, glad for the distraction. But even as Jane chatters away about the product, your mind drifts back to Chris. The way he smiled at those girls. The way Jane’s words linger in your head.

He would be a lot to handle. You shake the thought away, forcing yourself to focus. This expo is about your work, not him.

-

You step off the stage, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush of your presentation. The applause is still ringing in your ears, and you let out a breath, feeling a mix of excitement and relief. Months of work, endless testing, late nights—it all led to this moment, and seeing the positive reception fills you with a deep sense of accomplishment.

As you make your way backstage, a familiar voice calls out, “Hey, great job up there.”

You turn to see Chris walking toward you, his expression warm with approval.

“You really killed it,” he praises, his eyes shining with genuine admiration. “I knew you’d do great, but you exceeded expectations.”

You offer him a small smile, still catching your breath. “Thanks… I appreciate that. And, well, thanks for everything. I wouldn’t have gotten here without your help.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t sell yourself short. This was all you.”

Before you can respond, a voice calls out from behind him. “Chris!”

You glance past him to see a woman waving him over, her expression expectant. Chris turns his head, then looks back at you with an apologetic smile. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you later at the party, yeah?”

You nod, keeping your expression neutral. “Yeah. See you.”

He gives you one last smile before heading off, leaving you standing there, still buzzing with adrenaline—but now with something else stirring inside you.

Just as you’re collecting yourself, Jane comes barging in, her energy overwhelming as she practically throws herself at you in a hug. “You did it!” she exclaims, squeezing you tight. “That was amazing! You looked so confident up there, and the way you handled the Q&A—ugh, I’m so proud of you!”

You laugh, hugging her back. “Thanks, Jane. Seriously.”

She pulls away, grinning. “So, are you ready for the party?”

You hesitate, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know… I’m exhausted. I kinda just want to go home and sleep.”

Jane gasps dramatically, grabbing your shoulders. “Absolutely not. You worked your ass off for this, and now it’s time to celebrate!”

You sigh, knowing there’s no way she’s letting you out of this. “You’re really not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Not at all,” she says smugly. “Now, come on! We’re getting you a drink, and you’re going to have fun whether you like it or not.”

In the restroom, you step out of the stall wearing the dress Jane brought for you, adjusting the hem as you take in your reflection. The fabric hugs you in all the right places with a plunging neckline, a little more daring than what you’d usually pick, but Jane insisted on something fun.

Jane grins when she sees you. “Damn, you clean up nice,” she teases. “Now, stand still.”

She spins you toward the mirror, pulling out her makeup bag. You sigh but let her get to work, tilting your chin up as she starts applying foundation.

“So,” she says casually, dabbing at your face, “did you invite Han to the party?”

You blink. “No. Why would I?”

Jane scoffs. “Because he’s totally into you.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t want to lead him on.”

“That’s exactly why you should be dating him,” she argues, moving on to your eyeliner. “Han is fun, he’s hot, and he likes you. If you’re looking for someone, it should be him.”

You chuckle. “I think you just want to live vicariously through me.”

“I know I’m right,” Jane insists, finishing up and stepping back to admire her work. “Now, let’s check ourselves out.”

The two of you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your hair and outfits. Jane rummages through her bag, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, I picked up some fun things from the expo,” she says, pulling out a small bottle and casually dropping it into your purse.

You frown, reaching in to inspect it. “Jane—”

She smirks. “It's edible lube. Watermelon flavor. You’re very welcome.”

-

The company truly knows how to throw a party and it's im full swing by the time you arrive, the venue buzzing with chatter, laughter, and music. Your team is already a few drinks in, celebrating the success of the launch, and Jane wastes no time in dragging you to the bar for a drink.

“To your big night!” she toasts, clinking her glass against yours. You take a sip, letting the burn of the alcohol settle some of your lingering nerves from the day.

As the night progresses, you weave through conversations, occasionally laughing at Jane’s antics as she flirts with someone from another department. The atmosphere is lively, but you can’t shake the slight unease bubbling in your chest.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure—Chris. He’s standing across the room, engaged in conversation with a group of people. He’s relaxed, holding a drink in one hand, his smile easy and charming. There’s a girl next to him, leaning in a little too closely, whispering something in his ear. He chuckles at whatever she says, tilting his head toward her.

Despite your efforts to steer clear of him, you feel his gaze on you from across the room. When you glance up, just for a second, you catch him watching you—his eyes dark and unreadable. The moment your gazes meet, your breath catches, and you quickly look away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever Jane is saying.

You turn toward the bar, ordering another drink just to keep yourself occupied. When you risk another glance, Chris is still there, but this time, he takes a step forward, as if he’s about to come over.

Panic flutters in your chest, and before he can get any closer, you spin around and slip into the crowd, weaving between groups of people, keeping yourself moving.

For the rest of the night, you make a conscious effort to avoid him. Every time you sense him nearby, you casually shift in the opposite direction, always staying just out of reach. You laugh a little too loudly at Jane’s jokes, engage in meaningless conversations with your coworkers, and keep your attention anywhere but on him. But even as you try to act normal, you can’t shake the feeling that Chris notices exactly what you’re doing.

-

The noise of the party fades behind you as you slip out of the building, the cool night air washing over your skin. You let out a slow breath, relieved to finally be away from the crowd—and more importantly, away from Chris.

Pulling out your phone, you open the ride-hailing app and quickly request a taxi. As you wait, you cross your arms, tapping your fingers against your sleeve, your mind still racing from the night's events.

Just as you exhale and glance down at your phone, you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. Your breath catches, and you spin around, startled.

Chris stands there, his eyes immediately locked onto yours. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the slight furrow in his brows. "I'm assuming you were avoiding me all night," he says, his tone light but eyes sharp.

You shake your head a little too quickly. "No, I wasn’t."

He chuckles at your poor attempt at denial, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Right. So it’s just a coincidence that every time I looked your way, you turned and disappeared?"

You press your lips together, feeling caught but unwilling to admit it. Instead, you sigh and change the subject. "Why are you out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be inside celebrating?"

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I could ask you the same thing. The product launch was a huge success for you—you should be celebrating, not sneaking off like this."

You shrug, keeping your tone casual. "I'm just exhausted."

His smirk softens into something more thoughtful. "Then let me give you a ride home."

You open your mouth to refuse, grasping for an excuse. "You’ve probably had a few drinks. You should stay and enjoy the party."

Chris shakes his head. "I only had one drink." Then, with a small smile, he adds, "I was too busy looking for you all night."

Getting no answer from you, he tries again, his smile never faltering. “Come on, just let me drive you home.”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. “Chris, it’s fine. I can just take a taxi.”

He exhales, tilting his head. “You’re really gonna make me go back to the party alone after I spent all night looking for you?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying sincerity in his voice.

You cross your arms. “You don’t have to leave just because I am.”

“But I want to.” He takes a step closer, his voice softer now. “Let me take you home.”

You sigh, knowing he won’t drop it. And truthfully, you’re too tired to argue. “Fine,” you mumble.

The car ride is quiet, the city lights flashing by as Chris drives steadily through the streets. You’re still processing everything—the party, the launch, the exhaustion weighing down on you—when Chris suddenly speaks.

"Are you free next weekend?"

You blink, caught off guard. "Huh?" You turn to look at him, your voice coming out in a stammer. "Why?"

Chris keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. "You’ve been exhausted and stressed these past few weeks. I figured you could use a break, so I want to take you somewhere to relax."

Your brows knit together. "You don’t have to do that."

"But I want to," he says simply, glancing at you with a small smile. "Besides, as a product manager, I have to take care of my hardworking employee."

You narrow your eyes at him. "That’s a lame excuse."

Chris chuckles. "Maybe. But it’s still valid." Then, as if sensing your hesitation, he quickly adds, "And don’t worry—there’ll be no more tests." His voice dips into something teasing, but the reassurance is clear.

When he finally pulls the car to a stop in front of your apartment building, you reach for the door handle, pausing only to turn to him. “Thanks for the ride home,” you say softly.

Chris doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes find yours in the dim light of the dashboard, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes you hold your breath. There’s something in his expression, something that makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not sure how to interpret.

"Goodnight," he finally says, his voice quieter, deeper.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself before replying, “Goodnight.” Then, without another word, you step out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

As you stand there, you watch as Chris’s car pulls away, the red taillights glowing in the darkness before disappearing around the corner. Only then do you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, turning to head inside, your thoughts a tangled mess.

-

The idea of expanding the line has been on your mind ever since the expo, and now that the product is officially launching, it's the perfect time to start thinking ahead. You're deep in your work, staring intently at your computer screen as you run through potential formulas for new product variants.

Just as you’re making notes on potential ingredients, Jane suddenly appears beside you, leaning over your shoulder. “What are you working on now?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

Before you can answer, she gasps, her eyes widening as she spots your screen. “Wait a second—flavored condoms?” She immediately claps her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “You should totally make a chocolate-strawberry one!”

You turn to give her a judging look without saying a word.

“Come on!” she cuts in, grinning. “Think about it. It’s classic, it’s romantic, it’s delicious.” She waggles her eyebrows at you. “And I bet Chris would love it.”

Your face heats up instantly. “Jane!”

She chuckles as she leans against your desk, watching you type away. “You know,” she starts, crossing her arms, “most people take a break after successfully launching a product. Maybe go on a vacation, treat themselves, do something fun.”

You keep your eyes on the screen. “I am doing something fun,” you say dryly, adjusting some of your notes.

Jane scoffs. “Oh yeah, I can totally see the excitement radiating off you. You should allow yourself to slack off once in a while.”

You roll your eyes. “Slacking off isn’t going to help me develop new product variants.”

She rolls her eyes at you and then she slams her hands on the table. “I’m suggesting that we take a trip this weekend. We can go to the beach, a spa, or even a nice hotel with a rooftop pool. You need a break.”

Her suggestion actually sounds nice. You could use a weekend away, just relaxing with Jane, free from all the stress of work. But then you remember Chris and his just as tempting offer.

You hesitate, torn between the two options. You don’t want to say no to Chris—especially after the way he looked at you that night, like he genuinely wanted to take care of you. But at the same time, you don’t want to reject Jane either.

As if the thought summons him, Chris walks into the elevator. You tense slightly, caught off guard by his sudden presence. Of all places and times, you didn’t expect to run into him here.

He stands beside you, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as the doors slide shut. The air in the elevator feels thick with unspoken words, but neither of you say anything at first.

Then, Chris finally breaks the silence. “You don’t need to pack a lot of things for tomorrow.”

You blink, turning to him in confusion. “Tomorrow?”

Chris finally looks at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

Your mouth parts slightly, realization hitting you. So he just decided that you’re going with him? No further discussion? Before you can even think of what to say, the elevator dings, reaching the parking basement.

Chris steps out first, turning back just slightly to say, “See you tomorrow.”

-

Saturday morning arrives, and your bag sits neatly packed by the door. You stand a few feet away, staring at it, arms crossed, deep in thought. You haven’t really accepted either Jane’s or Chris’s offer, yet here you are, packed and ready for something. The indecision gnaws at you. If you go with Jane, you’ll get a fun, carefree trip, but if you go with Chris…

You sigh, pressing your fingers against your temples. You don’t even know why you’re hesitating so much. It’s just a trip, right? Just a short getaway to relax, exactly what Jane has been telling you to do. But Chris is the one who planned this. He wants to take you somewhere to relax.

Your phone buzzes on the table, snapping you out of your thoughts. You hesitate before walking over and picking it up. It's a message from Chris.

I’m on my way.

Your stomach flips. So that’s it—he’s already coming. You can still change your mind. You can still text Jane and tell her to meet up instead. But as you stare at your phone screen, you realize you’re not typing. You’re just waiting.

A few minutes later, your phone rings, the sound cutting through the quiet of your apartment. You glance at the screen—Chris. You hesitate before answering. “Hello?”

“I’m outside,” he says smoothly. “Take your time, but I just wanted to let you know I’m here.”

Your heart does an odd little flip at his voice. You walk toward the window, peeking through the curtains. And there he is—standing by his car, dressed casually in a plain t-shirt and jeans, yet somehow still managing to look effortlessly good. He leans against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, his gaze occasionally flickering toward the building entrance as he waits for you.

You swallow. This is really happening. “…Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Chris hums in approval. “See you soon.”

The call ends, and you exhale, glancing back at your packed bag. There’s no turning back now.

-

After two hours of driving, Chris finally pulls into the grand entrance of a luxurious hotel, nestled away from the city’s chaos. The moment you step out of the car, you take in the stunning surroundings—the peaceful scenery, the fresh air, and the sheer elegance of the place.

“You brought me here?” you ask, looking up at the towering hotel.

Chris smirks as he hands his keys to the valet. “Yeah. This is where you can fully relax.”

You follow him inside, still in awe. The lobby is just as grand as the exterior—high ceilings, warm lighting, and a sense of tranquility that makes you realize just how tense you’ve been lately.

At the check-in counter, Chris handles everything smoothly, and before you know it, the two of you are in the elevator, heading up to your suite.

When you enter, your breath catches. The place is massive—spacious living area, floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view, and elegant decor that makes it feel like something out of a travel magazine.

Chris sets his bag down and stretches. “Nice, huh?”

“Nice?” you echo. “This is… way too much.”

He shrugs casually. “Hey, it's okay to spoil yourself once in a while.”

Before you can overthink it, Chris gestures toward the rooms. “Oh, and before you start panicking, I booked a suite with two bedrooms.” He smirks when he glances back at you. “What? Did you think I was gonna make you share a bed with me?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t panicking.”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “Sure you weren’t.”

You grab your bag and head straight for your bedroom, needing a moment to yourself. The suite is spacious, luxurious even, but all you can focus on is the fact that you and Chris are here alone. No Jane, no work, no distractions—just the two of you.

As you unzip your bag and start unpacking, the realization settles in your stomach. You haven't spent this much uninterrupted time with Chris before, not without some work-related excuse to keep things professional. And now, here you are, in a beautiful hotel, just the two of you—

“Hey.”

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice. Turning around, you see Chris leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with an easy smile.

“What do you want to do first?” he asks.

You quickly look away, busying yourself with your bag. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”

He hums, as if considering his options. “We could check out the pool, go to the spa, take a walk around… or we could just stay in and order room service.”

The way he says it, with that teasing lilt in his voice, makes you glance at him suspiciously. He chuckles at your reaction but doesn’t push.

After some deliberation, you and Chris end up choosing the spa. A little relaxation doesn’t sound too bad after the past few stressful weeks.

The spa receptionist greets you both warmly, checking the reservation. “Ah, here it is! A couple’s spa package for Mr. and Mrs. Bang.”

Your head snaps toward Chris, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He only grins, utterly unbothered, and shrugs innocently. “Must’ve been a mix-up,” he says, feigning cluelessness.

You don’t buy it for a second, you tilt your head and narrow your eyes suspiciously at him.

He laughs, placing a hand over his chest. “What? It’s just easier to book that way.”

You roll your eyes but don’t push it. The receptionist leads you both to the spa room, explaining the treatments you’ll be getting.

After a relaxing and rejuvenating massage session, the next thing is to soak your bodies in the hot tub. The water is warm, wrapping around you like a soft embrace, steam rising in delicate wisps around the edges of the tub. Your body feels weightless, your muscles still loose from the earlier massage, but your mind is anything but relaxed. Because right next to you, Chris is lounging, his bare shoulders glistening with moisture, his skin slightly reddened from the heat.

You’re sitting close—so close that your legs occasionally brush under the water, sending small ripples between you. The scent of essential oils lingers in the air, mixing with the faint traces of Chris’s cologne, now softened by the steam. His body, partially submerged, is strong and toned, his chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm. The water laps at his skin, highlighting the definition of his collarbones, the faint flush of heat trailing down his neck and over his chest.

Chris tilts his head back slightly, eyes half-lidded as he exhales a deep sigh. “This isn’t so bad, huh?” he muses, voice low and lazy, like he’s savoring the moment.

You nod, though you’re barely paying attention to his words. The atmosphere is thick—something about the closeness, the warmth, the way the steam clings to both of you, makes it hard to breathe.

Then, he shifts. Just slightly, but enough that your arms brush, and you swear you feel the heat of his skin even through the water. Your heart stumbles in your chest, but you force yourself to stay composed.

Chris glances at you from the side, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You’re quiet.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m just enjoying the peace.”

His smirk widens, and he leans in just a fraction. “So, do I make a good husband?”

You scoff, flicking a small splash of water his way. “I knew you put ‘Mr. and Mrs. Bang’ on purpose.”

Instead of coming up with another of his witty remarks, his hand reaches up. His fingertips graze your cheek as he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

The steam swirls around you, the water lapping softly as you lock eyes with him. And suddenly, it’s there—that pull, that tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Chris’s lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something. But then, just as quickly as it came, he exhales, leans back, and lets the moment slip away. The warmth remains, though—not just from the water, but from the ghost of his touch on your skin.

-

The hotel room is quiet except for the TV faintly playing from the living area, but your mind is anything but still. The warmth from the spa still lingers on your skin, but there’s also something else—something unspoken that settled between you and Chris in that hot tub.

You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress and smoothing out the fabric. A knock on the door startles you and before you can answer, the door creaks open, and Chris steps inside, leaning against the doorframe. His casual stance contrasts with the way his gaze lingers on you, like he’s momentarily forgotten why he came here in the first place.

You shift under his stare. “What?”

His lips parting slightly before he huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Nothing. I just—” He pauses, finally pulling his eyes away to clear his throat. “I was gonna ask if Mexican food sounds good for dinner.”

You nod. “Mexican food sounds great.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, and then there it is again—that look. Soft, lingering, like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t but can’t help himself.

The air thickens between you. But just as quickly as it comes, he straightens, pushing off the doorframe. “Alright.”

You barely get a word out before he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You exhale, staring at the door for a moment before turning back to the mirror. Your reflection looks just as confused as you feel.

It only takes a ten minutes of walk to get to the restaurant. It is lively, filled with chatter, laughter, and upbeat music playing in the background. The casual, fun atmosphere helps ease some of the tension sitting in your chest since earlier, and you’re grateful for it. It feels like a normal dinner—just two colleagues unwinding after a stressful few weeks.

Chris sits across from you, his elbows resting on the table as he scans the menu. Then, out of nowhere, he glances up at you and smirks.

“You look really nice tonight,” he says, voice low but clear over the music.

Your fingers pause on the menu, heat creeping up your neck. “Thanks, Chris,” you murmur, trying to focus on the list of dishes instead of the way he’s looking at you.

The waiter comes with the drinks first and Chris wastes no time to initiate a toast. He lifts his glass, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "To a well-deserved break," he says, eyes locked on yours.

You mirror his action, tapping your glass lightly against his. "To a well-deserved break," you echo, feeling the warmth of the moment settle between you.

Just as you're about to take a sip, a voice interrupts.

"Now, this is a sight I wasn't expecting."

You freeze, lowering your glass as you turn toward the voice.

Han Jisung stands beside your table, hands in his pockets, wearing that signature playful smirk. His gaze flickers between you and Chris before settling on you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Fancy running into you here," Han says, tilting his head. "And with such fine company, too."

You slowly set your glass down, eyebrows raising in mild surprise. "Han?"

Han grins. "What, no warm welcome?" He pulls out a chair from the empty table beside you and plops down like he belongs there. "I mean, I know you’re glad to see me.”

You exhale a shaky, awkward laugh. "What are you doing here?"

Han nonchalantly shrugs. "My favorite musicians are doing this coaching clinic but now..." He looks back at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I believe love brought me here."

Han stays exactly where he is, making himself comfortable as if he was invited. The waiter comes by, and without missing a beat, Han orders a drink for himself before turning his full attention back to you.

“So,” he starts, leaning his elbows on the table. “Are you two dating?”

You almost choke on your sip of water. “No!”

Chris raises an eyebrow at your immediate denial but says nothing.

Han hums, tilting his head. “Really? You’re having a private dinner, in a fancy hotel, after spending the whole day together.” He taps his chin, pretending to think. “Sounds very date-like to me.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice even. “Chris is the product manager. I’m just an employee.”

Han leans back in his chair, grinning. “That so?” He flicks his gaze to Chris, then back to you. “Then I guess that means I still have a chance.”

Chris exhales a small laugh, shaking his head as he picks up his drink. "You're really saying that in front of me?"

Han just smirks, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What? I’d rather be upfront than sneak around.”

You don’t respond, feeling the weight of both their gazes on you. Instead, you take a slow sip of your drink, pretending you didn’t hear the question at all.

Chris doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s watching your reaction closely. The energy at the table shifts, tension weaving itself into the playful conversation. This dinner is turning out to be far more complicated than you expected.

-

After dinner, Han stretches his arms above his head and flashes you both an easy grin. “Alright, since I crashed your dinner, how about another round of drinks? My treat.”

You open your mouth to decline, but Han quickly raises a hand. “Ah, ah. No excuses. I insist.”

Chris exhales through his nose, glancing at you before shrugging. “Guess we don’t have a choice, huh?”

Han smirks. “Exactly.”

And that’s how you find yourself nursing another drink while Han chatters away, switching between teasing you and throwing light jabs at Chris. The atmosphere is playful, but there's an underlying tension—one you can’t quite put your finger on.

After a while, Han glances toward the back of the bar where a pool table sits unoccupied. “Hey, Chris,” he says, nudging his shoulder. “How about a round of billiards?”

Chris barely looks up from his glass. “Nah, I’m good.”

Han clicks his tongue. “Come on, what’s the matter? Scared I’ll wipe the floor with you?”

Chris scoffs, finally looking up. “I just don’t feel like playing.”

Han leans in, grinning. “Or maybe you don’t want to play in front of her because you’re bad at it.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but you can see the challenge sinking in. He takes a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down. “Alright, fine. One round.”

