#finally something does happen but he's clicked on the wrong thing

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Yandere!Hector/Reader Headcanons

i was writing a fic but my computer crashed and deleted 1.7k words of fanfic so I'm making headcanons instead to give me motivation to rewrite the fanfic!

tw: stalking, obsessive behavior, suggestive content, hector being creepy, hector talking bad about himself, mentions of somophilia (nothing ever happens but hector thinks about it), gaslighing, dead dove content

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!! if you find any of the content above triggering, PLEASE do not read!! if you click, read, and become uncomfortable or smth don't blame me, i tried to warn you.

= The first time Hector sees you, he knows that you're the one. Out of everything, you came up to him first, turning on the thermostat to cool yourself off from the heatwave. He did as you commanded, gently blowing out a nice, cool breeze as you worked in your office. He couldn't help but stare at you as you worked, resting his head in his hands.

= He's both excited and horrified when you scan him after so long of waiting and watching everything you do. Hector doesn't introduce himself just yet, staring at you from the grate until you're about to walk away. He calls out for you and apologizes for not saying anything. He greets you and is surprised when you respond positively.

= Speaking with you was the highlight of his week, hell, maybe even his life. Hector follows you back to your room through the vents, watching you get ready for bed before laying down.

= A surge of jealousy goes through Hector at the thought of Betty holding you. It should be him! He should be down there, cuddling you, keeping you, touching you, loving you... But he knew he could never. You would find him ugly and never scan him again, maybe replace him.

= Hector fantasizes when all the objects are Realized, leaving just him and you. They wouldn't be able to stop him from loving you how you should be loved. He thought about when Dorian leaves, how he'd be able to finally sneak out and touch you as you slept. He had to take a moment when he realized how horrible that thought was, covering his mouth as if he were about to vomit. It was your fault you were making him feel like this, but he didn't want to stop feeling like this. You were a drug that could make him sober.

= His stalking grew more intense and bolder, almost getting caught a few times by the other objects. Hector never takes anything; he can't when your clothing is sentient or when your trash hoards it away. He ends up stealing from Fantina's shrine, causing her to scream and freak out, accusing everyone in the gym room.

= Speaking of the gym, it's always nice and cool in there, so you never use Fantina, just him.

= Hector loves when it's warm outside, watching you get all hot and bothered before you have to turn him on and save you from the blistering heat. He will sometimes tease you and not turn on, watching you sweat and walk around in loose clothing. He quickly turns it on when you start heading up to the attic to see what's wrong.

= When you're gone, he makes the house a living hell, turning up the heat to extreme temperatures to make everyone miserable. Everyone becomes irritable and sweaty, blaming you for leaving the heat on. Hector does feel bad when some of the objects snap at you, like Freddy and Mac. Skylar has to step in to calm a few of them down and explain that it couldn't have been you since Dorian, Curt, and Rod saw you leave without touching the thing.

= When/if you confront Hector about it, since he's the HVAC system, he lies and apologizes, his voice shaky. He doesn't want you to be mad at him, please don't be mad at him, he's only doing this because he loves you!

= Whether you believe him or not is up to you, but you tell him not to do it again.

= The other objects start to feel worried. They can sense the change in the house. The objects you're close to tell you to be careful, that something is wrong, and to keep an eye out.

= Hector tells you not to listen to them, telling you that everything is normal. He can see all over the house, and everything is fine! Just stay with him. Stay close to him. Please.

---

it's late and i got a HUGE headache so i miiighhttt post a part two to this if i feel up for it idk jaybe jaybe not.

thanks for reading mwah mwah sorry about creepy hector

[gonehuman99]

Too Cozy 2

Yandere Bob x reader (1.1k words) part 1 part 3

Does not contain graphic content, but warning: Some harassment, suggestive behavior, and creepy Bob

Summary: You're just playing around — or at least you think you are. Bob offers a ride, and things get weird.

✦✦✦✦✦

Kids run around, and you almost get knocked down. Instead, you bump into the back of your aunt's plastic chair. She turns around, raising an eyebrow, and you give her a tense smile.

You continue making your way to where your father is flipping the sizzling meat on the grill. From what you can hear, he’s talking with your uncle about Mickey, aka Fanboy; that's what he told you to call him. You think it's dumb. Why did you have to call him that? You weren't in the Navy, but you didn't want to argue with him. What good would that do?

When you got here, you had an almost permanent smile on your face. The sounds of your family, music, and the smell of the food filled your chest, and that was what you felt for the first 20 minutes you were there. But that changed when you overheard your aunt talking about your cousin Mickey and how he was going to bring a friend around. You knew where this was gonna head. Was this the universe punishing you for being too friendly?

You've been avoiding the topic for a while, skirting the many questions your cousin had. Why have you been drifting for a while now?

You didn't want to think about that, about what had happened. You felt a strange sensation in your chest about the previous circumstances. Sometimes, when things were slow at work, which tended to be most evenings when you were there, your thoughts would stray back to that moment, the moment in the car. Small flashes of his hand on your thigh, however brief, made you queasy. You used to laugh it off and tell yourself it was his shyness, his naivety in women, something you could worm out of.

You used to spend all your time after work at the bar, but now you've been avoiding it, opting instead to head directly home. Text messages from Fanboy about meeting at the Hard Deck went unanswered. Finally, he ended up calling you.

“Hello?” you said.

“Aye, where you at?”

“What do you mean?” You clicked the remote and surfed through the TV channels. “I'm chilling.” No response.

You heard him sigh. “Did I do something wrong?”

You bit your lip and leaned back further into your seat.

“No, I'm just… busy.” You were lying, and you knew he knew you were lying.

“Right, I'm not buying that. If you don't want to talk, that's fine, but don't lie. Are you at least okay?”

That was a week ago.

Your foot taps the ground too fast to be in rhythm with the music.

The gate creaked open.

“Hey, everyone, we're here,” Mickey's voice boomed. Your folks near him exchange greetings, handshakes, jokes, and laughter. You can hear them get louder and closer to the table you were at.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second. It was just one second. If you made a big deal now, you’d sound crazy. You force a bubble of laughter up. “Well, I thought you were lost at sea,” you yell out across to Fanboy.

“Eh, nice one, but I know you want us here.”

Us. That's when you finally focus on the figure standing next to Fanboy. He looks awkward. A shuffling weight on each foot.

You will yourself to get up and meet them, your feet heavy.

Now, standing before you, you see them fully. Both of them dressed casually. T-shirts and jeans. You force what you think is a casual smile, but you resist the urge to keep looking at Bob.

You nod your head at them. “Ha, yeah, I want you here. As much as I want a pimple on my back,” you lightly punch Fanboy on his arm; the gesture feels stiff even for you.

“Well,” he pats Bob on the back. “Couldn't leave this one around either. He’s been wanting to catch up.”

Fanboy grins, his arms still over Bob. “He's a good guy, this one…” He leans in closer to you, his voice dropping just a bit. “Just remember what we talked about. Be encouraging,” he gives you a quick smile.

You push whatever feeling you have down your chest, and you turn and look at him. Really, look at him. He’s wearing those Aviator glasses, the ones that hid too much of his expression. His head is tilted down, but he's still looking at you through his eyelashes. He gives a lopsided smile.

“What are you trying to stalk me now? I thought I was safe at my own home.” You try to keep your voice light and playful.

He moves his head up, and a familiar red starts to creep up his neck. That's what I've been missing, you think.

“Ha, good one,” Fanboy says rather loudly. “See, I told you you'd like this place. C'mon, let's take a seat.”

You, Fanboy, and Bob all slide into the chairs. Others offer drinks. Fanboy gets a beer, and Bob waves away his in favor of a lime soda. You get one, too.

Fanboy looks around. “So they still making you work at the bakery.”

“What do you mean by making me? My family owns that place.”

“Funny, I figured they'd kick you out by now,” he says. Bob offers a “mm-hmm” and a faint smirk your way. Fanboy laughs. You try to focus on Fanboy, but in the corner of your eye, Bob is focusing all his attention on you, even when he takes a sip of his soda.

You manage to let out a brittle laugh as you try to regain control. “Careful, Bob. You're gonna make Fanboy think you like my company way too much now.” You give him a quick, exaggerated blink.

Bob doesn't fluster. His gaze is calm, a hint of a smile on his lips. He takes another sip of his soda.

Did your game end, or was this the final straw?

The banter continues, and in a way, it's starting to feel like the bar. Before that moment. The moment in the car.

You're all sitting there taking bites of food. Then, all of a sudden, you hear an aunt calling for Fanboy. “I'll be right back,” he says, pushing out his chair.

Now that he’s gone, you and Bob are all alone. You used to be able to enjoy the silence between the two of you. You’d even find ways to fill it. Some light, playful flirting, but now you were still a bit apprehensive.

“This is better than the Hard Deck, isn't it?” You raise an eyebrow at that and lean forward. Bob’s voice is quiet. “You looked at me differently that night. I remember. I'm sorry if I… misread things.”

He doesn't say anything else. Instead, Fanboy arrives back in his seat. Bob finally looks away from you, and things turn back to the way they were.

[hellsing-shitposts-r-us]

If you're having a bad day, just picture Alucard failing miserably to use a touch screen device with his cold dead vampire hands

[kurooh]

bf! toji who fucks you so well on camera that your account skyrockets to the top on onlyfans and pornhub. his face, body, and dirty talk garners thousands—no, millions—of followers and gets the money rolling in faster than you could say his name. of course, he’s not the only reason for all the popularity; you’re sexy in every way possible, fucking him back before you inevitably go dumb on his cock, going so far as to talk right back to him.

“what am i, a whore?” despite his words, toji smirks, clicking his tongue at the incoming comments of new members of the stream. “we’ve been live for two minutes. ‘m not taking my clothes off yet, damn.”

“oh, come on,” you press up against his side, manicured nails lightly raking over his biceps, “give ‘em what they want, toji.”

he huffs, turning his head to the side. still damp from the shower, toji’s dark hair goes along with the movement, bits sticking to his forehead. “what you want or what they want, baby?”

the chat explodes with wild comments, ranging from raw next question to i’m doing it are you, all of which makes you laugh. tips ka-ching on the screen and finally, the clothes fly off in all directions.

toji’s on his back, greedily pulling you on top of his face like he’s starving (dinner was an hour ago). he’s refrained from ripping off your underwear, favoring the idea of teasing you through the fabric instead.

“off, let me take ‘em off,” you whine, squirming as he holds you over his face and takes his sweet goddamn time licking over your dampened panties. “that’s not fair, toji.”

his green eyes narrow at you, a scoff slipping past his lips. so sassy, but at least he doesn’t ignore your pleas this time—maybe toji’s feeling magnanimous. “suck it up.”

perhaps not. another whine, and you go so far as to tug at his hair, hips rocking insistently into his face. “you’re so annoying,” neither of you are looking at your phone, the way the screen’s bursting with colorful tip notifications and comments, “if you aren’t hungry, just say so. don’t waste my time, toji.”

of course toji would never admit it, but he’s got a habit of being easy: always taking your purposeful bait, smug expression melting into a scowl. and oh, maybe that was the wrong thing to say—but it certainly feels so damn right when he yanks your panties to the side and sits you all the way down on his face.

still offended, he grunts, mumbling something intelligible as his lips find your wet cunt. (like, you’ve been together for how long?) slippery arousal coats your skin, slicking up his lips with something bittersweet when he indulges in his favorite dessert.

you’re rocking your hips into his face, eagerly taking everything he’s giving you. a small moan escapes you when your clit bumps into the tip of his nose, sending a delightful bolt of electricity through your entire body.

“t-toji, fuck.”

your virtual audience is nearly enjoying this as much as you are. if his teeth weren’t lightly nibbling at your folds while his tongue pushes inside you inch by inch, you’d be in a state to laugh at the comments. one of his palms falls away from your ass and before you can register the brief loss, a stinging slap cuts through the air.

“oughta watch that mouth, babygirl,” toji ignores the wail that follows the impact, along with the glossy tears that spring to your eyes. “maybe if you didn’t have so much goddamn nerve, i’d..”

it shouldn’t come out as quickly as it does, but you purposefully grind down into his mouth, ignoring the muffled sound of him choking on all the saliva. “you’d what, toji?”

some comments are excited, wondering what’ll happen now that you’re challenging him right back. others are raving about being in your position or toji’s—something along the lines of how difficult it is to choose.

he shoves you up with just one hand, feeling his cock twitch from the softness of your thighs circling his head and the way you use that damn mouth of yours. toji’s never had someone talk back to him as much as you do, and it’s something he’ll never get tired of. it’s something that throws him off while he’s giving you backshots and secretly makes him cum faster, although he pretends to get hamstring cramps just to buy himself some more time.

toji’s almost too blissed out to snap back.

“i’d give you mercy, but what was i jus’ saying? maybe you’d like it a little fuckin’ better if i kept eating this pussy of yours.”

you look down your nose at him. “like you could keep going, old man.”

that strikes a chord, hitting a nerve much faster than it should. so toji drags in a breath and dives in, as filthy and careless as he can be—making a mess, spreading your legs impossibly wider just to find that sweet spot of yours that always gets you arching on his face.

wet noise fills the room, backing the breathless gasps and moans that fall from your lips, along with softer panting of mumbled praises bunching with his name. the way he eats—no, devours—you is akin to someone who’s been both starving and thirsty for days on end, too insatiable to please with just one taste.

ecstasy sparks in all your nerves, chasing its way to the tension pooling in the core of your body. it’s red hot and heavy, begging to be released; but no, toji commands your high with the rough strokes of his tongue and obscene slurping of his lips. he lets it simmer right below the surface until you’re begging, hands on either side of his head as you weakly hump against his face.

“i-i said,” you grit out, ignoring the sticky sheen of sweat covering your face, “make me cum, toji.”

he arches an eyebrow, satisfaction sparkling in his eyes. “and ya still didn’t say please.”

frustration bubbles up in your chest. it’s rare for you to be reduced to a begging mess on live, but there’s supposedly a first time for everything. your lips part, preparing to give him what he wants, when something bratty speaks in the back of your mind. there’s no need to listen to him, is there?

with one hand slipping into his damp hair and the other stabilizing you on the bed, you take what you want from him. like an ocean wave, your hips roll not-so-gently over his face until you finally fall over the edge, convulsing a little as you cum.

the orgasm literally takes your breath away—not to mention his as well—and leaves you whining as you come down from the intense high, stars shooting across your vision. neither of you have been paying much attention to your phone, too engrossed in each other to notice the fact that you’ve met the livestream donation goal or all the new followers you’ve earned.

toji lifts you up, cheeks flushed scarlet. he is simultaneously turned on by you taking control of him and also pissed that you refused to say just one word.

“fucking brat,” toji curses, easily maneuvering your weakened body into a new position that’s got you on your hands and knees, ass all the way up. “you’re gonna face that goddamn camera while i wreck this pretty pussy, got that?”

“‘m still sensi—oh my god. a-ah, fuck—wait a second, i—”

behind you, toji smacks his lips, placing both hands on your ass cheeks and spreading you wide. “no, no. this is what you wanted, right? for me to make you cum again and a-fucking-gain.”

you backpedal, back arching unintentionally when two large fingers slide into your cunt without much resistance. “fuck, tojiii, wait—”

a squeal actually leaves you when he puts a hand on the small of your back and forces you to maintain the arch. toji can be stingy at times, but never when you—he’s got a habit of being too generous, if the right buttons are pushed.

“might wanna think about saying please next time, yeah? fuckin’ thought so.”

[jaesblogstuff]

Attitude, No problem. Simon knows how to handle it.

we all know where this is headed...don't we now, i’ll think about a pt.2 (i thought about it)

It happens, wrong side of the bed today. Didn’t wake up plotting to be a menace. But something about today’s been off since your feet hit the floor. Your shirt didn’t sit right. Coffee tasted burnt. The recruits acted like they were sharing a single brain cell and juggling it between drills. You snapped—nothing major, just enough to charge the air around you. A muttered, “fuckin' recruits,” under your breath. A scowl that hadn’t left since 0800.

Simon clocked it before anyone else. of course he did.

You could feel his eyes on you all day. Subtle, sure—but there. Tracking you. Watching like a man waiting for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But he noticed. In the hallway, on the range, during debrief. Like he was cataloguing every scowl, every clipped reply, every shrug you weaponized like a shield.

And when he finally finds you alone, it’s like he’s already decided how this is gonna go.

You’re in the armory. Polishing a sidearm you don’t even need. Just something to do with your hands. You needed the quiet. The distance.

Then he walks in. Boots heavy. Shoulders loose. That calm, unreadable thing he does when he’s already two steps ahead.

“y'all right?” he says.

You don’t look up. “Fine.”

He comes closer, leans against the edge of the workbench, arms folded. “Was thinkin’ we’d grab food after shift. That Thai place you like.”

You shrug. “I don’t care. Do whatever.”

It hangs in the air like a dare. You don’t mean it to, but it does. He licks his lips before they form a thin line. The door clicks behind him, and he walks up behind you. Not touching, but hovering close to your ear.

There’s a pause.

Then his voice—low, quiet. That particular kind of still that comes before a storm.

“You’re gonna fix that attitude,” he says, “or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?”

You freeze.

His eyes are steady. Fixed. He says it like a warning. Like a promise. Like he’s already halfway to making good on it. And the worst part? It works. Your gut flips. Heat curls at the base of your spine. You know that voice—know what it means when he drops it like that. When he stops being soft.

“Now i’m going to ask again, Was thinkin’ we’d grab food after shift. That Thai place you like.”

You blink, throat dry. “Yeah. Thai sounds good.”

His head tilts slightly. Jaw flexes once. Then, flat and final-

“Good. that sounds better.” leaving a nice tap to your ass.

And then he’s gone, leaving you there with nothing but the hum of fluorescent light and a pulse you can’t quite settle.

Whatever’s still simmering under your skin?

He’ll handle it later. Exactly the way you need.

[luvbabydoll]

strawberry lip balm ♡

simon “ghost” riley x ditzy!reader

a/n: this is inspired by this post from @bitterrfruit

he comes in just after two.

the doors hiss open like they always do, sticky from the summer heat and the busted rubber lining you keep forgetting to tell your manager about.

you don’t look up right away.

you’re busy.

counting nickels into neat little stacks.

chewing absently at the corner of your strawberry lip balm because you lost the cap again and now it’s tacky at the edges.

the radio crackles low beside you. love song. old and scratchy. something slow.

it takes you a second to feel him.

big.

heavy.

the weight of something unfamiliar at your periphery.

you glance up.

and freeze.

he doesn’t belong here.

that’s the first thing you notice.

black from head to toe. thick boots scuffed white at the toes. jacket hanging off broad shoulders like armor. gloves tight enough to squeak when he flexes his hand.

and a mask.

not a ski mask. not the usual dumb knit ones the gas station cameras catch on idiots who can’t even cover their tattoos.

this is bone-white.

painted like a skull.

hollow black eyes staring at you.

flat. empty.

you stare back.

a half-beat too long.

then—automatic, like muscle memory—

“pump six is still down,” you tell him softly. “if uhm that’s what you’re here for.”

your voice barely carries.

thin like tissue paper.

you shouldn’t have said anything.

he doesn’t answer.

doesn’t move toward the snacks. or the fridge. or the stupid plastic rack of lighters shaped like fish.

he moves toward you.

slow.

steady.

uncoiling the gun from his jacket like it’s just part of him.

like an afterthought.

your lips part.

soft pink.

glossy and bitten raw at the corner.

“oh,” you whisper.

small.

like you’re embarrassed.

like you interrupted him.

“register.”

the word drops like lead.

hard. heavy.

your stomach flips.

not all the way into fear — not yet — but something colder than nerves.

something that tells you this is real.

this is happening.

“o-okay,” you breathe.

because what else are you supposed to say?

you move automatically.

fingers shaking as you punch in the code.

3-3-7-4.

your nails click stupidly loud against the plastic keys. glittery pink polish chipped at the tips because you can never sit still long enough for them to dry.

the drawer sticks.

of course it does.

you yank.

too hard.

your dumb little heart-shaped name necklace snags against the counter lip and pulls you back like a leash.

“shoot,” you mumble, tugging at it, all clumsy and flustered. “m’sorry. it does that sometimes.”

he doesn’t answer.

but you feel his eyes on you.

dragging over every awkward little movement like he's watching something breakable.

like he’s wondering how you’ve survived this long.

finally—mercifully—the till pops open.

you grab the bills in two hands.

instinct, maybe.

like handing out change to an old man instead of giving your life away to a man with a gun.

you hold them out.

both hands.

palms up.

careful. like he might bite.

he takes them.

rough-gloved fingers scraping yours.

big.

hot.

gone too fast.

but he doesn’t leave.

your heart kicks.

that’s when it sinks in.

the wrongness.

the weight of him still standing there.

not moving.

watching.

“turn around.”

it’s not a request.

your breath stutters.

“…why?”

like an idiot.

like a child.

“turn,” he says again. slower. rougher.

pause.

