#people work hard on them because they want to

[sevsgiirl]

Omg okay I can't stop thinking about needy lovesick Sevika with a younger femme partner (you can totally do a continuation of the fic you wrote) so what if, she's a little needy&insecure for their age gap? That her girl gets bored/annoyed with her? (She doesn't have this type of thoughts all the time, but the seeds of doubts grows when she hears other people talk, not directly about her and reader, but in general but it does linger when others points out how different they are) or in her own way, she start craving more compliments, affections from her but dunno how to do it and at the same time she's trying to gauce if her girl still likes her (she does!!) yet just the thoughts/doubts hurts Sevika like so bad, because she would do anything for her darling, what she has to do to make her girl still love her and not leave her?

— sevika with a younger partner and feeling insecure

synopsis: sevika doesn’t have a type. whether they’re older or younger, just as long as they could keep up with her that’s all mattered. but ever since you two started dating, she starts to wonder if she’s the one who could keep up with you and how deep down, it scares her that you might find a problem with it eventually.

note: I just had to post this before going to sleep because the idea is too good. I love the way your brain works and again, thank you for sending in the req <3 love you and I hope you like this.

you were a beacon of light in the cesspool of chaos that is sevika’s life.

to this day, she still doesn’t understand how you and her got into a relationship but here you are now, going strong for almost a year and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you two rarely get into arguments, when you did she never hesitates to reach out and fix the situation right away because she can’t stand being on bad terms with you for long.

you two are on the same mental wavelength, which sevika appreciates given how you’re a lot younger than her. she’s in her 40s and you were in 20s, but sometimes she forgets because conversations always run smoothly between you two.

but just because she forgets that doesn’t mean other people fail to bring it up.

when you started dating, it was a bit difficult given how it wasn’t received well by a lot of her peers. not that they judged her for it because they could never unless they wanted to have their face busted in. but it was the occasional remarks that had a hint of judgement in them that made sevika uncomfortable.

things such as “she’s a bit young, isn’t she? you better keep an eye on her especially because you’re always at work. it’s hard being in a relationship with someone who’s at a different stage in life as you.”

both of you had jobs but her work compared to yours was hectic. you work as a waitress at jericho’s meanwhile sevika is paid to get her hands dirty for silco. the job was tedious and draining and sometimes she comes home, tired to the bone that she could barely catch up with you. which she feels immensely guilty for.

you’ve reassured her that it isn’t a big deal and that you understand her status in zaun is far more important than yours. you’ve always acknowledged sevika’s role in the under city and why she was feared by many, that’s what attracted you to her in the first place. she was loyal, devoted and her endurance was insane.

but still, despite how sevika’s job is her number one priority, it still doesn’t slip her mind that she may accidentally neglect you and your needs without her knowing.

and she knows it takes a toll on you too, you just don’t want to bring it up because you respect her too much. and she was right because when she came home early one night you weren’t there, and it was almost midnight when you finally returned and you were shocked to see sevika sitting on your couch waiting for you. usually she’d be back around 2-3am.

“hey, you didn’t tell me silco would let you off the hook early,” you said but your words became background noise because she was too focused on your appearance. you were dressed up and from where she sat she could tell you’ve had a lot to drink.

it’s not that it upset sevika you went out, you could do whatever you want but it saddens her that you didn’t even go out of your way to tell her about it assuming she’d be coming home late. is this what you do when she’s not here? go out with your friends and have fun? it’s not that she expects you to wait for her in your apartment all day while she’s away for work.

still, the thought bothers her as she wonders what you must’ve been up to while she was gone. she tries to set the thought aside, not wanting to think bad of you because she knows you’d never go against her back. but certain thoughts crept up at the back of her mind. did you meet someone while you were out? were you offered drinks? did someone invite you out to dance?