Han’s grin widens. “That’s the spirit.”

And just like that, they both get up, leaving you caught between them. You sit there, unsure whether you should follow or stay put. But then Han turns and gives you a wink. “Come on, you should watch. It'll be fun.”

You stand near the pool table, watching as Han and Chris take their turns. It’s hard not to admire them, each in their own way. Han plays with an easy confidence, spinning the cue in his hand between shots, throwing playful smirks in your direction every time he sinks a ball. He knows you’re watching—thrives on it, even—and winks at you whenever your eyes linger on him for too long. Chris, on the other hand, is completely focused. He lines up each shot with precise calculation, his movements fluid and controlled. He doesn’t notice the way you stare as he leans over the table, one hand bracing against the felt, the other guiding the cue through the gap of his thumb and index finger. His execution is flawless, the sharp crack of the cue ball meeting its target reverberating through the air before the ball rolls cleanly into the pocket.

Your gaze lingers a little too long on the way his shirt stretches across his back as he moves, the flex of his forearms, the quiet concentration etched into his face.

The game becomes more intense as it nears its end, the atmosphere thick with unspoken competition. Chris is leading—by a lot—but Han remains unfazed, leaning casually against the pool table as he watches Chris line up his next shot, stretching his shoulder before finally taking it.

“You’re scarily good at this,” you comment, watching as Chris smoothly sinks another ball.

Chris smirks, straightening up as he twirls the cue stick in his hand. “Just lucky.”

Han chuckles at that, shaking his head. “Bullshit. You knew exactly how that shot was going to play out.”

Chris only shrugs, his smirk widening. “Guess I’m just built different.”

You stifle a laugh, but Han only grins, completely unfazed by his impending loss. He rests his hip against the edge of the table, spinning his cue between his fingers as he glances at you. “Don’t you think Chris should’ve warned me that he’s a pro before I agreed to this game?”

You glance between them, lips twitching. “I mean… you were the one who challenged him.”

Chris hums in agreement as he leans down for his next shot, his muscles flexing subtly beneath his shirt. “Exactly. I was just minding my own business.”

Han tilts his head, smirking. “And yet, here we are.”

Chris doesn’t respond, only focusing on his final shot. The cue ball strikes cleanly, sending the last striped ball into the pocket with ease. The eight-ball is next, and Han watches, unfazed, as Chris lines up the winning shot.

“Make it quick, champ,” Han drawls, stepping back. “Put me out of my misery.”

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle before smoothly sinking the eight-ball. The moment the ball drops into the pocket, he straightens up, placing the cue stick on the table with a victorious smirk.

“Well,” Han sighs dramatically, “I suppose I should’ve known better than to challenge the product manager.”

Chris grins, holding out a hand. “Good game.”

Han eyes it for a moment before shaking it with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. You got me this time.” Then he turns to you, flashing that familiar playful glint in his eyes. “Now, how about a consolation drink?”

Chris holds up a hand at him. “No, thank you. We're heading back to our room.”

Han raises a brow at Chris’s refusal, but the glint in his eyes shows his amusement. “Calling it a night already?”

Chris shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. We’ve got an early morning.”

Han hums knowingly, then glances at you. “What about you? No celebratory drink with the loser?”

Before you can answer, Chris smoothly cuts in, “She’s had enough for tonight.” Then, without missing a beat, he tilts his head at Han. “Are you covering the drinks?”

Han exhales a laugh, shaking his head at the sudden change in subject. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

Chris grins. “Appreciate it, man.” He gives Han a pat on the back before stepping beside you, placing a hand on the small of your back in an easy, natural motion. “We’ll see you around.”

You barely have time to react before Chris is guiding you toward the exit, the warmth of his hand lingering against your spine. You glance over your shoulder to see Han still smirking, watching the two of you leave as if he just lost a game bigger than billiards.

You look over your shoulder at Han and softly mutters, “Goodnight, Han.”

Chris doesn’t look back. If anything, he carries himself like a champion walking away with his prize.

-

Back in the hotel suite, you kick off your shoes with a sigh, feeling the exhaustion from the night settle in. Chris locks the door behind him, rolling his shoulders as he stretches.

Just as you’re about to head to your bedroom, you pause and turn to him. “Why did you tell Han we have an early morning tomorrow?”

Chris leans against the back of the couch, looking completely at ease. “Because we do.”

You narrow your eyes. “Since when?”

“Since I decided I’m taking you to look around the town tomorrow,” he replies smoothly.

You blink at him. “You just made that up on the spot, didn’t you?”

Chris grins. “Maybe. But it’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

You exhale, crossing your arms as you study him. He doesn’t seem the least bit guilty about throwing you into plans you didn’t even know existed. Instead, he just watches you expectantly, waiting for your reaction.

After a moment, you shake your head with a small laugh. “Fine.”

Just as you turn toward your bedroom, Chris’s voice stops you. “You couldn’t stop staring at me back there.”

You freeze, then slowly turn to see him smirking, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the couch. “I—what?” you stammer.

“At the pool table,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “You were watching me the whole time. Were you impressed?” His smirk deepens, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Heat rushes to your face. “I—I was just watching the game,” you sputter, trying to sound nonchalant, but you know you’re failing miserably.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Mmm-hmm. Sure.”

You scowl at him, determined to regain control of the situation. “Goodnight, Chris.”

Then, before he can say anything else, you spin around and march into your bedroom, shutting the door a little too quickly behind you. On the other side of the door, you swear you can hear him chuckling to himself.

-

You must admit that you had one of the nicest sleep last night and you wake up feeling so refreshed. You step out of your bedroom, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, only to freeze mid-step.

Chris’s door swings open a moment later, and he walks out, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. His shirtless torso is on full display—his toned abs, the defined lines of his muscles, the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips. And then… there’s the very obvious outline beneath them. Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself.

Chris catches your stare almost instantly, and instead of covering up or acting embarrassed, he grins. “Morning.” His voice is still rough with sleep, lazy and amused.

You snap your gaze up to his face, your cheeks heating instantly. “Morning,” you mutter, pretending you didn’t just get caught blatantly looking.

Chris smirks as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. “You okay?”

“I—yeah, of course.” You clear your throat, quickly moving toward where the phone is to distract yourself. “I'll order breakfast.”

Chris chuckles under his breath as he walks past you, clearly enjoying how flustered you are. “Sure. But take your time.” His voice drops a little. “Seems like you need a moment.”

You don’t dare look at him as you pick up the phone to call room service, but you can feel his gaze lingering on you, his amusement practically radiating through the air.

-

The town is lively, filled with the buzz of locals and tourists alike. Cobblestone streets wind between charming shops and cafés, and the air carries the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee.

You and Chris walk side by side through the bustling streets, taking in the sights. He’s dressed casually in a thin black sweater and jeans, hands tucked into the pockets, his sunglasses perched on his nose. Every so often, he glances at you, making sure you’re keeping up, and when the crowd gets too thick, his hand brushes against the small of your back, guiding you through.

“This place is nice,” you comment, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. “It’s got that old-town charm.”

Chris nods in agreement and then he tilts his head toward the main plaza. “Come on. There’s a really good café around the corner.”

The café is small yet cozy, the kind of place that feels warm and welcoming the moment you step inside. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery pastries lingers in the air as you and Chris settle into a corner table. He orders for both of you—croissants, a slice of cake to share, and two lattes.

“Try this,” Chris says, pushing a forkful of cake toward you. You roll your eyes but take a bite, the sweetness melting on your tongue.

Just as you’re about to comment on how good it is, your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you pull it out, Jane’s name flashes on the screen.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Chris, grabbing your phone and stepping outside to take the call.

The cool air greets you as you press the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Jane says immediately, skipping the pleasantries. “You’re not sick.”

You let out a sigh, you should have keep your phone turned off after sending a text to her that you couldn't go on a trip with her because you don’t feel well. “Okay, fine. You caught me.”

“So? Where are you?”

You hesitate before admitting, “I’m… on a trip. With Chris.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then— “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. So, you and Chris are dating?”

“What? No!” You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder through the café window where Chris is stirring his coffee, completely unaware of your conversation. “It’s just... a trip. That’s all.”

Jane hums, unconvinced. “Right.”

“It is,” you insist.

“Mm-hmm,” Jane drags out the sound, then casually adds, “Don’t say I didn't warn you.”

You frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Jane snickers. “I’m just saying, be careful.”

Before you can demand further clarification, she hangs up, leaving you standing there with a million thoughts running through your head.

When you return to the table, Chris raises a brow. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, sinking into your seat. You take a sip of your latte, but your mind is elsewhere, Jane’s words echoing in your head.

Chris is watching you closely, like he can tell something’s off. “You sure?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

The next stop on your sightseeing trip leads you to a bustling street lined with small vendors, each stall displaying an array of handcrafted trinkets, souvenirs, and snacks. The soft jingle of wind chimes mixes with the hum of conversation, and your eyes wander over the colorful selection of charm keychains at one of the stalls.

Chris reaches for a pair of matching ones—tiny silver pendants shaped like crescent moons. “What do you think?” he asks, turning to you with a small smile. “Should we get matching ones?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Why?”

Chris tilts his head slightly, looking genuinely confused. “I don’t know. Just thought it’d be nice.”

You let out a sigh, the question that’s been gnawing at you finally slipping out. “Chris… why are you doing this?”

His brows furrow. “Doing what?”

“This,” you say, motioning vaguely between the two of you. “Taking me on this trip, buying matching keychains—acting like we’re…” You trail off, shaking your head.

Chris doesn’t answer immediately, his fingers still loosely holding the keychains.

“I mean, I’m thankful for everything,” you continue, your voice softer now. “You helped me with the product, you were there for the launch, and I really appreciate it. But I just… I don’t understand why you’re doing all of this.”

Still, he doesn’t say anything. His lips part slightly as if he’s about to speak, but no words come out.

You sigh, feeling a sudden wave of frustration—not just at him, but at yourself, at the situation, at the uncertainty pressing against your chest. “I don’t— I don’t even know why I’m here,” you mumble before turning on your heel and walking away, leaving Chris standing there in front of the vendor, still holding the matching charms.

“I don’t need you anymore, Chris,” you blurt out and it's coming out harsher than you intended to.

Before you know it, you walk away, your steps quick and uneven, as the inexplicable anger coils tighter in your chest. You don’t understand why you feel this way—why the warmth of the day suddenly feels suffocating, why Chris’s kindness is making you uneasy instead of flattered.

You weave through the crowd, barely registering the faces passing by. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your thoughts race in circles. Maybe it’s because Jane’s words are still ringing in your mind. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what Chris wants from you. Or maybe it’s because a part of you is scared to admit that you want something from him, too.

Before you can overthink it any further, you spot a taxi idling by the curb. Without hesitation, you flag it down and slip into the backseat, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

As the taxi pulls away, you rest your head against the window, watching the streets blur past. You try to shake off the tight feeling in your chest, but it lingers, stubborn and heavy.

-

When you finally arrive at the hotel, you step out of the taxi with a heavy breath, your emotions still tangled. You don’t want to go back to the suite—not yet. The idea of facing Chris again, of sitting in the silence of your thoughts, feels unbearable.

So, instead of heading toward the elevators, you make a sharp turn down the hallway, following the soft hum of music and conversation until you reach the hotel bar.

The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the space, the air thick with the scent of aged liquor and citrus. A few patrons are scattered around, some in quiet conversations, others lost in their own world with a drink in hand. You slide onto a stool at the bar, exhaling as you prop your elbows against the counter.

The bartender approaches, offering a polite smile. “What can I get you?”

You hesitate for only a second. “Whiskey, neat.”

The bartender nods before turning away, and you press your lips together, trying to push down the lingering frustration in your chest. You tell yourself you just need a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But deep down, you know you’re avoiding more than just Chris.

The warmth of the whiskey spreads through your body, making everything feel a little too soft, a little too slow. You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had by now—just that when you finally stand up from the bar, the room tilts slightly, and your legs feel like they belong to someone else.

You blink, trying to steady yourself, but before you can take another step, a firm hand catches your arm.

"Whoa there," a familiar voice drawls, amused. "Didn't think I'd see you like this tonight."

You look up through the haze, and for a moment, you think—Chris? But no, there’s something off. The grip is steady but playful, the warmth of the body against yours more teasing than concerned.

Your brows furrow as you sway slightly, and he easily shifts to support your weight, slipping an arm around your waist. "Let's get you somewhere before you pass out on me."

You want to protest, but everything is too heavy, and your tongue feels slow. So you just let him guide you, his body pressed close as he half-carries you toward the elevator.

By the time you reach a room, he’s lowering you onto the sofa, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary before he steps back. You blink blearily up at him, the alcohol making your thoughts sluggish.

"About earlier, I—" you murmur, your words slurred. "I'm sorry, Chris."

You blink a few times, trying to clear the haze in your mind, and when you finally focus on the man in front of you, you realize it’s not Chris—it’s Han.

Han tilts his head, watching your reaction with amusement. “Wow,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. “I save you from stumbling around drunk, and you call me by another guy’s name? That hurts, babe.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. You’re too disoriented, too embarrassed.

Han just chuckles, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room before the product manager turns over this place,” he jokingly says, reaching out to help you up from the sofa. His grip is firm but careful as he leans down slightly.

Just as he’s about to pull you up, there’s a knock on the door. Han pauses. You barely register it before he’s already walking over, pulling the door open with his usual ease. And then—

Chris. He stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze shifting from Han to you slumped on the sofa. His eyes narrow slightly, taking in the situation.

Han leans against the doorframe, an easy smirk playing on his lips. “You’re bothering us, man,” he says, tilting his head slightly toward you as if the two of you had been in the middle of something.

Chris, unimpressed, ignores him completely and looks at you. “Let’s go back to our room,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind.

Han, however, steps forward, blocking the doorway before Chris can step inside. “What, you think you’re the only one with a big dick?” he taunts, arching a brow. "I can satisfy her just fine."

You fumble, shaking your head, trying to deny whatever this conversation is turning into—but your words come out slurred, incoherent.

Han laughs at your attempt. “See? She can’t even say it properly. Must be overwhelmed.” He turns back to you, lowering his voice slightly, his tone teasing. “Mine is better, right babe?”

Chris scoffs, his jaw ticking. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Han’s smirk widens, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know what? Let’s ask her,” he says, looking at you expectantly.

You open your mouth, struggling to string together a sentence, but the alcohol has made your thoughts sluggish. Your gaze bounces between the two men, their contrasting expressions—Chris, standing tall and tense, and Han, relaxed and enjoying every second of this.

Then Han grins down at you. “We both know you like mine better.”

And that’s when it just bursts out of you—louder than you intended, words tumbling before you can stop them.

“I like Chris!”

Silence.

Both men freeze, their gazes snapping to you. Your brain catches up a second too late, and your eyes widen in horror as you quickly scramble to correct yourself.

“I—I mean, I like Chris’s dick better!”

Chris exhales sharply, a sound dangerously close to a laugh, and when you dare glance up at him, you can see it—he’s trying not to smile. His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the situation.

Han, on the other hand, whistles lowly. ��Damn. Didn’t even have to try that hard.” He shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “I guess that settles it, then.”

Chris doesn’t waste another second. He steps forward, taking you by the hand—not rough, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. “Come on,” he murmurs, guiding you carefully toward the door.

As he leads you out, Han calls after you with a cheeky grin. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me!”

-

You step out of the bathroom, damp hair clinging to the sides of your face, the cold shower having done its job in sobering you up. As you tighten the belt around your bathrobe, you notice Chris already waiting for you in the suite’s dimly lit living area, a glass of water in his hand.

His gaze lifts the second he hears you, scanning you briefly before he holds the glass out. “Feel better now?” His voice is quiet, careful.

You nod, stepping forward to take the water from him. As you drink, Chris gestures for you to sit on the sofa, and he takes the spot beside you. The room is still, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning, and for a moment, neither of you speak.

Then Chris exhales, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry.”

You put the glass down and hold your hands up at him. “No—I should be the one apologizing. I—”

But Chris shakes his head. “I’m not talking about earlier. Well, not just earlier.” He pauses, shifting slightly so that he’s facing you. “I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Your breath catches, sensing the weight in his words. He watches you carefully, he licks his before saying, “I like you.”

The words are soft but firm, spoken as if he’s been holding them in for too long. Chris lets out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “I liked you before all of this,” he continues, his fingers rubbing against his knee. “But you never noticed me. And I thought... maybe that meant you weren’t interested.” He hesitates, then sighs. “That’s why I took this whole condom thing as an excuse. Just so I could be close to you.”

Inside your chest, your heart stutters and your lips part slightly, but no words come out. You completely taken aback by his confession.

His eyes search yours, waiting, wanting. Then, with more certainty, he says it again—clearer, deeper. “I like you.”

The room feels smaller, like the air has thickened around you, pressing in with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

Chris doesn’t break eye contact, and in the soft glow of the lamp, you see it—the quiet sincerity, the vulnerability he rarely ever lets show. He’s been waiting for this moment. For you.

Your heart is pounding. You don’t know if it’s from the weight of his confession or the way Chris is looking at you—hopeful, expectant, like he’s holding his breath for your answer. So you kiss him. You lean in without thinking, without hesitating, pressing your lips against his.

Chris responds instantly, a quiet sound of surprise escaping him before he kisses you back, his hand instinctively coming up to cup your cheek. The warmth of his lips, the way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, the way he pulls you just a little closer—it’s overwhelming, dizzying, and you don’t realize how much you’ve wanted this until now.

When you finally pull away, your breaths are uneven, your hands trembling slightly against him. Chris watches you, his eyes dark and laced with something unreadable—until a slow, teasing smirk spreads across his face.

“So,” he drawls, voice lower now, “does this mean you like me? Or just my extra large dick?”

Your stomach flips, and you immediately fumble for a response. “I—I like you! Of course, I like you—”

Chris raises an eyebrow, still smirking, enjoying how he can easily tease you.

You groan, realizing your mistake. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like your dick—”

Chris bites back a laugh while you sigh in frustration and run a hand through your hair before forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You look at him, trying to keep your voice steady. “What I mean is... your dick is a part of you. And I like you—all of you. As a whole person.”

Then you realize what you just said, and your face heats up instantly.

Chris grins, clearly enjoying your flustered state. He leans in, closing the distance between you again. “I really like when you get flustered like this,” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.

This time, he kisses you slower, deeper, savoring the moment. And when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, “I like you whole too.”

-

You never thought this was how things would turn out. What started as a professional arrangement—just testing a product, just a temporary thing—became something else entirely. Somewhere between the teasing, the lingering glances, the way Chris always found a way to pull you into his orbit, you fell. Hard.

And now, lying beside him in bed, as you hover over him, your fingers brushing against his jaw before leaning in to kiss him again, you wonder how you ever thought you could keep things casual.

Slowly, his fingers work at the tie of your bathrobe, loosening it with quiet precision. You feel the fabric slacken around you, but he doesn’t push it off just yet. Instead, he looks up at you, his gaze heavy, filled with something you can’t quite put into words.

You pull back just enough to take him in—the way his lips are slightly parted, his hair mussed from your hands, the way his chest rises and falls steadily beneath you.

Chris catches your lingering stare, and a slow grin tugs at his lips. “What are you thinking?” His voice is warm, teasing, but there’s an underlying softness to it.

You hesitate before speaking. “I was just thinking… I never expected this.”

He chuckles as he runs his hand through your hair. “What? That you’d fall for me?”

You briefly look away before shyly denying it. “I didn’t say that.”

He grins, brushing his nose against yours. “You didn’t have to.”

You don’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, you kiss him again, slower this time, letting yourself sink into the feeling of his lips, the way he responds to you so effortlessly.

As your mouths move together, you feel him shift beneath you, his hands finally sliding the bathrobe off your shoulders, letting it slip from your body. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his hands, the way they roam over you with quiet reverence.

Chris hums against your lips, his fingers tracing slow, circular patterns along your back. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

You shiver—not from the cold, but from the way he says it. From the way he looks at you, as if you’re something out of this world, ethereal. And then he’s pulling you down again, kissing you deeper, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.

The tension in the room only intensifies as your fingers trail down his front, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. Chris exhales softly as your hand moves lower, calmly working open the button of his jeans before tugging down the zipper. He lowly groans when you push the fabric aside, his arousal springing free into your waiting hand.

You wrap your fingers around his cock, feeling the heat of him pulse beneath your touch as you start to lightly stroke him. He groans in response, his head tilting back against the pillows, his hands gripping the nape of your neck as he exhales a shaky breath.

“You’re really not gonna take it slow, huh?” he murmurs, his voice roughened by want, but there’s amusement laced in his words.

You glance up at him, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips before you lower yourself further, trailing soft kisses down the ridges of his abs. His muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath uneven as you take your time.

Chris watches you with darkened eyes, his lips parted as you move lower still. Your head is hanging only inches from where he wants you the most and you're looking at him with mischievous glints in your eyes. His hand moves to your hair, not guiding, just resting, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you.

Keeping your eyes locked with his, your tongue glides slowly along his length, tracing every ridge and vein as you take your time tasting him. He growls low in his throat, the sound reverberating through the room, his grip tightening in your hair for just a second before he forces himself to relax.

When you finally take him into your mouth, inch by inch, he exhales sharply, his abs flexing beneath your hands. You try to take more of him, but his sheer size makes it difficult, and he notices immediately.

"Take it slow," he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint. His hand cradles the back of your head, not pushing, just guiding. "You're doing so well."

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock and you lick your lips before you try again, taking him slower this time. You let out a soft, breathy sound against him, sending vibrations through his body. He props himself up on one elbow, glancing down to watch you, his gaze dark and filled with something deeper than just desire. The way your lips stretch around him, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him—he can’t tear his eyes away.