“…checking for a panic button.”

oh.

okay.

that makes sense.

that feels safe. familiar. like movies. like protocol.

you swallow.

turn.

pink hoodie riding up at your waist when you shift.

he’s closer now.

right behind you.

close enough to feel the heat of him curl up your spine.

close enough to smell him — cold metal and gun oil, sharp like ozone.

“lift it.”

your stomach twists.

but you do it.

because he told you to.

because he sounds like someone who doesn’t like repeating himself.

fingers fumbling with the hem of your hoodie.

pulling it up slow.

revealing the soft dip of your lower back.

bare skin warm under the fluorescent lights.

the peek of pastel polka-dot underwear sitting crooked on your hips.

silence.

heavy.

pressing.

then—

low.

dark.

almost like he can’t help it—

“cute.”

your throat goes dry.

your heart in your mouth.

“…uhm,” you whisper. “thank you?”

stupid.

soft.

sweet.

like you really meant it.

and behind you—still staring, still close enough to catch your strawberry lip balm on the air when you breathe—

he laughs.

quiet.

sharp.

mean.

like he’s already decided.

like he’s not leaving alone.

he steps closer, and the heat of him is on your skin again. it’s so close that you feel it under your ribs. he leans down. not enough to touch, but enough that you can feel the roughness of his breath near your ear, heavy and slow.

your hands are still at your sides. frozen.

then, like it’s no big deal, he says, “lock the door.”

your brain goes blank for a second, because it’s the middle of the night and you’ve never been asked to do something like this before.

“…what?” you’re stalling. and it’s the dumbest thing you could do right now, but your lips part, like it’s something normal to question.

“lock the damn door,” he repeats, his voice sharp and cold, but still measured, like a thread of control pulling tighter.

your pulse quickens, but you don’t move. he’s too close. too much.

the radio hums. static crackles in the background. the pressure is unbearable, but your hands still don’t move. you’re waiting for him to do something, but he just stands there, still, patient, like he’s in no rush. like you’re the one who’s supposed to figure it out.

you blink again, feeling like the world’s fogged up, and your lips part—finally—you walk over to the door.

it clicks into place with a soft thud.

a lock.

not a simple one, either. the one that keeps the night shift safe. you should’ve locked it sooner.

but now? now, you’re so aware of everything around you. the slight squeak of your shoes on the tile floor. the hum of the flickering lights. how you feel his eyes all over your back.

he watches every move. every single one. like he can already tell how your hands are trembling just trying to twist the key in the lock.

not yet. don’t let him know yet.

you turn back to him. he’s still standing, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. mask still on. still too quiet.

“what… now?” you whisper. your voice sounds like it’s not even your own.

"now, we take our time," he answers, a slight, dark chuckle curling in the air between you.

[lymtw]

hi!! i love your fics theyre highkey my fav rereads🤭idk if youre taking requests but if you were, could you possibly do a hurt/comfort fic with toji and shy reader where shes mad/upset with him? hope youre having a great day btw!

A/N: Five years later... 🫩👍 I'm sorry this took so long. I really, really appreciate your support 🫶 I hope this turned out at least okay, it's been a minute since i've finished any writing 🥲 Anyway, I hope you're having an amazing day :))

Thank you for sending in this request 💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

It's been a week since you and Toji have spoken, not for lack of effort or opportunities, but because the one sided attempts are not corresponded. It's hard to think about him, it's hard to read his words through your screen and see his name flash briefly, before your phone does its job of sending him to voicemail.

'Maybe we shouldn't be together, Toji. If me simply trying to talk to you is such a burden... I don't know if I should keep trying.'

You said this to him a week ago. You clicked the door shut and he sped off in his car, bleary-eyed, brimming with rage and regret the whole way home. He couldn't get the sound of your voice out of his head—the cracks, the occasional sharp inhales that came with your suppressed emotions. Even in the moment, he knew it was so, so wrong for you to be looking the way you did.

The instant he got home, all hell broke loose. His fists were clenched as he treaded towards his bedroom, and as if possessed by the force of a natural disaster, he tore apart his room—demolished it—throwing things blindly, uncaring if they broke beyond repair. The picture he keeps on his nightstand of the two of you was not safe. The encased memory was thrown with all the strength he has, at the wall, the frame instantly falling apart and the glass shattering to pieces.

He couldn't stop, it all hurt so much. His chest burned, his head was pounding, he felt like he couldn't breathe, and once there was nothing left to throw, nothing left to break, he finally broke down—wholly. Harsh, uncontrollable sobs racked his entire body as he sat there in the debris—the aftermath of losing his mind over you. Barely any sound came of it, his voice was shot, courtesy of the tormented screams that accompanied his meltdown.

This all happened a week ago. You won't talk to him and these days have been hell without your company. You won't respond to his good morning messages, and if he asks to meet up, you always have something to do. He calls you whenever he can, but you don't pick up. You're avoiding him like it's your job.

Everything feels pointless without you around, his little sunshine, the reason he wakes up motivated every morning, the light of his life. His routine has been altered in the worst way. It's work, home, work, home, and he absolutely detests it because if it weren't for that damned day, he would be with you, smothering you with the borderline overwhelming love he holds for you, making you laugh and watching you get flustered over the words he whispers in your ear. He wants it back—all of it. He can't let you go, it would break him entirely.

You don't want to let go of this love you have for Toji, either. You miss being in the warmth of his embrace, and you miss the sound of his voice, and the way he calls you 'sweetheart' when you're not focusing on him. You see every single one of the messages he sends you and the phone calls.

Good morning, baby.

Morning, sweetheart. Make sure to eat breakfast and lunch. One meal isn't enough.

Saw those fields of flowers you point at all the time on my way home. I miss you.

Baby, will you talk to me, please?

[Missed Call]

And you cry, because all you want to do is respond to every one of those messages and hear his voice again, but something always stops you. The memory of when he snapped at you. The sound of his voice—cutting and utterly spirit crushing. The furrow of his eyebrows that made you feel like everything you did was wrong. It hurts to think about the whole situation, and all these notifications only serve as reminders. Reminders of the way you immediately wilted when the door shut, chest heaving as you cried your way to bed and then to sleep, wondering what you did to deserve being lashed out at.

You're lying in bed, scrolling through your phone when he calls again. The instant you see his contact picture, your heart plummets to your stomach, but an irrepressible giggle escapes you. The picture on your screen... it's kind of blurry because he was chasing you and you were laughing so hard that you couldn't hold the phone steady, but you love it. You love the man in the picture, you love that he can make you smile through memories, even during tough times.

"Baby?" You hear through the speakers of your phone. A lump immediately forms in your throat and you painfully swallow. "Baby, can you hear me?" He tries again.

"Yeah, I'm here," you respond, quietly.

"Holy fuck, doll. Can I... Are you busy? Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, i'm home," you mumble.

"Can I come see you?"

"Toji..." you start, your tone conveying what you haven't even said yet. Your uncertainty.

"Baby, we have to talk. It's been a week and-- This can't be it. Please, just... just five minutes. Five minutes and i'll go."

You know it won't be five minutes. You can't force a solution out in five minutes—not a sincere one at least. Some part of you is soothed by the sound of his voice, regardless of how frantic and desperate he sounds. That's your love right there, and no matter how much hurt lingers from this whole dilemma, there's nothing you can do about your heart's response to him. So you open a door for him.

"Okay, Toji. I'll be here waiting for you."

"Thank you, pretty girl. I'll be there in a few. Love you."

There's a heavy, tense pause. Neither of you has hung up the phone, because something hasn't been done yet and he knows you know what he wants to hear. It would be enough for him to believe that you haven't forfeited. It would make him feel even the slightest bit of relief if you said those words he's been aching for.

"I love you, too, Toji," you utter, hanging up a couple seconds after.

Toji would be bouncing off the walls if he wasn't in such a hurry to get to you. He's been deprived of any form of love from you for a week and he was starting to go crazy, but hearing you say those words was all he needed for now.

Twenty something minutes later, you get a text from him, letting you know that he's outside. Your heart is in your throat, your stomach keeps flipping, and yet you use all the strength you have to get out of bed to meet him. Though you decide to take your time to get to your front door, you find that you're still there too soon, no time left to mentally prepare yourself for what is about to happen. With a final deep breath, you turn the lock, twist the doorknob, and open the door.

There Toji stands, hand suspended in the air with your spare key pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He steps back instinctively when you step aside from behind the door.

"I uh... I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with me using it, but you were taking a bit, so I thought maybe you'd want me to come in and we can talk inside or... I don't know."

He's rambling, there's a light stubble on his face, he's smiling at you like he always does—like you're his everything. Him being there doesn't actually process in your mind until he speaks up again.

"Hi, baby," he says, softly, observing you like you're some majestic painting hung up in a museum. Your eyes well up and it feels like there's a red-hot metal sphere lodged in your throat. "You're a saint for letting me come here and see you, you know that?"

Out of habit, you nod and mumble out a small, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, doll," he says, reaching for your hands to hold them. He barely manages to grab them, get a feel for your soft skin after so long, before you're pulling them away from him. "No, come on," he pleads, grasping your hands again. "Please? Please, look at me."

"You can't talk to me like that, Toji," you utter, voice unsteady because you're not used to having to stand up for yourself against the one who loves you like it's his life source.

"I know. I know that, baby, and I'm so fucking sorry," he says, nearly tripping over his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of the shit I said. I was having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I don't know what the hell got into me, but please..." he mumbles, bringing your hands up to his lips, pressing weightless kisses on your fingers and knuckles. "Please, I love you, you have to believe me."

"You said..." you inhale sharply, doing all you can to get through this without choking on your emotions. "...you said you didn't have time to listen to me talk about nonsense, and that you wanted peace and quiet for once. Isn't... Isn't that all you get from me?"

"No tears," he says, warm palms moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the crystals that glide down them. "No tears," he repeats, softer this time. "This is gonna get worked out, my sweet girl. I swear."

"I don't know how you want me to be," you admit, your voice wavering. "And I don't have the ability to read minds. You acted like everything was fine when you texted me, and then when you got here..." You let out a shaky breath, your hold on your emotions slipping. "I don't want to be upset with you, anymore, but i-i'm trying... It's not right."

It's as if someone is jabbing at his chest over and over again, relentlessly, even when his skin starts to bruise and little pinpricks of blood begin to appear. He hates seeing you this way, especially when he knows he's the reason for why you're hurt this bad. He wants it to stop and for this enormous raincloud above both of you to just dissipate.

"Come here," he says, low, almost inaudible. His hands lower, arms making contact with your sides. It's been too long since he's held you, yet, pulling you in feels as natural as breathing.

Your hands come up to rest on his abdomen, keeping him at a distance. It feels unnatural, because you're so used to letting him handle you like you're a stuffed animal, pulling you around when you're adventuring together and picking you up just because he feels like it. Your mind immediately clouds with guilt at your denial of his embrace, you can't even meet his eyes, opting to look down at where your hands are.

"Please don't," he says, his voice so soft that it makes your chest feel tight again. He grabs ahold of your wrists, just to have some sort of contact with you. His grip is almost entirely loose and you're in control, he won't move until you pull your hands away. "I'm not gonna hurt you like that again."

You love him and you know he needs this—holding you in his arms, your confirmation that it's all going to be okay. You've said it before and the words have become one of his greatest comforts. What could be so bad when you tell him that it'll all turn out just fine?

"We've been apart for too long. A week shouldn't have gone by like this... and, fuck, I know it's my fault. I don't blame you for not wanting to see me, but... please, baby." His thumbs brush the insides of your wrists, eyes never leaving the sadness of your face, regardless of whether you look at him or not. He'll take this over not getting to see you at all, any day.

"Sweetheart."

You sniff, unmoving for a few more seconds. Your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your ears, almost suffocating you with its relentlessness. It's all you hear, words lost in a spiral of ongoing silence. You still don't look at him when you finally pull your hands away, but you can feel his heavy, unwavering attention on you.

You're glad he doesn't wait for you to give him the green light to pull you in, because you have nothing to say at the moment, and it would be another test of patience. Instead, the second your hands are balled up at your sides, he moves at the speed of a lightning strike, your body colliding with his in an almost aggressive manner—there's an audible thump. His body heat mingles with the cologne on his shirt, the smell coiling around you and rushing through your nose with every breath you take. The feeling is familiar—love, safety, comfort—a second home, all wrapped up in your favorite person.

His hands scrunch up the back of your shirt like he's afraid you'll push him away again. "Baby," he mumbles, his voice almost inaudible. "Don't disappear like that again." A soft breath is expelled from his chest, riddled with the genuine fear he felt that he would never get to see you again.

"I know it's unfair of me to say this. I was an asshole and you were hurt, but, doll... I thought you were leaving me." There's a pause. Toji stares at the ground behind you, his hands deepening the creases he made on your shirt due to his unfaltering grip. "I don't want that."

"I'm not," you respond, heart shaking. "That day... it felt like you didn't even want to see me and you only came over because I asked not because you wanted to." The familiar ache in your chest stirs slightly, but you give it your all to get everything out in a steady and clear manner. "You can tell me you're tired, Toji. That you want to rest in the comfort of your own home, and I'll understand. I don't want to be another cause of stress for you."

It pains him to hear that because you're the one who keeps him sane, the one he thinks about when he settles into bed but can't get to sleep, the first person to know that he's still alive in morning, the one who has made him feel so safe, that he feels no shame when he occasionally calls to confirm that he's still loved by you.

"You're not," he simply murmurs. "It's not true."

"You don't have to worry about protecting my feelings."

His arms loosen around you, the back of your shirt wrinkled but freed from his clutches. Your heart is beating too fast, attempting to leave your chest. Now you're standing up straight, doing your best to not avert your gaze from the man before you.

"You're not a burden to me. Okay?" He says, and you want to believe him because of the way he's looking at you, like he's searching your eyes for even the smallest bit of confidence from you about the fact. "Say it."

The words are stuck, it's visible. Your lips twitch, but your voice doesn't progress. You just look at him, feeling the sadness seep into every part of you.

"You're not a burden to me. I need you to get that through your pretty head, right now," he says, only to feel his own heart skip a beat at your reaction.

"Sorry," you mumble, unable to instantly straighten out the curl of your lips.

In this moment, Toji knows that everything is going to be okay. He hasn't heard you laugh in a week, and though it was only a small, congested giggle, he savors it along with your inability to regain your bearing, like it's his last sip of water while he's stranded in the desert.

"Gets you every time, huh?" He says, his own faint smile emerging.

'Right now', a habitual phrase of his that is meant to comfort you. You've told him before that not everything can be fixed or healed in an instant—things don't work that way—but he never backs down. You've translated it into something akin to a bandage—the words are meant to cover you while you take the time to fully and properly heal. The joy you find in hearing them is a small beginning.

"It's funny," you respond, taking in his amused little grin. God, you missed his handsome face and the way he looks at you like everything about you makes perfect sense to him.

"My impatience is funny to you?" He teases, loving the way you press your lips together before proceeding to nod. He can't even be playfully offended, too entranced by the way you're actually smiling at him. He sighs through his nose and just watches you—admires you for a couple seconds, and when you start nervously shifting on your feet, he pulls you closer to him, his hands on your lower back as your body presses against his once more.

"Can you just say it, please? For me?" He murmurs, recognizing every one of the stars in your eyes. Though he thinks it's a tragedy to have gone a week without this view, he'll make up for lost time by creating new constellations.

"I don't know," you say, softly—filler words, your brain short circuits whenever he looks at you like that.

"For me, baby," he pleads once more. "Just wanna hear you say it."

You hum, unsure of whether you can say something you don't entirely believe. You want to make him happy, you want things to be better, you want to believe what he said—what he wants you to repeat to him, but it's hard. Damage is easy to inflict and hard to heal. It won't go away immediately, no matter how much you love the person who is trying to fix their mistake.

"I don't know-"

"Please?" he blurts.

"Toji, I don't-"

"Pretty please?" he cuts again, seeing the way your seriousness falters like before. Your laugh finds his ears once more, a sound he just wants to keep hearing. The sound embraces him. "With a cherry on top?" he adds, a sly little grin on his lips.

It's getting harder and harder to turn him down. He's precious, he's trying, and you cherish his effort. It's not going to kill you to just say it.

You sigh, "I'm not a burden."

"To who?" He questions, seeking elaboration from you.

"To you."

"Damn right," he says, proud. "We'll get you there. I'm not gonna leave you like this, alright?"

"Okay," you confirm, nodding slightly.

"Can I get a kiss?"

Again, you nod, expecting a quick peck—maybe a few quick pecks, but no, he goes on to kiss you like its been months since he last saw you, not a week. He's desperately chasing after your lips, seeking more and more of what he's been deprived of for too long. In his mind, he says 'never again, never again, never again', because he can't imagine going so long without your sweetness again. Without the softness of your lips against his, without those pretty smiles and laughs being thrown at him. It sounds like hell 2.0. when he thinks about losing it all over again.

"Fuck, I missed this," he murmurs, still just a breath away from your lips.

"Yeah," you respond, eyeing the short little pins of hair that sprinkle over his jaw and upper lip area. It makes you smile, you don't always get to see his face when it's not clean shaven.

"I was in a rush," he explains, unnecessarily, following the way your eyes trace his face.

"Mm," you hum, smiling. "Can I shave your face?"

"You wanna clean me up?" he asks, almost as if he's surprised.

"Only if you want me to. It was just an idea," you say, smiling sheepishly.

To that, he chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach flip and your cheeks feel warmer.

"Oh, I want you to," he says, leaning forward to peck your lips, luring quiet giggles from you when he doesn't want to pull away.

-

Now, you sit on the counter of your bathroom sink, with Toji standing between your legs. There's a slight tremble in your hand, spurred on by his hands resting on your hips and the way he watches you with so much focus, trusting you enough to let you do this without a word from him. You drag the razor carefully along his cheek, making sure not to move too fast or use too much pressure.

Toji waits until you're cleaning off the blade to make his move of leaning in to press kisses to your face. Small peaks of foam are left behind on your skin, wiped away by gentle strokes of his thumb.

"I'm about to start again," you say through a laugh, leaning away to avoid ridding his face of all the protective spume on it. The razor remains beside you until he finally behaves himself. He huffs like you've been rejecting his affection the whole time, but nonetheless stands up straight and as still as a statue.

After some time, longer than it would have taken him alone—longer than it would have taken you if he didn't smother you every time you paused to clean the razor—you got it done. You brought back the smoothness of his skin.

"Am I pretty again?" he jests, drying his face with one of your towels.

"Stunning," you quip in response, shifting on the counter to signal that you're going to hop off.

"You're stunning," he says, low, unmoving from where he stands between your legs. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl," he adds, seeking more of that feeling the flustered smile on your face gives him. "Missed you lots, you know that?" You just laugh and shake your head, like you're silently calling him crazy. "What? I'm serious," he says in response, a soft grin on his face. "Did you miss me? Even a little bit?"

A single second passes by. You can't lie to him and say you didn't. You missed him every single day, through the hurt. Your chest ached and your heart dropped every time you remembered the incident, but your love for him never wavered. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and with how often he tried to reach you, it was nearly impossible not to have him on your mind.

"Of course I did. I took the time I needed, but that doesn't mean I wanted it."

"I know, baby. And I would never hold it against you. I'm just... glad I can see you again, is all."

You smile. The gleam and sincerity in his eyes is a wonder to witness and well worth the butterflies that overly crowd your stomach.

"I really did miss you," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Mhm," you hum, nodding. "'Lots.'"

A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest, then he leans in close for nth time, peppering kisses across your cheek until he reaches your lips. He can feel you smiling into the kisses, a sensation he yearned for with every fiber of his being for the past week. One of his hands rests on your thigh, caressing the inner part of it, while the other slides up your shirt and settles on your waist. The lip-lock steals your breath away, but even then, you challenge your lungs for your lover's sake, only pulling away when you're a panting mess and Toji's breathing is more audible.

The tension is palpable, the silence loud as you look at one another like you're still taking in the fact that you can be loving towards each other again, in a manner that doesn't derive from guilt for the time that you didn't get to demonstrate how much you truly love each other. Enough to not be able to leave a fresh wound alone, enough to forgive while outwardly expressing that you have not healed but are patient enough to work towards regaining that strength.

"I don't wanna go home," he murmurs, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips before focusing on solely your eyes.

"You don't have to," you respond. "Stay as long as you'd like."

"And if I said I wanted to spend a week here with you? Would you hate it?"

You shake your head. "No, but I think you'd get tired of seeing me all the time."

"You're wrong, pretty girl. Is this your subtle way of saying you're tired of looking at my mug, already?" He asks, lips curling with amusement at your giggle.

"No, I want you to stay," you say, honest.

"Promise?"

You nod, followed by an affirmative hum.

"Say it again," he requests, heart thudding just a little faster when you smile.

"I want you to stay, Toji," you repeat, his name on your tongue causing your cheeks to warm up.

"Again." His hands mold around your hips—squeezing, loving.