“sev, baby, you there?” she didn’t even realize she zoned out until she felt you cupping her cheek “are you tired? you shouldn’t have stayed up for me.”

she shook her head “it’s alright. but yeah, silco let me off early and I wanted to surprise you.”

your shoulders sagged “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d come home late again so I decided to just go out with friends. had I known I would’ve waited so we can stay in and cuddle.”

despite your flattery words, the only thing that stuck to sevika was you implying she’d be late again. you didn’t mean it maliciously, there was no bitterness in your tone but instead there was just… acceptance. which frustrated her because people were right.

perhaps being at different stages in life does this. you needed a partner who you can home to and have fun with but instead you got her who’s always late, is already asleep when you probably want to stay up and have sex at night. she would force herself to push through just for you but she isn’t getting any younger and it shows.

maybe it’s because others have planted it in her head that you two are just far too different that’s why she’s overthinking like this, but it’s becoming more and more evident that they were right and if she doesn’t find a way to fix this, god knows before you start seeing the cracks and the dents as well.

and so in the following day she asked silco if she could cut off her usual hours at work to get back home early. at least for a few weeks and silco was shocked for a second because if there was anyone who’s extremely dedicated to their job, it’s her.

but it’s because of that he deliberates on the request “very well,” he answered “but if the matters are urgent I expect you to come in either way,”

well, it’s better than nothing, sevika thought. what matters is she’ll try to find some time to spend the following weeks with you and to hopefully regain the spark in your relationship.

not that she’s saying it’s lost but she’s scared it will. because if her days don’t consist of work, she’s either at the bar playing cards to blow off some steam, which isn’t exactly a productive way of spending one’s time.

unlike you, you have tons of friends who you go out with at clubs and sevika just doesn’t want to think about all the people you meet there, who are probably the same age as you, and have wanted to ask you out but you turned them down because of her.

meanwhile, she’s here and she can’t even keep you happy like how you deserve.

it eats her up alive that’s why as soon as she comes back from work a lot earlier than usual, she immediately engulfs you in a back hug when she sees you cooking in the kitchen.

you gasped, not expecting her “sev, you’re home.” you were surprised as you turned around “did something happen?”

she shook her head, smiling “no sweetheart, silco just let me off early again. plus I’ve been meaning to spend more time with my girl…”

you still weren’t used to the disruption of the routine, because she’s normally away at these hours, but you weren’t complaining.

and with that, you spent most of the evening cooking and catching up with each other. you didn’t miss the way sevika followed you around the house like a lost puppy when you started cleaning up to get ready for bed.

you raised an eyebrow when she wrapped her arms around your waist while you were washing the dishes, noticing how she’s awfully more needy than usual.

“baby, go rest. you just got back home from work.” you giggled and she just shook her head.

“I just want to spend more time with you. I feel like I haven’t been the best partner.”

that halted you in your tracks and you angled your head so you can face her “baby, what makes you think that?” your eyebrows were furrowed and she just held you tighter.

she lets out a breath, tired and awfully nervous about vocalizing her doubts. what if once she points it out you start seeing the red flags too? and then these affectionate gestures just won’t be enough? what then?

“I know with my job and the responsibilities I have, I haven’t been able to fulfill your needs. you have so much ahead of you and I’m always at work and I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m wasting your time.” she said and you just stood there, letting her words sink in.

“you’re young and you could be with someone whose head isn’t always stuck in a bunch of paperwork or is running around the lanes doing silco’s dirty work.” her jaw clenched and she starts to wonder if admitting to all of this was a good idea.

“I’m sorry, princess. I just don’t want to bore you by leaving you here at home all by yourself…”

you immediately swiveled around in her arms and took her face in your hands.

“sev, look at me.” you said, your voice stern “I could give less than two fucks about people my age. you think when I got into a relationship with you I didn’t know what I was signing myself up for? of course I did and I don’t regret any of it. I know you have responsibilities and I accepted all of your duties the moment you became mine.”

“I could never be bored of you, baby.” you told her, thumb caressing her cheek “you don’t treat me any differently because of my age so why should I? I love it that you’re so hard at work and that you provide for me. the fact my salary at jericho’s isn’t even enough to pay half of our rent but you don’t mind because you provide for us both, why would I find that boring? that’s fucking sexy.”

she couldn’t help but let out a snort “oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re staying with me because I’m basically your sugar mommy?”

you grinned “amongst other things,” you said before capturing her lips with your own.

the kiss was hot, heavy and slow as sevika gripped your hips and pulled you against her. pushing her knee up and sliding it across your thighs and she started rubbing against your clothed cunt, making you whimper.