"Look at you," he mutters, slipping his fingers through your hair, brushing it back so he can see you better. His thumb grazes your cheek, his touch almost reverent. "Making me feel so good."

You feel the heat of his gaze searing into you, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch, the way his breath shudders out in ragged exhales. Every sound he makes, every soft praise he gives, spurs you on, making you want to push his control to the edge.

“Damn,” he breathes out, voice strained. His fingers thread through your hair, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “You’re really trying to ruin me, huh?”

Your hand moves in perfect sync with your mouth, gliding along the rest of his length as you work him over with slow, gentle strokes. You can feel him losing his restraint, his fingers gripping your hair a little too tightly as he fights against the pleasure building inside him.

"Shit," he groans, his voice raw, his control slipping fast. You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his dark, hooded gaze, and that alone seems to push him to the edge.

Before he can warn you, his body shudders, and he spills into your mouth with a sharp, choked sound. The warmth floods your tongue too quickly for you to take it all, and some dribbles past your lips, running down your chin.

Chris curses under his breath, quickly sitting up, his hand cupping your cheek. "I'm sorry—I didn’t mean to—" he starts, his thumb swiping at the mess on your chin, but you just softly smile at him in response. Then, without breaking eye contact, you tilt your head back slightly and swallow.

He watches, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips parting in awe before he exhales a rough chuckle. His eyes darken with something deeper than just satisfaction.

"That was so fucking hot," he roughly murmurs before pulling you close and kissing you hard.

Chris pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with something intense, something hungry. Before you can react, he tilts your chin up and swipes his tongue along your skin, cleaning up the remnants of his release with slow, little licks. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours again, deep and consuming.

Then, just as quickly, he pulls away and slides off the bed. You watch, dazed, as he strides across the room toward your bag perched on the chair.

Your stomach twists when you realize what he’s doing. "Chris—"

He ignores your protest, rummaging through your belongings with zero shame. "I know you keep them in here," he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You bury your face in your hands, mortified, as he finally retrieves a condom. But instead of returning right away, his fingers pause, and when you peek through your fingers, you see him holding something else. Something small. Something very, very familiar.

Chris turns around, holding up a tiny bottle and you slightly panic remembering the edible lube Jane slipped into your bag after the expo. His smirk deepens as he examines the label. "How did you know I like watermelon?" He quirks a brow at you.

Your face burns, completely flustered and a little mortified. "I—I didn’t!"

He hums, clearly enjoying your embarrassment, before tossing the bottle onto the bed beside you. Then he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Guess we’ll have to put it to good use, then."

Chris pops the cap open with a soft click, and the sweet, fruity scent of watermelon fills the space between you. His gaze flickers up to yours, dark and amused, before he tips the bottle over your skin.

The cool gel dribbles onto your chest, your stomach, the sensitive curves of your breasts. You gasp at the sensation, your body tensing as he smears it over your skin with his broad hands, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

"Sensitive, huh?" His voice is warm with amusement as he smooths the lube over your skin, making sure to spread it evenly. "I’ll be gentle."

You barely have time to process his words before he leans in, his mouth pressing against your collarbone. His tongue swipes against your skin, slow and deliberate, tasting the sticky sweetness. The heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool gel, making you shiver as he works his way down, following the trail he created with his hands.

Chris hums as he licks a stripe up your chest, the vibration sending a fresh wave of tingles down your spine. "Not bad," he murmurs against your skin before he kisses the skin under your navel.

The next thing you know, his lips latch onto your hardening nipple, tugging it between his teeth, sucking at it so hard before finally letting go, leaving your nipple wet and swollen. He does the same with the other one but this time, his hand massaging your ample flesh in reverence, the lube makes his hand glides smoothly across the two mounds before he brings them to the middle, allowing him to take both nipples into his mouth.

You arch under his touch, hands gripping the sheets as he takes his time, licking, tasting, teasing. He’s thorough—almost too thorough—as if savoring every inch of you, dragging the moment out until you’re squirming beneath him, breathless and overstimulated.

Chris finally pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. He grins, voice husky when he says, "I think I might like watermelon even more now."

He watches you with a teasing glint in his eyes as he puts more lube on your most sensitive spot, his fingers moving with deliberate slowness as he smears it all over your pulsating sex. The cool sensation makes you gasp, your body instinctively arching against his touch. His smirk deepens at your reaction, and he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you.

“You know,” he muses, dragging his fingers lazily through the slickness between your folds, “this might just be my new favorite flavor.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his warm mouth pressing against your wetness, his tongue gliding through the sweetness he just applied. The contrast between the cool lube and the heat of his tongue sends a shudder through your body. His hands settle on your hips, holding you steady as he takes his time, savoring every movement.

Chris hums against you, the vibration making you gasp again, and he chuckles at your response. He flicks his tongue over your clit before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. “You taste even sweeter now,” he says, his voice low and playful.

He doesn’t stop until he feels you tremble beneath him, his grip firm yet reassuring as he holds you in place. The tension coiling deep inside you finally unravels, and a soft cry escapes your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you. He doesn’t pull away immediately, instead, his tongue moving gently to prolong your high until you’re left gasping, your body still humming from the aftershocks.

When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is glistening with your essence, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand before crawling up your body, settling between your legs as he hovers over you. There’s a teasing smirk on his lips as he leans in, brushing his mouth over yours.

“Told you,” he murmurs against your lips, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You don’t need to ask what he means—you can taste it for yourself as he deepens the kiss, letting you chase the sweetness lingering on his tongue. It’s intoxicating, the mix of his warmth and the remnants of your release making your head spin. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, slow and indulgent, and when he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing just as uneven as yours. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your hip, his touch gentle in contrast to everything that just happened.

“You good?” he asks softly, his voice laced with something deeper—something tender.

You nod, still catching your breath, and he smiles before pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time. “Good,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

-

Instead of rushing right into it, Chris takes his time. His lips press gentle kisses along your collarbone, your shoulders, down your arms—anywhere he can reach. His hands follow the same path, fingertips tracing every inch of your skin, sending warmth through your entire body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. His gaze sweeps over you, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as if he can’t quite believe this is real.

His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing over your skin, his touch so delicate yet so certain. “I still can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” he admits, his voice hushed, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. “That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, to admire you like this.”

The possessiveness in his words makes your heart stutter, but it’s not suffocating—it’s something deeper, something real. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before finally capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow, unhurried, and filled with so much emotion that it makes your chest ache. “And I get to kiss you like this, as many times as I want.”

He shifts slightly, reaching between you both, and you hear the soft crinkle of the condom wrapper before he rolls it on. When he hovers over you again, his hands slide along your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them. But instead of rushing, he just looks at you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“I want you to remember this,” he whispers, his thumb brushing along your hip. “I want you to know how much I want you—how much I care about you.”

There’s nothing hurried about the way he touches you, nothing rushed in the way he moves. It’s a moment he’s savoring just as much as you are. And when he finally kisses you again, it’s deep and unspoken in its meaning, telling you everything he doesn’t need to say out loud.

Chris intertwines his fingers with yours as he aligns himself with you. His movements are filled with the same tenderness that lingers in his gaze. When he finally presses his cockto your entrance, he does so with utmost care, inching inside you with a patience that makes you hold your breath.

He pauses once he’s settled deep enough within you, not wanting to hurt you. He drops his head, his forehead pressing against yours as both of you take a moment to adjust—to the feeling, to the closeness, to everything unspoken between you. His thumb brushes soothing circles over the back of your hand, a silent reassurance as he waits for you.

When you finally whisper, "More," your voice is breathy, laced with need, he nods. With another slow, measured push, he eases himself deeper, filling you completely. A low groan escapes his lips, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly.

“God... you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice husky with restraint. His praise sends warmth through you, making your body tense in the best way. He draws back just enough before sinking into you again, his movements fluid and controlled.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as pleasure courses through you, and before you can stop yourself, your body clenches around him, the intensity overwhelming. Chris stills for a moment before chuckling softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Already?” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His thumb brushes over your cheek as he smiles down at you, his expression both affectionate and playful. “Guess you really are getting used to me.”

Even as heat floods your face, you can’t help but melt at the way he looks at you—like he’s reveling every second of this moment with you.

Chris stills for a moment, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he breathes you in. His voice is gentle when he asks, “Do you need a moment?”

You shake your head almost immediately, fingers tightening around his. “No,” you whisper, your breath warm against his lips. “Keep going.”

His lips curve into the softest smile before he obeys, rolling his hips with slow, deliberate movements, never breaking eye contact. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters in this moment, like he wants to memorize every breath, every sigh, every quiet gasp that escapes your lips.

Your hands remain intertwined, his grip firm yet reassuring, grounding you in the moment. Each measured thrust is unrushed, filled with something deeper than just desire. It’s as if he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into the way he moves, into the way he holds you, into the way he kisses your knuckles between each lingering gaze.

The world outside fades, leaving only the quiet creak of the mattress, the mingling of breaths, and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You feel everything—his touch, his presence, the emotions lingering between you.

Chris leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek before trailing down to your jaw. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with something tender.

And as he continues, keeping that slow, steady rhythm, you realize that this—being here with him, feeling this close—feels like something you never expected but something you never want to end.

This overwhelming feeling is taking over you. Your fingers tighten around Chris’s as you let out a soft, desperate whine. “Chris… I-I’m close.”

He hastily kisses you, his breath warm, his voice nothing but a soothing murmur. “It’s okay, baby,” he reassures you, his movements steady and unhurried. “Just let go.”

His words wash over you like a gentle tide, grounding you as you feel yourself unravel beneath him. But just as you’re about to fall apart, his pace never faltering, his gaze shifts—turning impossibly tender, reverent even. He looks at you as if you’re something sacred, something he never wants to let go of. His fingers squeeze yours as his lips part, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were made just for me.”

The words settle deep inside you, hitting somewhere beyond the physical, beyond the moment. And as you break apart beneath him, as he holds you through it, you realize—you’ve never felt more cherished than you do in this very moment.

Chris keeps moving, his rhythm growing more erratic as he chases his own release. His breaths turn ragged, his grip on your intertwined hands tightening as he buries his face against your neck. The warmth of his body, the way he clings to you, makes everything feel even more intimate.

And then, with a deep, shuddering groan, he finally lets go. His body tenses for a moment before he sinks into you completely, his weight pressing you into the bed as he collapses on top of you.

You wrap your arms around him instinctively, your fingers running soothingly down his back as he relishes the aftershocks of his climax. His chest rises and falls against yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything. There’s no need to—because right now, in this quiet, tangled-up moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

-

The slivers of sunlight shine through the cracks between the curtains. You stir awake, warmth surrounding you, and it takes you a moment to register the steady rise and fall of Chris’s breathing behind you. His strong arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you close, his body pressed flush against yours.

A slow, lazy kiss lands on your shoulder, then another, trailing up to the curve of your neck. His lips are warm, lingering, as if he’s enjoying the feel of you. His hand moves too—palming your breast with a gentle squeeze, your nipple is caught between his fingers.

You shift slightly, turning your head toward him, but before you can even murmur a good morning, he captures your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss. It’s soft at first, teasing, but then he deepens it, his fingers tightening around you as he pulls you impossibly closer. There’s a tenderness to the way he kisses you, like he’s been waiting all night for this.

As Chris finally pulls away from the kiss, his lips hover over yours, reluctant to part completely. You smile softly, your voice still laced with sleep as you murmur, “Good morning.”

He grins, pressing another quick peck to your lips before whispering, “Morning.”

For a moment, the two of you simply lay there, tangled up in each other, until a thought crosses your mind. “Should we be working today?” you ask, half-expecting him to remind you of responsibilities.

But he shakes his head, his fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns on your bare skin. “Let’s take another day off,” he suggests, his tone light, as if it’s the easiest decision in the world.

You hum in agreement, feeling no urge to argue. Just as he leans in for another kiss, you stop him with a playful, “Breakfast?”

Chris sighs dramatically, his lips curling into a smirk. “We can order it later.”

Before you can protest, his hand slips under the duvet, sliding along your thigh before gently lifting it, just enough to allow him access. A quiet giggle escapes you as you feel his morning wood nestled between your legs, his growing arousal pressing against your core.

“How did that get there?” you tease, your voice laced with amusement.

Chris chuckles, his lips brushing over yours. “It's your fault that I can't get enough of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with affection and something more.

He kisses you again, deep and unhurried, stealing your breath and any lingering thoughts of breakfast. When he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, he grins and says, “Maybe we should take one week off instead of just one day.”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, shaking your head at his playful grin. “One week?” you echo, arching a brow.

Chris hums, nuzzling against your neck. “Mm-hmm. One whole week. Just you and me.” His voice is warm, coaxing, tempting you into believing that reality can wait just a little longer.

And maybe it can.

Because right now, wrapped up in Chris’s arms, feeling the gentle way he touches you, the lazy kisses he presses to your skin, the way his body molds so perfectly against yours—it’s a moment you don’t want to end. A feeling you don’t want to slip away.

So instead of responding, you just sigh and pull him closer, pressing your lips to his once more, hoping that if you hold on tight enough, you can make this moment last forever.

-

You're in the middle of typing your report when the sharp scent of nail polish fills the air. You glance to the side and see Jane casually lounging next to you, legs crossed, meticulously painting her nails a deep red.

“You know this isn’t your personal salon, right?” you say, arching a brow.

Jane smirks, blowing lightly on her freshly painted nails. “Please, I work hard. I deserve some self-care during office hours.”

Before you can argue, your phone buzzes. You pick it up, and a message from Chris flashes on the screen.

Come to my office.

You swallow, already feeling the anticipation stir in your stomach. “I have to go,” you say, standing up.

Jane doesn't even look up as she caps her nail polish bottle. “Oh, I know where you're going.” She gives you a sly smile. “And yes, please take as much time as you want.”

Heat creeps up your neck, but you don’t dignify her with a response. Instead, you roll your eyes and make your way to Chris’s office, trying not to let your mind wander about why exactly he wants to see you.

After knocking on his door, you let yourself into Chris’s office and close the door behind you. He’s at his desk, leaning back in his chair with one hand resting on the armrest, the other scrolling through something on his screen. At the sound of your footsteps, he looks up and gives you a small, knowing smile.

“Come in,” he says, motioning for you to step closer.

You do, stopping in front of his desk, hands clasped in front of you. “You called?”

Chris leans forward, elbows on the desk. “How’s the development going?”

It takes you a second to register that he’s actually asking about work. You clear your throat. “Good. We’re finalizing the flavored variants for the extra-large line.”

Chris hums, pushing back his chair and standing up. “Flavored, huh?” He takes slow steps toward the door, locking it with a quiet click before turning back to you. “Like what flavors?”

“Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate—”

Your words cut off when he suddenly closes the distance between you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of his body, the way his fingers press into your lower back, sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been working hard,” Chris murmurs, his breath fanning over your lips. “Think you deserve a little break.”

Before you can say anything, he tilts his head down and presses his lips to yours, soft yet firm, coaxing, as if he’s been waiting all day to do this. The moment you melt into the kiss, he deepens it, one hand moving up to cup the back of your head and the other hand cupping your clothed ass cheek. The locked door, the office setting, the way he holds you like he can’t get enough—it all makes your head spin.

Chris doesn’t break the kiss as he lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of his desk. His hands settle on your thighs, keeping you close as he kisses you again—slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world.

Against his lips, you murmur, “Chris… we’re in the middle of work.”

He pulls back just enough to smirk at you, his eyes dark with amusement. “You can continue. I’m listening.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but the way he looks at you—completely enamored—makes it impossible to push him away. So, despite everything, you attempt to continue.

“The flavored variants… we’re still testing… different formulas,” you say, your voice slightly uneven as Chris leans in, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

“Mhm,” he hums as he trails down to your neck, his lips warm against your skin.

“We need to make sure… the taste is pleasant without affecting…” You gasp slightly when he finds a sensitive spot on your neck and nips at it. “…the integrity of the material.”

Chris chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “Sounds like important work.”

His lips find yours again, and this time, you don’t even attempt to finish your sentence. You sigh against him, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss, his fingers gripping your hips.

At this point, work is the last thing on your mind so you wrap your arms around Chris, pulling him closer as his lips move against yours, slow and unhurried. His hands explore your waist, your back, his fingers pressing into you like he never wants to let go.

But then, the sharp ring of his landline cuts through the moment. Chris groans in frustration, ignoring it in favor of deepening the kiss, but you pull back just enough to reach for the receiver, pressing it into his hand.

He glares at the phone like it personally offended him but sighs before answering. “Chris speaking.”

Even as he listens to the voice on the other end, his hands remain on you. One slides up your thigh, slipping beneath your skirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin. Your breath hitches when he teasingly brushes where you want him the most, his fingers graze the lacey fabric of your underwear and you grip his shoulders, trying to stay composed.

Chris smirks at your reaction but lets out another sigh before responding into the phone. “Yeah. I’ll be there in ten.”

With clear reluctance, he hangs up, his fingers still tracing circles on your thigh. “I guess work wins this round,” he mutters, his gaze flickering back to your lips.

You try to catch your breath, trying to ignore the way your body still aches for his touch. “You should go.”

Chris leans in one last time, stealing a lingering kiss before finally stepping back. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

And with the way he’s looking at you, you have no doubt that he will.

You smooth down your skirt, still trying to collect yourself as you slide off his desk. "And I should get back to work," you mumble, your voice not as steady as you'd like.

Chris watches you with an amused glint in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest like he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. As you turn toward the door, he calls out, “Oh, and by the way—”

You stop on your track and glance back at him.

His smirk deepens. “We’re testing the vanilla-flavored one tonight.”

Your breath catches, heat creeping up your neck at the implication. Chris simply grins, his gaze unwavering, and you quickly turn on your heel. As you walk out of his office, you swear you can still feel his smirk lingering in the air behind you.

-

The workday drags on longer than usual, but eventually, it’s time to leave. As you step into the elevator, exhausted yet content, the doors begin to close—until a hand slips between them at the last second.

Chris steps inside with his usual confidence, his presence filling the small space effortlessly. Dressed in his button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he looks every bit the professional and the man who has spent countless nights unraveling you.

He glances at you, a smirk playing at his lips. “So,” he starts, leaning against the elevator wall, “are you ready to test the vanilla-flavored one tonight?”

He then eyes your bag and grins, his dimples sunken into his cheeks. “I know the condom is there. In your bag.”

Your body betrays you before you can even form a response—cheeks heating, heart skipping, breath catching. You hate how easily he can do this to you.

Chris tilts his head, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You look away. “No.”

He chuckles. “Liar.”

Before you can defend yourself, he moves closer, his body inches from yours. His fingers brush against your wrist, then trail up your arm, setting every nerve alight. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, “I really like it when you get flustered.”

And then his lips are on yours—warm, slow, and deliberate. The kind of kiss that makes time irrelevant, that makes you forget you’re still in the office elevator. You sigh into it, your body melting against him as his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer.

The soft ding of the elevator chime startles you both. The doors glide open, revealing the lobby, and Chris pulls back just enough to look at you. His hand finds yours, fingers threading together, and with a knowing smile, he simply says—

“Let’s go home.”

-

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[unintentionalseductress]

Voyeur!Sylus

Some quick HC's. And I think voyeurism is definitely one of his kinks.

Warnings: MDNI, clitoral and vaginal fingering, handjob, general sex

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who misses you whenever you go back to Linkon but won't admit it, instead sending Mephisto to keep watch over you.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who wasn't really trying to do anything indecent but obviously you catch his attention when you unexpectedly start to take off your clothes and sink down on your bed.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who's torn between calling off Mephisto, who's perched secretively on your windowsill unknown to you, and wanting to see what's behind this little escapade.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus whose red eyes become positively sanguine as he watches your small hands beginning to touch yourself, tweaking your nipples and running your hands down your body towards your cunt.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who's praying you'll let your legs spread apart while you masturbate so that he can finally get a look at your delectable sex.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who groans and pulls out his rock-hard cock as you do open your legs in full view of Mephisto's modified eyes, and he sees with such clarity the pinkness of the membranes, and the sheen of your arousal coating your swollen pussy.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who pumps himself in time to your fingers as you play with your clit, moaning as you insert a finger into yourself.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus whose heart almost nearly damn stops as he hears you pant his name in need as you play with yourself, trying to orgasm. How pretty it sounds, falling from those plump lips, your mouth open as you get closer to the edge.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who grits his teeth trying not to cum before you do but the way you're sighing his name makes it very difficult. If only he was there, he'd pleasure you until you were begging him to stop.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who moans pathetically as you finally cum, your cunt spasming for his viewing pleasure as he sees you letting go to the throes of pleasure.

☾ Voyeur!Sylus who wishes he could be there and bury his cock as far as he could into your cunt. His mind is full about how tight and wet you'd be for him, how desperately you'd clench him and how sexily you'd moan into his ear as he showed you what it mant to be fucked properly.

☾Voyeur!Sylus who finally calls off Mephisto after he's sure you're sound asleep, cozy under the covers. He knows you'll be his someday. He'll wait. He's a patient man after all.

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[geminiwritten]

cold showers ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: you and rooster have been best friends since freshman year of college, and that's all... until you move in together and things get complicated (roommates trope)

notes: Y'ALL!!! please be gentle with me on this one! i was so damn excited and i poured so much into it, but reading it back, it feels kind of choppy and way too internal... i just love this man too so much, i feel like anything i write for him is terrible! but either way, i hope y'all enjoy and i would love some feedback!

warnings: swearing, drinking, italics, text screenshots, kind of super cheesy, and it gets REAL horny in some places (no actual smut) so 18+ ONLY please!!! (let me know if i missed anything)

word count: 9327

You’ve only just realised that this might not be such a good idea, but it’s too late. There are moving boxes scattered throughout the apartment, their tops torn open and contents half unpacked. There are empty pizza boxes and wine bottles from last night’s dinner, when – after a full day of moving heavy furniture – you treated your friends to the customary Floor Dinner that everyone must have on their first night of moving into a new place. 