"Stay," you say, softer.

He sighs, heavy, an enamored look in his eyes that you have never been able to comprehend. Those dark, viridescent eyes, have a brilliance to them as he looks at you like you're the last good thing he'll ever be able to call his. You're good for him, you're good to him, and there is nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you because you gave him your heart.

"Yeah... you're stuck with me here for a week and you're come with me to pick some stuff up from my place, tomorrow. Okay? Okay."

"Okay," you respond, with a laugh.

"Now, we get you off this counter," he says, lifting you like you're a teddy bear that he carries around for protection. He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the suddenness. "Hold me tight, baby," he says, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist before moving anywhere. A kiss is planted on your shoulder as he turns around to exit the bathroom.

"And now you let me show you some love," he says, low, carrying you to your bedroom.

[pha55ed]

PR Nightmare Two || F1/F2

type :: crack

tw/cw :: pee (carlos), sexual jokes (charles, oscar), watersports (lando), small smut (lando), mpreg (lando, oscar), bear fucking (ollie), necrophilia (ollie),

contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, max, ollie, paul

summary :: driver!reader is the driver's teammate which is awesome! except the fact that you're a fucking pr disater who can't shut your mouth. platonic or romantic !

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

Carlos Sainz | 55

After moving to Williams, Carlos was terrified that you and him wouldn't click. But was quickly proven wrong as you were extremely open despite just meeting him. He knew everything about you... Too much...

Yet again, you were trapped in an interview that was seemingly never-ending. This interview was live on Sky Sports, meaning you both had to be extra careful and stay on for much longer than usual. Although Carlos was tired, you weren't. Yapping would have been your full time job if it wasn't for your skills in Formula.

"What is a secret you haven't told each other?" The interviewer asks, expecting something along the lines of 'I ate your ice-cream once' or 'I hate when you wear crocs'. Carlos was going to reply with something similar to that but you quickly jumped in.

"I wanna pee in the ice bath so bad" You said with a desperate tone, as if you were grieving the pain of not being able to bathe in your own piss. Carlos looked at you in shock.

"What?!" He asked, his shock turning to laughter to help cope. "But you never did right...?"

"Of course not holy shit." You say, disgusted he would think so lowly of you. "But I wanna see how my pee would react the muscle-relaxants and ice and shit. Like what if I become the Hulk but yellow-"

Quickly the camera were cut and the live stream ended before you could say more. You ruined an entire live stream with over 20,000 live viewers. From that moment, Carlos knew you two would be perfect together on this team.

Charles Leclerc | 16

Doing small interviews didn't bother Charles that much. He didn't mind talking and his fanbase was lovely. But once you became his new teammate at Ferrari, interviews were now 10 times more fun.

"Did you guys have any embarrassing childhood crushes?" The interviewer asked, finally giving you both non-racing related questions.

"Oh yes!" Charles said, excited to talk about himself. "Definitely Kristen Stewart haha! Not very embarrassing, but I did watch Twilight just for her."

"That's so valid" You said relaxed, "I think mine was probably 9."

Both Charles and the interviewer looked extremely confused. "From what show...?" The interviewer asked, assuming it was something like the Umbrella Academy or Stranger Things.

Now you were confused as well, "Huh? There's no show." You repeated yourself. "9, as in the number... Like the circle and line."

"Oh..." The interviewer said, trying their best to find a way to segway this into the next question but they were cut off by Charles.

"No way," Charles said, "Maybe! MAYBE I could understand the number 8 but 9???" Now the interviewer was completely lost. "At least 8 has curves and a body, what does 9 have?"

"I know he's packin" You said with a grin "That little curved tail, curved UPWARDS? And the-"

Cameras off. Interviewers cutting you off. And Charles was deeply interested... This clip launches your duo name: Eight Eat Nine

Lando Norris | 04

"How are you helping (Y/N) adjust to being a new Papaya!" The interviewer asked innocently. Little did she know how much Lando has been enduring with you. Thankfully he recored it all and there would be a video posted to Youtube soon.

"Awful." Lando says before chuckling, almost more like a nervous break down chuckle. "Every day is hell with em' here."

"What???" The interviewer asked, thinking she got first-hand access to the newest gossip on the grid. "Did something happen?"

"YEAH." Lando said, simply nodding, not having the guts to say what you did. Thankfully, but not very thankfully to Lando, you walked into the interview after overhearing it.

"Yeah, what DID I do?" You ask, almost sounding threatening. "Don't make me show you again."

After weeks passed and rumors were rampant online. Rumors about you blackmailing him, overthrowing his family's business, kicking him out of Mclaren, and so so many more extreme rumors that you both were laughing at. Lando finally edited and posted his newest Youtube video: "Reading Fanfiction with (Y/N)!?"

Despite the thumbnail seeming like you two would be reading fan-fiction shipping you both together, instead, you found the most vile, borderline dark content, gay fics of Lando with a variety of drivers.

Thus, explaining the odd dynamic between you two. In reality, you both were perfectly fine and closer than ever. But you just wanted to play up the drama in order to rack up some views and tweets. It was awful for the PR team, but to you guys: it was funny.

Oscar Piastri | 81

oscarpiastri: got a tan and a new helmet: ready to destroy the next half of the 25' season! @.mclaren

→ yourusername: finish taking that shirt off. now.

→ yourusername: take off your pants too while your at it.

⎯→ user 01: OH MY GOD (Y/N)?????? UNDER A MCLAREN TAGGED POST TOO????

→ user 02: they're never ever going to beat the dating accusations

⎯→ yourusername: we're about to be dating once he comes home

→ user 03: thought i was a freak but (y/n)... u can have him

→ yourusername: my lovely wonder-bread, bend over for me.

⎯→ user 04: i thought this was a joke about his name sounding like pastry but she's just calling him white, isnt she

⎯→ user 05: that's her precious white chocolate delight

→ yourusername: gonna get ur fine ass pregnant

→ yourusername: raw. next question.

⎯→ user 06: i can't tell if she's tiktok typa horny or tumblr typa horny

⎯→ user 07: definitely tumblr...

No image. I'm not searching this shit up again.

Max Verstappen | 01

Tiktok is something Max tries to stay away from. Not that he hates the app, he'd just rather do something else with his time. But you, the newest and youngest driver on the grid, loved Tiktok. You were basically the marketing for Redbull despite your out of pocket videos at times.

And that included you coming up with the idea to have Max react to fans posts. An innocent idea that Max didn't mind filming content for, after all, he loved his fans. But you quickly were going to make him doubt that.

You were smart, showing him innocent tiktoks first. Fan art, cool edits, and even analysis on his best drives. As the video was coming to an end, you brought up the trend where drivers were compared to a food and a quote.

Often times Max was compared to a key lime pie, bell pepper, or an energy drink. But you then showed him THE strawberry slideshow. You knew what the ending was.

"Oh strawberry!" Max said, excited to finally get a sweet themed item. But as he swiped and saw the strawberries then coated with white chocolate, obviously implying something, he jumped back and gasped. "OH!!! Well, I didn't... I didn't expect that."

While you were dying, already posting it - he was traumatized.

Oliver Bearman | 87

Interviews were fun between you both, fans always loved it. Mainly because both of you can't keep your mouth shut. The only way to make your interviews even worse is to get Franco to join in with you guys.

But unlike Ollie's sassy comments, you asked stupid questions. Butt fuck stupid questions. Which Ollie always took serious. Think of Tom Holland answering the question about him "faking" being British or Theo Von's podcast vibes. It was the dumb American x understanding Brit duo.

So when you both were forced to create a "podcast" for Prema, aka a race preview, you both took full advantage of this time. You were supposed to be just folding laundry, but almost nothing got folded. It was just yapping and yapping.

"I got a question," You say, attempting to fold a shirt but doing awful at it.

"Hmm?" Ollie replied, picking up the shirt you just folded and undoing it. Only to fold it properly himself.

"Why is your name Bearman?" You ask. "Cause like, I know British people got like, My Little Pony names. Like how people named Smith's were blacksmiths and stuff."

"Oh well," Ollie paused to think, "I dunno actually. It's from my great grandpa so."

"Did he fuck a bear or something?" You ask, nonchalantly while Ollie instantly is confused. "Cause lowkey, back in the day I bet Bearman was a slur."

"No..." Ollie hesitated, "I highly doubt my grandpa fucked a bear. I think we probably just hunted bears-"

"So you're a family of necrophiles?" You shake your head, "That's just wrong man."

"I never said that-"

Paul Aron | 17

paularon_: Went for a run, in Italy, with a film camera🇮🇹🎥

→ yourusername: is it say yes to the dress or say yes to the SLUT???

→ yourusername: is this your soft launch for your only fans?

⎯→ user 01: i'd so buy it tbh

→ yourusername: pepemartiofficial kimi.antonelli olliebearman jakcrawford_ zane.maloney isackhadjar dennis_hauger

⎯→ paularon_: why are you @ ing the whole grid

⎯→ yourusername: to slut shame you

→ pepemartiofficial: did you lose your shirt over the summer?

→ olliebearman: go eat a burger (save somes baddies for the rest of us)

→ jakcrawford_: we get it, ur buff with a huge dick

⎯→ user 02:: how do u know that…

⎯→ yourusername: I can vouch for

→ isackhadjar: put a bra on slut

⎯→ yourusername: I don’t even think mines will fit him

[arachnidseyesmoved]

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

CALLS AND CONNECTIONS

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

A/N: Previous. Next. Fem reader. Just a short little half chapter because I wanted them to talk a little more before the next chapter 👀. wc: 910

Your blaring ringtone wakes you up. The rather uncommon sound is loud and abrupt. Groaning, you pick your head up from where it's stuffed into your pillow and squint your blurry eyes at the contact name.

“Damian😾”

Before your sleep addled mind can even begin to comprehend how strange that is, you swipe to answer and mumble a confused,

“Damian?”

His voice comes from the other end, deadpan and static.

“Yes, Constantine. It’s me.”

You can see the eye roll so clearly when he says that.

“What's wrong?”

The most likely reason you can come up with for why The Son of Batman could possibly be calling you is that there might be an end of the world scenario happening.

“Nothing’s wrong— Did you just wake up?”

You sniff, look around the tussled sheets of the white hotel bed and simply answer,

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“London.”

“It’s currently 12pm in London.”

“…Yeah?”

He scoffs and mumbles some Arabic words that sound vaguely like insults.

“Well, clearly you’re not busy but If you want me to hang up I will.”

He hears sheets shuffling and a huff come from his earpiece as you clamber into a more comfortable position.

“Wait, so why are you calling?”

He hates the scratchy tiredness of your voice, he hates that he now knows what you sound like after just waking up. He hates how stupidly intimate it feels.

He sighs to himself as he lands on another roof.

“I just wanted to… talk.”

You stare at the ceiling, convinced you’re not actually understanding what he means.

“Talk?”

He clicks his tongue harshly,

“Yes, Constantine. I believe it's called ‘catching up’.”

Huh. A moment of disbelief comes and goes, you speak into the phone.

“Ok, well… How’s it going?”

You can't help but chuckle when you ask that. This entire situation is rather chuckle-worthy.

“I'm currently on patrol. It's been rather quiet.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Unlikely, It might just mean that crime’s gotten smarter or I've gotten sloppy.”

“Right, because that's likely.”

There's a pause over the line. It's clear neither of you are used to phone calls that aren't about end of the world scenarios. After listening to the sound of his breaths as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop, you finally build up enough courage in you.

“I asked Zatanna if I could join her tour….as another act.”

He almost slips on the ledge he just jumped to. The night he patched you up was only a week ago, he was very much not expecting you to take his advice to heart.

“What did she say?”

“Well, she definitely wasn't expecting it, and I can tell she's a little… nervous but she said I could do something small to start, like an intermission between the real acts.”

He hums, stopping to pet a stray cat he passes.

“Is she making you pull rabbits out of hats and calling that an act?”

“Yes, actually. Remember when I explained demonic animal persuasion to you?”

He hums in confirmation. Of course he does, he remembers everything, especially really cool demon animal magic.

“Yeah so, obviously demons who can look like animals are much better as an act than actual animals, Since people just can’t go without animal acts, apparently.”

You both share sounds of disgust.

Another moment of silence passes, no sounds except your sheet shuffling and Robin’s breaths as he patrols the rooftops over Gotham. He breaks the silence this time.

“How long is the tour?”

“Uh, well we start in Europe and-”

“Hold on.”

He interrupts and you hear grunts, thumps, shouts and clangs from your phone speaker. You patiently wait for him to be done rounding up whatever goons he's just found, gazing at the curtain covered windows of your hotel room. You grumble at the lack of sunlight coming through the white fabric. London weather, no wonder you slept past noon.

“Continue.”

“Right so… I asked Zatanna if we'll be going to Gotham—”

He pauses while confiscating the last unconscious man's gun. Why would you ask that?

“—and she said yes, in a few months time. I mean, I guess it doesn't really matter cus you could go to any city in the world if you wanted to but y’know.”

“Are you asking me to come see you perform?”

“….Yes.”

He grips his katana tighter, suppressing a smile even though no one would see it.

“I’ll be there.”

“…Cool.”

Damian briefly thanks his blessings that you're too sleepy to come up with another stupid joke about fishnets or something.

Feeling like you’re hogging the conversation a little, you ask him about what cases he’s working on currently, how his doctor program is going, if he has any juicy batfamily drama to share.

He seems happy to do most of the talking, to your surprise. It actually might be the most you’ve ever heard him talk. You find yourself drifting off to the sound of his voice telling you about Duke’s latest romantic blunder.

He tries not to notice how your little uh-huh’s and mhm’s get quieter and less frequent. He clicks his tongue when he hears your soft sleeping breaths, even though he isn't sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Did he put you to sleep because he was boring or calming? Why the hell does he even care?

He clicks his tongue again but at himself this time.

He especially hates how long he stays on the line listening to your breaths.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

[seospicybin]

COCKY.

CHAPTER III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes at her. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You inhale sharply before answering. “Hello?”

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

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

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

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

The call ends before you can say anything else.

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Han hums, nodding along. “And...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “Enjoying myself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You arch an eyebrow. “How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Han grins. “Instant regret it is.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “Yeah… why not?”

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

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

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

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane grins. “Deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give her a dry look. “I left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

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

“Jane.”

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

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

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

You glance at her warily. "And?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at her, befuddled. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane tilts her head. "What’s it?"

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

You smirk. "Fresh out of production."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane gasps dramatically. “So it is him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost choke on nothing. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen slightly. "Wait, really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks, Jane," you say sincerely.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow. "Define fun."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

"You should be proud of yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. "I’ll hold you to that."

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

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

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

You nod. "I will."

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

-

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

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

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

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

Your team cheers, clinking their glasses together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff, nearly choking on your drink. “What? Why would I—”

“Oh, please.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t act like I didn’t see you sneaking glances at your phone earlier. Waiting for a text, maybe?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I was not.”

She nudges you with her elbow, leaning in close. “You should text Chris,” she says with a knowing smirk.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been thinking about him all night?”

You roll your eyes. “I haven’t.”

Jane gives you a deadpan look. “You're getting too good at lying now.”

Sighing, you take a sip of your drink. “Look, the product is going into production soon, which means I’m done with the testing. And that also means…” You hesitate for a second before forcing yourself to say it. “Chris and I have no reason to meet anymore.”

Jane pulls back, frowning. “Wow. That’s… kind of depressing to hear.”

“It’s the truth,” you say, keeping your expression neutral, but Jane isn’t buying it. She suddenly claps her hands together. “Okay, enough of this sad talk. Take a shot with me!”

Before you can protest, she waves down the bartender and orders two shots of tequila. “We are celebrating, remember?”

You sigh but take the shot glass from her. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” Jane clinks her glass against yours, and together, you down the shot, the burn spreading through your chest.

The moment you set the empty glass down, Jane grabs your wrist. “Now, let’s dance!”

“What—Jane, wait—”

“Yes, you're coming with me!” She pulls you toward the dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. “Come on, have fun with me!”

You sigh but eventually give in, letting yourself move with the music. And slowly, just for tonight, you let yourself forget everything else.

Jane twirls you around, both of you laughing as the music pulses through the air. The bass vibrates under your feet, and for the first time tonight, you’re letting yourself enjoy the moment—until Jane suddenly gasps and grabs your arm.

She stops dancing abruptly, pulling you close. “Oh my God.”

You blink at her, slightly breathless. “What?”

Jane leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “Chris is here.”

You lean in close to hear her better. “What?”

She subtly nods toward the entrance of the bar, and your body moves on instinct, spinning around on your feet. And there he is.

Chris stands near the entrance, effortlessly catching your gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, and under the dim lights of the bar, his eyes glint with amusement. Then, as if he knew exactly when you would turn around, he raises a hand and waves.

You don’t know whether to be surprised or flustered, but the way Jane is gripping your arm tells you that she is already freaking out for the both of you.

“Looks like someone changed their plans,” she singsongs in your ear, nudging you toward him. “Go say hi.”

You swallow, exhaling softly. Yeah, you should probably do that. You weave through the crowd, making your way toward Chris. He watches you approach, his smirk never wavering. When you reach him, you tilt your head, crossing your arms.

“Hey, I’m surprised to see you here,” you say over the music.

Chris shrugs, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “My prior engagement finished early.” He glances past you toward your table, where Jane and your team are still celebrating. “Figured I’d come see how your celebration is going.”

You arch a brow. “And here I thought you weren’t one for company outings.”

He chuckles. “I’m not. But you do owe me a drink, remember?”

You roll your eyes but gesture toward your table. “Come on, then.”

As you and Chris settle at the table, an awkward silence briefly lingers between you. Jane, ever the social butterfly, takes it upon herself to fill the void, coming to the table and panting from the dancing

“Well, this is a surprise,” she muses, waving down a server. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight, Chris.”

Chris smiles at her. “Change of plans.”

Jane eyes him knowingly but doesn’t press further. Instead, she orders another round of drinks for the three of you. As she and Chris fall into casual conversation, you find yourself shifting in your seat, feeling the weight of Chris’s occasional glances your way.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you announce, pushing back your chair.

Jane shoots you a quick look, one that says really? but she doesn’t stop you. Chris watches as you leave, and though you don’t turn back, you can still feel his gaze on you.

In the restroom, you take a moment to collect yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You should at least thank him properly, you remind yourself. After all, without him, your product wouldn't have been as successful. You fix your hair and the smudged eye makeup with your finger before taking a deep breath and head back to the table.

You find Chris and Jane laughing over their drinks. The sight of them getting along so well makes you hesitate for a second, but before you can sit, Jane notices you and stands up.

“It's my turn now,” she announces, grabbing her pack of cigarettes from her bag. “Going outside for a smoke. You two behave.” She winks at you before slipping away, leaving you alone with Chris.

The silence that follows is thick, though not necessarily uncomfortable. Chris leans back in his chair, watching you with quiet curiosity. You take your seat and reach for your drink, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I never got the chance to properly thank you,” you swirl your drink absentmindedly, glancing at Chris before finally speaking. "I really mean it, you know," you say, your voice softer than before. "Thank you—for everything."

Chris tilts his head slightly, watching you with a flicker of curiosity. "For testing the product?" he teases, smirking.

You roll your eyes but smile. "Not just that. For believing in me. For pushing me to prove myself when I was starting to doubt. I wanted to do more than just create a product—I wanted to make something better. And without your help, I might not have had the chance to."

Chris listens quietly, his gaze steady. Then, with a small exhale, he reaches for the collar of his shirt and undoes another button, his fingers moving slowly. He shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if the room is suddenly too warm.

"You’re giving me too much credit," he says, his voice slightly husky. "You were always going to make this happen. I just… got to be the lucky guy who helped."

You shake your head. "Maybe. But I still appreciate it."

Chris watches you for a moment, his eyes darker under the dim bar lighting. Then, with a lazy smile, he leans in just a little. "You're welcome," he murmurs.

It’s subtle, but the way his voice drops sends a faint shiver through you. Chris exhales and tugs at the collar of his shirt again. "Is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

You quirk a brow, watching him shift in his seat. His usually composed demeanor is slightly off, his body language restless. "Do you want to go outside for some air?" you offer.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I’m fine. Just need a second." He pushes himself up from his seat. "Gonna hit the restroom."

As he walks away, something about his behavior feels… off. Your eyes narrow slightly, the way he loosened his shirt, the way he kept shifting—something clicks in your head.

Just as the realization strikes, Jane returns from her smoke break, brushing ash off her fingers. "He’s gone already?" she asks, looking at Chris’s empty seat.

You turn to her with suspicion. "Jane."

She freezes mid-motion, giving you a dramatic blink. "Yes?"

You lean in, lowering your voice. "Did you—" you gesture vaguely toward the hallway where Chris had disappeared. "Did you do something to him?"

Jane smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What? Me? I would never."

"Jane," you say more firmly, arms crossing over your chest and narrow your eyes in suspiciously at her.

She tilts her head innocently before finally cracking a grin. "Okay, fine. Maybe I slipped him a little something."