“so you’re not bored of me? or mad?” she asked as she pulled away to look at you.

you rolled your eyes “you could be 23 or 75 for all I care and I still wouldn’t get bored of you.”

your finger drew circles around her chest as you fluttered your eyes up at her “plus you fuck me like you’re 23 anyway, so I don’t see why I would look for someone my age.”

she couldn’t help but laugh, swooping you up in her arms and you circled your legs around her waist as she walked you to your bedroom “god, you’re such a handful.” she said.

you smirked “but you love it.”

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

To respond to prev tags:

The two major retailers I worked for were Five Below and CVS. Both had email quotas, as well as many other quotas to fill.

Thing is, our corporations really REALLY pushed for literally every customer to give their emails and phone numbers to us. We were taught, at both places, to greet customers at the same time we asked for emails, and to word it in a way which made it hard to deny giving an email.

For exmaple:

"Hi there, hope you're well! What's your email?"

"Hope you found what you needed today! Your email, please."

In both scenarios, you don't offer the customer a yes or no choice to deny or offer their email. You simply just ask for it outright instead of leaving the option to deny at all.

Now, a customer can deny, obviously, but then corporate got really fucking angry because a lot of people did say, "I don't have an email." Or something like that. And corporate would see that the number of emails added to their distribution system by our store was not what they expected, and they'd send our boss constant emails or give calls and send reports recording our quotas that were lacking, explaining they need us to do better.

Sometimes this was as low as 20% of customers giving an email, sometimes it was as high as 50 or 60%.

And it didn't help when half the customers didn't speak English (can't blame them, this language is a nightmare to learn) and therefore didn't know what I was asking, or that the ones who did were our regulars who signed up years ago and therefore wouldn't count being added again to the corporate email distribution system.

When folks went to checkout, the pin pads to insert or swipe cards would show a screen asking for email verification if one was listed, or asked if they wanted to add an email, and said customers could not swipe or insert their cards without selecting yes or no on the pin pad screen. It literally did not move on to payment until after the question was answered.

That was a nightmare with the non-English-speaking customers. They knew the process to pay with card, obviously, but how do you tell someone who doesn't know your language that they need to select yes or no in order to pay at all???

I often literally just spun the pin pad to myself and selected "no" for these poor folks, then spun it back to them so they could continue to pay.

Five Below was the worst because they ALWAYS ask a survey question before you can pay. It's because they have survey quotas to meet, and since those weren't met by the stores, it became mandatory by implementing it into the payment process.

Those surveys ask 1 or 2 questions that you have to select usually from a 1-5 scale, and are about either the customer service satisfaction rating, store cleanliness, or stock availability, etc.

And anything under the top most rating by Five Below was considered worthy of repremandation by the boss because it should only ever be 5/5 or 10/10 since you need to offer only the absolute best and nothing short!!!

But again, most of my customers didn't know any English, so it wasn't like I could explain this survey or tell them why their payment isn't working.

For CVS my boss printed out and highlighted and circled the quotas made vs those expected for each thing we had to meet, one of them being emails added.

I was hounded every day at both retailers I worked for to get as many emails as possible, but the large majority of customers, as in almost 100%, denied their emails to me or made excuses, and I can't and don't blame them!! I got bogus emails left and right, I was insulted left and right for trying to ask for the emails when folks were the stingy type that got defensive if I asked anything at all (and that's way more customers than you'd ever imagine), and some people threatened me, even.

But I was reprimanded constantly at both retailers by my bosses and managers if I did not ask every single customer for their email. I got told I wasn't doing my job at all or well enough, I was told I wasn't up to standards and shit.

One coworker I had would hear a customer say, "I don't have an email." And she'd ask them, "What about your wife/husband? Your sister/brother? A friend? Anyone you can think of." She tried so damn hard to get any email just to meet the quotas because that woman worked way too hard in attempt to overperform at a damn opening-level position that demanded way too much from far too few employees that were all overworked.