You hadn’t thought about it when you signed the lease and you hadn’t thought about it last night, but right now you’re starting to realise that this could have been a very bad idea. Because Bradley Bradshaw – your best friend, your number one confidant, your ride or die – is now standing at the main door to your shared apartment, and his broad shoulders are taking up way too much of the frame. 

You’re not sure how you’ve never noticed it before, but Bradley is big – tall, broad, all lean muscle. Not over the top, but the kind of big that makes your brain short-circuit with images you absolutely should not be having. Lifting you, pinning you, holding you down. And the fact that you’re even thinking that? Yeah. That’s fucking new. 

“Are you okay?” 

You shake your head, feeling heat crawl up your neck and into your cheeks. You stop staring at your best friend like he’s an alien and return your attention to the box on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just a little hazy this morning.” 

“Well, lucky for you,” he drops a paper bag on the countertop, “I have just the thing.” He pulls out a four-pack of energy drinks and various packets of snacks, none of which look like suitable breakfast foods. 

“How does your body look like that when you eat like this?” The question leaves your lips before your brain has a chance to slap a warning label on it, and it hangs in the air between you and your best friend, humming like an electric current waiting for ground. 

You and Bradley have been friends for a long time, but you’ve never really talked about each other’s looks – which is normal. Because friends don’t talk about that kind of thing. Right?

He chuckles awkwardly, keeping his chin tucked into his chest as he finishes unpacking the bag, but you don’t miss the dusting of pink that blooms across his cheekbones. “I eat properly when I have to, but this morning I felt like liquid energy and twinkies.” 

You press your lips together and nod, not trusting yourself to say another word. You’ve never been awkward around Bradley, and you sure as hell aren’t going to start now – not just because you’ve suddenly noticed how attractive he is. And on the second day of living together no less. 

Fuck. 

You continue unpacking the kitchen boxes while Bradley moves into the lounge room. He lays out all the pieces of your disassembled bookshelf and starts fitting them back together like a giant puzzle. You hate yourself for not being able to look away, watching the sun spill through the high windows behind him and cast a warm glow around the shape of his body – which is a nice fucking shape. 

You need to get it together. You're gawking at your best friend, for god’s sake. Maybe you just need to get laid – it has been a while, and moving is stressful. You just need to find someone to fuck the tension out of you, and maybe then you’ll stop drooling over your best friend drilling together two pieces of chipboard. 

Then a new thought crosses your mind. Another thing you hadn’t even considered before signing the lease. 

“Bradley,” you say thoughtfully, tipping your head as you wait for him to respond. 

He blows out a breath and stands up straight, holding the power drill in his hand like it’s the beginning of a cheesy porno. “When you say my name like that, I know I’m in trouble.” 

“I think we should have some rules for...” You pause and roll your lips, trying to think for once instead of just letting random words tumble out. “We should set some rules for bringing people home.” 

He tilts his head, clearly confused. “Like, specific visiting hours, or...?” 

You stare back at him blankly. “Bringing people home to have sex.” 

“Oh.” His brows shoot up toward his hairline. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” 

“Okay.” You lean forward, bending at the hips and resting both forearms on the countertop. “First rule, if you bring someone home while the other roommate is home, you stay in your room.” 

He nods. “That’s fair.” 

“Second rule.” Your eyes slide away from his stupidly broad shoulders and toward the couch cushions piled in the corner of the lounge room. “No sex on the couch, please.” 

He lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, okay. Can I make a rule?” 

You nod, stretching across the counter to grab a piece of junk mail that you’d pulled out of the mailbox earlier this morning. 

“Third rule, only one guest at a time.” 

You freeze as you reach for the black marker tucked into your back pocket, and you look over at Bradley with wide eyes. “Just how adventurous do you think I am?” 

He shrugs his shoulders and turns his attention back to the bookshelf, but you don’t miss the way his lips curl into a little smirk. 

“Alright,” you say once you’ve finished scribbling down the first three rules. “Rule number four, no PDA.” You wait a few seconds for him to object, and when he doesn’t, you add the fourth rule to the list in front of you. 

“Fifth rule,” he says, “if your guest stays overnight, they need to be out before the other roommate is up.” 

You laugh under your breath as you write it down. “If I’m lucky, they’ll be out before I’m even awake.” 

When you look back up, Bradley is on his knees, leaning over the bookshelf with the drill aimed down. His bicep flexes against the thin fabric of his shirt, and his tan skin shines with sweat. The air in the room crackles, charged by the strange tension building inside of you, thanks to your dry spell and... your best friend. 

Fuck. You need to sort yourself out before you get into trouble. 

“Okay, rule six.” You swallow thickly. “Keep it quiet. Whether you’re with someone or on your own, just keep the noise level to a minimum.” 

Great. Now you’re thinking about your best friend touching himself alone... in the shower. Naked and wet, fisting his- 

“That’s a good one,” he says, before the sound of the drill echoes through the open plan living space once again. 

Your mouth is dry but your panties are not. You need to get out of here before you say or do something that you’ll regret. 

“Great.” You slip the cap onto the marker and stand up straight. “I’m just going to go- uh, I need to grab something from the pharmacy, so I’ll be back in half an hour. Do you need anything?” 

He looks up at you with a quizzical expression. “No, I’m good. Are you alright?” 

You force your mouth into a smile and give him a thumbs up. “Never better, roomie.” 

- 

After your pretend trip to the pharmacy, you manage to keep your lecherous staring to a minimum. You put your headphones on and bop along to music while you pack the kitchen away. Bradley busies himself with putting together the bigger pieces of furniture, and you can’t decide if you’re more grateful or frustrated by how turned on it makes you. It shouldn’t make you feel this way. He’s your best fucking friend. 

You take a few short breaks to flick through Tinder, wondering if you’ll be judged you for inviting someone over on the second night of living here. But then you remember that your bed is just a pile of slats and a mattress on the floor, so once you finish the kitchen you move into your new bedroom. 

The sun is well below the horizon by the time you finish laying out the pieces of your bed in the way you’re fairly sure they fit together. 

“Hey,” Bradley says, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “Do you want some help?” 

“Um.” You look around at the panels laid out on the floor, knowing it’ll be a thousand times easier with him giving you a hand. One of two things you can think of that would be better with him giving you a hand. “If you don’t mind.” 

He nods and surveys the room, a smirk splitting across his face as he does. “Well, we should probably start by getting some tools.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, I was getting there.” 

He walks back into the living room before returning a minute later with a fistful of hand tools and an easy smile etched onto his face. You still can’t believe that you’ve never noticed how handsome this man is. You used to wonder why women would fall over themselves for his attention on a night out – but now? Now you get it. Your best friend is fucking hot, and there’s no unseeing it. 

He kneels on the carpet beside you and leans forward to prop the headboard panel up against the wall. His shirt stretches across his broad back, sticking to his sweat slick skin and highlighting the way the muscles flex as he moves. 

“Do you have the instructions?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder. 

A faint smirk tugs at your lips as you shake your head. “No, that would ruin all the fun.” 

He chuckles and sits back on his heels, assessing the panels laid out around the two of you. “Alright. How hard can it be?” 

Almost an hour later, the bedframe is almost built. The footing is still loose, but after a bit of trial and error, you both realised that the bolts to secure that panel to the side supports should be the last ones tightened. Bradley is on one knee in the middle of the frame, his tongue captured between his lips as he fixes the horizontal support bar to the vertical one. 

You’re sitting right in front of him, almost too close, but you don’t want to make it awkward by scooting away when you’re supposed to be helping. Each of your legs are stretched out on either side of him as you hold the cross section of the two bars steady. 

“Here,” you say, picking up one of the bolts from the floor beside your thigh and handing it to him. His fingers brush against yours and you both linger there for just a little too long before pulling away. 

He glances up at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Careful,” his voice a little rougher than usual, but you decide to blame it on the physical demands of building furniture. “Wouldn’t want to screw this up.” 

You force a laugh, but it comes out a little breathless. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to screw it.” 

He’s still smiling, but now there’s something in his eyes. A hint of challenge, maybe. Or something more. You can’t put your finger on it. You try to return your focus to the task at hand, but now you’re hyper-aware of the space between you – or lack thereof. You feel the heat of his body too close, the rhythm of his breath too in sync with yours. 

When he leans over to grab another bolt, his face is suddenly inches from yours. You freeze, your breath hitching as you instinctively back away, but not before his gaze flicks to your lips for a split second. 

“What?” His voice is low, almost teasing. “You alright?” 

You swallow, praying he doesn’t see how your chest is rising and falling just a little too quickly. “Yeah. Fine,” you say, forcing a casual tone that you definitely don’t feel. “Just focusing.” 

But you’re not focusing on the bed. You’re focusing on him – on the way your body reacts to his proximity, the heat between you that shouldn’t be there. The reluctance to admit it lingers, but you can’t shake the thought that this... this was not a good idea. 

- 

You spend most of the night tossing and turning in the bed that Bradley helped you build, doing your best not to dwell on the fact that your best friend has somehow become the target of all your pent-up sexual frustration. 

You try scrolling through Tinder and replying to a few messages, but none of them are interesting enough to hold your attention, let alone warrant any effort. You can hear Bradley moving around in his room, just one thin wall away, and your mind wanders to what he might be doing. Probably putting his own bed together – something you should’ve offered to help with, but you honestly don’t trust yourself around him right now. 

You need sleep and then you need to get laid. 

At about 2AM, you’ve tossed and turned so much that you can no longer bear the feeling of your sheets against your skin, so you get out of bed. You pad out into the kitchen to find the list of rules you’d written on a piece of junk mail earlier and start typing them into your phone’s notes app. Then you drink a glass of water and assess the lounge room layout, trying to decide which way you want the couch to face. 

When you finally drag yourself back to bed, exhaustion takes over, and your overactive brain has no choice but to let you sleep. But even as you drift off, thoughts of Bradley slip in – thoughts you definitely shouldn’t be having – and soon your dreams are filled with things you never thought you’d be imagining about your best friend. 

You wake to the insistent buzzing of your phone that’s tucked half-beneath your pillow, but by the time you find it and hold it up to your face the caller has already hung up. You roll onto your back and rub your bleary eyes, recognising Natasha’s contact name written across the screen. She probably wants an update on how the big move is going, because she’s nosey like that. She also told you that this wasn’t a good idea, but you ignored her warning and assured it would be fine. 

Jokes on you. 

You decide to call her back later, instead opening Tinder and scrolling through the messages you ignored last night. Yeah, you’re definitely getting laid tonight. You reply to a couple of matches before going into your notes app and copying the list of rules you wrote down to send to Bradley. 

You jump out of bed and head straight for a cold shower, letting the icy water shock your system and wash away the remnants of those steamy dreams about your best friend. It’s a new day – and with any luck, tonight your sexual frustration will finally get some relief. You change into a pair of tights and an oversized shirt before exiting your room and- holy fucking shit. 

“Sorry.” Bradley smiles sheepishly from the kitchen, his hip leaned casually against the bench beneath the coffee machine as it whirs to life. “I need coffee first, and then we can go get some breakfast.” 

He’s wearing nothing but boxers. Little satin ones covered in fluffy white clouds and red airplanes – they look like he’s had them since he was fourteen, judging by the damn size of them. They’re far too tight, leaving way too little to the imagination, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s parading around in them on purpose. 

And then there’s his body. The same body you’ve seen a thousand times before. You’ve gone to the beach together, changed in front of each other, you even waxed his butt cheek once on a dare – but you’ve never looked at him like this. You can’t remember when he filled out so well, when he got so muscular, so manly. The lines and dips of his body are making your mouth water, and it feels like the connection between your brain and your mouth has short-circuited entirely. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, forcing you to stop ogling his abs and meet his eyes. 

You clear your throat and nod, scrambling to find your voice. “Y-Yeah,” you manage, cringing at how weird you sound. “Just… still waking up.” 

He nods slowly, but there’s a knowing smirk curling at his lips – teasing, almost smug. And you want to ask him what the hell he’s playing at, but it’s just Bradley. Your best friend Bradley. He’s always been a little shit like this. He’s messing with you, obviously. You just need to pull your head out of the gutter and stop acting like every look he gives you is foreplay. 

You force your heavy feet to move toward the lounge where Bradley left it yesterday evening after assembling it. This is something you can use to distract yourself until he gets dressed, focusing on the layout of your new living room is a perfect distraction from the half-naked Adonis in your kitchen. 

Seriously, what the fuck? 

Once Bradley is appropriately covered and you’ve secured a Tinder date for the evening, the rest of the day passes rather easily. You start to feel more like yourself as you unpack and settle into the new apartment, joking around with your best friend while doing your best to ignore the way his body moves – or the way his mouth curls into that silly little smirk. You never used to care about those pink lips tugging into something coy beneath his stupidly hot moustache… but now, it’s all you can think about when you slide into the Uber on your way to meet your Tinder date. 

The next week passes in much the same way. You regret taking time off work because Bradley did too, and now you’re stuck in such close quarters with him, unable to ignore the new way you’re seeing him. Your Tinder date wasn’t a total disaster, the sex was adequate, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating sexual tension that hits you every time you walk back into your apartment. It’s getting so overwhelming that you’ve finally decided to swallow your pride and ask for help. You need backup. A voice of reason. Even if you might regret it. 

When you open the door to see Natasha’s smirking face, it takes all your strength not to slam it shut again. 

“Hi,” she says, a little too brightly. “How have you been?” 

You step back and watch her carefully as she walks into the apartment. “What do you know?” 

She glances back over her shoulder. “Oh, absolutely nothing. But I have my theories.” 

You shut the door and follow her into the lounge room, grabbing your bottle of water off the kitchen counter on the way. “Theories?” 

“Yep.” She makes herself comfortable on the corner seat of the couch. “Want to hear them?” 

You sit on the other end where the chaise is and sigh out an exasperated breath. “Shoot.” 

“Did you two have a huge fight on your first night and immediately regret moving in together?” 

You shake your head. “No.” Although that would have been easier to navigate than whatever the fuck is going on. 

“Okay.” She taps a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “You seem a little frustrated, so… is Bradshaw just a terrible roommate? Like, super fucking messy and leaves his shit everywhere?” 

You shrug as you glance around the tidy apartment. “He’s actually really clean, and surprisingly considerate.” 

She rears back a little, her brows pinching. “Okay, he’s a good roommate, so why are you-” Her eyes go wide, thoughts racing behind them. “Oh, my God. Did you two kiss?” 

You flatten your lips and shake your head again. 

Her eyes go impossibly wide. “Did you sleep together?” 

Heat crawls into your cheeks, and despite your best effort to keep a straight face, Natasha has no trouble reading the embarrassment written all over it. “Oh, my God! You-” 

“We didn’t sleep together,” you say quickly. “I just-” 

“But you want to!” she exclaims, almost leaping across the couch. “Holy shit, you’re into Rooster?!” 

You cover your face with both hands, feeling the heat of your cheeks burning against your palms. “Nat, please be quiet. I don’t know how thin these walls are, and I haven’t met the neighbours yet.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” She settles back in the couch and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I just- Like, this is so weird. I knew this whole situation was a bad idea, but I thought you’d end up fighting, not falling in-” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

She presses her lips together like a scolded child, but her eyes are still brimming with amusement. 

You take a deep breath and blow it out in a raspberry as you fall against the back of the lounge, mentally sorting through the chaos of the past week to figure out how to explain it as simply as possible. “It got weird on the first morning,” you start. 

Nat snorts. “You didn’t even last twenty-four hours?” 

You give her a blank, unimpressed stare. 

“Sorry, I’ll shut up.” 

You nod and continue, giving her your best rundown of the chaotic chain of events that led to your desperate call for some logical advice. To her credit, she doesn’t react nearly as dramatically as you’d expected – aside from that initial moment – and when you finally finish, you peek up at her from beneath your lashes, sheepish. “Am I insane for suddenly being attracted to my best friend?” 

She studies you carefully for a minute, but it feels more like a lifetime as you wait anxiously for her response. You don’t expect her to give you life-changing advice – you mostly just needed to rant – but you also don’t want her to chastise you or call you an idiot. You’re already confused enough about these feelings; the last thing you need is for them to be invalidated. 

“I mean,” she says, tilting her head thoughtfully, “sure, he’s objectively attractive. I can’t exactly call him ugly, because that would be a lie. But... he’s still Bradshaw.” 

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I know.” 

“Are you sure you’re not sleep-deprived and delusional from all the moving?” she asks. “Maybe you’re just wound up and need to get laid.” 

“I got laid. Hooked up with some guy from Tinder.” You sigh, glancing back up at her, a beat of hesitation before you ask, “And do you want to know what I did?” You hope she’ll say no – but deep down, you know that there isn’t a universe, parallel or otherwise, where Natasha says no to a question like that. 

She nods, and you drop your head into your hands again, mumbling into your palms. “I called out his fucking name.��� 

She draws a quick, sharp breath – a gasp. “The guy from Tinder?” 

“No.” 

“Oh… my God.” Her voice is laced with amusement – definitely not mocking, but she’s clearly having the time of her life watching you squirm in your own embarrassment. 

You peak up at her from between your fingers. “I know.” 

“What did the guy say?” 

“Nothing. I’m not even sure if he noticed.” You drop your hands into your lap. “His name was Riley, so it could have sounded similar amongst all the other… noises.” 

She laughs, the sound edged with disbelief – like she’s watching some midday soap opera with a plot so ridiculous that you couldn’t possibly imagine it to be real. “Oh, my God.” 

“Would you stop saying that and give me some actual advice?” 

She shakes her head slowly. “I’m not sure I’m equipped to deal with this.” 

“Well, neither am I!” you exclaim, tipping your head back to stare at the ceiling. “I smelled his fucking laundry the other day.” 

She chokes on nothing, and you can just imagine the unhinged look in her wide brown eyes. “You what?” 

You’re already knee-deep, so you might as well dive right in and spill all your dirty little secrets. “I was moving his clothes out of the dryer,” you say, slowly tilting your head down, “so I could put mine in… and I sniffed one of his damn shirts.” 

Her mouth falls open, but no words come out. Her face is bright red, though not the same embarrassed shade of scarlet you're wearing – she looks like a kid in a fucking candy store. Your shameful confessions are making her happier than you’ve seen her in… well, ever. 

Then she bursts out laughing – the hand on your stomach, curling over, cackling kind of laughter that rings through the empty apartment. You’re almost positive your neighbours would be able to hear this, but that doesn’t bother you anymore – you just hope that Bradley doesn’t come home any time soon. 

When she finally manages to pull herself together, she wipes the moisture from the corners of her eyes and looks at you with complete earnestness. “I know I said this already but… oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re down bad for Bradshaw.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, and your brain short-circuits – something it’s been getting disturbingly good at lately. The idea of being in love with your best friend isn’t just terrifying; it’s ridiculous. You’ve been friends for far too long for this to even be a possibility. You’re so deeply entrenched in the friend zone that the thought of climbing out doesn’t even cross your mind. It isn’t a consideration. 

“I am not,” you protest. 

She raises one, challenging brow. “Then what are you?” 

“I’m…” you hesitate, feeling the crack in the floodgates holding back all your inner turmoil. “Confused! I’ve known him since freshman year of college. He’s one of my best friends – we’ve had, like, a thousand sleepovers, and up until a week ago, I would’ve confidently said that I felt more sexual tension in a funeral home than lying in a bed next to him. But now? Now it’s like I’ve been stuck in the Sahara Desert for thirty years and he’s a six-foot-tall glass of ice-cold water – and I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I don’t get a taste.” 

The apartment falls eerily silent when you finish talking, breathing like you’ve just run a marathon. Natasha just stares at you, her expression a complicated cocktail of amusement, pity, and the slightest hint of disgust. Exactly how you would’ve looked a week ago if someone had tried to tell you that Bradley Bradshaw – your best fucking friend – was suddenly the new object of your desire. You would’ve laughed in their face, faked a gag, and told them to get their head checked. 

Maybe you need to get your head checked. 

“What are you going to do?” she asks. 

“I have no fucking idea.” 

The sound of keys rattling makes you both jump, heads snapping toward the main door of the apartment just as it swings open. Bradley strolls in looking criminally hot in his gym clothes, sweat gleaming across every inch of exposed skin. It’s honestly obscene. He looks like he just walked off the set of a porn film – ‘stache and all – and you have no idea how you’re supposed to act normal when your best friend looks like that. 

“Hey,” he nods at Natasha. “I didn’t know you were coming over.” 

“We hang out a lot,” Nat says, “so you better get used to having me around.” 

Bradley lets out a low, rumbling chuckle, the kind that vibrates in his chest before curling around your spine like smoke. It’s effortless, teasing, and way too attractive for something so casual. You swear you feel it in places a laugh has no business reaching. And he’s all the way across the fucking room. 

“Do we need a new set of rules just for Phoenix’s visits?” he asks, looking at you with that familiar smirk. “Because honestly, I’d feel a lot safer if her presence came with some kind of regulation.” 

Natasha turns back to you and frowns curiously. “You have rules?” 

“Yeah.” You tear your gaze away from Bradley as he downs a bottle of water by the fridge. Even something as simple as hydrating looks sinful when he does it. “For bringing guests home.” 

“Adult guests,” Bradley clarifies from the kitchen. 

“Oh.” She snorts a laugh. “Hook ups.” She eyes you with mischief, a smirk playing at her lips as she watches you watch Bradley. 