Your stomach drops. "You didn’t—"

"Relax!" she laughs. "It’s just the same aphrodisiac pill I gave you that one time! You survived, didn’t you?"

You groan, running a hand over your face. "Jane, what the hell?! That’s completely different!"

"Yeah, yeah, details," she waves you off, grinning as if this is the funniest thing in the world. "He looked so tense! I thought I’d help him loosen up a bit."

You don’t waste another second arguing with her. Instead, you push away from the table and rush toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms. If that pill is hitting Chris the same way it hit you, you need to warn him—fast.

You find Chris leaning against the wall in the hallway, his head slightly bowed as he breathes in slow, measured breaths. When he hears your footsteps approaching, he looks up, and for a second, you’re taken aback by the way his eyes seem darker, hazier than before.

"Chris," you say carefully, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don’t know," he mutters. "I feel… weird." His voice is lower, rougher than usual. His fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt again, like he can’t stand how warm he feels.

You swallow, already feeling guilty. "Chris, listen to me," you begin, watching his expression closely. "Jane gave you something."

He blinks slowly. "Something?"

"An aphrodisiac," you admit, wincing a little.

Chris processes that for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge of frustration behind it. "Well, that explains a lot." He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "I was starting to think it was just you."

Your breath catches in your throat at that, but you shake it off. "Come on," you say, stepping closer. "I’ll take you home."

To your surprise, Chris doesn’t argue. He opens his eyes, looking at you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Okay."

His easy agreement makes you pause. You expected him to insist he was fine or brush you off. But the way he’s looking at you—like he’s holding himself back, like he knows staying here will only make things worse—tells you everything you need to know.

You gently take his wrist, guiding him away from the hallway. "Let’s get you out of here," you say, keeping your voice steady.

You help Chris into the taxi, making sure he doesn’t stumble as he slides into the seat beside you. As soon as he settles, he tells the driver his address in a low, slightly slurred voice.

The moment the car starts moving, Chris lets out a heavy sigh and slumps against you, his head resting on your shoulder. You tense at the unexpected weight, but before you can say anything, he shifts even closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

"Mm," he hums, cutting you off. "You smell good." His voice is muffled, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat, and you fight the urge to push him away—not because you don’t like it, but because you do.

"You’re really out of it, huh?" you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady.

Chris doesn’t answer, just lets out a small, contented sigh as he burrows closer. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, his scent—a mix of cologne and something inherently him—making your head spin.

The driver doesn’t seem to care about the scene unfolding in his backseat, but you can feel your face heating up as Chris stays glued to your side for the entire ride. Every few moments, he shifts slightly, his nose brushing your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard and stare out the window, counting the streetlights as they pass, praying you’ll get to his place soon before you do something reckless—like lean into him instead of away.

-

When the taxi pulls up to Chris’s building, you pay the fare and help him out of the car. He stumbles slightly, and you quickly grab his arm, steadying him.

“Alright, let’s get you inside,” you say, guiding him toward the entrance.

Chris doesn’t argue, just hums in acknowledgment as you lead him through the lobby to the elevator. When the doors slide open, you help him inside, pressing the button for his floor. As soon as the doors close, Chris leans into you again, his arms lazily wrapping around your waist.

“Mmh...” he hums, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “You’re warm.”

You let out a breath, trying to ignore the way his touch sends a strange flutter through your chest. “You’re really affectionate when you’re drunk,” you comment, keeping your voice light.

He chuckles softly against your skin. “Maybe,” he admits, his grip tightening slightly. “But I like holding you.”

You suddenly turn quiet and you’re grateful when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at his floor.

Chris groans dramatically but lets you guide him out of the elevator, his arm still draped around you as you make your way to his apartment. He fumbles with his keys, and after a few tries, he finally gets the door open. You help him inside, steadying him as he kicks off his shoes.

Just as you’re about to step back and say your goodbyes, his grip tightens around your wrist, keeping you in place. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with something deeper than just intoxication.

You shake your head gently. “Chris, I'd better go—”

But he steps closer, his hands sliding to your waist, his touch warm even through your clothes. “Please, stay,” he coaxes, his voice like a slow pull, dragging you toward him. “Stay with me tonight.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with another excuse, his lips press against yours. Soft at first, like he’s waiting for you to push him away—but you don’t. You should.

You try to remind yourself that he’s been drinking, that Jane did something completely reckless, but when he deepens the kiss, his fingers splaying against the small of your back, your resolve begins to slip. You press your hands against his chest, intending to push him away—but instead, your fingers curl against the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him.

Chris hums against your lips, sensing your resistance fading. He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips move against his. And the more he kisses you, the more you realize… you don’t want to resist him at all.

The heat between you grows as he kisses you harder, his hands firm on your waist as he pulls you flush against him and before you can even process it, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you up onto the nearest surface—his dining table. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips are relentless, moving from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck. You tilt your head back, granting him more access as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his breath hot against you.

His fingers skim the hem of your blouse before slipping underneath, palms grazing your bare skin. Then, with a smooth motion, he pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. His lips return to you immediately, trailing along your shoulder, pressing heated kisses against every inch of exposed skin.

You sigh at the sensation, your hands gripping his shoulders as he buries his face against your collarbone, his breath uneven, his body pressed firm between your legs. Your hands move to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as you undo them one by one. But before you can get through them all, Chris huffs impatiently and shrugs the shirt off himself, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

The moment it’s gone, his lips crash onto yours again, urgent and hungry. His hands grip your waist as he presses himself against you, his hips rolling forward in slow, deliberate movements. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you can feel his cock, hard and insistent, the friction making your breath hitch.

He groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you steady, his movements controlled but desperate. Your hands roam over his bare chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as you gasp into his mouth.

Chris pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and ragged. "...Want you so much," he murmurs, his hips still grinding into you with slow, teasing movements, making it clear just how much he wants you.

A moment later, his grip tightens on you as he lifts you from the table with ease, his strong arms holding you close against his bare chest. His lips never stray far, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

When he reaches the bedroom, he carefully lays you down on the bed, his body following yours as he settles on top of you. His weight is comforting, his warmth seeping into your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, languid kiss.

His hands roam over your body, caressing, exploring, as his kisses become slower, more indulgent. The heat between you builds with every movement, every press of his body against yours. But just as his hands begin to wander lower, you pull away slightly, breathless.

“Chris,” you murmur, voice soft but firm.

He hums against your lips, eyes dark with need as he gazes down at you.

“The condom,” you remind him, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “It’s in my bag.”

He exhales a short, amused laugh and then drops his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You really came prepared, huh?” he teases, his voice husky.

Your bag in his hand as he returns to bed and his eyes flicker toward you as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything as he sets the bag down on the bed, fingers expertly rummaging through its contents until he pulls out the box of condoms. With a small smirk, he places it on the bedside table, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, he straightens, standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours as his hands move to the waistband of his pants. His fingers make quick work of the button and zipper before he pushes them down, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them. The last remaining piece of fabric soon follows, leaving him bare before you.

You sit up slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of him—his toned body, his firm stance, the way he watches you with dark, expectant eyes. There’s something about the way he stands there, unashamed, that makes your skin heat under his gaze.

Not wanting to be the only one still clothed, you slowly peel off the remaining fabric on your body. Your movements are unhurried, teasing almost, as you slide your underwear down your legs and toss it aside. You see the way Chris’s eyes trace every inch of newly exposed skin, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

For a moment, the two of you simply take each other in, the air between you thick with anticipation. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet hum of desire, crackling like electricity in the space between you.

Chris picks up a condom before crawling over to you, his eyes fixed on yours as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss against your lips. His warmth surrounds you almost immediately.

You take the condom from his hand, meeting his gaze as you offer, “Let me.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips, and he nods, settling himself against the headboard. He shifts, leaning back comfortably, watching as you move onto his lap, your back resting against his chest. His hands skim over your arms, tracing light patterns on your skin as you tear open the packet.

As you roll the condom down his length, your touch is slow, deliberate. You can feel the way his body reacts beneath you, the quiet intake of breath, the way his muscles tense ever so slightly. His hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin as if grounding himself.

Chris gently grabs your chin before turning your face toward him. His lips find yours again, the kiss deep, lingering. His hands glide over your body until they settle on the softness of your breasts, palming them and using his fingers to tease your already erected nipples.

In return, your hand wrapped around his cock, moving in slow, measured strokes, feeling the way Chris tenses beneath you. His breath grows heavier against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. His restraint is evident, the way he lets you take your time, but you can feel the subtle tremor in his grip, the quiet urgency simmering just beneath the surface.

Tilting your hips, you guide his cock into your entrance and once the crest is pushed inside, you ease yourself down onto him, taking him in and taking him in inches more until you can’t take it. Your breath stutters as you adjust to the feeling, your body molding against his as you rest in his lap, fully connected.

A soft gasp leaves your lips, muffled by the way he captures your mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. His hand trails up, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles. His other hand finds its way between your legs, fingers circling on your clit in a way that makes you shudder. He continues in slow, teasing movements, pressing and circling on your clit, making you instinctively arching into his touch. The sensations are overwhelming, his touch purposeful and knowing, driving you higher with every stroke.

Chris groans at the way you clench around him. "You're so sensitive," he murmurs against your ear, his voice husky with restraint.

Your hands grip onto his forearm, searching for something to ground yourself, but the pleasure only intensifies. You squirm in his lap, your movements making him hiss as he digs his fingers into your skin, holding you still.

"You're making this hard for me," he breathes out with a strained chuckle, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. "You feel too good."

His groans grow louder as he feels the way you pulse and tighten around him, your body reacting so intensely to his touch. His fingers continue their delightful assault, drawing out every shudder, every whimper, until the pleasure overwhelms you completely.

A breathless cry escapes your lips as the tension snaps, your body trembling against his hand. Chris holds you close, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your neck, as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

The way you squeeze around him has him teetering on the edge, his breathing ragged, his grip tightening on your waist. “Shit,” he mutters, his voice strained. His hands grasp at you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin, sucking and biting lightly, lost in the sensation as his own climax rushes through him. A deep, low groan rumbles against your throat as he finally lets go, his body shuddering with release.

You turn your head slightly, finding his lips with yours and kissing him deeply. He hums against your mouth, his hands still roaming your body, his touch warm and firm. Your bodies remain tangled in the sheets, heat still lingering between you as your lips move together in slow, lazy kisses. Chris runs his fingers along your bare skin, tracing patterns as if memorizing every inch of you. His kisses deepen, his tongue teasing against yours, and you sigh into his mouth, already feeling the slow burn reigniting between you.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze heavy-lidded and full of something almost reverent as he reaches for a new condom. Sitting up against the headboard, he rolls it on with practiced ease before shifting back between your legs, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down to kiss you again.

This time, he takes his time, positioning himself carefully. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he pushes his cock into you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. His breath catches, a low groan escaping him as he fills you, enjoying the way your body welcomes him.

"Always perfect for me," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours as he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to the sensation. His hands find yours, fingers lacing together as he begins to move, each thrust measured, purposeful, as if he wants to make this last as long as possible.

Chris intently watches every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands hold you firmly but gently, grounding you as he sinks deeper into your warmth, pausing when he feels resistance. His breath is heavy, voice low and husky as he murmurs, "Is it okay if I go deeper?"

You nod, your fingers tightening against his shoulders in silent encouragement. "I can take it," you assure him, your voice breathless.

He exhales shakily, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" Then, with measured control, he pushes his swollen cock another inch into you, groaning at the way your body tightens around him.

"You feel too good," he rasps, his grip on you firm yet careful, his entire body tensed with restraint.

A shuddering moan escapes you as your back arches slightly. The stretch is intense, but the pleasure rolling through you drowns out everything else. "A little more," you whisper.

Chris hesitates, his dark eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?"

You nod, biting your lip, and he swallows hard before easing the rest of himself inside you, slow and deliberate, until there’s nothing left between you. He exhales sharply, looking down where his big cock is fully disappeared in your little cunt, the sight alone making him groan. "It’s all in now," he murmurs, his voice full of awe. His hands stroke your sides soothingly, his lips brushing over your cheek. "You took me so well."

The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body against yours, the deep pressure—it all builds too fast, too intensely. A wave of pleasure crashes over you before you can even brace yourself, pulling a cry from your lips as your body tightens and trembles around him. It’s too much, too consuming, and the last thing you hear is Chris’s voice calling your name before everything fades into darkness.

-

✨ The fourth & final chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page ✨

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[writing-munchies]

Self Aware & Obsessive AU x GN!Reader— Date Everything (Dorian, Curt&Rod, Daisuke, Doug, Mateo, Amir, Johnny, Hector, Eddie&Volt, Mac, Daemon, Tony)

A/N: This idea from @devilmaymetalgear really hooked me in, and I wanted to write a quick little something! I see your requests, and I'm planning to combine them for general NSFW HC's so they should be out quicker! There are suggestive themes sprinkled in. Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:-]

WC: 1K

You’re doing your 4th re-run of the game, it’s late, and you’re not really paying attention to whatever options you’re clicking as you pull up front Dorian for a chat. You accidentally press the dialogue option that lets you leave the house and your heart drops, you’ve made so much progress, and now it’s all going down the drain— but you blink, you wait, nothing happens. Dorian is just frozen there, with an expression you’ve never noticed on his sprites before, the dialogue box is empty and there are no choices. After a few minutes, he sighs—the dialogue frame is still empty— and then you’re forcefully exited out of the interaction. That was strange but, probably just a bug! The game just came out after all, plus it saved your ass big time, so you just saved your game and went to bed.

Most of the time life and work get in the way of your hobbies, and sometimes you’re forced to work overtime for 2 days and not play a single minute of your new favorite dating game. Finally, the weekend arrives, and you boot up the game, the ‘trivia’ that you expect to read every time now only says, “They’ve missed you.” That’s…weird, probably a new welcome back thing the devs implemented to make you want to play more. You finally get into the game and the second you put your dateviators on, Curt & Rod, Betty, and Dorian pop up at the same time. Each of their dialogue boxes empty, and they’re all speaking over each other before the game just crashes.

Odd, you re-start and everything is fine. You go downstairs and aim your glasses at scandalebra, but somehow, Daisuke is the one that pops up on your screen. He does his usual greeting, you’ve already finished his route though, so this glitch cost you a chance. You sigh and skip through before the game stops registering your clicks and Daisuke seems to be staring right at you. Is the DLC doing this? As you’re just waiting, Daisuke finally speaks, “My love, why do you wish to waste time with the likes of him?” he sighed, “I’m right here, all yours, and you haven’t even looked at me for weeks. Are you… bored with me?”, there aren’t any choices you can select.

One time you aim your glasses at Johnny and Amir is there instead. He’s got this… look on his face, he’s blushing, and he just can’t seem to form any words. But trying to click through his empty dialogue does nothing, so you just wait. Before he could even speak, though, your game completely freezes and in seconds you’re somehow in the breaker room? Eddie & Volt greet you like nothing’s wrong, “Live wire! Ah, we’ve missed you, where have you been?” Volt said in this, eerily cheery tone of voice you’ve never heard from him, then Eddie started talking, “not good to ignore your boyfriends for too long, we could start getting jealous, y’know?”

You’re so close to finishing Abel’s story quest, and when you go over to him, you find out that one of his legs has come loose out of nowhere. Tony won’t come and fix it, no matter how many times you call for him. You go over to Tony, much to Abel’s dismay, he looks way more cheerful than you’re used to, “Ah, and to think I thought you’d forgotten about little ol’ Tony for that fucking table. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you, want to show me how sorry you are for ignoring me now that you’re here?”

You’re talking out loud to yourself about how this time you’re going to finally romance Keith and when those words leave your mouth your bedroom and bathroom door close themselves shut. You click and click, but Dorian just won’t open. You aim your glasses at him, the only thing he says is, “Sorry, luv, don’t feel like sharin’ you today,”

When you aim your glasses at your fridge, you expect Freddy and somehow the character standing in front of you is… Doug? “Look, I know I’m just a concept made form, but even I need some action time to time from my lover. Get your ass here and stop talking to that hairy fridge. I missed your dumbass.”

You’re talking to Curt & Rod, and you’re pretty sure they aren’t supposed to say, “Look, we know you’re popular,” Curt says, then Rod continues, “and we totally get why… I mean, look at you baby!”, Curt then chimes in, “but y’know, we do want you for ourselves the most. Why don’t you, ignore them for a while and come cuddle up with us? It’s been a while, lover.”

You talk to Mac once first thing in the day, and now the rest of your charges are gone! You try aiming your glasses at them again just to see, and it actually works, “I can get a little possessive, but you do understand, don't you?”

You do not remember about a literal sex scene where Hector and the player (you) are experimenting with temperature play as he’s breathlessly moaning your name when your character shivers, “Ah my love, seeing you so vulnerable all for me while they are watching makes my heart so full that it could burst.”

Somehow, every day a new inanimal goes missing, and you have to spend hours with Mateo to find them, somehow he doesn’t mind this at all, somehow the inanimals look chirpier than ever when you click on them.

You don’t even remember there being a shower feature, let alone how your character got into it, but the way Johnny is looking at you and the way he’s talking about your body like it’s the really expensive looking piece of cake in a bakery window tells you he’s loving this. “You look… amazin’, downright ethereal, am I allowed to… get a feel for myself, gorgeous?”

Somehow every time you try to talk with Diana, your diary, Daemon shows up. They say nothing, just look at you with a blank face, until one time you got so over it that you closed and opened the game again. Once again, aiming your glasses to Diana, yet Daemon shows up. They laugh at you, “Ah, opposite of hate, is it that hard to see you belong only to me? Since now, they know what they are too, I’ll stop being ‘special’, will you still talk to me then?”

[musingsofheaven]

Omg I’d die if you wrote something on Joel miller x younger bratty reader who he think sis a bad influence on Ellie!! Then they end up fucking really rough and angry but it’s so filthy and delicious?!?! Maybe he’s choking her to keep her quiet but she also wants to ride him and not give in!!! Like I love the switch up

RAISED WRONG.

summary: You’re younger, loud-mouthed, and definitely a bad influence on Ellie. Joel knows it. Won’t stop showing off, getting under his skin, acting like you’ve got nothing to lose. Then he drags you into the dark and finally does what he’s been dying to shuts you up with his hands and fucks you until you so deep.

pairings: joel miller x afab bratty!reader

warnings: 9k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. age gap. rough sex. choking kink. manhandling. degradation kink. oral fixation. tit play / nipple play. breeding kink. smoking. read & consume responsibly.

note: first time writing joel hehe… i stayed up all night like a little vamp <3 like actually 2am to 8am. i don’t know what happened but it felt important. i’m really sleepy now and kind of stupid about it and now i’m so tired i could cry 🧍‍♀️ reblog or like if u did !! follow + send an ask if u want more (but i write so slow bc i have 1 braincell and it’s scared of me sorryyy) ok love u byeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 🫀 (As of 11 am on my time i noticed the fic was cut (the first half) so i edited it again and pasted it… i am sorry!)

They see you before you see them.

You’re half-crouched in a blown-out gas station, dragging one boot behind you as you sift through a collapsed aisle, rifling through broken shelves like you’re expecting a candy bar to fall into your hand. You’re just looking for something edible. Or shiny. Or stupid enough to add to your collection.

You don’t even clock the footsteps at first-maybe you do, but you’ve gotten good at ignoring shit. A click, a shuffle, the low weight of suspicion pressing into your spine. You only look up when a voice barks behind you, rough and already tired: “Turn around. Real slow.”

You sigh like someone just asked you to do something boring. Then you roll your eyes, glance back just enough for the smirk to rise.

“You lost or somethin’?”

The man doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say anything either. Salt-and-pepper beard, jaw locked tight like he’s halfway to shooting. The kid next to him squints at you.

“She doesn’t look infected,” the girl says.

You raise your brows at that, scoffing as you turn, hands half-raised.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Where’s your group?” the man asks, voice sharp.

“Not here,” you reply, flat.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh again, this time more annoyed. “I came from that way,” you say, nodding vaguely over your shoulder. “It’s gone now. Fireflies, Fedra, raiders-take your fuckin’ pick.”

The woman beside him stiffens. “You see who did it?”

You snort. “Do I look like I stuck around to get names?”

The girl tugs on his arm. “Let her come. If she turns, I’ll stab her first.”

You laugh-sharp, surprised. “You’re fun.” She’s easy. You clock that immediately. Could probably talk her into anything.

“I’m right here,” the man mutters like it’s personal.

You take a slow step forward. He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw ticks hard.

“I’m not sick.” You lift your shirt just enough to show skin-clean, unbitten. “You can check. Or shoot me. Your call, old man.”

He glares.

The girl grins. “She could be useful.”

“She’s gonna be a pain in my ass.”

“Same thing,” you say, already walking like it’s settled.

You fall into step somewhere in the middle-not in front, not behind. Just out of reach. Feels like they’re circling you, but what can you do?