So yeah. Honestly, it's all stupid, and corporate is stupid, and I truly hate both Five Below and CVS for more things than just these quotas, but that was a large contributor for why I no longer work in retail.

everywhere I go people are asking me for my email. my email is in high demand. it's rare for me to visit a website without someone getting on their hands and knees, begging me for my email

[invoncible]

i loved your mark and popstar girly piece, it made me imagine the popstar girly making a song about mark but not telling anyone, but he knows because it describes his appearance and a moment he had with popstar girly perfectly. not a request just an thought i wanted to share

MARK GRAYSON & popstar! girly! reader (II) ✧˚. — this is basically a whole story at this point but no regrets

— thank u for sharing ur thoughts anon !! now you have to take responsibility for giving me brainrot cuz i fs went overboard with this one !! <3 — i hc the music career as sabrina carpenter coded, but tbh you can envision whoever u want !

being as big as you were, you liked to keep your private life under wraps. but if people listened to your music they'd be able to piece the story together.

when I talk to my friends so quietly / (who he think he is?) look at what you did to me

you and mark weren't dating yet when your debut album came out. you had finished your one year of fake school with him, amber, william, and eve. within that time, you fell for mark hard.

he was a dork, cute and funny, and he was the sweetest when he was with you. never talked about your wealth and actually treated you like a teenager instead of a spoiled daddy's girl.

you just had to write about him. your audience noticed a huge shift in the tone of your music. when you released your album, the love songs really hit because you really sounded like you were in love. they could hear the smile in your voice on the tracks.

when mark heard it, he wasn't as pleased as other fans for the exact same reason. he could tell you were feeling something for someone, and as far fetched as his hope for being with you was, he still felt some kind of way when you reminded him that you were out of his league. way out of his league.

william threw you a listening party to celebrate, and out of the corner of your eye you could see mark deflate more and more with each song.

did he hate it? you thought in a panic.

he got up abruptly to help out with 'family work,' as he called it.

"are you sure you can't stay?" you shot to your feet as he threw on his jacket.

he smiled sympathetically, a heavy sigh escaping his lungs. "m'sorry. it sounds so great so far, though. you're gonna blow up for sure. you look... uh," he cleared his throat, eyes darting back to the TV where your music video was playing. "really good, too."

heat rose to your face as you nodded minutely. "thanks." you mumbled.

he reached out to you on an impulse, his hand hanging in the air when he hesitated halfway through. he settled for awkwardly patting your shoulder.

"i'll listen to it all the way through once i'm done with work, promise." he shut the door with a swiftness.

"ughhhh, i give up. i hate him." you groaned, head in hands. william rubbed your back soothingly as you complained. "this is so embarrassing."

you thought you made it obvious that you liked him. you flirted and everything, but either he was stupidly dense or ignoring your advances.

"don't..." william exhaled tiredly, like he was close to giving up on mark himself. "don't give up. he's stupid, but he gets the point eventually."

"i must look crazy," you dig your wrists into your eyes in frustration. you hated feeling like this. your heart was swirling with affection but your head was telling you to stand up and drop him since he was obviously set on dismissing you.

"you're not crazy. i'll talk to him."

"don't do that!" you whined. "i'll look desperate..."

he raised an eyebrow, a smile spreading on his face. "you are desperate. but so is he."

i can see the stars all the way from here / can't you see the glow on the window pane? / i can feel the sun whenever you're near / every time you touch me, i just melt away

the whole world could tell you had a man when released your next few singles. the beats were bubbly and the lyrics were so sickly sweet that the only reasonable conclusion for being able to write them in the first place would be for you to be deep, deep, deep in your feelings.

with the help of william's nudging, mark finally confessed. it took a lot of encouragement, but he did it.

he stopped you from going home with a pull to your wrist, threading you along to a secluded corner of the school grounds. he looked tired, and you couldn't tell if that was a bruise or not on his cheek, but whatever he was going through did not dim the light in his eyes.

"look, um..." he took a slow breath in as if meditating. fear pounded in your chest. he was looking at you with a gravity one would expect to have when delivering bad news. was he delivering bad news?