He finishes his water and walks toward the lounge, moving past Natasha before opting to sit at the foot of the chaise where you’re perched. If the air in the apartment was warm before, it’s practically on fire now – electrically charged, humming like static before a storm. Even the look on Nat’s face says she feels it too. 

“Well.” She smacks her hands against her thighs and pushes off the lounge. “I better get going. I told Fanboy I’d take him to the blood drive.” 

“I thought you went last weekend,” Bradley states. 

“I did,” she says. “But Fanboy signed up for this weekend and he’s worried he won’t be able to drive himself home.” 

Bradley smirks again, his lips playful beneath his moustache – the very one that’s been haunting your dreams with alarming regularity. “I’ll pay you twenty bucks to film him if he passes out.” 

“Twenty bucks if he passes out, or twenty bucks regardless?” 

“Regardless,” Bradley replies. 

Natasha mirrors his smirk and holds her hand out, palm up. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Bradshaw.” 

Bradley stands back up and walks toward the kitchen, oblivious to the way your eyes track his ass and to Natasha’s barely contained laughter as she watches you ogle him for the second time today. After finding his wallet and handing her a crisp twenty-dollar bill, she moves toward the door, pausing to flash you a grin that can only be described as pure evil. 

“Alright, you crazy kids,” she says. “Don’t have too much fun tonight.” 

You fight the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes and shove her out the door, instead settling for your best ‘Fuck You’ scowl as she winks and steps into the hallway. Bradley calls his goodbye from the kitchen, bent over the island with his forearms resting on the countertop while he scrolls through his phone. You close the door behind her, take a deep breath through your nose, and turn to face your best friend – something you’ve been needing to remind yourself of more often lately. 

“Want to order takeout tonight?” Bradley asks, twisting his neck to look at you. “I was thinking we could have a movie night – unless you’ve got plans. How’s that guy from Tinder been?” 

You tilt your head, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of the two completely unrelated questions. You don’t even remember telling him about your Tinder date, but clearly, you must have. So why does he care how it's going? He’s never asked about your dates or flings before – not unless you brought them up first. 

“I’m not sure how he’s going,” you reply honestly. “It was more of a- uh… stress relief kind of thing than a date.” 

He chuckles again as he stands up straight, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Wow, didn’t even think to ask me first, huh?” 

Your heart leaps up into your throat, stealing all the air from your lungs as heat floods your entire body. Your face is burning, your skin feels too tight, and your pulse is a pounding drumbeat in your ears – and between your legs. The sheer audacity of his words ricochets through your brain, short-circuiting every coherent thought. You don’t know whether to slap him, laugh, or drag him straight to your bedroom… 

“I’m kidding,” he says, brows pinching. “It was just a joke. Are you okay?” 

You know exactly what you must look like – cheeks blazing, mouth hanging open, and eyes wide as saucers. You scramble for words, for your voice, for anything at all to keep yourself from gawking at your best friend like a complete idiot. 

“I-I know that,” you stammer out, before forcing a shrill and completely unconvincing laugh through your lips. 

He eyes you with a hint of doubt but doesn’t press any further. “Okay, well, if that guy didn’t do much to relieve your stress, maybe it’s time to explore... other options.” 

Then he winks and walks past you, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he does and setting the skin there on fire. You’re frozen again, you can’t breathe, and your feet are seemingly glued to the floor. Your thoughts are racing, but you can’t find the words to ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean. All you can do is stare blankly at the spot where he just stood, the sound of the bathroom door closing and the water turning on barely registering as you stand there, completely fucking lost. 

A few hours later and after yet another cold shower – let’s be honest, you're practically living in them now – you find yourself sprawled out on the couch, aimlessly flicking through streaming channels. Bradley is in the kitchen, cracking open two beers and typing in his credit card details on the Uber Eats app to order some Thai takeout for both of you. 

“Food will be here in twenty minutes,” he says as he flops onto the lounge beside you, handing you one of the two bottles of beer. 

The silence that settles between you feels surprisingly comfortable, the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand to be filled with awkward small talk. You don’t bother making more room for him on the couch; one leg draped over the armrest as you lazily scroll through the endless options on the screen. Bradley sits beside you, almost close enough to touch but not quite. His beer rests in one hand, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the bottle.  

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks suddenly, his gaze shifting from the TV screen to you. 

You glance over at him, surprised. He’s still holding his beer, his brows furrowed slightly. 

“What? You mean because I’ve been acting like a stressed-out wreck all week?” you joke, but it doesn’t quite land like you hoped. 

Bradley shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, but also just... I don’t know. You’ve seemed a little off lately. Not like yourself.” 

You pause for a second, the air between you feeling heavier than it should. Normally, you’d brush it off with a sarcastic remark, but something about his tone makes you reconsider. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you – genuinely concerned, no teasing. 

“I just…” you hesitate, wondering how to word your thoughts without giving too much away. “I let Phoenix get in my head about us living together. She said it could end badly and mess up our friendship, but that’s the last thing I want. So, I guess I’ve been a little hyper-aware, kind of walking on eggshells, because I don’t want to mess this up.” 

Bradley nods slowly, processing your words. “I get it. But you know that’s not going to happen, right? It’s you and me – us. We are literally unshakeable. Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, I know. I’m just overthinking it – being dramatic, as usual.” 

He chuckles and nudges you with his elbow. “Without your dramatics, my life would be empty.” He pauses, unspoken thoughts racing behind his eyes. “Especially when it comes to your spectacular Tinder dates. I love hearing about those.” 

Your chest tightens – an unfamiliar feeling you’ve never before felt with your best friend. “Yeah?” You force a light laugh past your lips. “I wouldn’t exactly call them dates. And ‘spectacular’ is definitely a stretch.” 

He laughs again, and it’s easy, comfortable, like the kind of sound you’ve always known. “You’re too picky, that’s your problem,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone. “Maybe you should just take a break from the whole dating thing for a while.” 

You shoot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, maybe... but then you’d be stuck with me forever. No escaping.” 

Bradley looks at you, his eyes too wide and too sincere above what should be a playful smile – but it’s more serious than that. “I think I could handle it.” 

Warmth rushes into your cheeks and you quickly avert your eyes, turning your attention back to the TV screen where you had apparently just clicked on an old action movie about navy fighter pilots who become prisoners of war. Not only do you love forcing Bradley to watch movies about the navy and insisting he point out every single inaccuracy, but this one also looks perfectly morbid. Hopefully morbid enough to keep your inappropriate thoughts at bay. 

You flash him your cheesiest grin as you hit play, then make a dramatic show of sinking comfortably into the couch cushions. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue – just gives you that annoyingly pretty little smirk before shifting his gaze to the TV. 

It isn’t long before the buzzer for the lobby door rings through the apartment. You’re barely ten minutes into the movie when you hit pause and Bradley springs up from the couch. He heads out the door to meet the delivery driver in the lobby – building rules don’t allow anyone but official USPS personnel through the main door. 

Once the door clicks shut behind him, you pull out your phone and type a text to Natasha. You tell her that – thanks to her complete lack of helpful advice – you ended up talking to Bradley, and now you’re feeling a lot better. More normal. Sure, you can objectively acknowledge that he’s attractive, but as long as you don’t blur any lines, you’re confident your friendship will stay exactly where it belongs. You were just being dramatic before. Overwhelmed. Sleep-deprived. All it took was a conversation to clear the air. 

Before he’s even back, you push yourself off the lounge and wander into the kitchen. You start pulling open drawers, grabbing cutlery and plates, when the scent of pad Thai hits you like a warm hug. Suddenly, Bradley is beside you – having somehow snuck back into the apartment without a sound – unpacking containers and setting them on the counter with that effortless ease that only makes him more frustratingly attractive. 

You tell yourself not to look, not to care – but your eyes have a mind of their own. They watch him as he opens another container, catching the flex of his forearm, the concentration on his face, the way his tongue pokes out slightly at the corner of his mouth. God, you’re hopeless. You turn back to the drawer and focus on pulling out chopsticks, pretending like you’re totally unaffected.  

“Napkins?” he asks. 

“Top cupboard,” you reply. 

Before you can step aside, he’s there – close, impossibly close. His chest brushes against your back as he reaches up, trapping you between his body and the counter. You freeze, breath catching in your throat, hand still in the drawer. The scent of him – clean sweat and something sharp like cedar – wraps around you like a vice. 

And then- 

Oh, fuck. 

His hips shift, and it’s not subtle. He presses against you, slow and deliberate, the hard line of him settling against the curve of your ass. There’s no mistaking it – no accidental contact or innocent mistake. He lingers for a beat too long, the heat of him searing through your thin lounge shorts like a warning – or a promise. 

Your fingers curl around the counter edge as a quiet gasp slips past your lips. He still hasn’t moved. You should say something. Step away. Do anything but melt like butter beneath him. 

Instead, you stay rooted, your whole body pulsing with heat, electricity zipping down your spine as his breath grazes the shell of your ear. “Just needed the napkins,” he murmurs, voice rough, low, amused. 

You want to turn around and call him a liar – or better yet, grab a fistful of his t-shirt and pull his lips down to yours. But you can't. You're too much of a coward to do anything but let out a high-pitched, breathy laugh – the most unconvincing laugh in the history of fake laughs. 

The smirk on his lips is anything but innocent as he spoons rice into one of the bowls, the motion slow and deliberate. It makes your pulse stutter, and your mind goes into overdrive, swirling with questions you can’t even begin to articulate. You’re so off-balance, you can’t even bring yourself to fix your own plate, not until he’s across the living room and settled comfortably on the couch – far enough away that you don’t feel like you might spontaneously combust. This is a very dangerous game. One you didn’t even know you were playing… until now. 

Every thought you’d had a mere five minutes ago about being in control of this situation has flown right out the window by the time you sink back onto the couch. Bradley looks perfectly content as he spoons mouthfuls of Thai food into his mouth – but you know better. There’s something else going on behind those brown eyes, something unreadable, because he’s pretending to be far too invested in a movie you know he doesn’t give a damn about. 

Once you’ve both cleared your plates, Bradley packs the leftovers into the fridge and hands you another beer like it’s no big deal – like he didn’t just grind up on you in the kitchen like you’re in some slow-burn porno. You take it with a tight smile and attempt to sink even further into to the couch, pretending the bottle is far more interesting than the memory seared into your brain. The air crackles between you, heavy with a tension that definitely doesn’t feel platonic. You keep your eyes glued to the screen like it’s your lifeline, pretending you’re totally invested in the movie that you can’t even remember the name of. 

Two painstaking hours crawl by, and you barely exchange more than a handful of words. You don’t ask Bradley to clarify any of the movie’s questionable navy facts, and he doesn’t offer up his usual know-it-all commentary – even when it’s painfully obvious that what just happened on screen is pure Hollywood fiction. The tension between you is palpable, and you can both acutely feel the electric aftermath of him pressing his half-hard cock into your ass. 

The second the screen fades to black and the credits start to roll, you spring up from the couch. “I’m going to head to bed. I’m super tired.” You don’t even try to make your shrill voice sound more convincing. It’s fucking awkward right now and you both know it. 

“Yeah, me too,” Bradley says, keeping his eyes glued to the TV screen. 

You drop your empty beer bottle into the recycling bin and head toward your bedroom door. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

You shut the door behind you and lean against it as if you’re in some angsty teen romcom. You let your head fall back with a soft thud and squeeze your eyes shut, desperately trying to recall a time when Bradley’s warmth, his scent, and that damn smile didn’t make your heart feel like it was doing a full-on marathon. When it was just friendship. You try to laugh it off, but it sounds a lot like a strangled gasp. 

You give yourself a few minutes to wallow in self-pity before dragging your phone up in front of your face to check the time. It’s barely 9PM. And it’s Saturday. You doubt that either of you will be falling asleep anytime soon – but there’s no way you can go back out there. Not after that. You’ll just have to find something to do in your room that doesn’t involve thinking about your best friend. Preferably something mind-numbing. Or holy. 

You crawl onto your bed and flip open your laptop, browsing through a few streaming apps before landing on an old comedy you’ve watched a thousand times before. You’re not in the mood for any surprises – you want something familiar, something predictable. You’ve had more than enough confusion for one night. 

But no matter how many times you toss and turn and fluff your pillows, your mind refuses to cooperate. There’s no escaping the searing memory of what had happened in the kitchen, the way he’d trapped you against the counter. The feel of his breath ghosting over your neck still tingles down your spine. And the way his hips had pressed into you – slow, deliberate, almost like he knew exactly what he was doing. It has your thoughts spiralling into places you shouldn’t be going. Especially not alone. Especially not about your best friend. 

There’s only one thing you can think of to ease the ache building between your legs, but it feels wrong. The thought of touching yourself while thinking about your best friend sends a wave of guilt through your body. You've managed to distract yourself every other time this thought has popped up over the last week, pulled yourself away just before it took hold – but not tonight. Tonight, you’re stuck, trapped on your speeding train of thought, headed straight for the flashing neon sign that reads: Masturbate to Your Best Friend – Go Ahead, I Dare You. 

“Fine,” you groan out, snapping your laptop shut and rolling over toward your bedside table. 

So much for holy. 

Your hands are practically trembling as you pull out your vibrator and drop it on the bed. You twist toward your headboard and prop your pillows up before settling back against them – then you pick up your phone and open a new web browser. If you watch porn, then that means you’re not totally thinking about Bradley while doing what you’re about to do. Right? 

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly drop your phone and jump off the bed. Frustration bubbles in your gut, spreading through your whole body and making you more than a little agitated by your best friend who seems to be thoroughly enjoying giving you whiplash. 

You yank the door open to see him standing there – fucking shirtless – wearing a hesitant, apologetic little smile. 

“I – uh – wanted to talk about earlier…” His voice is a little strained, and you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders and deliciously naked upper body. 

You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms over your chest. “About what? The part where you decided to get all up in my personal space and make it weird?” 

He winces. “Yeah, about that.” His gaze flits to the bed behind you for a second, where your vibrator is sitting in full view. His mouth opens, then shuts, and suddenly he's biting back a very unapologetic grin. 

You bite your lip, ignoring the immediate burning in your cheeks. “Something caught your eye?” 

Bradley steps forward, forcing you further into your room, before shutting the door behind him. His eyes are glued to the bed, but there’s a heat building in his gaze, and you feel it deep in your stomach. 

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly trying not to stare at the thing on the bed, but then, with a quick, almost predatory glance at you, he takes another step forward. “Yeah, well, I was going to apologize, but now I’m not so sure what for.” He’s close enough that you can feel his breath against your cheek, but your feet are stuck, you couldn’t move away even if you wanted to. 

You smirk and tip your head, faking a bravado that you definitely don’t feel. “Oh? So, you’re not sorry for grinding against me in the kitchen?” Your voice is a lot stronger than you feel, and for that, you’re grateful. 

Bradley stiffens, then shrugs, trying – and failing – to appear nonchalant. “Maybe I enjoyed it a little more than I should have,” he mutters, his voice dropping low. 

Your heart skips a beat. “What?” 

Before you can say another word, Bradley is suddenly right there, his hand gripping your wrist and pulling your body right up against his, making your breath hitch. “What if I’m really sorry?” His voice is playful now, but there’s an edge of something else – something hotter – lingering in his words. 

But you don’t get the chance to ask him what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, because his lips crash onto yours without warning. For a heartbeat, you're frozen – shocked and unsure – before instinct takes over and you melt into him. Your hands find his chest, fingers splaying across warm skin, and you swear you can feel his heart racing beneath your palms. He tastes like beer and something dangerously addictive, something that’s always been there, just beneath the surface, waiting. Your hands drift lower before you can stop them, tracing the curve of muscle and heat, before stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants – as if that’s the line. This elastic band of grey material is the physical embodiment of the line the divides friendship from something more. 

Then he pulls away just as suddenly as he had kissed you, breathless and wide-eyed. He looks wrecked – like his thoughts are spiralling, torn between a dozen different emotions you can’t quite name. 

“Bradley, I-” You start to speak but you’re not actually sure you have anything to say. 

Your whole body is on fire, every nerve ending singed as fire laps and dances across your skin. You want him to kiss you again and again – you never want him to stop. You have no idea how you’ve gone this long without tasting his lips, his tongue, but now you know you can’t live without it. You need him more than you need oxygen but... he’s your best friend. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you mutter, slowly removing your hands from the waistband of his sweatpants. 

He blinks a couple of times and frowns, tilting his head as he regards you with curiosity. “Why?” 

You swallow thickly on the emotion building in your throat, determined not to cry about the fact that you’re in love with your best friend. And only just fucking realised it. 

“For everything,” you say. “This past week, moving in together, staring at you like you’re my next fucking meal. We’re best friends, and I meant it when I said I don’t want to ruin it. I-I know this isn’t want best friends do, but I’m willing to forget about it if-” 

“I’m not,” he interrupts, his expression serious. “I’m never going to forget about the moment when I finally sacked up and kissed you.” 

Your breath catches and you can feel the bridge of your nose starting to sting. “Finally?” 

He lets out a dry, humourless chuckle, rubbing a hand up the side of his neck. “Yeah. Finally. Because I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I’m not even sure when it started – just that it was long before you started looking at me like that.” He gestures toward your face, where whatever expression you’re wearing must scream hunger. 

You both let out breathless little laughs, and then you press your lips together and wait for him to finish his big, dramatic speech. 

“I was perfectly happy being your best friend, and I still will be if you decide that that’s all you want from me. I swear, I’m not saying this to mess anything up. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel more.” His eyes are full of earnest, and it makes your chest ache. “Because I wake up every fucking day thinking about you, and I fall asleep wondering if you’re thinking about me too. I know we’ve always had this easy rhythm between us, but lately it’s been… different. And I don’t think that’s just in my head.” 

You can feel your pulse thrumming across every inch of your body, and it takes all the self-control you have not to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. 

“What happened in the kitchen – that wasn’t nothing.” A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “That was a moment I’ve been trying not to want for way too long. And if there’s even a chance you want this too, then I’m all in. But if not… I’ll still be here. I’d rather be your best friend forever than risk losing you. But I had to be honest – because I’m in love with you. And I think maybe you’re in love with me too.” 

His chest rises and falls quickly as he finishes, and all you can do is stare up at the face you know better than any other, wondering how you’ve never truly seen him before. “Bradley, I’m-” 

“I mean, come on,” he says, his lips curling into a full-blown smirk beneath that damn moustache, “who goes on that many Tinder dates but never ends up with a boyfriend?” 

You frown, attempting to look indignant but deep down, you know you're just gazing at him like a fool in love. “Is this how you ask girls out, by insulting them first?” 

He chuckles again, but this time it’s nervous. “Did it work?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to ignore the way your heart is rioting within your chest – beating so hard, you’re sure it’s about to break a rib. “Yeah,” you sigh, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants to pull him closer again. “It worked.” 

The grin that splits across his face is blinding, but you barely have time to appreciate it before his hands are on your face, pulling you toward him. His lips crash against yours with a desperate urgency, and it’s like everything you’ve ever felt about him floods to the surface. Your hands slide up to his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens, fierce and unrestrained. The taste of him is intoxicating, as if you’ve been starved for this connection, for him. Your heart races at a dangerous pace as you lose yourself in the heat, the spark between you crackling louder than any words you could’ve spoken. It’s messy, it’s raw, but it’s everything you’ve been craving and more. 

It’s only when your lungs start to burn for air that he pulls back, his breath ragged as he meets your gaze. “Now I’m really sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.” 

You giggle, the sound soft and giddy. “You’re going to need to apologize better than that.” 

He grins, pulling you closer, and in one swift motion, he’s pressing your back against the wall, his body flush against yours. “Oh, I can do better,” he says, lips ghosting over your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “But you’re going to have to be patient.” 

You laugh again, breathlessly, but the sound quickly dies in your throat as his lips find yours again – even more demanding this time – his hands sliding down your sides with a confidence that has your heart racing. He’s moving against you, not in a hurry but with an urgency that you can’t help but match. 

“Bradley,” you murmur against his lips, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “I am in love with you too.” 

His eyes darken, and the playful grin on his lips shifts into something far more dangerous. The teasing is gone – replaced by an intense, smouldering need that matches your own. His gaze locks onto yours, raw and unguarded, and in that moment, every inch of you ignites with desire. He’s all heat and need now, and you’re right there with him, every inch of you aching with want. And love. 

END.

[oystermark]

Can I request a size difference for trans masc reader and conquest? Like the reader and him fight, and the reader loses so conquest takes him as if he's prize. Like full Nelson type shit. Has reader sobbing from overstimulation and gets him to squet or something.

conquest x tmasc!reader

a/n: im gonna try to keep these short and sweet since im doing a conquest marathon of sorts for today! ! tysm for ur request, im taking nsfw conquest reqs 'till april 5th!

cw: conquest himself, readers genitals are referred as 'clit, cervix, hole' ,dubious consent from the reader, conquest just bullying the poor reader</3 not proofread

yeah no, you were a fucking dumbass. what the hell were you, a rookie healer at best, thinking you had anything against a viltrumite? trying to protect civilians like you yourself weren't a bug he is currently stepping on, you can feel your ribs about to break. oh well, at least you saved 3 people, hopefully.

you feel air fill your lungs again so violently fast that you start choking on said air, conquest watching you with an amused smirk on his face. fucking prick.

"you know, i really enjoy toying with your kind,"

he pulls you up with a hold on your neck, the metal pinching your flesh as you hiss, if you thought you were big or small before whether in height, weight or muscle- it doesn't matter, he's just towering over you, he could envelope you with just one arm. you groan when he squeezes the hold he has on your throat to capture your fading attention,

"you make the prettiest fuckin' noises,"

his hand just- rips away the bottom part of your hero suit and you feel air hit your now exposed sex as you start to whimper in fear, you couldn't- speak anymore, you couldn't find your voice. fuck.

he cackles in what you assume is delight for him, its certainly fucking harrowing for you but judging from his reaction he doesn't give a shit whats between those legs of yours, his goals are already set.