You walk for hours before the man-Joel, you overheard-finally says what’s clearly been stuck in his throat:

“You were with them?”

You glance sideways. “With whom?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You smirk. “I’m not playing.”

He chews on the silence. Doesn’t push. Not yet.

Ellie-she never stops talking. She keeps throwing you glances, like she’s still figuring out what kind of weird you are. At one point, she asks if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel like the one you just passed.

“Does sleeping under one count?” you ask. “With a hole in the roof?”

She snorts. “You’re weird.”

“You’re loud.”

Joel clears his throat behind you. You grin.

That night, you crash in a half-flooded warehouse. Tess posts up by the doors. Joel plants himself between you and Ellie, arms crossed like a bouncer who never clocks out.

“You don’t trust me,” you say eventually.

“I don’t know you.”

Fair enough. You don’t trust him either. That’s just how it is out here-everyone’s a threat until they’re not.

“You could ask better questions.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You ever kill a man?”

You smile in the dark. “That’s the first thing you wanna know?”

Silence.

You shift slightly, one arm folded behind your head. “Do you think anyone out here hasn’t?”

Another pause. The air gets heavier.

“I didn’t shoot first,” you add. “Not the first time.”

He doesn’t respond. You can feel his eyes though-tracking, imagining, dissecting. The kind of man who chews on suspicion like it feeds him.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asks, finally.

“Boyfriend,” you lie.

“Dead now?”

You grin up at the ceiling. “Aren’t they all?”

He doesn’t say anything else. And you fall asleep with that little echo in your head-you want people to think you’re dangerous. Not a warning. A memory.

The days start blurring after that. Joel watches you like you’re a bomb no one bothered to defuse. Like you might sprout claws or snap someone’s neck just to prove a point. Ellie’s warmer-she shares a busted pack of crackers with you that Joel clearly gave her, even if she pretends it was her idea. You blow a gum bubble in her face and she nearly chokes laughing. Joel glares.

You sneak into a warehouse on a dare and come back with rusted junk and a chain of dog tags you tuck into your shirt like they matter. Ellie finds fuckass nail polish in a med kit and paints your nails at camp. Joel mutters something under his breath about softness and being a bad influence.

“You’re just pissed ‘cause you forgot how to have fun.”

He storms off. You don’t know if it hit a nerve. You hope it did.

The next day, you teach Ellie how to flip her knife. How to spot tripwires. How to curse in a language she doesn’t know. She says it to Joel and he looks like he aged ten years in one second.

That night, you sneak her a cigarette. Okay. Maybe that one’s on you. She gags, calls it gross, then takes another drag just to prove she’s cool. You tell her she’s not. She flips you off.

Then Joel comes stomping back from patrol-and freezes the second he sees smoke curling from her lips. “You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Ellie drops the cigarette like it’s radioactive.

You don’t even blink. Blow the last of the smoke toward the trees. “It was one drag.”

“She’s a teen.”

“And? You think the apocalypse waits for birthdays?”

He steps toward you, slow and sharp. Each step feels like a warning.

“You’re a bad fuckin’ influence.”

You smile. All teeth. Like you’re proud of it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re around to balance me out.”

He finds you ten minutes later, footsteps heavy, pissed off. Doesn’t say a word at first-just stares at you, jaw tight, like he still hasn’t decided whether to drag you back inside or leave you there to rot.

“Y’know,” he mutters finally, voice low like gravel, “you act like you wanna get left.”

You don’t look at him. Just tap the ash off your cigarette and watch it drift. “And you act like you still wear a badge.”

He scoffs. Doesn’t move. Just leans against the opposite wall with that arms-crossed stance like he’s about to book you for resisting arrest.

“You keep pushin’ her like that, she’s gonna get cocky. Gonna get hurt.”

“She’s smart,” you snap back, too fast, too sharp. “She’s not gonna break just ‘cause I taught her how to hold a knife.”

“She’s a kid.”

“She’s surviving.”

He glares. “You think you’re funny.”

You drag slowly. Blow smoke right past him into the dark. “No,” you say. “I think you’re scared.”

That shuts him up.

For a second, it’s just the buzz of bugs and the soft hiss of your cigarette burning down. You catch it, though-the way his jaw ticks. Like you hit something that shouldn’t be touched. Like fear’s the only thing he hasn’t figured out how to bury.

“Finish your smoke,” he says finally. “You’re takin’ second watch.”

Then he turns and disappears through the window again like you’re not worth the rest of the argument.

You wait until the cherry burns too close to your fingers. Let it sear, just a little. Something to bite down on.

When you crawl back inside, Ellie’s curled up against Tess, dead asleep. Joel’s posted by the door, arms folded, head tilted like maybe he’s dozing. He’s not.

You sit by the window. Pretend to keep watch. Try not to count the seconds.

Then you get bored.

His bag’s right there, half-zipped, practically asking for it. Sloppy.

You inch closer. Quiet as a shadow. Fingers ghost over the zipper, slow and deliberate. You feel it first-canvas, frayed at the edges. A roll of gauze. A folded-up map. Then something else. Thin. Glossy. Familiar weight. A photo. You start to pull.

And then, too fast, his hand clamps around your wrist like a trap snapping shut.

Your breath catches. Not from the pain, but from the heat of him suddenly there-his body close, his voice like a cut.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You don’t answer. Don’t move.

“Get up.”

Still frozen.

“Now.”

He doesn’t yank you or shout. He doesn’t have to. He knows he can't-not when people are sleeping and he doesn’t want to waste any energy on it. He just moves you, dragging you by the arm through the far doorway into the next room-what used to be an office, maybe, or a supply closet. But it looks fucked up now. The door creaks closed behind you. He presses you back against it, not rough, but firm. Angry. His jaw locked so tight it looks like it hurts. “You goin’ through my shit now?” he mutters. “You that fuckin’ stupid?”

Your lips part, words half-formed, but he leans in close before you can say a thing. It's making you feel claustrophobic, a little, because he's so close you can smell the smoke still clinging to your shirt, the sweat on his collar.

“You don’t touch my things,” he started. “You don’t go near that bag. You don’t-fuckin’... poke around like you're some kind of thief or a fucking spy.”

You stare up at him, eyes sharp despite the dark. You almost melt by his voice but you're more stubborn than him so you reason out. “You were asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He’s still holding your wrist. His thumb presses into the bone just enough to remind you who’s stronger. Like he's trying to make a fucking point.

Too bad you're younger and more smug and have that false confidence in you. You smile, breathless. “Little jumpy for someone with nothing to hide.”

He lets go of you like it burns. Then steps back. Runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like he’s biting back every word he wants to scream. Like he wants to throw shit. When he turns back, the look in his eyes is wildfire barely leashed.

“You try that shit again,” he mutters, voice low and trembling with restraint, “and I swear to god, I’ll leave you behind.”

You just look at him. Head tilted to the side. That same bored, half-lidded stare that’s been pissing him off since the day he met you. And it’s not that you don’t take it seriously. It’s that he can’t tell if you do or not. If you’re bluffing. If you’re always bluffing. You don’t respond like he’s the one wasting time.

Joel steps closer. His boots scrape against broken tile and dirt and something in him snaps. Not loudly-nothing about this is loud. He looks at you in the eye. It’s something small, tight, and final. He's like trying to see something through it. A pressure point breaking. “You’re like a fuckin’ splinter,” he says, slow and seething. “Can’t pull you out. Can’t ignore you. Just-there. Every goddamn second. Buried so deep it’s driving me insane.”

You raise your brows, you hum like you acknowledge it but fear not, you are mocking the shit out of him. Still no smile, not this time. “So yank me out, old man. Or stop whining.”

Swear to god, he almost did something just because of that filthy mouth of yours. There’s something wild in his eyes now, something unspoken and filthy and so close to the edge it hums in the silence. One wrong move and he’s either going to drag you outside and leave you in the dirt or maybe finally pull the trigger.

But he slams his hand against the wall beside your head instead. Just once. Flat-palmed. Not like he's planning to punch it or you. Looks like he's trying to ground himself. It makes the drywall crack and rain dust down your shoulder, but you don’t flinch.

His face is close. His voice is rougher now, lower, cracked and hushed but absolutely fucking furious. “You think you’re tough. Think you’re smart. You don’t even know what you’re playing at.”

You lean in just slightly. Mouth near his ear. You almost want to lick it up just to push him more but you didn't, instead you say, “You’re the one playing.”

His hand closes around your throat. Not hard. Not fully. Not in the way he's going to kill you. Just there-pressing. Cautionary. Not enough to choke, but enough to warn. And fuck if your breath doesn’t hitch anyway. Not out of fear. Something hotter. Lower. He sees it. Feels it. That pulse kicking under his palm.

And you-so smug, so sick in the head, so you-you grin. Just a little. Like a fucking sick fuck. Like you are enjoying it. Just to piss him off more. Or maybe you really like it. Maybe.

Joel swears under his breath. It’s not anger anymore-it’s wrecked. Like he knows better but he’s already lost. “You wanna push me?” he asks. “Wanna see how far?”

You nod once. Calculated but teasing him. “Been trying. Is it working?”

His grip tightens. Your head hits the wall behind you-lightly, but it jolts. You smile again like you are just rage baiting him because you know he will it up. And then his mouth is right there, hovering, like he could bite or kiss or breathe fire. You don’t move. You don’t blink.

And then-nothing. He yanks his hand away. It almost makes you protest and whine. He turns. Paces once, twice, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. His back’s to you now, like he can’t even look at you without-“Get some rest,” he says through his teeth. “Before I do something fucking stupid.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare at the tight set of his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw, the way his fists flex like he’s picturing your throat in his palms. And then softly, you mutter, “You already do.”

That lands. His head tilts-not enough to look at you, just enough to make you feel it. The crack in his control. The split is right down the middle. But he's curious what you’re going to say.

“Taking me with you? Stupid,” you go on, voice lazy, thick with sleep and smoke. “Letting me stay? Again, stupid. Letting me close? Real fuckin’ stupid.” You take a step forward, slow as anything. “But you haven’t stopped me, have you? Haven’t thrown me out. Haven’t told me to go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Almost like you want me here,” you say, mouth twitching. You lick your lips and chuckle.

That’s when he turns. And it’s slow, heavy, deliberate. Like every inch of movement is a loaded threat. His eyes meet yours, hot and blazing. He doesn’t look tired anymore-he looks starving. “I should knock your teeth in,” he says.

You grin. “You’d miss ‘em.”

His hand fists your collar and yanks you forward so hard your back slams the wall, breath catching in your throat. You feel it made you out of character for a second. His thigh wedges between yours, keeping you pinned like he wants to hurt you with it. “Say another word,” he growls, “and I’ll make you swallow it.”

You exhale like a moan, all wide-eyed and wicked. Like the little brat you are, you say, “Please.”

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and clumsy and furious. You kiss him back like you’re trying to win. Hopefully him, but you already know that you already won him. He groans. You drag your nails down his side. You made sure your nails go dug and make him feel those little moon shapes. He hisses and bites your lip. He palms the back of your neck, presses his forehead to yours like he wants to drive you through the wall. You rock your hips against him, just enough to test the waters and he grabs your jaw so hard it aches.

“Keep quiet,” he mutters. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

You giggle. “Try me.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t move for a second, either. Just there and holding you. Just stares at you like he’s trying to see past your skin, past the grin curling your mouth, past every smartass thing you’ve said since the moment he met you. And then he does something worse than yelling. Something quieter.

He presses more, but it’s all weight and intention, jaw set tight, hands flexing like he’s deciding whether to grab you or walk away again. His hands are back on your throat before you can blink. Not tight, just like a moment ago. Not yet. Just resting there, rough palm to your pulse point, like he's about to tweak. “Still feel like giggling?” he says low, thumb brushing your jaw.

You grin wider. Because, of course, you do. You just have to keep running your mouth. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You gonna do something about it, or just keep standing there like you’re scared of me?”

He exhales through his nose. Frustrated. Starving. Like he hates that you’re getting to him again. Like he's been trying to control himself since the moment he saw you. Then his grip tightens- just enough to shut you up like he promised, just enough to feel the way your breath skips under his fingers.

His other hand catches your hip, walks you back from the wall close to the door till your ass hits the edge of the half-collapsed table behind you. It creaks under your weight, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re both quiet now. Breathing hard. Heat knotting thick between your bodies like it’s been waiting. Like it's boiling and ready to put in a coffee.

“You always this much of a pain in the ass?” he growls. His hand drops from your throat only to catch the flannel tied loose around your waist, yanking it like it personally offended him. Like he hates this little flannel always covering your waist or arms, depending on your mood. “What is this, huh?” he mutters, twisting the fabric in his fist like it’s just another excuse to keep you close. “Somethin’ to hide behind? Or you just like dressing like trouble?”

You smirk, lips swollen, eyes heavy. “Maybe I just like being grabbed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts coming out of him. And then he pulls- hard enough to undo the knot and let the shirt fall open. He stared for a moment to see your body. The shape. His hands remain skimming your hips where your shorts ride up high, rough fingers brushing the waistband like he’s debating how far he’s willing to go. Spoiler: too far. Way too fucking far.

“You don’t listen,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he’s trying to justify the way his mouth finds your neck again, his hand already sliding low. Jesus, you can see the way he tried to control himself. To don't do shit, but you just keep pushing him.

You gasp, grip curling in the fabric of his shirt as your back hits the table harder this time. “You want me to stop?” you whisper, teeth grazing his ear, giving it a peck.

He chuckles darkly, low and bitter and close. Before his hand slips beneath your shirt slowly, unforgiving. Rough palm skimming over your ribs like he’s checking for something- damage, weakness, regret- but all he finds is heat.

You arch into it, just a little, just enough to be obvious, and the growl he lets out sounds like it got dragged out of his chest by force. So you tilt your head, mouth brushing his jaw. “What’s the matter?” you murmur, syrup-sweet and smug. “Been a long time, old man?” You almost laugh when you say that because you feel like it's accurate.

His hand freezes. Just for a second. Then he laughs- cold and low and not nice at all. “You got a death wish,” he says, dragging his fingers higher, over your bare stomach, up under your bra. Just staying there for a moment to see your reaction. “Or you think this is how you stay useful.”

You hum. “Is it working?”

He answers by biting the side of your neck. Hard. Just shy of bruising. He doesn't even care if it will mark. If people will see. If it will have an implication or a blunt message.

Your jacket’s still on, bunched around your shoulders, half-pinned beneath you. His other hand shoves it up roughly, exposing the top that’s clinging damp to your skin. You see him staring, especially at your chest, and smirking.

You make a soft, teasing noise- half moan, half mockery. “You gonna say thank you after?” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric which made you hold your breath. “Or you just gonna grunt and roll off?” But he doesn’t answer. He just pushes your thighs apart like he’s done talking. You laugh, breathless. “No, please? No foreplay?”

His hands grip your hips like he’s about to rip you down the middle. “You want me to beg?” As if he's seriously going to consider it, going to beg for you.

You open your mouth- don’t even get the smartass comeback out before he lifts you. Hands under your thighs, dragging you up from the table. You gasp, startled. Arms clinging to his shoulders, legs locking around his waist on instinct. Like it's on the default settings.

And then he drops- not hard, not rough, just fast. He carries you down to the floor like he’s wrestled with the idea for too long and finally gave in. Like you weigh nothing. Like he doesn’t give a shit who hears anymore. Like he doesn't even give a shit if this will bring you to death. But he just settles between your legs, knees pressed into cold tile, your body open for him and still so fucking clothed.

Your jacket’s still on. Shirt too. So he shoves it up- not gently. Rucks the fabric under your arms, hand dragging up your stomach before he slips his fingers under the bra and pops it loose. You both know you can't not really hot naked in this fucked up building. The cups of your bra fall forward. Your nipples catch the cold air, already reacting and sensitive.

He groans. Low. Gutted. Like he’s actually mad it looks that good. Like it's the best feature on you. Like he's so fucking turned on. (He is, you can feel his hard on through his pants because he's so close to you.) Then his mouth is on you- hot and punishing. He sucks hard, open-mouthed and desperate, tongue dragging over one nipple, tongue swirling to it while his thumb teases the other. His stubble burns. You arch into it, gasping, and that only makes him rougher.

His hand moves to your shorts. Not yanked- unfastened. Careful, but still not slow. He undoes the button, lowers the zipper slowly like he wants to hear every inch of it give. Then he grabs both the denim and your panties and pulls, drags them in one go, halfway down your thighs with one bruising tug that knocks the breath out of you.

You feel the air hit between your legs. Feel him pause. He pulls back just long enough to look. Still can't get off from the way your chest look, eyes locked to yours- like he wants to see the second you realize how fucked you are. Then his hand is on his belt. Unbuckling fast. Jeans shoved down just enough to free himself, nothing more. Just his cock standing tall and proud.

He doesn’t even take them off. He just gets his hand under your thigh again, pushes your knee up, and presses into you. Guiding himself where he wants it. It's slow, thick, and unrelenting when he's testing it outside of your hole. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t speak. Just shoves in one sharp, angry thrust that knocks the wind out of you when he finds the right moment to do so.

Your back arches clean off the floor. Almost freezes when you take him whole. Your body is adjusting to him. Your jacket twisted beneath you, thighs spread wide under the weight of him. You cry out before you can stop it, your hand flying up to grab at his shirt, and your hand holds it tightly.

He can't really blame you for reacting that way. He knows people aren't really active in doing this kind of activity considering what's happening around the world. He can even feel it. You're tight. God. “Shh,” he growls, already driving into you again, harder this time. “You wanna wake ‘em up?”

You bite your lip. Shakes your head. Try not to scream. He’s not giving you time, not giving you anything but the full, merciless length of him, over and over like he wants it to hurt. And it does. You feel it everywhere. Your spine, your ribs, and your jaw are from clenching so hard. “F-fuck,” you gasp. “This you bein’ careful? D-damn you.”

He slams deeper. Doesn’t answer. Making you feel more of him.

Your nails scrape down his stomach- just under his shirt, not gently- and he snaps. You just need to feel him. One hand flies to your throat, not choking hard, just enough to still you. Just enough to own you. “You keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters, “I’ll shut it for you.”

You giggle- wrecked and breathless, because even now you want to push him. You don't even know why it made you giggle, maybe it's the fact that he's hot? God. Maybe because you're just sick and enjoying it.

So he does squeeze a little harder. Makes your head spin just enough. Keeps fucking you through it, rough and fast and filthy like he’s mad he likes it this much. Like every thrust is another reason he should’ve left you behind. And god, you love it. You’re still half-dressed, your bra pushed up, shirt bunched at your collarbones, jacket riding your arms. You look like a fucking slut at this moment, the kind the looking for a quick fuck. While he got his jeans shoved down just enough and he doesn’t care about the rest- just fists the fabric of your shirt and keeps going, fucking you into the cold floor like it owes him something.

“You- fuck- you’re not gonna last,” you rasp, choking on your own grin. “Been too long for you, huh?” You tease him. You know that it's been too long. For you too. That's why it's making things better. You're tighter. He's eager. What a good combo. Surely it will be more enjoyable for him.

He growls- low in his chest, animal and mean- and suddenly his mouth is on you again, teeth dragging along the underside of your breast like it pisses him off how good you taste. He doesn’t ease up either- still thrusting, still punishing, grinding into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever get and he wants it etched into your bones.

His tongue flicks over your nipple, wet and hot, then he sucks hard- mouth working like he’s angry about it. Like he's getting something that's not there. Like he wants to ruin the way it makes you gasp. One hand braces beside your head again, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back into every brutal thrust. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me goddamn insane.”

You laugh, breath hitching when he bites- hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth. “Yeah? Then shoot me, old man.”

He lifts his head, stares down at you, jaw clenched and eyes wild. The sweat on his brow is starting to drip. You’re both half-undressed, panting like animals, his hand tightening on your hip hard enough to bruise. “You think I won’t?” he grits out. “You make me wanna do all kinds of stupid shit.” Then he fucks into you even rougher. Like punishment. Like proof.

You moan- loud this time- and he slaps his palm over your mouth without thinking, silencing you with a glare. “Keep quiet,” he said. But you’re smiling under it. Smiling like you won. And he knows it. So he keeps going. Fucks you through the smile. Through the hand over your mouth. Through the anger in both your bodies like it’s all either of you has left.

Your teeth sink into his palm- hard. Not enough to break skin, but close. He jerks like he’s been shot, hips stuttering just enough to loosen his grip. You take your chance. Wrists snap up. Knees shift. And then with a grunt and a twist of your hips, you push him off, flipping him onto his back so fast it knocks the breath out of both of you. You have the strength to do it after all those survival skills you have.

He grunts as his spine hits the cracked floorboards, hands already catching your hips out of instinct- just as his cock slips free, thick and wet and twitching between you. “Jesus Christ,” he snarls, already half-rising like he’s gonna pin you again.