"im going to ruin you,"

nsfw

-

you cry out pathetically as you feel the tip of his dick hit your cervix again and again, at this point he isn't even thrusting he's drilling his dick into your poor abused cunt, you already came 5 times, your cum coating his dick as he drives that monster in and out of you. you're head and upper back are laid on the concrete while he's holding the rest of your body up with one hand.

"fuck yes, you're so damn tight, can't believe you're still breathing, atta boy,"

he's being genuine and you don't know if that's worse for you, only being able to let out a small gasp as you close your eyes and feel your abdomen tighten, then as if all tension from your body is ripped, you squirt all over his dick that still hasn't stopped thrusting no matter how tight your hole was, and felt your body finally give up and go limp in his hold.

he halted his movements for a few seconds before biting his bottom lip, you could feel his cock stiffen inside you and a strangled sob forced its way from your throat as you felt him coat your walls with so much cum, literally gushing out of your hole. he wanted to see your cum mix with his properly, so he started to pound with as much strength needed to make you lose your mind as his thumb kept flicking your clit.

your hands finally finding enough energy, you brought one of them up in a silent plea as he chuckled at your cute little antics, "aw, want to hold my hand pretty thing?" he took your hand and bit down on one of your fingers to taste your blood as you came with an exhausted groan.

that groan turned into sobbing as you realize his thumb didn't stop its movements on your clit and his dick wasn't letting you go before it emptied into you again, he took in your tear streaked face, your torn hero costume, the blood seeping from your thighs -the cuts he caused looked delicious to him- you looked... delicious, gorgeous, everything he wanted from his future toy.

he finally set you hips down on the concrete, just to force your legs apart even more, planting each hand on the sides of your head, his mouth close to your ear,

"stand still and take it like the good boy you are, we're done when i say we're done, pet."

[alloftheimagines]

haymitch abernathy | until sunrise

words: 1.7k warnings: MINORS DNI. off-page sexual and physical abuse, blood, suicidal ideation, alcohol, drugs, angst, hurt/comfort description: You’re the Capitol’s plaything. All he can do is clean you up after a particularly terrible night.  I just finished Sunrise on the Reaping and had to get out some Haymitch brainrot.

A knock on his door is never a good sign. When Haymitch is in the Capitol for the Games, he keeps to himself when he can, lost in the fog of drink where he can convince himself that nothing can touch him. 

But there’s one exception. You.

You’re the only reason he opens the door at all. A fresh victor of District 12, it’s been your turn to serve the Capitol over the last couple of years. Last Games, they still had that thing in your ear, keeping you drugged and controlled to establish you as the Capitol’s docile little darling. This year, you’ve spent every party either in a cage or satisfying potential sponsors behind closed doors. It makes him sick, so he drinks more and more and more, but it never makes it easier. 

Now, in the hallway, you’re more gaunt than ever. Barely there at all. There are cuts all over your skin, blood dribbling down your temple, your neck, even your damn legs. 

“I need…” you whisper, and the words are slurred. Unlike him, it isn’t a choice. Your clients like you better when you’re inebriated, not able to fight back. You’re theirs to do with what they want. 

You frown as though you’ve already forgotten what you need, but he knows. 

“Come in, sweetheart.”

When you step forward on buckling legs, he has to catch you, just barely holding you up. His white liquor breath mingles with your sour one as, somehow, this quest for stability becomes something more. He’s holding you tight while your head lolls against his shoulder, because it’s the least he can do and it isn’t nearly enough. He feels responsible. He helped you win those games. After years of following the rules, learning the hard way that rebellion got people killed, he’d seen a spark in you. A spark that could have destroyed the games if he was just smart enough to figure out how. 

Snow had seen the flame. Snuffed it out. It pains Haymitch to think it, but he would have been better off letting you starve without sponsors. Letting you die in the arena. This… This is his fault. He cared for something again, somebody, and now it’s killing you both. 

“What’d they do to you?” he whispers when he’s shut the door behind you. A stupid question, born from horror rather than a genuine need to know. With the bite marks, bruises, and slashes across your skin, he can imagine. The Capitol are almost as genetically mutated as Mutts these days, so many of them resembling animals with sharp-filed teeth among other hideous implants.

“Got one… with fangs n’claws,” you mutter. 

He looses a jagged breath, half-rage, half-despair, and guides you carefully over to his couch. The apartment is still in darkness, lights too bright for his ever-pounding head. Besides, the view of the Capitol illuminated under the stars yawns outside his window, a beast not quite slumbering. Never does. The city never stops; night just casts a blanket over their depravities, but there are holes in the velvet that keep the place lit dim.

Curtains aren’t allowed. He already asked. 

With you slumped on his pillows, he can get a better view of your state. Regrets looking immediately. Glittering dress the colour of grey doves has been torn by greedy hands. Where your skin isn’t bloody, it’s black, blue, green, your very own kaleidoscope of pain. It’ll be worse in the morning, but right now, you at least have the detachment the drugs grant you. Not like him, who feels every fucking mark on you. 

He rubs a hand over his unkempt stubble. Tries to figure out where the fuck he should start. If you were cognisant, he’d have led you straight to the shower, knows how unclean you feel after a night like this. But you’re not, and he’s not going to be another monster who strips you bare without you knowing. 

“Gonna clean you up best I can, okay?” he finally decides. “You rest now.”

Your mumble is unintelligible, but it still pierces another needle through his chest. How can the two of you keep going like this? How can you mentor more tributes, knowing that an arena death would be kinder than this slow torture?

Turns out his liquor comes in handy for more than just getting wasted. He grabs a cloth and his half-drained bottle from the kitchen along with a bowl of warm water, then returns to you, kneeling on the carpet at your feet. 

“I got you now,” he whispers, then starts on your sprawled legs. You whimper when he reaches the first gash, right below your knee. “‘M sorry, sweetheart. Know it stings.”

You bite your lip, fingers curling into the velvet arm of the couch as he keeps going. “Haymitch.” It’s a croaked whisper, barely audible at all, but he hears it like an alarm bell.

“I’m here,” is all he can reply as he wrings the blood from the cloth. Goes again. Where your dress is bunched towards your hips, he sees bite marks on your inner thighs and feels nauseous. He sucks in a sharp breath. Leans back to press his fist into his mouth so that he doesn’t yell, or sob, or do something. He’s had his time, his punishment. It’s your turn now, and all he can do is be there at the end of the night. He takes a swig of the liquor in his hand, but it just makes the burn in his throat worse. So bad he has to step away, just for a minute, to collect himself. 

He doesn’t know your lazy gaze is watching his back, waiting for him to return. The only person who keeps you safe in all this, or at least rides out the devastation with you. Without him, you wouldn’t be here. You don’t know if that makes him a blessing or a curse. 

“Gonna get you some water,” he decides. 

Don’t go, you think, but you don’t dare say it. Even now, you’re afraid the Capitol will see just how much you rely on him and take that from you, too. 

He comes back quickly, helps sit you up with a gentle hand on your shoulder as he tips the cool glass to your cracked lips. “That’s it,” he coaxes. “Thatta girl.”

Your face crumples as though it tastes foul, and he draws it back to dry the excess from your chin. “When’s… it gon’ end?” you ask.

“When we’re dead and buried,” he replies softly. “Till then, you try to stay with me, okay?”

Your hooded eyes glisten as you finally look at him. It isn’t easy, being this vulnerable. You’ve been used and abused all night by evil, depraved men. Men with weapons on their fingers, in their mouths, everywhere, not because they like to fight, but because they like to bleed people like you dry. You shouldn’t want to be anywhere near him now, but where else can you go?

He’s all you’ve got. Some nights, it just isn’t enough. “Don’t w’na do this anymore.”

“I know.”

“Could end it.”

“They wouldn’t let you. You know that.” His voice is gravel; pain. You hate you put it there with your dreams of death, but they feel closer now than ever. What if he didn’t tend to your wounds, didn’t keep your hydrated and fed and awake? What if he let you drift off the way he hadn’t been able to in the arena?

And he’s right. Even if he could let you go, the Capitol would find some way to get you back, whether they’d use your sickly corpse or find somebody to masquerade as you to keep up appearances. You’d just be making it worse, even if not for yourself. 

And he needs you. He’d never say it, but he does. The only other victor here, all you have is each other. Back in District 12, you sit in your grand house in the Victor Village for hours, listening to him shuffling on the other side of the wall. His presence always a frayed thread to grasp onto with both hands. You clean him up when he’s passed out on his doorstep, or sometimes, you get drunk together on your couch. Only then do your bodies intertwine the way you want, both of you too past consciousness to care whether somebody sees. You don’t know what he’d do without you. Choke on his own vomit, maybe. Drink until he drowned. You rely on each other — and it’s the most dangerous thing in the world. But also the only thing that keeps you going. 

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and his face is fading in and out of the blackness now as he tends to some of the scratches on your face and neck. 

“Haymitch,” you whisper again, because if anybody can save you, it’s him. 

“Right here, sweetheart. Not going anywhere.” He’s so gentle against your raw skin you barely feel it at all, only moaning when he reaches tender spots. Finally, it stops. 

“Couch or bed?” he asks just as you’re sinking into the dark. 

“Couch.” Beds are where terrible things happen. Beds are where this happened.

“Lie down then, sweet. That’s it.” He guides you down to the cushions of the couch, a hand brushing the matted hair off your cheeks. You can’t tell if it’s comfortable or not. Your body isn’t yours to decide that, these days. He drapes a blanket over you, and it eases your shuddering limbs. Had you been shaking like that the whole time? You barely noticed. 

“You’ll stay?” If you were capable of it, it would have been a plea. 

He gives you the same answer as ever: “Where else am I gonna go?” And then, when you don’t reply, he takes your hand and gets comfortable on the carpet. He’s never, not once, tried to do more than that after nights like this, knowing too much touch will bring it all back. “Gonna be right here till sunrise, okay? Always gonna be another sunrise.”

It should be a comfort, but it feels like a death sentence. Doing this all over again tomorrow… 

But he’s here. He’ll always be here. The only good thing this world has ever given you. 

[im-ovulating]

(A/n: 🤭)

Word Count: 621

Summary- You can take it. You will take it; just like the good girl I know you are

Warnings: Size difference, Things break, Emmett stuffs you like a boston cream donut

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Emmett Cullen x Fem! Reader: Kinktober Day 6- Size Kink + Cumflation

--------------------------

"S'too big~" you moan.

Emmett's arms bulge from grasping the headboard above you as he works his cock into you. His muscles almost pulse from restraint.

"You can take it," he grunts out, wood creaking under the force of his grip. "You will take it."

You feel like you're being torn apart in the best way possible. His girth stretches you well beyond what you thought was possible. He always does -not that you can complain.

The further he shoves his cock into you, the further your back seems to arch off of the bed. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck- Emmett~"

You're surprised the sheets haven't ripped with how hard you're gripping them.

Emmett grunts out, eyes shut as he bottoms out. He practically shakes with the effort of holding back.

Your pussy clenches as it tries to get used to the sheer size of your mate.

*crack*

You don't have to open your eyes to know the headboard is splintered under his grip.

"God damn it, babe-" he grits out with clenched teeth. "If you do that again, I won't be able to hold back-"

"S-sorry," you gasp out. "Please move- please, Emmett- fuck me…"

A vicious snarl tips through the room at your words. Without warning, Emmett pulls out of you and slams back in. Your hands fly up to claw at his back and side; anything to ground yourself against the onslaught of pleasure as his carnal desires take over. The room echoes with the sound of skin on skin and the filthy squelch of your soaked pussy.

You cry out as Emmett pounds into you. His name falling from your lips in a symphony of lust and ecstasy.

"So fucking tight, baby-" Emmett growls above you. He heaves with unnecessary breathes as his hand sinks further and further into the solid wood of your bed frame.

"Oh, god~" you gasp, moans being punched out of you with each hit to your cervix. You can feel yourself spiraling insanely fast towards release as he abuses your cunt.

It only worsens as Emmett tosses one of your legs over his shoulder, burying himself inside you impossibly deeper. You swear you can feel him in your womb with how deep he's hitting.

Sharp huffs and grunts are falling from Emmett as he hangs his head between his shoulders. "Feel so damn good- s'like this pussy was made for me. You were fucking made for me, baby- my sexy fucking baby~ look at you, taking my cock so fuckin' well."

It's all you can do to keep your sanity as you cum. Your thighs shake with the force of your orgasm as your knuckles go white with exertion.

With how tight your cunt clenches around him, Emmett quickly follows, emptying his spend inside of you with a low rumble. His palm shoves through the headboard, punching into the wall as he falls forward. Specks of drywall and wood land on the bed around you as he continues to fuck into you.

Your silent scream turns into a soft whine as his balls pump more cum inside of you. You feel like you're going to burst with how full you are.

"Too much-" you moan out, hips shifting as he sets your leg back down.

All of a sudden, Emmett stills inside of you. "Fucking hell- Baby-"

You force your eyes open at the tone of his voice. He's staring down at your stomach with a mix of concern and pride.

Following his gaze, your own eyes widen:

Your stomach is slightly distended from how full you are. With his cock still plugging you up, Emmett's cum had pooled inside you to the point of inflation.

"Damn that's hot as fuck-" Emmett breathes out.

[poisonlove]

la maledizione degli Addams²

Pairing: wednesday Addams X reader

Wednesday had been avoiding you, deliberately ignoring the itch she felt every time you were near, focusing solely on her investigation. Though it pained her to avoid the deep connection with her soulmate, her determination to solve the mysteries surrounding her took precedence over any emotion. Her investigations had paid off: she had discovered a secret library that led her to the book with the missing page about Rowan (luckily after the Poe Cup), and she had followed her leads into the woods during Outreach Day, finding the lair of the monster and planning to visit it with Eugene.

But unfortunately Enid had dragged her to the Raven.

Wednesday had chosen to use Tyler as a scapegoat. The normal boy, attracted to her, represented a useful resource for her goals. She knew she could exploit his interest to focus on her investigations while distancing herself from Galpin.

But when she saw Eugene with his backpack ready for their excursion, a pressure tightened in her chest. The disappointment on Eugene’s face was palpable, an expression that struck Wednesday in an unexpected way.

"Don’t go into the woods," she told him, her black eyes fixed on him with an intensity that sent chills down his spine.

"We'll go after the party. Stay close" she added.

At the entrance to the ballroom, the itch she had felt grew more intense. Without thinking her eyes began to search for you among the crowd. There you were. A burning fire ignited inside her and in an involuntary gesture she clenched her jaw, producing a crack that revealed her growing frustration. The sight of Yoko, your dance partner, only fueled her irritation.

Damn curse.

The Addams curse that she had always considered both a blessing and a burden now amplified her feelings, making each moment even more painful.

The image of Y/N laughing and enjoying herself with Yoko struck her like a blow to the heart. A pang of pain spread through her chest as if her soul was being torn apart. Every smile from Y/N, every glance exchanged with Yoko felt like a mortal wound.

Wednesday found herself caught in a tearing conflict: on one side was her untamed nature pushing her to keep her distance; on the other an overwhelming desire to get closer, to reconnect with you even if it meant facing vulnerability.

Her gaze involuntarily shifted to Yoko.

The vampire with her charming smile and relaxed demeanor only amplified Wednesday's frustration.

"Damn it," she thought as her hands tightened around Tyler's arm. She wanted to run away but she knew she couldn’t. Her soulmate was there and despite everything, the urge to move closer was undeniable.

Yoko chuckled softly as she noticed how sparks were crackling around your body. You could control lightning. Likely due to the intensity of Wednesday’s gaze, Y/N turned away from Yoko and directed her eyes in Wednesday's direction. By some twist of fate, you were the only two girls in the entire school wearing black dresses at a party where white was the required attire.

Enid's figure suddenly appeared at the entrance, blocking Wednesday’s view of you.

Damn.

"Wednesday! Oh my God, you look amazing!" the blonde exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. Enid was wearing a beautiful white dress with a touch of purple makeup on her face.

Strange.

Wednesday’s gaze shifted to the girl’s date.

"Strange choice for your date," she murmured in a flat voice. Her eyes shot a cold glare at the mayor's son, the leader of the trio that had tried to attack her twice.

The boy shuddered.

"Oh... he came to make his ex jealous, and I wanted to make Ajax jealous," Enid said with a shrug.

Her eyes darted to Tyler.

"Tyler! Are you Wednesday's date?" she asked in surprise, her blue eyes studying her roommate with intensity. "Yeah," the normal boy scratched his head, clearly embarrassed.

"I’m going to get a drink," the curly-haired boy added, leaving her alone with Enid.

"You know, I thought you’d come with Y/N," the blonde said casually, "You two... I don’t know... have great chemistry," she added with a small smile.

A shiver ran down Wednesday’s spine at the mention of your name.

"It seems to me she's having fun with Yoko," Addams murmured with venom, her eyes scanning toward your figure.

Despite the discomfort that enveloped her Wednesday launched into the dance. Her movements were distinct, rigid yet fluid, her hands tracing sinuous precise gestures, her steps seemingly defying the rhythm of the music itself. But during one of those turns her hand accidentally brushed against another’s.

As soon as the fingers touched a jolt of energy shot through her body like thousands of electric shocks sliding across her skin, like invisible spiders crawling in her stomach leaving her paralyzed for a moment. Her breath caught in her throat and her head tilted back in an almost unnatural movement, her eyes wide open toward the ceiling.

A vision struck her with the force of lightning.

The world shattered around her, the party lights vanishing and transforming into blinding flashes. Screams and distant voices echoed in her ears overlapping in an indistinguishable chaos. Among the flashes she glimpsed Crackstone, his menacing figure looming like an impending shadow. Then, like a distorted image, a wedding: black dahlias, a black dress, hands united in an eternal bond all enveloped in a disturbing aura.

Wednesday's body was as rigid as a tightly drawn string, her hands stiff by her sides, every muscle tensed under her pale skin. Her face was twisted in an expression of pure terror as her breath came out in ragged gasps.

And then, everything faded.

The vision dissolved leaving her shaken and trembling, her head still thrown back. Slowly, she tilted forward again as her eyes refocused on the ballroom now again wrapped in the dim lights and chaotic movements of their schoolmates. But the sensation of disorientation persisted, like an echo of the vision that still throbbed in her temples.

She felt something warm on her shoulders and realized it was your hands, steady and sure, supporting her. You had moved closer during her moment of weakness, your Y/C eyes fixed on her with a mixture of concern and alarm. Your expression was tense, your breath quick.

The curse.

Her body seemed unresponsive for a moment, her legs still unsteady. She felt a strange, dark current flowing between the two of you, as if physical contact had been the catalyst for a force that had awakened within her.

"Are you okay? It looked like a vision," you asked, your voice filled with genuine concern. Your tone was low, meant only for her, as you tried to understand what had happened.

Wednesday took a deep breath trying to regain control over the turmoil inside her, but she clearly felt the effects of the curse coursing through her veins. An invisible tension tightened her chest, pulling her forward, almost as if she were compelled to move closer to you. She took a step forward closing the distance between you and her gaze locked determinedly onto yours.

"Yes... I was dancing with Tyler... then I had a vision," Wednesday said in a flat tone, her dark eyes tracing every detail of your face trying to grasp something she couldn’t quite understand.

"Tyler left," you responded, your voice breaking slightly as if admitting that truth cost you more than you wanted to show. Then you clenched your jaw, your expression hardening and in that moment Wednesday swore she saw a flash behind your irises, a reflection that seemed to conceal a storm.

A question crossed her mind like lightning: were you jealous?

Without thinking Wednesday’s hands moved sliding from your shoulders to encircle your neck. The skin beneath her fingers was warm and she felt a shiver that shook her from within like a fire igniting in her chest and consuming her from the inside. She felt... overwhelmed, as if the tide of sensations enveloping her was pulling her underwater leaving her breathless. Her heart pounded in a way she had never experienced before, a frantic and unfamiliar rhythm that muddled her thoughts.

The itch that had overwhelmed her before was gone.

Instead a heat consumed her and pushed her closer to you, as if the simple touch of her hands on your skin was the only thing keeping her upright.

Maybe it's because we touched? she thought for a moment, her mind tangled between logic and instinct searching for an explanation.

"Wednesday, I..." you began, your voice hesitant, almost fearful, as if you were afraid of the reaction you might provoke.

At the mention of her name on your lips Wednesday barely stifled a moan, a low sound escaping from her throat and echoing deeply in her chest. It was as if the sound of her name spoken by you held a different weight, an intensity that made her bones vibrate and burned inside her. Every fiber of her being sensed that this was different, that there was something strange and unstoppable between the two of you, a force she couldn’t fully understand but could not ignore.

"Cara mia" Wednesday whispered, her words almost too intimate, laced with a subtle darkness that sent a shiver through you. Her hands around your neck tightened pulling you closer with a determined hungry strength.

Your cheeks flushed red, a blush that Wednesday watched with hungry eyes.

For a moment the world around you seems to disappear, dissolving into the silence that exists only between the heavy breaths that bind you together. Her mind is overtaken by a primal desire and all she wants is to taste your lips, to feel the warmth of your mouth on hers. She realizes that she wants to consume you whole as if that were the only way to quell the fire burning inside her, as if that were the only way to make you hers.

For the first time she understands what drove her parents toward each other with such intensity. Why Gomez could never stay away from Morticia, why every gesture between them seemed to almost defy the rules of propriety with their passion. But that thought blends with something else, a deep disgust for herself, for how quickly she has yielded to this impulse abandoning her rigidity and her ideals just because of a single touch from you.