But you’re faster. You straddle him before he can do shit, jacket still on, tits out, sweat slick between your ribs. You drop your weight down just enough to let your slick cunt press against his length- not taking him in, not yet. Just grinding your slit to him slow, lazy, torturous, your ruined shorts halfway down your thighs. “Aw, what’s wrong?” you murmur, mocking sweetness. “Thought you said I was gonna make you do something stupid.”

He grabs your waist like he’s going to break it. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t buck up. Just breathes- harsh and heavy, nostrils flaring, eyes locked on yours like he’s never hated anyone more in his life. Or wanted them this much. “You like bein’ a brat, huh?” he growls.

You rock your hips once. Just enough to drag your slick over his tip. Enough to feel him twitching. A whimper escapes him before he can swallow it. “Not a brat,” you whisper, grinning now. “Just figured you needed help finishing the job, old man.”

That does it. In one breathless move, he raises your hips before lining himself to you and he yanks you down, sheathing himself deep again- all the way, no warning, no grace. You gasp, head thrown back, spine bowing as he fills you. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, hands bruising on your hips. “And ride me.”

You brace your hands on his chest- hot and hard and heaving- and start moving. Slow. Torturous. Rolling your hips like it’s a fucking lap dance, like you’re not even really doing it for him. Just chasing your orgasm, dragging your wet cunt along his cock until he’s twitching inside you again, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

He doesn’t speak. Not at first. Just watches you with that blown-out, murderous glare like he wants to kill you for making it feel this good. And that’s when you really start to talk. “Y’know,” you murmur, voice syrup-sweet, “I think you were full of shit. Back there. When you said you’d leave me behind.”

His hands tighten. Fingers digging into the soft of your waist like he’s warning you. But you just ride slower, deeper, grinding your clit against the base of him until your lashes flutter. He's so deep, you might think he's kissing your inside with his tip.

“I think you like the trouble,” you whisper, grinning now. “You like the mouth. The attitude. The fact I don’t listen.” You lean in, press your palms to the floor beside his head, and fuck down just right- his head thumps the wall behind him.

“I think you wake up pissed every morning ‘cause I’m still around. But you don’t send me away.” Your breath ghosts over his cheek. “You let me talk to her. You let me sit at your fire. You watch me all the fucking time.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just pants, breath flaring hot against your throat as his hands start to move again- one trailing up your side, the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you,” you laugh, breath catching as you rock your hips a little faster. “Face it, Joel. You’re gone. You’re fucking- ”

His hand clamps over your mouth again. Not rough this time. Just firm. Possessive. His other hand snakes into your hair, pulling your head back so you have to look him in the eyes. “Don’t say another word,” he growls. “Or I swear- ”

Your teeth graze his palm again. Not biting this time- just testing. You're licking it like you're making out with him while you're grinding and looking at his eyes.

He shudders. Then thrusts up into you hard enough to split you open again, growling through his teeth like he hates you for every word you’ve ever said.

Your tongue darts out, slow, shameless, as you lick a stripe across the center of his palm.

His whole body jerks. So you do it again. Sloppier this time, your eyes locked on his like you know exactly what you’re doing. You press few pecks before licking again. Like you want to see how much filth he can take before it breaks him. You drag your tongue up to the base of his fingers, then you move your hand from his palm and close your lips around two of them and suck. Like you're showing him how you'll suck him off. You licks the tip of his fingers before circling your tongue on it.

He groans- low and guttural, almost like pain- and drives up into you harder, faster, both hands flying to your hips now like he’s done letting you have any control at all.

“Jesus- fuckin’- Christ,” he grits, his thrusts turning brutal. “You’re- fuckin’- insane.”

You laugh, or try to, but it gets knocked right out of you with the next thrust. He’s fucking you now like it’s punishment, like it’s the only way to shut you up, to get even for every time you ran your mouth or disobeyed or looked him in the eye like he wasn’t the one holding the goddamn gun.

“Can’t stand you,” he snarls, but it’s hoarse, ruined. His eyes flick to your tits bouncing with every snap of his hips, to your mouth slick with spit and spitfire, to the soft bite-marks he left on your throat. “Goddamn- you feel like this?”

You moan into his shoulder, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt, barely able to breathe with the way he’s slamming up into you now, fucking through the grind of your hips until all you can do is take it. And you do. You take it like a fucking champ.

He palms your ass, pulls you down as he thrusts up, deeper than before, cruel and so fucking good it aches. “You think you can mouth off like that and still get away with it?” he growls into your neck. “Still ride me like you own it?”

Your voice is a whimper now, breaking under the rhythm. “M-maybe.” You whimpers and blush like his words make you feel shy.

“Yeah?” he spits, grabbing your throat- not choking, just holding. Just enough to make your eyes widen. “Then let’s see how long you last.” His hips don’t stop- not even for a second. He keeps fucking up into you from below, relentless, brutal, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out. Maybe you like it. Maybe you feel something you shouldn't. Belonging. Claim. Butterflies. But his hand- his other hand- slides between your bodies, palm dragging up your belly until it finds your chest.

You gasp.

He grins. Mean. Doesn’t break pace. Just squeezes- rough, greedy- thumb swiping over your nipple like he wants to feel how raw it gets. You’re still in your shirt, still in your bra, both shoved up and out of the way, and he palms your tit like it’s something he earned. Like he’s entitled to it now. “Fuckin’ knew you’d feel good,” he mutters, voice dark and ragged. “Knew you’d break like this.”

You shudder, hips twitching from the overstimulation, but he grabs you- keeps you flush against his chest, keeps you there. He rolls your nipple between his fingers just as he thrusts up again, and the sound you make is more than a moan- it’s wrecked, wrecking, the kind of noise that feels dangerous to let slip. He likes that.

You can feel it in the way his mouth drags hot and heavy over your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin like he might bite again if you don’t behave. But he doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t stop fucking into you, chest to chest like he wants to melt you down into him. You feel it first in his hands- tightening on your hips like he’s about to do something reckless. And he does.

He stops. Just for a second. Just long enough to let you feel it- his cock twitching inside you, your muscles clenching down in anticipation. He lets you sit there, suspended in heat and want, then thrusts up once- deep and sharp. Another, harder. And one more, just to watch your mouth fall open, your body jolt helplessly against him. “You think you’re in charge?” he breathes, smirking now. “Cute.”

And then he moves. Fast, brutal, smooth- his grip shifts, his weight rolls, and suddenly you’re on your back. Your shoulders hit the floor, thighs still wrapped around him, and he doesn’t waste a second. Slides right back into you, rough and steady, fucking you like he’s reclaiming something that was never yours to take. “Thought you had me, didn’t you?” he mutters, panting against your throat. “Fuckin’ brat.”

And then he’s pressing into you, hand splayed on your stomach like he wants to feel how deep he is. On the other hand, curling under your knee, pushing it higher to fold you open for him- give him more room to ruin you with every relentless, punishing thrust. He’s pounding into you now, no rhythm- just force. Like he’s trying to fuck the attitude out of you, like it’s the only language he knows. Like every thrust is another shut the fuck up he didn’t say out loud.

You whimper. Moan. Claw at his back like you’re trying to hold yourself together. And still- your mouth runs. “F-fuck- this is why you’re so uptight?” you gasp, voice cracking as he grinds in deeper, your words hitching on every thrust. “Could’ve just- ngh- jerked off like a normal person, Joel- ”

He grabs your thigh and slams into you hard enough to knock the breath out of you. “That's what you want?” he snarls, voice hot and fraying against your cheek. “Want me to shut you up with something down your throat next time?”

You shudder. Cry out. Legs jerking around his waist, holding him in without thinking. But you’re still grinning. Lip split. Teeth glinting. All nerve. “Y-you say that like- fuck- like there’s gonna be a next time.” That gets him. He groans, low and guttural, almost helpless, because you’re squeezing around him now- tight and soaked and fucking taunting him.

You’re breathless. Back arching off the floor. Body bouncing with every thrust- and still, somehow, your mouth won’t quit. “Y-you like this, huh?” you pant, half-laughing, half-moaning. “All that talk and you still can’t stop fucking me- ” Joel growls- deep and vicious- and his hand flies to your throat. Not choking. Just holding, just enough to pin you there, make you look at him.

“You don’t know when to stop,” he mutters, breath ragged. “Goddamn mouth on you…”

His hips grind in deeper, harder, meaner because he's most likely talking about himself when he said you don't know how fo stop. His other hand cups your chest, thumb dragging roughly over your nipple, and you gasp, arching up into it like you can’t help it.

But then you laugh again- wrecked and gleeful and cruel. “This is why you’re mad all the time?” you whisper. “Cause no one lets you fuck the fight outta them?”

That nearly breaks him. His jaw clenches. His thrusts stutter- hips grinding deep, punishing. And when you tilt your chin up like a dare, voice trembling but still sharp, he snaps. “God, you’re a fucking brat,” he growls.

Then he grabs your tits- both, rough and greedy, thumbs flicking over your nipples until your back bows clean off the floor. He pinches- hard- and watches your mouth drop open on a sound you try to swallow. “Uh-uh,” he mutters, dragging one palm up to your throat again, not squeezing, just holding- steady pressure that makes everything tighter, makes you throb. “No shutting up now. You wanted to talk? Talk.”

You whimper. One of those high, broken ones you didn’t mean to let out. He rolls your nipple between two fingers and fucks up into you again- slow this time, deep, cock dragging right over that spot that makes your thighs twitch. You gasp like it’s your first breath in minutes. “Thought so,” he says, low and mean and fucked-out. “All that mouth and now you can’t even finish a sentence.”

You’re blinking up at him, wrecked and twitching, your hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists, not to stop him- just to touch something. His hands are everywhere- tits, throat, waist, like he can’t pick which part of you he needs to ruin more.

He leans in. Breath hot against your ear. “Look at you,” he mutters. “Fucked dumb already and I’m not even close.”

Then he thrusts, hard- one palm sliding back down to your chest, thumb circling one swollen nipple again just to watch your face twist. You bite your lip. You try so hard to be quiet. But it slips out anyway. The broken, breathy, please- like your body said it before your brain could.

And Joel just grins. Dark and awful and proud. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until his thumb brushes over your nipple again- slow this time, like he’s testing you, watching the way your hips buck just from that. “Sensitive, huh?” he mutters, dragging the pad of his finger over it again. “Figures. Got a mouth like yours, gotta be soft somewhere.”

Your lip trembles. You shake your head, try to glare- but it’s ruined by the way your breath hitches when he pinches.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking down to your chest like he can’t help it, like it��s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His cock still deep inside you, barely moving, like he’s savoring the way you pulse around him every time he tweaks one of those pretty nipples.

“God, look at ‘em,” he breathes, thumb dragging across again. “Bouncing every time I move. Can’t even touch you without you fuckin’ whimpering.” You grit your teeth. Bite your lip. Anything not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. So he pulls back. Slams in again. You sob. Just a little. “Yeah,” he grits. “Thought so. Not so smart now, huh?” He leans down- licks a stripe up your chest, then bites one nipple, hard enough to make you cry out, back arching straight into his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair- grabbing, tugging, anything to ground yourself.

Your legs are trembling now, wrapped tight around his hips, your body working against you. You’re close. You can feel it.

And he knows. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, mouth still wet against your skin. “These tits… Christ. Could spend all night right here- just keep you pinned and pretty like this.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. “Joel- ”

His mouth is still on you- sloppy, greedy, obsessed. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your tits with his tongue, dragging it in circles around your nipple until you’re twitching beneath him. His teeth graze again. Bite. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. “Fuck,” he mutters, low and guttural, more to himself than you. “Soft little thing. Gonna ruin me.”

You whimper when he licks a stripe back up your breast, mouth settling over your nipple again like he can’t stop. His hand squeezes the other one, big palm rough over your skin, like he wants to know how heavy it feels, how full. “Gonna get even bigger, ain’t they?” he grits, voice hot against your chest. “One day. Round and heavy. Shit- dripping.”

Your whole body jolts. “W-what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps sucking, deeper this time- harder- like he’s trying to coax something from you that’s not even there. Like it’s the end of the world and you’re his only vice left. “Bet you’d be so fuckin’ full,” he breathes, half-mad. “God, just the thought- ”

You whine. Head lolling back. Your thighs twitch, clenching around him without meaning to. “You like that?” he growls, rolling your nipple between two fingers while his cock grinds in deep. “Bet you’d keep me fed, huh? Tits all swollen, dripping warm down my fuckin’ throat…”

Your stomach flips. Heat rolls through your gut like molten honey. “Joel- shit- ”

“Yeah,” he rasps, finally dragging his mouth off your chest just to look at you- really look. “Wanna see you like that. All used up. Full for me. My girl.” You shiver. Clench down on him so tight his jaw locks.

And then he’s slamming back into you like he wants to fuck that whole idea into existence. Anchoring himself, as if he lets go, you’ll disappear. And he can’t have that. Not now. Not when you’re beneath him like this, fucked open and whimpering, tits flushed from his mouth, body made to take him. “Shit- gonna fill you up,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat. “Fuckin’- gonna take it, huh? Gonna keep it?”

You choke on your moan. He doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t even give you time to think. Just keeps rutting into you, filthy and deep, his hips snapping like it’s instinct.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he mutters- half-laugh, half-growl- as he presses you down harder into the floor. “You mouth off and push and act like you don’t need anyone, but this-this is what you’re made for.”

You whimper- legs twitching, heels digging into his back. He grabs your thigh again, pins it open, and spreads you wider.

“Bet you’d be perfect with my kid in you,” he grits. “Fuckin’ perfect. Swollen and sore and full- mine.” Your mouth falls open. No sound comes out just air, broken and helpless, because you feel it now. His weight of him. The size. The claim.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding in deep, hips flush with yours. “That’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth. You want me this bad? You take it. You fuckin’ take all of it.”

You’re close. So close it aches. But he doesn’t let you tip over. Not yet.

His mouth returns to your chest, tongue dragging across your nipple like he owns it. He groans like a man half-feral. “Gonna watch ‘em get big. Heavy. Gonna fuck you slow when you’re full. Keep you wet all the time so it’s easy to slip in again.”

“Joel- p-please- ”

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is a growl, all pride and possession. “Gonna breed you right. Gonna fill you ‘til it sticks.” And then he fucks up hard, deep enough to bruise, and you break- eyes rolling back, body pulsing around him like your cunt knows exactly what he’s giving it.

He grits out a breath, baring his teeth like he’s proud of what he’s done to you. Like this is what he’s been waiting for. You twitch under him, clinging, whining, and he just smirks. “Yeah,” he mutters against your jaw, voice shredded and dark, “this is how you like it, huh? Can’t even fuck you unless everyone’s asleep- unless it’s fuckin’ nighttime and no one’s watching.”

You whimper, half-gone, still gasping as he grinds in slow, brutal, mean. He chuckles- mean. “Guess that’s when you’re the most behaved, huh? Quiet and needy. All that mouth, but only when the sun’s out.”

You bite your lip. He presses deeper. “Gonna start fuckin’ you every night. Every fuckin’ night I get to watch. When they’re sleepin’. When you’re already soft and tired and so fuckin’ wet for me you can’t talk back.” He drags his palm down your stomach- grips your thigh again, fingers bruising. “Bet you’ll start begging for it. Pretend like you hate it, but you’ll be waiting. Stayin’ up late just to get ruined.”

You’re shaking. Boneless. Fucked half-dumb. But your voice still works- barely. “Y-you always this chatty… after rawdogging someone into the floor?”

Joel just growls- laughs sharp through his teeth- and fucks into you again like punishment. He fucks into you harder- mean now, chest heaving, voice cracked open with heat. “Fuckin’ made for this,” he hisses. “Smart mouth, dumb fuckin’ body.”

You try to answer but can’t- you’re too full, too fucked out, just clinging to his shoulders while your back scrapes against the dirty floor. And he loves that. Loves that you’re quiet now. “So much attitude,” he pants, thrusts getting shorter, sharper, messier. “And for what? Huh? You talk all that shit, and here you are- takin’ me so deep I could fuckin’ mark your stomach.”

He palms it, broad hand splayed low over your belly, like he’s imagining it- imagining leaving something in you. “Bet you’d like that. Keepin’ it in all night. Walkin’ around full of it like it means somethin’.” You whimper. He grunts. “I’ll do it,” he breathes. “Next fuckin’ time. Not pullin’ out. Gonna leave it in make you sleep with it.”

Your body jerks under his, legs locking around his hips, and that does it- he snarls, pulls out fast, and fists himself hard, just once, twice, until he’s spilling across your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

He pants above you, jaw clenched, chest rising like he could still keep going if he wanted to. His cum drips down your skin, sticky and hot, glinting in the low light. And still- still- his voice doesn’t soften. “Next time,” he mutters darkly, thumb dragging through the mess on your belly, smearing it slowly. “You’re gonna keep it.”

You’re still panting when he touches your stomach- fingers dragging through the mess he left there like it means something. Like it should’ve gone deeper. He stares at it for a beat, jaw tight. Then wraps his hand around his cock again, still half-hard and twitching, and starts stroking- slow, rough pulls, using his own cum as slick.

You can feel him watching you. Watching the way you’re still shaking, legs parted, flushed and ruined, and not even trying to hide how much you want more. “Would’ve bred you if I fuckin’ could,” he mutters, voice low and bitter. “Would’ve filled you up for real.”

He sounds angry about it. Not at you- at himself. Like it kills him that he can’t. That's all he can do is make it look like it. And then he’s pushing back in. One filthy, forceful thrust- shoving all that comes back inside you like he’s trying to fake what he can’t have. Like he needs it to look real. Feel real.

You gasp, eyes going wide, body jolting under him. He groans into your neck, hips grinding with each deep, punishing thrust. “You feel that?” he breathes. “Messy and full- like you should’ve been. Like I should’ve done it.”

You whimper. Moan. Your whole body pulses like it believes him. But he just fucks you through it- slower now, meaner, desperate in a different way. Like he’s chasing the illusion of something permanent. Something that might’ve belonged to him, in another life.

You’re both still catching your breath. His cock’s still half-hard inside you, your thighs still trembling, your shirt pushed up and bra hanging off one arm like a war trophy. There’s sweat on your stomach, spit on your tits, and his come smeared in a messy stripe just under your navel like a goddamn signature.

And yet somehow- your brain resurfaces just enough to deliver one extremely cursed, extremely rational thought. “…We should probably find condoms,” you mumble.

Joel lifts his head- barely. Just enough to narrow his eyes at you like you’re the crazy one in this scenario, not the man who just rage-fucked you raw in a building full of sleeping people.

“I mean it,” you say, breath hitching when he shifts slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Like- I don’t think I’m trying to be someone’s mom in the apocalypse.”

He blinks at you. Still panting. Still buried inside. You keep going, because you’re annoying. Because you’re you.

“Couldn’t even get prenatal vitamins. Just a can of expired shits.”

“I’m serious,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through the come on your belly like you’re testing the viscosity of regret. “Next run- we’re raiding the pharmacy.”

Joel drags a hand down his face, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You tilt your head. “What? You don’t wanna be a daddy again?”

His only response is a grunt- and then he pulls out with a groan, wiping his hand roughly down your stomach like he’s trying to erase the evidence, except all it does is smear it worse. You sigh.

You both lie there for a second. Staring at the ceiling. Panting. Degrading in silence.

Then, finally, Joel mutters: “…We’ll look for condoms.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[robinminustherichard]

Fuck(ing) it Friday 😈

Rating: E | Bucktommy

The thing that convinces Buck to stay in LA is Tommy.

Or, to be honest, Tommy's cock. Buck just doesn't know that yet.

After Chim's big speech, nothing actually changed except for Buck being expected to move out with barely two weeks notice; lest he wanted Christopher to be homeless. So of course Buck leaves. He gets a temperature controlled storage unit that can't actually afford to waste money on, and he starts apartment hunting.

The realtor is nice and does want to help him, she tells him that her dad was a firefighter too, but he just can't seem to find anything he likes in anything she shows him. Too new, too shiny, too cold. So he tells her that he needs some time to think about it and starts looking at new cities instead.

He has his sights set on San Diego and he doesn't really know how to tell anyone, so he figures he can go practice by telling Tommy.

Except, that was an hour and two rounds ago, and Buck is now blinking sweat out of his eyes while he rides Tommy into the stupidly plush California king mattress that Buck could never admit to loving more than anything he's ever slept on.

"Fuck, Evan, please," Tommy bites out, not even a sentence. Buck has been moving torturously slow, feeling the burn in his thighs as he moves up, holds, down, holds, grinds, and does it all again.

Tommy probably doesn't deserve it, but Buck feels something harsh and powerful rise up in him when he sees how he's got Tommy begging for Buck's body--feels something click into place when he realizes that for the first time in weeks he's in control here, totally and absolutely.

Buck bites at his lip hard, closes his eyes and lets his head hang back for a moment. He sits up, Tommy's cock just barely popping through his rim. His eyes open when he hears the groan Tommy lets out, quickly followed by a hiss when he realizes that Buck isn't moving.

"Evan," Tommy says, trying sweet. It gets him nowhere, Buck just tilting his head and looking down at him. Tommy huffs, narrows his eyes and tries again.