Just as this internal struggle rages, a cold drop hits your cheek followed by another that slides down your nose tracing a scarlet path. The sensation of something wet and viscous on your face breaks the moment and when you look up, a red rain begins to fall, like blood pouring from the ceiling, staining your faces and clothes.

Chaos erupts around you.

The other students begin to scream, pushing against each other in a desperate attempt to escape the ballroom. Bodies collide and stumble in a frantic rush, slipping on the floor now covered in blood. The lights flicker on and off in a pulsing rhythm amplifying the panic.

But you remain still, trapped under Wednesday's gaze, her lips curling into a wicked smile. The urge to run her tongue along your cheek to taste you mixed with the blood overwhelms her.

Suddenly a body crashes into her, shoving her violently to the side. Wednesday whirls around, muscles tense, fists clenched ready to retaliate against the intruder. But right in that moment her gaze goes lank and another vision seizes her, ragging her into a spiral of confused and painful images.

She sees red boots stepping on the ground, staining themselves with the dark red that flows like a river. And then a familiar face distorted by the pain caused by the beast's attack:

Eugene.

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling Apart & Torn at the Seams [3/5]

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 3k [Series Masterlist][Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; pregnant!Reader, angst with an eventual happy/hopeful ending, emotional hurt, threat to abort (because it's Clay), angry Jax, Clay being Clay

a/n: Y'all are loving the drama in this fic and I appreciate the interaction on it SO MUCH! So thank you! I hope you enjoy the angsty part three! It's entirely possible we could end up with a total of five parts for this, it just depends on how long part four turns out to be once it's written (since each of these keeps getting longer than the previous). Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @kmc1989 @hiddenwritings-adventures @shadyshadyy @cwallace02sblog

Almost four full days had passed since that argument at your apartment. Four days of you not answering your phone no matter how many times Jax had tried to call or text you. He already figured he’d pissed you off after how he’d gone off on you the other day, and he assumed that’s why you were ignoring him. But Jax couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this felt wrong. You’d never given him the silent treatment before. 

This wasn’t like you. 

Jax damn well knew he owed you an apology for the other night. You hadn’t deserved the way he’d shown up and torn into you like that. He’d just been so fucking exhausted and stressed after dealing with Alvarez out in Oakland. Jax had been walking a thin line trying to appease the Mayan president all goddamn day after he’d gotten word about the new Sons’ deal with the Niners, and it had completely fried his patience. But it was a bullshit task Clay had thrown him on to deal with, one that he knew would be irritating as fuck and take Jax the entire day to handle the “gang politics” of, but he claimed that Jax would benefit from the experience. 

He knew that wasn’t an excuse for his attitude with you, though. He knew that the second he woke up alone four days ago in his dorm room after that fight. Jax had dragged himself out of his bed, thrown on whatever clothes his hands had touched first, and then gotten onto his bike and rode straight to your apartment. He felt like an absolute asshole for the way he’d snapped at you, but he felt even worse for the way he’d just walked out of your apartment that night telling you not to even call him.

And that bad feeling only grew as the days had passed, settling like a heavy weight right in his goddamn gut. You never answered your door that morning when he’d come to apologize. Jax had just assumed that you needed some space after the fight, figuring he’d try again later so that he didn’t piss you off further. But you still hadn’t answered the door any of the times he’d stopped by in the days since. 

Everything had gotten worse after that. When he’d come into work at Teller-Morrow yesterday morning on Monday, you hadn’t been in the office. Which was strange because you never missed a day of work–you were always the hardest worker at the auto shop. But Jax left it alone despite the feeling in his gut telling him something wasn’t right. Maybe he really had just pushed you so far that you’d taken the day off. Maybe you still needed more time to calm down because he’d massively fucked up with you.

But then you hadn’t shown up today, either. 

Jax had stormed into the small office attached to the garage and demanded Gemma explain what the hell was going on earlier this morning. Jax had let you keep your distance long enough; he was done ignoring that feeling in his gut. And if for some reason he was wrong and you really were just pissed at him, he’d happily let you tear him to shreds–anything just to know that you were safe and still his girl. Because goddammit, he really fucking missed you.

But when Jax had barged into the auto shop's office this morning, he hadn’t expected his mother to tell him that you’d quit without warning a few days ago. Gemma told him that was all she knew, claiming she figured you’d already told Jax that you were going to quit your position as office manager. 

Except you hadn’t. You’d never expressed an interest in wanting to quit your position there. It was yet another thing that you absolutely wouldn’t do. It wasn’t like you to just go silent and disappear, quitting your job without even telling him that you were thinking about it. And that’s when the panic had finally set in for Jax.

He’d left the office, furiously pacing around his dorm room afterwards. Tugging at his hair, he tried hard to recall everything from that night. You’d called him an absurd amount of times that evening–something you’d never done before. Fifteen times. Your texts and voicemails had all said the same thing–that you’d needed him. No specifics, no explanations, just that you needed him.

None of what was going on these past few days felt like you. Something had happened and he’d fucking missed it. You had been trying to tell him something that night and he had been too tired, too focused on himself and how exhausted and irritated he’d been that day, to even see that something was wrong. That maybe you really did need him.

But you had looked perfectly fine when he’d stopped by your apartment. You hadn’t looked upset until he’d started shouting at you for yet again accusing him of cheating. And he’d been pissed off that not only had you called him to argue about that again, but because he had never wanted to touch another girl after meeting you. He’d told you that over a hundred times now and he meant it every fucking time he’d said it, but no matter how many times he did, you just wouldn’t seem to trust him. 

It wasn’t until Jax had thrown everything off the top of his dresser in his dorm room at the clubhouse, kicking a few boxes out of the way in his rage, that he remembered something from that night. One small, minute little detail. One little comment that had been quickly overshadowed by the accusations of him cheating.

You’d told him that Clay had visited your apartment earlier that day. That he’d threatened you. 

All of that had led to what Jax was doing now–breaking into your apartment.

He didn’t give a shit that it was mid-morning and anyone looking outside could’ve seen him picking the lock on your door. You weren’t answering your goddamn phone and you’d suddenly quit your job. Something was wrong with you–something more than just the fucking fight you’d had with him. And pairing that with the fact that you’d called him most likely afraid after Clay had made some sort of threat against you, Jax was fucking terrified he’d find you dead somewhere inside your apartment this morning.

Jax’s hands were shaking as he focused on picking the lock on your door, his teeth grinding together in barely contained frustration and nerves as he worked. If something had happened to you, he knew it was his fault. He hadn’t been there when you’d needed him. All he’d done was yell at you and walk away. 

Eventually, Jax heard the click of the lock. Returning the lockpicking tools into the inside pocket of his kutte, Jax twisted the handle of your door and pushed it open. His heart was hammering heavily inside of his chest as he stepped inside your apartment, closing the door after himself. 

“Baby?” he called out hesitantly. “It’s Jax. You here?”

No answer came.

That dark, terrifying feeling only grew in Jax’s gut as he stepped further inside, his eyes scanning around your place. Your living room looked as it usually did, not a single thing out of place. Even your blankets you liked to curl up with when you watched television were folded nice and neat on the back of your couch. 

Walking through the small space, a lump formed in the back of his throat. Jax had handled some high-stress situations plenty of times in his life. He’d been in gun fights, prison fights, and he’d negotiated with countless dangerous criminals over the years. But he’d never felt true fear like he did as he made his way around your apartment, a pit forming in his stomach.

Your kitchen looked just as pristine as the living room. There were no dishes in your sink, no sign of a struggle. Nothing out of place. Everything looked like it usually did whenever he’d come over to see you in the past.

Making his way down your short hallway next, Jax’s confusion only grew with each step he took. While he was grateful that he hadn't stumbled on your lifeless body lying anywhere in a pool of blood, he didn't understand what was going on. Where were you? Why weren’t you here? Where had you gone?

Flipping on the lightswitch of your bedroom, Jax made his way inside carefully. Your bed was neatly made and everything seemed just as pristine as the rest of your place. No clothing scattered on the floor, your bedside lamps weren’t knocked off the nightstand, the drawers of your dresser weren’t yanked out and thrown around. There was absolutely no sign of someone making you just disappear.

But he was missing something, he knew it.

Jax’s fingers ran over the comforter on your bed as he stepped further into the room, his eyes searching for something–anything. There had to be a clue as to what was going on, you couldn’t have just disappeared without a single trace. At the very least, he’d have expected a note. An angry text or voicemail. Something more than silence.

That’s when Jax’s eyes caught the way your top left drawer of your dresser was left open just a tiny fraction. As if maybe you hadn’t closed it completely because you’d been in a rush. Making his way over towards the slightly open drawer, his hand reached out and pulled it fully open.

It was empty. 

He knew this was the drawer you kept your bras and panties in–he’d watched you get dressed in here in the mornings more than enough times now. As his brows knit together, Jax’s hand slid over to the drawer beside it, the one he knew was filled with the cute little tank tops and cotton shorts you always slept in. But when he pulled that drawer open, it was also empty.

A deep frown dragged the corners of his lips downwards as Jax roughly shoved the drawer shut in his growing frustration. Turning around, he headed over to your closet and pulled it open. Half of your wardrobe was missing entirely. He stood there for a minute, just staring at the empty hangers as they taunted him with your absence. 

Inhaling a sharp breath, he shoved the closet door shut once more with a sharp bang. Running a hand across his bearded jaw, he turned and scanned the room again. Why were only a few of your things missing? What the hell was going on here that he wasn’t catching?

Wanting further proof that you’d really left Charming, Jax abruptly exited your bedroom and crossed the hallway to your small bathroom. He knew without a doubt that you’d never leave anywhere without that damn shampoo and conditioner you kept in your shower. He’d heard you complain about borrowing his enough times when you’d stayed over at his place that Jax finally told you to just leave some damn bottles in his own shower. 

Stepping into the bathroom, he reached a hand out and ripped the shower curtains all the way to one side. Your shower was empty, too. Devoid of your beloved shampoo and conditioner, and even that body wash that smelled so damn good it made him want to bury his face against your skin for hours just to inhale the scent of it.

You were gone. You’d really just left without a word. But why? And did it really have something to do with Clay? Something just wasn’t adding up here.

Releasing his tight grip on your shower curtains, Jax let out a low growl of frustration. But just as he’d been about to stalk out of your bathroom and back outside to his bike, a bright pink and white box sitting on the top of your bathroom garbage caught his eye. Taking a step closer to it, Jax bent over and reached out to pick it up.

Prenatal vitamins.

It felt as if all the oxygen had just been ripped straight from his lungs at the sight of the box in his hands. Prenatal vitamins–he knew what those were for. Pregnant women. But you weren't–

Hands shaking as he stared at the box in them, his eyes scanned over the image of a pregnant woman holding her belly on it as his mouth went bone dry. Feeling off balance, he reached a hand out to steady himself against the bathroom counter as his pulse jolted into a frenzy.

You were…pregnant? That's what you’d been trying to tell him? 

“Goddammit, baby,” he whispered to himself, feeling tears beginning to burn in his eyes. “I didn't fucking know. I didn't…”

Jax's voice trailed off as he stared at the box through his blurred vision, one hand running across his mouth. He'd fucked up. He'd really fucked up. You were pregnant with his baby and he'd just yelled at you and now you were gone. 

Both of you. 

A sick feeling hit Jax as he stood there staring at the box that had previously contained a bottle of prenatal vitamins–a bottle you’d clearly taken with wherever you'd gone. Had Clay somehow known you were pregnant? Did that have something to do with why you said he'd threatened you? Was that why you'd left without a word? Because you needed to get somewhere safe from his twisted step-father who’d spent months trying to shove you apart? Was that why he’d sent Jax off to Oakland that day?

Gritting his teeth together, Jax slammed a fist sharply onto your bathroom counter, barely registering the sting of pain to his knuckles. You had come to him for help and he'd failed you. He'd let you down.

With a dangerous rage unfurling inside of him, Jax set his jaw and stalked out of your bathroom, making his way through your apartment and back out to his bike in the lot. The pink and white box was smashed in his fist as he moved, each of his steps filled with determination. 

Driving back to Teller-Morrow only took a matter of minutes. Jax had parked and turned off his bike, retrieving that damn box once more before he turned and headed straight to the office. He was going to figure out what the fuck was going on. He was done with the bullshit lies.

Slamming the office door wide open, the door battered into the wall with a loud, abrasive noise. Gemma and one of the younger guys from the garage startled at the interruption. Both of them looked over at Jax, taking in the look of pure unbridled rage on his face. 

“Get out,” Jax snapped at the mechanic.

Gemma loudly scoffed as she swiveled her chair towards her son. “Jackson, that's not–”

“Get the fuck out!” Jax roared over his mother's words. 

Sebastian, a newer mechanic at the shop, instantly ducked his head and bolted through the door that led back into the garage. Gemma sat back in her chair, looking annoyed at Jax for having interrupted her conversation. That only pissed him off further at this point.

“Jax, you can't just–”

“Where the fuck is she, ma?” Jax snapped, cutting her off. He said your name, gripping that damn box tighter in his hand. “And don't fucking lie to me again!”

“I already told you earlier, Jax,” she began, her eyes narrowing back at him. “She unexpectedly quit. I don't know anything else.”

“Bullshit!” he growled. “That's bullshit, Gemma! I fucking know you and Clay have been trying to tear us apart from the fucking beginning. Don't goddamn lie to me right now, ma. Where is she?”

“I didn't do a goddamn thing to your little girlfriend,” Gemma replied. “I got no damn clue–”

Jax slammed his hand down onto the desk, abruptly quieting his mother. Gemma's gaze dropped down to the smashed box he'd left there, her eyes taking a moment to read the writing on it. A second later, her gaze flew up to Jax's.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Prenatal vitamins, ma,” Jax told her bitterly. “Just found them at her place. Her place where she looks like she packed some things and fled.” He paused, trying desperately to reign in his own anger right now so he could get answers, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides. “Guessing that means she's pregnant with my kid, so I'm gonna ask you one more goddamn time, and I want you to stop bullshitting me.” He leaned forward, the question coming out like a snarl, “What the fuck is going on?”

Gemma sat quietly in her desk chair for a long moment, her eyes stuck on the misshapen box lying on her desk. The room grew thick with tension in the following silence before she finally spoke again, her voice quiet and just barely audible over the noise coming from the garage. 

“Clay,” she answered. “Had to be Clay. Told me he had something on her to make her leave Charming, but Jax–” her eyes flew up towards her son's furious blue ones, “–I swear I didn't know that she was pregnant. I had no idea. If she's carrying my grandbaby, you know I'd never do something like that. I'd never run her out of town with my own flesh and blood inside of her.”

Jax’s lips curled back into a feral snarl at her explanation. Gemma knew? She knew that Clay was trying to run you out of Charming and out of his life? And she’d just let him?

“You wanna earn back my fucking trust then?” he snapped, taking an intimidating step towards his mother as he loomed over her in her chair. “Ever be in that kid's life when I do find her? Because I promise you that I fucking will find her.”

Gemma was nodding instantly, her expression serious. “Of course I do,” she answered. “Of course that’s what I want.”

“Then you're gonna help me find out what the hell happened to her,” he told her, voice low and dangerous. “And then you're gonna help me deal with Clay. For good.”

[cuteandhughesy]

Hiiii

Love your fics babes. Could I you pleasee write for Quinn Hughes and prompt 33 + 34?

Always a sucker for the “who did this to you trope”😩😩😩

prompt no.33: “who did this to you?” + prompt no.34 “look at that shiner” “have some sympathy.”

playing tennis has always been your thing. you grew up with parents who adored the sport, and an older brother who played professionally. so of course when you were old enough to stand on your own, there was racket thrust into your hands. not that you mind though—you wanted that damn racket.

you never got around to playing professionally. as much as you loved it, it was your career. and that’s okay. still, you were in a league that held practices and tournaments on weekends, and that was enough for you.

getting injured during tennis was something that was always on the back of your mind. things like torn ligaments and slipped disks where common. but what you weren’t expecting to happen during a 1v1 match against a teenage boy named michael, was to get whacked in the face by the ball.

thwack!

the sound has yet to leave you. the throbbing pain in your eye socket has also yet to leave you. michael felt awful, and he even offered to drive you home or to the hospital or wherever you wanted to go (the kid was a blabbering mess.) but you declined. you’d be fine.

but that didn’t help the whine that left your mouth as you walked back into your and quinn’s shared apartment, the sun shining through the windows and into your eyes—making you squint and eliciting another round of pain.

“hey,” your boyfriend calls from the kitchen. the smell of cooked spinach and standing lingers through the air, meaning he’s cooking lunch. you’d send him a recipe for a delicious looking cale, spinach and chicken salad last night, and he’d promised he’d make it for lunch.

you toe off your tennis shoes and drop your bag next to them before padding into the kitchen. you cross your arms over your tank top apprehensively, “hi.”

quinn’s eyes dart up at your odd tone, and when he catches sight of your face, accompanied by a dark purple and yellow bruise highlighting your brow bone and seeping down to your under eye, he’s on the move.

instantly, quinn is at your side, chicken breast still sizzling on the stove as he takes your head in his palms. “what happened? who did this to you?” his jaw ticks, a clear indication that he’s trying to control his flurry of emotions.

it looks fucking awful.

you laugh, but that only moves your face and hurts your eye, so it’s interrupted by your own wince. “tennis ball got me good,” you mutter, placing your hand over quinn’s heart and patting gently. “i’ll be okay.”

quinn doesn’t look to convinced. his eyes keep lingering on your deepening black eye and wet lashes. you had cried, on the way home, and he notices that immediately. “it hurt?”

you nod. “i’ll ice it.”

he hums half heartedly, gaze still trained on your injury. eventually he hisses, thumb stroking just outside the coming bruise, “fucking hell, look at that shiner, babe.” quinn’s pretty sure he’s never seen a black eye like the one you’ve got. and as much as it pains him that you’re hurting, he’s also amazed.

your lips part, “have some sympathy, quinn. i’m in pain.” your scolding is only half hearted, poking his belly playfully. you pout up at him, and quinn grins, wrapping you in his arms and tugging you against him

mindful of your injury, you tuck your face into his chest, letting his woodsy aroma fill your nostrils. “i’m sorry baby,” quinn mumbles into your hair, and then presses a kiss to the top of your eyebrow. “i’ll kiss it better.”

—

(not edited)

[the-trailblaze]

I’m so happy you were born

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: your birthday is coming up! But Dante has a mission he has to do, will he miss your birthday completely? Hurt/comfort, Dante is a great bf, so much fluff

You’re listening to some music while cleaning up Dante’s bedroom. He always tells you not to and he will “do it later” but later never comes. Plus you enjoy cleaning especially since you’ve been staying with him more recently.

Just as you’re finishing up making the bed you hear a crash and yelling coming from the office. You’re praying it’s not a wild demon wanting to attack Devil May Cry or someone wanting Dante to do a job and trying to trash the place because they didn’t like his answer.

You slowly make your way downstairs not wanting to get in the middle of anything but wanting to make sure everything is okay. When you’re at the bottom of the stairs you peek your head around the corner to look at the office. You don’t see anyone new there and don’t see the place torn up indicating there was no fight. You look down on the ground and see a pile of Dante’s work related stuff and him standing at his desk seething while on the phone.

You come to the conclusion that Dante’s mad at the person on the phone and threw the stuff that was on his desk to the ground. He normally is super chill about jobs whether accepting or declining so this is a bit out of the blue. You decide to stay in your hiding spot and listen in.

“I don’t give a damn if I’m the only one you got. I’m not taking the job!” Dante yells into the phone.

He’s growls at whatever the person on the phone said, “Find someone else.”

Dante then slams his hand not holding the phone on the desk, “I’m not doing a long mission! It’s her birthday next week and I’m not fucking missing it. I’m not doing that to her.”

Oh so he got assigned another long mission. You two have been together for about seven months but most of it you two actually haven’t spent much time together. He’s been sent out on many long missions which keeps you two apart for weeks sometimes even a month. You were so excited when you found out he didn’t have a mission on your birthday. Once you brought it up Dante made a lot of plans for your special day.

Hearing that he might miss the birthday celebration he planned shatters your heart. He has been so excited and kept most of the plans secret to surprise you. You get why he’s so upset and mad now.

A part of you also gets the other side. His job is very important and he is the best. Longer missions normally means a stronger demon. If there is a stronger demon out there causing trouble and pain to innocent people you want Dante to take it. But there is a selfish part of you that just wants you to yourself especially on your birthday.

You focus your attention back onto Dante and whatever the person on the phone made him stiffen. “You can’t cut my pay. You know I need the money…” he says while running a hand through his messy white hair. He’s obviously stressed so you decide to walk over and make your presence known.

You place a hand on his back and rub it up and down. He isn’t wearing his signature leather jacket so you feel all his muscles. He turns to you while wearing a frown. You don’t return the expression, you opt to give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “It’s okay Dante.”

His eyes widen and you can see the conflict behind them. You know he wants to be with you but he can’t turn down the job especially not when he’s getting threatened with a lower pay.

“Fine I’ll do it,” he murmurs while slamming the phone down. He places both hands on the desk and hangs his head. In his movement your hand disconnected from his back. You hold it in their air not knowing if you should comfort him or let him have a moment.

Dante lightly calls your name, “I’m so sorry. Fuck I’m so sorry.”

“Dante.” He doesn’t look at you. “Dante, please look at me.” He turns to look at you and you see just how exhausted he is. He’s been working so much recently and was suppose to have a couple weeks off to rest.

You walk over and place your hands on his cheeks trying to bring as much comfort to him as you can. “Dante it’s not your fault. I get it. Your job is important and you’re so good at it that you can take on anything. You’re helping so many people continue to live in peace, and I’m so proud of you.”