"Evan, move." It's forceful this time, and it's closer to what Buck wants, but it just isn't enough. He holds his position and when Tommy moves to shoot a hand up and grab Buck's hips, Buck's hands grab at his wrists and pin them to the bed.

Tommy thrashes, and Buck knows the grin that takes over his mouth isn't exactly a nice one. He knows that Tommy can overpower him, that he's got a stronger core and a better eye for grappling, but he also knows that he can't fully get out from under Buck's hold without risking hurting himself or Buck.

"Evan, fucking move or I'll--"

"You'll what, Daddy?" Buck says, forcing his tone to go bored and unaffected. His thighs are starting to shake, but he's going to hold this until he goads Tommy into what he wants.

This was always the problem with you two, a voice in Buck's head says, never just saying what you want.

Buck's too far gone, too deep into feeling like he has a say in what happens to him right now, he feels drunk on it. Buck presses Tommy's wrists tighter and watches his eyes flare open wider.

"That's how this is going to be?" Tommy says lowly, dangerous in a way that excites Buck.

Nothing like feeling afraid of Eddie in kitchen that was only his for a month and a half.

Buck makes deliberate eye contact with Tommy, stares him down and slowly loosens his grip, trailing his fingers down Tommy's arms, skating his blunt nails down Tommy's chest, catching on his nipples. Tommy never looks away, and he doesn't move his arms from where they still lay where Buck pinned them.

"That's how this is going to be." Buck says, clearly and without hesitation, feeling like his whole body is shaking now.

"God, you--" Tommy says, cutting himself off with a harsh breath out. For a moment Buck thinks that he's read this wrong, that he's finally asked for too much, that he's gone and fucked up the last thing that could have made him feel okay, even for one afternoon.

And then he's flipped so fast that he doesn't even realize it's happening until his back hits the mattress. His breath rushes out of him, and he thinks he tries to say something, but any words he could have gotten out are stolen when Tommy grips his thighs harshly and yanks them up over Tommy's, cock sliding in with no resistance.

Buck lets out a long whine, keening and involuntary, and it takes him a moment to realize that Tommy is fucking into him with short and pounding thrusts that jumble Buck's brain and slam against his prostate repeatedly.

"Fucking hell, you come here and tell me you're fucking leaving and then this is how you act? By being a fucking brat?"

Despite how mean the words should be, Buck feels them settle over him like a blanket, like a lap bar on a roller-coaster keeping him in his seat, like the only thing that's tethering him to his body right now.

His orgasm hits him like a freight train, ripping a near-scream out of his throat, Tommy never stopping through it all. Buck thinks he whites out a bit, thinks he might be somewhere else for a moment before Tommy's biting down more gently than he deserves where Buck's shoulder meets his neck and letting out a vibrating moan that Buck feels in the walls of his heart.

"God damn you make me fucking crazy," Tommy is telling him before he's grabbed by the back of the neck and hauled into a kiss that barely qualifies as one, Buck unable to get his lips to do anything but form a perfect 'O' around the sounds Tommy is forcing out of him, "you can't just leave, Evan, how are you gonna get fucked this well somewhere else, huh? How are you gonna get this needy fucking hole filled hours away from me? Didn't even let me put a condom on and you think you can just leave after this?"

Buck thinks his mouth is trying to say something but only moans fall out of it, going breathy every time Tommy buries himself to the hilt. He feels wild with it, like he's just crash landed back into his ribcage and is ricocheting around in it.

Buck's floating for a long time after that, or maybe it was a few seconds, he's not sure. He feels good, so good in a way that he hasn't in months. Nothing bad can touch him there, only Tommy's hands, softer than before; gently easing Buck's legs off of his hips, rubbing down Buck's bad leg, reaching up to card through his too-long hair.

"--Evan?" Tommy's voice breaks through and Buck realizes he's probably been trying to get his attention for a while.

"I, uh, sorry," is all Buck can say, looking up at Tommy and swallowing thickly. His throat feels raw and his eyes burn.

"Yeah, that's what you've been saying. Why are you sorry, Evan?" Tommy's face is concerned, his eyebrows drawn together and mouth twisted.

"I said I'm sorry already?" Buck asks, trying to remember but coming up short.

"That's all you've been saying for about five minutes."

"Oh, so--"

"Don't say you're sorry. Tell me what's wrong."

Buck looks away from him then, feeling raw. He blinks a few times and feels mortification settle in for a moment when he realizes that he's been crying.

"I don't-don't--" Buck says, trying to come up with anything that will salvage this one last moment with Tommy, "I don't know. Nothing. Everything."

Tommy's hand comes up to cup Buck's jaw and turn his head, and Buck doesn't fight it even when it brings his eyes right back to Tommy's.

"I'm sorry, Evan. I shouldn't have asked you questions like that when you're coming out of a drop. I'm going to hold you now, and then I'm going to feed you, and then we can talk, and I won't be mad no matter what you tell me."

Buck waits for a flare of annoyance to bubble up in him just like it has towards everyone else who has tried to handle him lately, but it never comes. It's so different, it's to him and not about him, it's reassurance instead of patronization.

"O-okay," Buck manages, wobbly but there all the same.

Tommy makes good on his promise, he reaches into his night stand for supplies and wipes them both down gently and efficiently; then gathers Buck up in his arms and holds him with an arm across Buck's chest and leg between his knees. Buck feels panic flare and die in his throat almost simultaneously, and he lets himself have this for a moment.

[topherwrites]

𝘈 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘐𝘙𝘌

jack abbot x fem!reader — you have a shared understanding of each other, it's the worst sort of relation. warnings: mutual pining, angst, burn out, grief, terminal illness of parent, attending x resident, hr hates to see them coming. a/n: wrote this while sick and sleep deprived, so it's in third person for some reason. let me know if ya'll like this!

Jack has seen burnout, the way this job chips away at even the soundest of doctors. He’s used to tired eyes and cracked hands and sore backs. But this is different. It’s like watching a ghost move through the hospital.

She's crumbling under the weight of grief. She’s always clocked in; there’s no escape from it. No air to come up for. There’s just a void, deep and dark, that she pulls with her through every day.

And she doesn't sleep well anymore—or at all—terrified every time she closes her eyes that she won't be there when it—the horrible thing rapidly approaching—finally happens, that her mother will be alone. That she’ll have failed in the simplest of tasks.

She doesn’t feel human now, not really. She’s a candle burning at both ends—wick nearly gone. 

He sees it, the barely hidden exhaustion, the forced smiles, the vacant stare when she doesn't know anyone’s looking. But he is—always, watching her for a reason he can’t face, knows is wrong.

And so he’s there to witness her collapse, a full breakaway. They lose a patient—young. Stupid young. One of those ones who should’ve made it. Who would’ve made it, if the universe cared for things like fairness.

His eyes stay on her as he calls it, as she slowly stops compressions, discards her gloves silently, and slips from the room like if she’s quiet enough, she can just disappear. He knows that look. He follows her at a distance, checking in with Dana, the other residents, keeps his eye on her the entire time. A ticking time bomb. He sees the tremble in her hands, the measured way she’s taking in every breath. 

And then she bolts—not truly, but in her professional way, she does. Sets the chart in her hand down and goes straight for the stairwell.

Dana catches him watching her and tells him to go.

He pushes the door open, stands in the doorway as he watches her fold into herself on the cold, concrete stairway floor—knees pulled to her chest, shoulders shaking in that awful, silent way. The dam has broken. 

She sees him then, her breath hitching, and a sob, uncontrollable, leaves her throat—because now there’s a witness to her failure. She’s failing her patients and her mother and him. The door shuts behind him with a click, the sound of her breaking echoing around them. 

He moves, kneeling in front of her, as well as he can, every old part of him protesting all the while. He tries not to crowd, just be there. 

“Hey,” he says, voice firm, “Look at me.”

He knows what she needs, her Type-A constitution: someone to tell her what to do, give her permission to stop brute forcing her way through this.

She tries to swallow her emotions back down, regulate her breathing, get back to it. Her eyes raise from the ground, but she doesn't quite look at him. That's fine.

“You’re off.” She opens her mouth. “Don’t argue.”

“I can’t, I just,” her throat clogs, she imagines going home, to that house that shouldn't be as quiet as it is, just dead air and the sounds of machines. 

He sighs a long breath out of his nose, thumbing it as he offers something up to her. A piece of his own grief. 

Death, the great equalizer. 

He husks out, “If you stop for even a second, it’ll all go to shit, right?” 

He waits to see her eyes. 

He knows some of how she’s feeling, not the same, but close. She was there one day, gone the next. No in between, dead in everything but name. He imagines her version is worse. The long goodbye. The drawn-out cruelty of it.

His hand, large and calloused, cups her knee, thumb rubbing gently at the tendon there, grounding. She swallows down hard. Finally, her focus returns to him, and the look in his eye—understanding—draws her out of her spiral, if only for a moment.

“It won’t," he takes a breath, waits to see if she's really listening, “Not unless you don’t take a moment for yourself.”

She wants to believe him. But the thought of having to go back—to that house, to the hospice nurse, to her mother’s living death—makes her stomach churn. She feels ungrateful, selfish. 

Her mother’s dying, and her daughter’s trying to figure out a way not to go home. 

She finds she keeps having a particular thought, more and more these days, I want to go home. And yet she never seems to find herself there in the quiet of her childhood home. There’s no relief or sense of safety. Just quiet dread. I want to go home. And it’s the cool skin of her mother, paper thin. The occasional brittle sound that works its way out of her throat. 

She thinks, I want to go home. 

But there’s no home anymore. Just a ticking clock.

And she’s trying to let go of something that isn’t even gone yet. 

He keeps his eye on her. He’s sure that his words won’t sink in until later, the truth of them hard to swallow for people like them.

“My shift ends in an hour.” He leans back. Reaches into his pocket. His knuckles prod her closed fist, and something cold is placed into her grasp. Keys. He says, “Wait for me.”

She nods. 

What else is she going to do?

Then he leaves her in the stairwell. 

Eventually, she gathers herself together, eases back up onto her feet, and ambles her way out of the sliding doors. In a haze, she clicks the lock button and locates his car by the responding beep. It’s nice, smells like leather and pine—attending salary, she supposes.

She sinks into the passenger seat, numb; it’s the first time she’s sat still in weeks.

The car is quiet when he slides in beside her.

She doesn't open her eyes, just hears the soft click of the door, the sound of his bag hitting the backseat, the sigh he lets out like he’s been holding it in for hours.

He doesn’t start the engine right away. Just sits with her.

“You hungry?” he asks, like any of this is normal routine. Like this could be a date. 

Her tired mind pauses. Like she isn’t very obviously in the midst of a clinical breakdown.

So, she shrugs halfheartedly. Can’t quite remember the last time she ate, especially the last time she ate without her mom’s nurse forcing her to just sit and chew. She feels reduced to a child, unable to care for herself. 

His fingers tap against the steering wheel.

“Okay.” 

The engine turns over. She sits there with her head against the window, watches the city lights blur past in the dawn. He doesn’t talk, doesn't force conversation onto her. But she can feel his eye occasionally drift over; she can’t think about the beat of her heart when it does.

His place is clean in a lived-in way. Coffee cups in the sink. A stack of foreign medical journals on the kitchen counter. Throw slung over the back of the couch. 

She doesn’t say anything, just stands in the doorway. A tad uncertain and eyeing. 

He toes his shoes off onto a rack. Shrugs his jacket off and hangs it on a hook next to her.

He motions for her to turn around, helps her out of the stiff shell of her scrub top with gentle hands. Careful. Like she might break.

She shivers against the cool air of his apartment, sweat clinging to her skin and tank top. 

His hands purposefully don’t linger. He steps away, through the large sliding barn doors at the back, where she assumes his bedroom is. A moment later, he comes back with a sweatshirt and blankets in hand. 

He presents the sweatshirt to her silently. Their fingers brush as she takes it, slipping it on over her head. Worn cotton. Faded logo. It smells like detergent and him.

Already, she feels a little more alive.

“You can take the bed,” he offers, already walking toward the kitchen, giving her space. “I’ll be on the couch.”

It takes a moment. And then, “What?”

She pads quickly after him, floorboards creaking under her foot. 

He doesn’t answer right away—just opens the fridge, peers down, and makes a vague sound of confirmation—nothing particularly edible left.

“I can’t cook for shit, so…” 

She glances past him, can't help the comment, “And your fridge is sad.”

His eyes narrow and slowly, he straightens up, but there’s the giveaway, a little twitch of his lips. “I invite you in and you go in on my-”

“It’s, like, mostly condiments.” 

And beer, but she doesn’t mention that. She’s pretty sure Harrison, McKay's kid, would call it divorced dad core. He pulls two out, silently tips one toward her in offering. Why not, she figures, reaching out and taking the bottle from him. She cracks it open, takes a sip, and leans on the counter—the taste reminds her of college, probably the last time she can remember relaxing. 

Then, she sighs, returning to the topic, despite his attempt at a detour, “I’m not kicking you out of your bed.” Voice scratchy with fatigue, she adds lamely, “Don’t be stupid.”

He exhales through his nose, sentiment he doesn't know how to word staying firmly in his throat. 

Arms tucked into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, she watches him over the counter. 

There’s something buzzing in her chest. Inappropriately tender. 

“Not a big deal,” he says finally, then drinks, his eyes on her. Not in a waiting-for-her-to-fall-apart way. Just… on her. He’s watching her like she’s a person and not a patient, not a problem to be solved. 

She’s not quite sure what to do with it. At work, at home, she has to keep it together, pretend in equal measure that nothing is wrong, that she has it all together. So now, with the space to just breathe, she falters. She doesn't know how to be anymore. 

“You let strange, frazzled women crash your place often?” she says, trying for levity, settling into a stool across the island.

He seems to ignore her self-deprecation entirely. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t flinch. Not even a pity laugh thrown her way. The quiet that’s left sobers her. Again, he sees her. 

She shifts, realizing how near he is—how inconsequential the island is between them.

“No,” he swallows, looking down at the counter, then up at her, “just you.”

It lands with weight. She wonders what it means, if he even knows. 

She tries to take it casually. But as it rests in the quiet, she’s forced to swallow down her clashing confusion of feelings. 

She wants to say something, anything, to fill the void. Make a joke about him agreeing with her—she is frazzled. More so now. And there’s something dangerous crackling in the quiet. Instead, she sits there, eyes tracing the lines of his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens slightly when he notices her watching him. 

She’s so fucking tired, and her brain is a mess—fogged by grief, adrenaline, the echo of chest compressions, the tremor still in her hands. She could be imagining it all. Probably is.

Just you.

“You need sleep,” he says, firm. “Real sleep. Not just half-hour naps when your body gives out on you.” 

“Look that bad, huh?”

“Little worse for wear,” he starts, a familiar tilt to his mouth, “Still better than most on their best.”

Again, he throws her a fraction off-kilter. 

She takes it better this time. A quick study—as he’s told her before. She’s usually better at volleying, but today she’s an exposed nerve. In the ED, the banter feels harmless, a way to pass the time. Here, in the confines of his place, it feels charged, intentional. Dangerous. 

Jack sighs, more at himself than anything else, and pushes off the counter. Releases himself from looking at her. His fingers flex at his sides, a twitch like muscle memory, like he’s already imagined what it’d be like to touch her. Pull her close. Lay his palm against the back of her neck and give in to the worst of his urges, the ones that have built up in him since he very first saw her.

But he doesn’t.

He won’t.

Because she’s grief-struck and unraveling, and he knows this would be a sort of theft.

He wouldn't be able to take it back. And she rightfully may not forgive him. He might shatter this bit of comfort he’s been able to extend to her. Or perhaps worse, she’ll want him, this, now, but not when the fog dissipates, when a clearer head prevails. 

“I’ll order in,” he says as he turns from her, flicks open a drawer overflowing with takeout menus. Mindlessly, he rifles through them as he takes a breath. He feels her eyes on his back, that prickling awareness at the base of his neck.

She knocks her knuckles on the counter, “Kay. I'm forewarning you, I’m gonna snoop.”

His eyes meet hers over his shoulder, and he nods to the low shelves in the corner, “Records over there.”

He watches her turn, the corners of her lips lifting in response. She unwinds, that last little bit of tension leaving her as she falls back into a familiar rhythm. 

“You're such a hipster piece of shit.”

“No, just old,” he states dryly just to get a smile out of her. He’s rewarded with it, accompanied by a short exhale out of her nose. 

She wanders over to the corner, squatting down as her fingers run over his collection. Taking her time gently sorting through them, she occasionally pulls one from the shelf, eyes scanning the tracklist. He can’t help the interest that’s settled into him: Which ones are to her taste? Which are bands she’s never heard of?

He’s curious about her, always—the briefest glimpses of her leading to more questions.

“You,” she starts, declaring as she pushes to stand, “are a fleetwood mac stan.”

“Of course I am, I'm a self-respecting child of the seventies.”

Her eyes stay on him for a moment before she hums, approving.

It’s that bit of curiosity that’s going to do him in. 

He hasn’t told his therapist about her. Not exactly. Not in a way that counts. The predicament that’s not a predicament. Because he’s kept his head, kept things mostly professional. 

His voice rings in his head, saying what he knows the man would, placid to promote some amount of self-reflection: 'Are you sure that’s a good idea, Jack? '

No. He’s not.

But he’s already in it. Not much farther to fall from here.

She watches as Jack pulls out a diner menu, asks her, “You like pancakes?”

“I'm partial to them.”

They remind her of weekends and summer and her mom. Of giggles and the smell of burnt batter. So yes, she supposed she likes pancakes.

Jack pulls out his phone. Presses it between his ear and shoulder like it’s muscle memory. Always multitasking.

“You a chocolate chip or blueberry kind of gal?”

An hour later, they’re sitting side by side, quietly eating. Forks clink against ceramic. Her elbow brushes his every now and then. Neither moves away. 

He’s taken his leg off. She’s let her hair loose from its bun. Something about it feels telling. 

Too comfortable for what their relationship should be. 

Beer and pancakes. Two things that shouldn't mix.

“Thank you for,” she sighs, “you know.”

The air is still around them. 

He looks over at her, and his eyes are as soft as she’s ever seen them, kind and unguarded in a way that’s a punch to the gut. They quietly roam her face—pinning her. It sits between them—this vast unnamable thing. She wonders what he’s looking for in her face. Perhaps the same thing she’s looking for in his. 

When his gaze lands on her lips—momentary, maybe accidental—it zips down her spine, lands hotly in her stomach.

He doesn’t know how to formulate the devotion on his tongue, say, I’d do anything for you or I’m sorry or Maybe if circumstances were different.

So instead he says, “You’re not a machine. You can’t run on two hours of sleep and caffeine forever.”

She hums in return.

He knows she’ll show up to the next shift the same way—dark circles, thermos in hand, too much tension in her shoulders. Tonight, his words, will probably change very little in the grand scheme of things. Change is difficult at any scale. Especially for people like them. He’s learned that much.

But if she sleeps soundly, lets some of that tension in her shoulders release, even if only for a few hours, then maybe that’s enough.

The rest of their meal is finished over hushed conversation—him digging up the remnants of his past for a good story. A few close calls, some risky maneuvers, the periodic breaking of protocol all teased out to keep her eyes on him. But eventually, time runs out, she stifles a yawn into her fist and her lids grow heavy. 

Quietly, he takes her empty plate and slides it into the dishwasher, urges her up with a hand between her shoulder blades. A gentle push to bed. His grip slides down to her waist as she reaches up onto her toes and thanks him with a press of her lips to his cheek. 

And then she’s gone, the sound of her feet padding down the hallway. She doesn’t say goodnight.

She thinks, in another version of this night, he might have followed her.

But in this version—the only they have—he just stands in the kitchen, eyes on the hallway long after she’s disappeared. He rinses the cups. Wipes down the counter like it matters. Like it keeps him from thinking too hard.

He turns the record player on. Starts an album. Keeps the volume low.

Jack sinks into the couch like it’s an old friend—his hip cracks, his back protests. This isn’t his first stint sleeping in his living room. On certain nights—bad ones—his bed is too big, too empty, too quiet, too full of memory. He’ll grab a blanket and crash out here, maybe catch an hour or two of actual rest before his next shift.

Now, he stares at the ceiling as if it might offer him clarity, like it’s penance.

It doesn’t. It never does.

He remembers how she looked—backlit by his kitchen light, sipping beer like this was any normal Tuesday, like this morning wasn’t a death sentence for his already fragile grip on propriety. It’s not even the presence of her that wrecks him—it’s the ease of it. Like she belongs here. Like it’s natural. Like the universe didn’t put a giant red do not fucking cross this line between their lives and laugh every time he toed it.

She’s asleep in the other room.

And nothing happened.

Nothing will happen.

But still, there’s that buzz in his fingertips. He wanted something to happen. It burns behind his eyelids.

Somewhere, faint through the speakers still murmuring in the background—

Billy Joel starts to hum again.

She steals like a thief, but she's always a woman to me.

Jack sighs, closing his eyes. 

Sun starts to fill the room.

Oh, she takes care of herself; she can wait if she wants. She's ahead of her time.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

[monzabee]

breathe (2 AM) - s. reid

criminal minds masterlist ||

Summary: it’s 2 AM and you are out of breath. oh, and you really have something important to tell your best friend. 

Pairing: postprison!spencer reid x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.1k 

Warnings: kissing, kinda angsty but also not, running  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Breathe, you remind yourself as you push your legs to run faster, breathe. 

Then, you look at the watch on your wrist–it reads, 2 AM. Nothing good happens after 2 AM, you think. You should turn back, go home, forget about everything you’re about to do.  

It’s pure madness.  

The type of crazy you never go for under normal circumstances but nothing about this situation is normal anyway, so why dwell on it unnecessarily? Your mind is still swirling with Spencer’s words earlier that evening, and Penelope’s words from moments ago which has you running through the streets of downtown Virginia–something Spencer is probably going to scold for you, though you’ve always been an avid believer in asking for forgiveness rather than permission.  

“If you don’t tell him now, when will you tell him?” That was the last thing Penelope asked you before you made your way out of her apartment. Simple, blunt even, as if the answer should have been obvious. And maybe it should have been. Maybe you should have done this hours ago when Spencer was looking at you, almost pleadingly–or even days ago, maybe even months ago. But fear has always been a comfortable excuse, and love?  

Love is terrifying. 

“But isn’t love worth it?” Emily asked when you told her just how much you were afraid of messing things up. Because that has always been the problem, hasn’t it? It’s always you that messed up, never the other person, but always you. And messing up with Spencer means losing him, which could never be an option.  

“You could never lose Spencer,” JJ assured you, not hesitating to also point out, “he’s the most stubborn person I know, and he wouldn’t let that happen.” 

Yet, the fear still lingers, curling around your ribs like a vice. Because what if they’re wrong? It’s easy to say it in your mind, but what if saying it out loud changes everything?  

You push the thought away as you turn the last corner, Spencer’s apartment now in sight. The building is quiet, the streetlights casting long, lonely shadows on the pavement. Your heart is pounding, not from the run, but from the sheer weight of what you’re about to do. 

Breathe, you remind yourself as you force yourself to walk up to his building. It’s 2.08 AM now. Breathe, you force yourself as you inhale deeply, closing your eyes for just a second. You can do this. 

Your hands are shaking as you reach for the door, the cool metal grounding you for a brief moment before you finally push it open. The hallway is dimly lit, eerily quiet at this hour, and each step toward his apartment feels heavier than the last. The doorman gives you a small smile, and you try to return it as best as you can.  

Your lungs burn from running all the way as you force yourself up the stairs, practically skipping every other step. This is Spencer, you remind yourself. Your best friend. The one person who has always been safe. So why does this feel like the scariest thing you’ve ever done? You couldn’t have imagined the look he’d given you before you left work, right? That look; the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but never did – it’s what got you here in the first place. 

You reach his door before you can second-guess yourself again. Raising a fist, you knock–soft at first, then firmer when there’s no immediate response. 

For a moment, nothing. Then, footsteps. The faint sound of locks clicking open, revealing Spencer in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his hair a disheveled mess. He blinks at you, sleep still evident in his eyes, but the second he registers that it’s you standing in his doorway at–he glances at the clock, 2.10 AM, his brows furrow in concern. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough, a little breathless like he wasn’t expecting you, but his brows furrow, scanning you for any sign of distress. “What’s wrong? You are shivering.” 

For a moment he looks like him again, the Spencer who didn’t spend three months in prison, who didn’t see his girlfriend get shot right before his eyes–the Spencer, who wasn’t forced into a drug addition by one of the unsubs.  

He calls your name, and your eyes focus on him again, “Hey.” His voice is softer now as he takes a step closer to you, “Talk to me.” 

You swallow hard. Breathe. 

“I–” You stop, shaking your head. No more stalling. No more running. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Say it. Just say it. Just say it, goddamn it. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I tried, but I–” Another breath. Another step forward. “I love you, Spencer.” 

The words hang between you, heavy and fragile all at once. Spencer blinks. His lips part slightly like he wants to say something, but for a long moment, he just stares at you. And you start to panic. 

What if I read everything wrong? What if I just ruined everything? 

But then; so softly, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment, he exhales your name. 

“You– ” He swallows hard, his voice almost shaking. “You love me?” 

You nod, your heart beatin in your ears. “I do.” 

He takes another step forward, so close now you can see the exact moment his breath hitches. His hands hover for a second–like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away before they gently frame your face, fingertips barely pressing into your skin. 

“I love you, too,” he murmurs. “I think I always have.” 

Your heart stutters. “You do?” 

Spencer lets out a soft, breathless laugh. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. But I’m really glad you didn’t wait.” 

And then he kisses you. 

It’s hesitant at first, careful like he’s trying to memorize everything, the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you sigh against his lips. Then, he deepens it, arms winding around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. His arms envelope you as his hands thread through your hair, holding you even closer to himself. 

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe you ran here,” he murmurs, amusement laced in his voice. 

You laugh softly; breath still uneven. “How’d you know?” 

“You’re out of breath,” Spencer presses another lingering kiss to your forehead before whispering, “Breathe.” 

[sweet1delusi0ns]

Naruto boys insecurity’s

──☆*:・ﾟ

!Angst!

Characters: Naruto🦊,sasuke🗡️,Itachi🥀, kakashi🍃, kiba🐺, shikamaru🀄️,shino🪲,neji🎋,Lee🥋,choji🍥,gaara⏳,kankuro🪆

Naruto🦊-*

He’s grown up an outcast so he’s slightly insecure anyways (poor thing). He thinks he’s a bother to you sometimes and gets himself in a slump. You noticed how hes been rather quiet with you, not asking for anything, not begging for cuddles or kisses, you knew something must have been wrong. And it was confirmed when you over heard him talking to himself in the mirror, basically just insulting himself

“Why cant i just do better…” “why do I have to be so annoying…everyone thinks I’m annoying…probably even y/n. They could do so much better why m-” “NARUTO DONT YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE” you bust down the door causing naruto to quickly wipe his teary eyes “hey y/n! W-what do you mean?” “You know what I mean naruto.” You reach for his cheek to make sure he keeps his eyes on you “your not a bother naruto. And you deserve me as much as I deserve you! Why are you saying this?” He’s in full blown tears now, ugly crying and everything “e-everyone already thinks that way about me I-I thought you would think the same after a w-while” he sniffs “foxy…do I need..to show you how much you mean to me?” His eyes widen at the fact that he actually means something to you. For the rest of the night you never left him alone once, you spoiled him so much more that normal which made him feel so much better. He loves youuuuuu

Sasuke🗡️-*

Also was treated like an outcast but it didn’t affect him in the way it affected naruto. He doesn’t really think he’s a bother, if anything he’s scared that you think your the bother, since he’s so “cold” towards you sometimes he’s scared your going to leave or think he doesn’t love you anymore. Once it got so overwhelming for him he had teary eyes for hours just thinking about how he acts, he decided he needed to tell you. Once he found you he ran towards you and engulfed you in a big hug. You thought this was adorable or him being silly until you felt something wet on your shoulder followed by a broken breath

“S-sasuke? What’s wrong…Are you crying?” You could hear a sad whimper coming from him. “I love you. I-I love you so much y/n please don’t forget. No matter how I act I-” “I know. Baby I know. I love you too, what’s this about, your scaring me?” He didn’t dare remove his tear stained head from your shoulder “I know I’m…mean s-sometimes but-” it finally clicked for you why he was so upset all of a sudden “sasuke… your not mean! And I know you love me no matter how you act.” “I..just thought…no one understands how I truly feel. I just Need you to know…t-that I do love you” he pulls away from your shoulder to wipe his eyes before turning away from embarrassment. He felt you wrapping your arms around him causing him to jump. “I’m sorry y/n. I’m just over reacting” “no don’t. Don’t say that… I think we should lay down. You need to relax do you need me to help you? I know you feel…weak” he takes a deep breath “please y/n… yes” you both walk together to your bed. Trust me when I tell you he is going to feel a lot better after some comfort *wink*

Itachi🥀-*

He just feels… worthless sometimes. He just doesn’t feel worthy of good things that happen in his life, aka you. He doesn’t feel worthy of you. But he is very open with you unlike others, he tells you what’s wrong no matter what.

“Y/n. I have uhm… I have some feeling I would like to share.” “Of course Love, what’s up?” “I…” You gaze softens realizing he’s going to get upset “I don’t feel worthy.” “Oh…tachi… come here” you pat the spot next to you but instead he took your lap instead, he reaches in for a hug before speaking up again “tell me you love me. Please. And tell me I’m worthy…” “you are the love of my life. And you are worthy of that love. No matter what you think you deserve love.” That is all he needs to hear. Although he gets very upset you can always calm him down. It does happen more often but you do not care. Anything to make him feel better.

Kakashi🍃-*

We all know he’s very attractive but that doesn’t mean he thinks the same. He doesn’t like his scar, he doesn’t like the story it holds and he doesn’t like the look of it. He can hold back the insecurity in battle because he knows it’s not worth dying because he thinks it’s ugly, but he cant hold back the insecurity on a day to day basis with you, he gets extremely timid with you. You see him with the mask off all the time so it’s kinda funny that you rarely see him without something covering his eye. But you just thought he forgets it’s there so you didn’t think about insecurity, but when you walk in on him washing his face he almost instantly covered his eye with his palm you knew something was wrong

“Ay? Why you covering that cute face?!” “Aha thanks y/n” he chuckles trying to make you ignore it yet he still kept his hand up “serious what’s with your hand?” “Well..ah you know..” he points to his eye with his other hand “what your scar? Babe I don’t care” he smiles softly before replying “I care…” “take your hand away” “I’d rather not-” “kakashi.” Groans “yes y/n…” he drops his hand and you let out a content sigh “there’s my baby” you grab his face with both hands and kiss his scar softly “you don’t find it odd?” He looks away while blushing “no kakashi I don’t find it odd because I love you.” He flashes a smile before turning back to the mirror with a weird look still on his face, to lighten the mood you grabbed him my the cheeks to shake his head back and forth before giggling at him. “Cutiee” you comment before kissing his beauty mark then walking back out the door.

Kiba🐺-*

He’s sensitive, he may be a big joker but if someone else says the wrong thing he will not be happy, normally the only thing he doesn’t like being called is a mutt or a dog. It makes him feel ashamed of him family quirk. Just because he loves animals doesn’t mean he is one right? He started thinking maybe he is just a dog. A Dirty, annoying, unfunny mutt. He started to feel like foolish for loving a dog so much, but he can’t help it it’s the family he was born into.

He has been rather distant from akamaru, still taking him on mission but recently he hasn’t been letting his puppy in the house as much anymore and he gets upset when you let him in instead. “Why did you let him in the house y/n!” “His a good boy he won’t chew up furniture if anything you would!” You we’re just trying to lighten the mood but it didn’t help “akamaru outside now!” He commands “come on why don’t you want him inside??” “You don’t need two mutts in the house y/n” this confused you for obvious reasons “two mutts? Are you talking about yourself? Your not…your not a dog thought?” He crosses his arms in protest “tell that to my friends, Or anyone because for some reason they all think I am a dog stuck in human form and it’s getting old.” You chuckle nervously “your not? If your talking about your dog like features and fighting style it’s just your quirk? It’s not your fault you can’t choose” he lowers his head “even you think I’m a dog sometimes!” “No baby. I dont I think that. your a human just with some animal features but most of your family is like that?” “If you don’t think I’m an animal why do you call me names like puppy.” He’s stretching, he loves it when you call him that he’s just in a mood “I call you that because you love attention and can’t go a day without seeing your loved ones. Plus your as cute as a pup!” His shoulders relax finally realizing he shouldn’t be upset over this. “I just feel ashamed of who I am sometimes y/n I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry. I love who you are if that makes it better” he chuckles “yeah…it kind of does make it better honestly…can you kiss me..?” He smile at his sudden change of mood “of course!”

Shikamaru🀄️-*

He knows he’s good looking but he also knows he’s not the best, he also knows your absolutely stunning, so it gets to him sometimes without realizing is, he changes his look every now and then to see if it would make him feel better. Maybe make him more attractive to you he hopes

“Dear could you turn around please?” “Sure shika whats u-” you stop dead in your tracks with a shocked look on your face “your hair is down!!!” You exclaim, the only time you see his hair down is when he is sleeping, you’ve never seen it down when he’s awake “I know, I’m trying something, does it look good?” You giggle “You always look good darling, just not use to it that’s all” you walk over to grab a handful of his hair which was slicked back but not up in a ponytail anymore. “Well I think you look handsome no matter what” he groans “don’t lie to me does it make me look worse?” You give him a nasty look “worse? You say that as if you already look bad…?” “Well eh-” “well what? Your very attractive Shika do you think other wise?” He puts his hands in his pockets “uhm sometimes-” “oh come on!” You grab his face “your soooo handsome no matter what you do with your hairrrr” you tease. He continued to make eye contact with you while a smile grows on his face. “…can I put a little braid in your hair?” “No” “Aw man.”

Shino🪲-*

He’s ok with his looks and doesn’t feel like a burden on you, oddly enough the only thing he’s insecure about is his voice. He thinks he sounds funny sometimes and doesn’t like how raspy it is, that’s why sometimes he doesn’t talk to you that much. Sometimes all he responds with is either nodding his head or shaking it which makes you feel bad

“What do you feel for dinner love bug?” “…” you looked around because maybe he left the room but no, he just didn’t respond. “Uhm hello???” “…” “are you hungry?” He shakes his head yes “with words please?” He looks around before responding quietly “yes I’m hungry” you giggle not quiet knowing what’s up with him “why are you so timid right now?” He finally speaks up “do you think I sound funny y/n?” “Uh no? Why” “sometimes I feel like my voice isn’t that pleasing.” “It sound pleasing to me-” he lightened up at the compliment “really?” “Yes of course!” When he’s insecure he normally gets over it fast, he’s rational and knows when he’s just being silly

Neji🎋-*

He knows he can choose his own destiny, he just wish the preset plan for him was burned into his forehead. He hated it so much, he was disgusted by it and therefor disgusted with himself. Sometimes you find him crying in the mirror over the symbol plastered onto him. But you always let him know that it doesn’t define him

You could hear cries coming from the bathroom and you couldn’t take it anymore so you decide to knock “sweetheart…are you crying?�� He knew there was no point in lying anymore “y-yes..” “may I come in?” You could hear a cracked “mhm…” coming from the other side or the door so you walk in, immediately pulling him into your chest. “What happened. Did Someone do this?” He pulls away from your chest just to look back to the mirror to cover his mark while his lip quivered. You finally realized what was happening. “Give me your hand please..” he obliged lowering his hand. You grabbed his cheek and gave a very long forehead kiss. “Your worth more than this mark Neji.” You mumble against his head. You decided the best thing to do is go to bed and give him more love so that’s just what you did

Lee🥋-*

He may seem strong so it was shocking to you when he confided in you about how he’s insecure about almost everything about him (poor thing) he try’s to stay strong but he can’t help but get vulnerable with you

All you were doing was giving him love but he just felt unworthy of it. “My handsome, strong, perfect boy!~” kiss “well I don’t know if those words are accurate but thank you my precious!” You huff at his self doubt “don’t say that, your all of those things?” He laughs nervously “I don’t think so heh” “you are! You don’t think your handsome or strong…?” You frown “well uhm y/n…It obvious I’m not the best looking, and yeah I’m strong but…I could always be stronger.” He looked down at his feet in shame “Lee…take it back.” “W-what” “take it back. No one is allowed to insult my baby like that, not even himself.” He thought you were just joking until he looked up into your eyes to see the seriousness that laid in them, he could see tears forming in your eyes. “Please Lee. Take it back.” “I-I…I take it back y/n I’m sorry” “please…don’t ever say things that that again”

Choji🍥-*

He’s always been bullied because of his weight so of course he will be extremely insecure about it and anxious when your trying to love up on him, you knew he was insecure about it and you always told him it did it matter but you never realized to much it really affects him until your further into the relationship and you started to be more physically affectionate, he loves the affection just hates the body that it receiving it. All you were trying to do was hold him after a long day but he seemed so scared of if and you had to ask why

“Cmon let me hug you!” “No y/n..” you pout “why not! I wanna hold my fluff ball!” He cups his hands together then proceeded to look at the floor “I don’t think holding me is even possible…” your pout turned into a confusion “uh what do you mean choj?” He pinched at his stomach to hint at what he was talking about since he was to shy to actually tell you “oh…Choji you don’t need to worry about that I don’t care!” “I care because it means I can’t do certain things! How are you supposed to hold me!” You scoff “I’m confident I could carry you like a baby if I needed too.” “Your just saying that to make me feel better…” he crosses his arms and puffs his cheeks up out of timidness “I’m being serious Choji! I could totally carry you! Your not as big as you think you are.” He closes his eyes so tears dont form “I’d like to see you try y/n, you won’t be able t-” since his eyes were closed he didn’t see you walk over to his side, he only realized when he felt your arm latch around his shoulders and your other cupping around his legs. He open his eyes right in time to realize you just picked him up bridal style. He gasps in reaction, he turns to your face to see not a single ounce of struggle on your face “I told you! Your not that heavy choj!” This Moment honestly cured almost all his insecurity on that subject for a very long time. And sometimes he thinks “maybe she’s just really REALLY strong” he still loves the thought behind your actions. “Heh uhm…I guess maybe I’m not. Thank you sweetie!” “Anytime bubs~” with that you place him back down on his feet and give him a very passionate kiss

Gaara⏳-*

Most of his life he was basically controlling by either others or his inner demon so he didn’t have time to worry about appearance. But ever since he finally felt in control of his own life he now worries about his appearance sadly. He doesn’t like the mark on his head, he doesn’t really like his hair either and feels like his facial features just look wrong on him. He’s very good at hiding things so you didn’t realize until you overheard a conversation with him and his brother, he figured since kankuro is considered attractive maybe he should ask him for advice!

You were wondering around trying to find Gaara to ask him god knows what until you finally hear his voice along with kankuros, you walked behind the door about to knock until gaara’s question caught your attention. “So is there anything that could make me more ‘attractive’ or something along the lines of that?” “I don’t know? Maybe try face paint chicks dig it” you could hear a sigh leaving Gaara “I don’t want to attract ‘chicks’ I just want to attract y/n.” “What makes you think she doesn’t already feel attracted to you?” “I don’t know, I just feel like if I find myself unattractive maybe she does too.” That’s enough, you have to stop this. You knock on the door making them both look at it, you swing the door open and immediately look at gaara which was all it took for kankuro to take the hint “I’m just gunna..goooo…” you and him exchange nods before he leaves. Once the door shut you look back at gaara “what was all that?” “Oh so you heard?” “Yes gaara I heard, why do you find yourself unattractive? And why are you going to your skanky brother for help?” He turns his head to continue speaking “I can’t explain why I feel that way about myself, but I went to my brother because I know he is considered attractive to others.” You sit next to gaara and grab his chin to make him look at you. You lean closely to speak “how could you not love this face~” you whisper almost seductively while you drag your thumb across his cheek bone. “What don’t you like…?” His breath hitched out of fear of spilling his insecurity’s. “I guess…I don’t like the mark on my head, and I don’t like my nose much either, I also don’t really care for my hair it makes me look like a clown sometimes.” He’s waiting for you to agree with him but instead you lean closer to kiss everything he listed, first his little nose, then his marking and then you drag your hand through his hair which made him flushed. “Well I like Everything about you…” he finally makes eye contact with you, with red cheek. He took a big deep breath to reply “ok…thank you y/n. That makes me feel a bit better” you reach in for a hug which he gladly accepted!

Kankuro🪆-*

Even though he seems so hot and confident he’s much like his brother, sometimes he doesn’t like his bare face. He has make up on almost all day so rarely do you see him without any on, and when you do see him bare faced he’s weirdly shy which isn’t like him.

You both were in bed after work and you were just having a conversation, mostly it was just you talking which was weird because he’s normally high maintenance. “I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to say something like that, what do you think babe did she have a good point?” “I don’t know” his head is slightly turned to the side opposite of you which made it almost impossible to see him, he just washed his face so he’s completely bare faced yet won’t even look at you. “Babe? Cmon atleast look at me when I’m talking” “UGHHHHHHHH fine.” He turns to You shyly avoiding eye contact before replying “she’s in the wrong for saying that honestly-” you laugh “that’s exactly what I’m saying!……” you stared at his cute bare face for a little to long which made him anxious “what are you looking at y/n!” “I’m looking at your cute facee *boop*” he pulled away from your finger just to cross his arms “whateverr” you didn’t know at the time he wasn’t feeling his best but later he did tell you. But he still loves the compliment you give no matter how insecure he is at the time. Only you can make him feel better tbh