“But you’re so important. You’re the most important part of my life. I promised you and now I can’t even celebrate your birthday. You were so excited-“

You cut him off, “I’m not going to lie yeah I was excited and I’m upset now because of how everything played out. But again you’re needed.”

“Yeah by you.”

“Dante, we can always celebrate when you’re back-“

Now he cuts you off, “No it’s not the same. It’s doesn’t have the same spark and it feels off.”

You bite your lip, “Dante I don’t want to fight about this. The last thing I ever want to do is fight with you before you go on a mission. So let’s just forget about it? There’s always next year and your birthday.”

“Wait but-“

You give him a pleading look to not fight you on this. He closes his mouth and sighs. You rub your thumbs against his cheeks to soothe him. Dante leans down to connects your foreheads.

“I hate this,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” You know there isn’t much to say back but he isn’t holding it against you.

You decided to spent the rest of the day in bed cuddling. Dante has a vice grip on you. He doesn’t want to think how he won’t be holding you like this at this time tomorrow. He’s so mad. You’re sacrificing so much to be with him. He has so much planned and now he can’t do it.

You can tell Dante is not in the moment but you don’t want to bring it up. You don’t want to fight and you’d probably start crying because now it is really hitting you. You’re not going to be spending your birthday with the person you love the most. The day you and him (well mostly him) planned isn’t going to be happening.

You two mostly stay quiet besides some small conversations here and there. As you’re about to fall asleep Dante whispers in your ear, “I promise I’ll make this up to you.” And presses a kiss to your cheek.

You know he will but you also won’t be holding him to it. Anytime you get to spend time with him is special and great. So you don’t need a grand special day, you just need him.

You’re standing by the front door watching Dante finishing getting all his weapons onto his body. After he’s done he walks over to you.

“Please be safe Dante.”

He puts a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into a quick kiss. “I promise. I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You place another quick kiss to his lips. Once you pull back he gives you a quick hug and heads out. Knowing if he looks back or stays a second longer, he won’t leave.

You quickly lock the door when he leaves and lean your back against it. You then let the tears you didn’t know you were holding in fall. You honestly didn’t think it was going to bug you this much. But you were so excited. He saved up so much money to be able to get a reservation to a fancy restaurant and even bought you a new dress to wear to the dinner. He also had the rest of the night planned after.

You wanted it. You want it so bad. It’s so unfair. Maybe you should have been selfish, you should have agreed with him and just let him not go. You should have begged him not to go. You knew he would have if you asked. He’d do anything you asked and you don’t want to take advantage of it.

You stay there sobbing until you drag yourself off the door and do random tasks. Cleaning, showering, cooking, and other things to keep your mind off of this situation.

You follow that schedule for the next couple days. It’s hard because it means you have to accept the truth and the truth hurts so bad. Especially when your birthday is tomorrow. You don’t even know what you’re going to do. You don’t even want to celebrate it anymore. You don’t want a cake, you don’t want presents, you don’t want birthday wishes, you just want Dante.

You walk into your shared room and head to your closet. You go right for some of Dante’s clothes since this is the closest you’re going to get to him at the moment. You then go lay on Dante’s side of the bed trying to soak up every scent of him you can. You bury yourself under the blankets and just hope tomorrow will pass quickly.

You wake up on your birthday really early. Today is definitely trying to play with you. Shouldn’t you have good karma since you weren’t selfish and had Dante go? You stare at the ceiling and contemplate what you should do. You feel like if you stay in Devil May Cry today you’re going to be so depressed all day. You end up deciding to treat yourself to the cafe down the street.

You get ready and head out. The walk is only about five minutes so you get there quickly. You decide to get a tea and muffin. You sit at a seat by the window watching people walk by. A worker brings out your order and you thank her. She nods and head off. You enjoy your muffin while you slowly sip on your tea.

The world really must be after you because all you’ve seen today is couples. In the cafe or walking by the window. The world really wants to remind you that you were suppose to be like that today but you aren’t.

You decide you can’t take any more of this so you knock back the rest of your tea and leave. You can barely hold your tears back as you walk back to Devil May Cry. You can’t wait until you can bury yourself under the blankets again and hide from this awful day.

Little did you know while you were out Dante bursted into Devil May Cry. He’s huffing and puffing with a bouquet of roses in his hand. He calls out to you but doesn’t hear you respond. He quickly strips himself of his weapons and places the roses on the table.

He goes to look around but doesn’t see you anywhere. You must have went out. That makes him a little happy because now he can surprise you more. Dante goes to take a quick shower then set everything up.

He got decorations earlier this week. He starts by hangs up a big “happy birthday” sign. He then blows some balloons and tie them to little weights he got. He is thankful he has extra stamina due to his demon side after blowing up all those balloons.

He then goes and grabs your gifts he hid in his armory. Dante got you a necklace with a red gem stone to match his own. He then got you a camera because you’ve been talking about how upset you were because your old one broke. He topped it all off with getting you some of your favorite treats and snacks.

Dante sets those up on the table in front of the sign then quickly runs to put the roses in a vase. He grabs the confetti he got and throws it on the table to add a little more birthday flare.

He takes a step back and looks at the setup. He is super happy with all it has turned out and he is so happy he finished the mission extra fast. There was no way he was going to miss this. Especially after he heard you crying after he left. He stood outside the door for a couple minutes hoping you’d stop crying. Sometimes he really curses his skillful hearing because hearing you cry shattered him. He told himself he was going to make this quick and celebrate your birthday.

Now he just waits for you to get back.

You’re almost back and you are barely holding it together. You feel some tears slip out. You keep your head down until you get back.

You get back to Devil May Cry and go to open the door. You realized it’s unlocked. You mentally slapped yourself for forgetting to lock it. You open the door and are greeted with a decorated room with your boyfriend standing in the middle.

Dante’s smile widens when he sees you. “Happy birthday!!” He excitedly says.

You stare at him with your jaw dropped. “Dante, is that really you?”

He smiles lightly and nods his head, “Yeah it’s me baby. I’m here.”

Dante opens up his arms and you drop your purse and run over to him. You jump into his arms wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and legs around his waist.

He quickly returns the tight hug. He places a hand on the back of your head to place yours into his neck. You cry into his neck, “You’re really here,” you choke out.

“Yeah I’m here baby. I couldn’t just miss your birthday.”

You squeeze him tighter, “Thank you but how?? I thought the mission was suppose to be long?”

“Yeah it was but I got rid of the demon quickly,” he said all cocky. “Wanna open your presents before you get ready for our reservation?”

You pull your head out of his neck, “You got me gifts!?”

He looks offended by your question, “Of course I did! Why wouldn’t I?” He lets you down but grabs your hand and walks you over to the table.

Dante stands behind you and wraps his arms around you, “Go ahead, open them.”

You start with the biggest bag and pull out a bunch of snacks and treats. “Ohh!! We have snacks for a movie night!”

He laughs at your reaction but guides you to the next gift. You then unwrap the rectangular shaped box and see a camera. Your eyes widen, you’ve been talking about getting one but only brought it up once or twice. He’s been really paying attention. That warms your heart, “We are going to try this out tonight.”

“Whatever you say baby,” he says after kissing the top of your head.

You go to the little box and unwrap it. You see it’s a little jewelry box. You open the box and see a beautiful silver necklace with a red gem stone. It reminds you a lot of his, did he get you this so you two can match? This also must have been so expensive.

“Dante this is all amazing and I can’t thank you enough. But wasn’t this all expensive?”

“Nothing is too expensive for you. I don’t mind, I want to spoil you.”

You spin around in his hold and pull him down into a soft and slow kiss. He tightens his grip on your waist and keeps you close to him. You break and smile up at him, “Thank you Dante. I love you so much.”

He smiles back down at you, “I love you so much too baby. But now it’s time to get ready!”

You laugh at his excitement. You grab your new necklace and head to your shared room. You go to put on the new dress Dante also got you. It’s a long red dress with a slit going up your right leg. You’re having a hard time zipping up the dress so you call Dante.

He walks in and whistles, “Hot damn. You look gorgeous.”

You flush at his comment, “Thank you, but can you help me? I can’t get the zipper.”

Dante walks over and stands behind you. You feel his warm hands on your lower back. You got some of the zipper but couldn’t get all of it. You feel the zipper going down and you roll your eyes, “Dante, up not down.”

He lets out a deep laugh, “Right I knew that.” He then zips up the dress and kiss your bare shoulder. “There you go,” he lightly whispers.

He goes to walk away but you stop him, “Can you help me put the necklace on too?”

He nods and holds out his hand to grab the necklace. You place it in his hand and he goes to stand behind you again. You pull your hair out of way so he can easily clip the necklace. Once he’s done he moves your hair back.

You step away from him to go look in the mirror. You are so glad your little cry session didn’t mess up your makeup too much earlier. You just need to touch up your mascara. You quickly do that and then get a good look at yourself. You look great! You can’t wait for Dante’s reaction to the final look.

You walk back downstairs and see Dante sitting on the couch. “Dante.”

He looks up and stares. He gets up and slowly walks over to you. He holds out his hand and you take it, he has you do a little spin. This has you beaming up at him.

“God baby, you look so fucking breathtaking. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

You squeeze his hand tightly, “Thank you! You look very handsome too.”

He laughs again at your compliment, “I’m not wearing anything different or new.”

“I know but you’re always handsome, especially when you have that smile on your face.”

He brings up your hand to kiss your knuckle, “Well thank you. You ready to go?”

You just give him a simple nod. He leads you out of Devil May Cry and to a car parked in front. “Uh Dante where did you get this?”

“Oh Enzo let me borrow it. It’s the least he can do for almost making me miss today.”

You two get into the car and he takes off to the restaurant. He places his hand on your thigh rubbing it and down your leg.

The drive was pretty short. Dante quickly finds a spot to park then gets out to lead you inside. When you get to worker they ask for the name and Dante says his name. You two then get lead to your table.

While you two ate, you and Dante talk about his mission and what you “did” while he was gone. When you’re almost done you ask Dante, “So what are we doing the rest of the night? You had this big plan.”

Dante smirks, “Now why would I tell you? That ruins the fun.”

You roll your eyes but decide to go with the flow. He’s been doing great so far, you bet it’s going to stay this way. When you two finish eating Dante pays then leads you back to the car.

Dante pulls out of the parking spot and heads in the opposite direction of Devil May Cry. He drives to the edge of the town and up this uphill terrain. Once he’s at the top he makes sure the back of the car is facing the view.

He parks the car then turns to you, “Stay right here and don’t look back. I’ll come get you in a minute.”

“Okay.” He leans over and kisses your cheek then hops out of the car.

Dante opens the trunk then flattens the back seats down. He then sets up the blankets and pillows he brought in the back. After he gets it perfect he then focuses on the cake box that was back there too. He lights the candles then goes to grab you.

He opens your door and holds out his hand, “Take my hand but close your eyes until I tell you to open them.”

“Okay but you better not let me fall.”

“The only falling I’d let you do is falling for me,” he smirks.

You smack his arm and he just laughs. You take his hand and close your eyes and let him guide you. You walk to the back of the car. He stops you for a second then grabs your hips and lifts you up. You quickly grab his shoulders and hold onto him tightly. He places you in the truck then lets go of you. Dante then grabs the cake and stands in front of you.

“Okay open your eyes.”

You open your eyes to see him standing there with a cake in hand with a bunch of candles. The cake has a cute design with your name and “happy birthday” written on it.

You look back up at him and he’s smiling at your reaction, “Happy birthday baby, make a wish.”

You think for a second about what you want. You then realize what you want. You want this every birthday. Just you and him doing whatever. You say your wish then blow out the candles.

Dante then hops in the trunk beside you and hands you a fork. You two dig into the cake and enjoy the night sky.

“Dante,” you call out to him.

He is stuffing his face full of cake so he makes a humming noise to let you know to continue.

“Thank you for making this birthday so special. It means a lot to me you worked quick so you could surprise me and celebrate my birthday. Thank you for all the incredible gifts and memories. I’ll cherish these always. I love you beyond words Dante.”

“No need to thank me this much. I’m just happy I could make this day so special for you. Seeing you so happy makes me so happy. I’m so happy you enjoyed your birthday with me. I love you so much, you don’t understand.”

You two both lean in to share another kiss. This kiss is messy and not in a heated way. You both have frosting on your lips which is smearing over the both of your lips and chins but you couldn’t care less. You have your favorite person with you and that’s all that matters.

After you two had your fair share of cake and watching the stars you two pack up and head back home. The car ride back you’re almost falling asleep. You force yourself to stay up though so you can spend all the time you can with Dante. You know he’s not going anywhere any time soon but you still have a little fear that this was just a dream and he’s not actually going to be here when you wake up.

Once you’re back you head straight to your shared bedroom and get ready for bed. You get done at record speed because you just want to go to sleep.

Dante is already in bed curled up under the blankets. When he sees you coming to bed he lifts the blankets for you and you dive right in. You cuddle up next to him and instantly fall asleep.

He chuckles a bit and kisses your forehead, “Goodnight and sleep well.”

After a few minutes of silence and he knows for sure you’re asleep he murmurs out, “I’m so happy you were born.”

[yummyrevivalfluid]

How To Rizz Up A Scientist

Synopsis: What better way to riz up a scientist than using his science against him?

Chapter 2: Coulomb’s Law and Circular Motion

Reader Chapter 1 here.

Word Count: 1787

Warnings: THIS IS SMUT! NSFW!

Includes male masturbation, improper use of physics notes, male ejaculation, submissive Senku, body grinding, and overstimulation? Body graffiti (sort of)? Degration. I think that's it?

Senku has never done this. He never had the urge or desire to do so, not until he met you. It was like you unlocked some depraved part in his mind, something he buried deep inside. You kept digging at it, digging until you exposed the lewd thoughts.

He’s unsure if he’s doing it right- it felt like he was. His strokes were sloppy, with no set pace. His palm twitched against himself, the pleasure he was giving himself was all new to him, leaving him sensitive to his own touch.

His choice of material to keep him going was questionable. It wasn’t the usual stuff that people tend to go to. It wasn’t a dirty magazine or a video that you went incognito on your web browser. No, not Senku. Instead, his choice of debauched material is the little things he salvaged from you.

A torn page from your notebook, notes from his physics study with you. A pencil that he borrowed from you, one that he doesn’t plan to give back. And finally, his addition, his chemistry book, opened to the last page he studied with you.

His palm squeezes around himself, and his eyes squeeze shut as he recalls the moment with you, the cause of the imbalance in his hormones. The scene replays in his mind, the one that sent a rush of blood between his legs.

“I wish I were a Sn2 reaction….” his hands rest on your thighs, inching closer to the divot between your legs, his fingers digging into the fat of your thigh. “So, I could attack you from the backside.”

“I’d let you.”

You were always quick with your words, but he wishes you weren’t. Maybe he wouldn’t be pleasuring himself to the thought of you if you weren't.  Maybe he wouldn’t be staring intensively at your damn pencil, imagining it was your hand wrapped around him. Imagining that those minor bite marks near the tip of the eraser, caused by your quick mouth, were him instead.

“Hah, you can take it,” he moans desperately. The thought of your mouth, your glossed lips taking him deep into your mouth. He needs to know how it would feel.

He can feel himself getting close. The pace he set is getting even sloppier. There’s no logic to how his palm is stroking himself- long, short, slow, and rapid- he can’t control himself.

God, he can imagine you and what you’d say—using his own love for science against him.

“Are you made of copper? Because I can Cu inside me.”

He remembers the softness of your thighs- what if he pushed them apart, would your skirt hike up, giving him something he never knew he needed?

He’s not used to this, he doesn’t realize he’s finishing until he’s gasping for air. His moans come out broken and needy. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead as he tries to keep his eyes open- the last thing on his mind is the mess he’s making.

Coming down from the high, his mind is rebooting to how it was before he fell victim to his own body. Before he succumbed to his body’s testosterone. He’s feeling the effect of the oxytocin- he has never felt better. He could get addicted to the feeling.  

He’s cleaning up the aftermath. It looks like he kept everything contained, not much of a mess until he’s cleaning up his choice of stimulation.

The only casualty is your crumbled physics notes.

…

He can’t look you in the eye. His mind goes back to what he did hours prior. The same hand he was relieving himself with was shaking as he pointed to an equation in your physics book. His eyes stray from your eyes to your notebook. His hand was itching to pull another page.

He didn’t like the effect you’re having on him. You’re ruining him. You were an acid to his mind, dissolving his rational thoughts- leaving only a deviant version of him.

He’s trying to find something to occupy his mind. Distract it from the sin that was your presence.

“Oh!” you cheer happily.

You’re pointing at something in your textbook, but Senku doesn’t look. His gaze stayed locked onto the tent in his pants, praying it’s not as noticeable as he thinks. “Look, it’s my man.”

Suddenly, it felt like he was in a cold shower. Your words froze him in place.

My man?

He didn’t care if it made him look desperate- he was. He’s leaning toward you, invading your personal space as he looks closer at your textbook. His finger follows the picture you're pointing to and-

“It’s my man Newton,” you drool, caressing his photo with your finger. “God, to be the apple that fell on him.”

“Freak,” Senku replies, bewildered by your response to Newton. You ignore his comment.

“Imagine the size of his…” You pause for dramatic effect, your finger hovering over his photo, “brain.”

Senku rolls his eyes at your poor joke. God, he was relieved it was a joke. If you had a boyfriend, it would only make things worse for him.

“You’re jokes are getting worse by the day.” He tells you, shoving your shoulder playfully, attempting to knock you out of your trance. You shove him back in retaliation.

“You’re to blame,” You stab at his chest with your finger, “you’re not giving me any new material to work with.”

“Maybe if you stayed on track, we would have moved on to the next chapter.”

You mutter something under your breath, but you don’t hide the wicked smirk on your face. It’s your ploy to get his attention- to drag him into a trap.

Senku was always rational and deliberate in his actions. Every action was thoroughly thought through, including its consequences and rewards—until now.

“What was that?” Senku asks, pulling at your waist, forcing you to look at him. You squirm in his hold, his fingers digging into your skin.

“You don’t want to know.” You tease back. Senku doesn’t give up easily. Too stubborn for his own good.

He pulls you into his lap, his body unconsciously doing anything to get you closer. It’s as if you were pulling him into your electric field. Was it Coulomb’s Law- opposites attract? He doesn’t know what you are. Cation? Anion? All he knows is that he’s attracted to you. Something about you is pulling him in.

“Say it.”

You can’t help the smug grin. You were going to ruin him. Plague his thoughts night and day.

“I wouldn’t be so distracted if little Senku would stop making an appearance.” You lean into him, making yourself comfortable in his lap.

He can feel it, so he knows you can too.

“I know you want to slide your oxygen between my hydrogens, but there’s a time and place.”

“Shut up.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“What’s turning you on more?”

Senku doesn’t know how to answer. You’re overstimulating him with more information than he can retain.

His eyes don’t know where to look. They can’t choose where to look. Does he maintain eye contact with you?

But how long will he be able to hold your gaze?

He knows your eyes will be teasing him. You’ll see right through him, you’ll know what buttons to push to get the reactions you want from him. What was the saying, eyes never lie?

Does he choose to look at your bare body?

Does he let his eyes roam your skin, let his mind retain the formulas he littered your skin with? His writing is sloppy against your skin, and his hand is shaking against your body. Smudges of black ink are smeared around your curves, and even the palms of his hand are smudged with ink.

Does he choose to look at where you're pressing against him?

He’s sprawled on his bed, at your mercy. You’re resting on his lap, moving your hips in a circular motion. He can feel your arousal leaking through his boxers. He can feel the heat radiating from you- he wants to be one with you. He wants to feel you. He wants to know what you’re like. He needs to know the sounds you’ll make.

He doesn’t know where to look, so he squeezes his eyes shut.

He doesn’t know how to answer your question, so he skips it. Maybe he’ll come back to it- skip the questions you don’t know and answer the ones you can.

“Circular motion.” His voice is breathy, with a slight pause after every word. “That’s what you’re doing with your hips.”

You slow your movements, pressing harder into him. You can feel him pulsing against you.

“Tell me more, Senku.”

“It’s when an object’s movement follows a circular path.” He's gripping your thighs, but his grip on your hip falters, enough to move the placement to your lower abdomen. He’s careful not to smudge the ink- he doesn’t want to rub the formula off.

“ac=v^2/r,” he's reading the formula off your skin, pressing his finger to note the location.

“What if I do this?” You stop your movements. He thinks you're pulling away from him, he digs his fingers into your thighs, he doesn’t want you to pull away. He needs you.

You raise your hips and slam back down onto him. You’re grinding against him, raising your hips to lower yourself back down onto him. “Is this still circular motion?”

“No”

“What is it?”  you ask him, your voice needy as you pick up the pace. “Tell me, Senku.”

“It’s….”

He doesn’t know. Every physics chapter—angular momentum, tangential acceleration, torque, vertical path—collides in his mind. He can’t think straight, not with how you’re moving. Not when he has you. Are those even the right topics?

“You should know this.” Your tone is degrading. “I thought you were the best, do I need to find a different tutor? Someone smarter than you?”

He’s whining. He tries to hold you down. He wants you to slow your movements and give him a moment to think.

He’s begging. He wants to tell you no. That’s he is the best. You’re not going to find someone better than him. But he can’t. His breathing is labored. You’re pulling all sorts of noises from him, everything but words.

He’s gasping for air.

…

He’s disoriented. His eyes are heavy, his body is sweaty, and his breathing is shallow.

Fuck

He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and there's an aching feeling between his legs. He’s pulling the sheets off his body, exposing his body to the cold.

He’s disgusted with himself.

It was a wet dream