"i like you." he blurted out.

oh.

"i like you," he repeated with a firmness, making the world stop on its axis. "and i would really like to take you out sometime. please."

you blinked at him for a moment, searing his cute determined expression to memory: the nervous pull of his brows, pouty frown, and clammy fists at his sides.

"yeah." you answered quietly but resolutely. "i'd like that."

he brightened, the tension on his face gone in an instant. poof! "really?"

his excitement was infections and rooted in your bones too, straightening up and mirroring his grin. "mhmm."

"okay." he muttered, stepping closer to you and hesitantly hugging you. you rolled your eyes and embraced him fully, circling your arms around his waist and squeezing. he smiled into your hair and wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

dating mark was easy. for a time, that is.

i've never seen an ugly truth that i can't bend / to something that looks better, i'm stupid, but i'm clever / yeah, i can make a shit show look a whole lot like forever and ever

a couple months into your relationships, your audience picked up a little animosity in your lyrics towards the reoccurring 'boyfriend' figure you often sang about.

being busy was something you were familiar with—your entire life was busy. so that's why when mark was off in university and balancing a full time job (that he always described too vaguely for your liking), you understood.

but there came a time you were just sure he was cheating on you. he left to take calls, promising the person on the other end he'd 'be right there,' and disappear for weeks at a time. can someone really have five different work trips in the span of a month?

"mark," you accepted his hug with a heavy heart. you hated to do this when he just got back, but you couldn't go on without knowing.

"missed you," he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing you tightly. he pulled back, pausing at your downturned expression. he frowned. "what's wrong?"

"mark." you started, glossy lips pursed in a pout. "is there someone else?"

the mere idea of cheating made him want to punch a hole through a wall. the fact you thought he was cheating—you thought he was cheating on you? the most perfect thing in the world, the reason he worked so hard? it made his heart twist painfully.

"no!" he scoffed in disbelief, cupping your face and looking into your watery eyes. "of course not. how could you think that?"

you shrugged his hands off and stepped back. "you're always talking to someone. after you get their call, you run off. i just—it doesn't make sense—"

"it's work stuff, y/n, you know that!" he chased after you, letting his backpack fall off his shoulder with a loud thud to the floor.

"what's work?" you snapped. "you always say it's work, but what are you doing, really? that you have to be away from home for so long?"

his mouth opened, then closed. his breath caught in his chest as the thought raced through his mind: do it. you trust her, so do it.

but no matter how much he wanted to tell you the truth, he couldn't bring you into that life. he wouldn't turn you into his mother. for as happy as she was by his father's side, one wrong move, one mistake... it could cost you your life.

you had so much life in you, he couldn't bear to be the one who takes it all away.

you watched him wilt in real time, nothing but a sigh leaving his lips.

"unbelievable." you whispered. "you're not going to tell me?"

he grappled for the words, hanging his head when he came up short. "i can't."

"can't what?"

"tell you," he shot back, fists curling at his sides dangerously. "i can't tell you."

"why?" you crossed your arms and jealously and paranoia rear their ugly heads. "is there someone else?"

"no!"

"then what, mark?" you snapped.

nothing. he said nothing, standing in the entrance of your room numbly.

"fine. don't tell me." a confusing mix of heartbreak and embarrassment pulsed through your veins, mustering up whatever bravado you had left to end things. "get out."

you couldn't handle the desperation on his face as he stepped forward. you turned around to save yourself the trouble of giving in.

"y/n, it's—"

"get out."

pour my feelings in the microphone / i stay in, and when the girls come home / i want one of them to take my phone / take my phone and lose your / number, i don't wanna be tempted

there wasn't a lot of activity from you when you broke up with mark. your first real boyfriend, gone, without so much as closure. you never understood his secrecy about his job and it gnawed at your soul. could things have worked out if he was honest? or would it have wrecked your relationship even more?

"you need to get out of this house, y/n." william was gentle with you, dutifully listening to you vent and offering real advice.

"i can't." you choked, curled in blankets that hadn't been washed in weeks.

"you can."

"i don't want to." you revised, letting your heavy eyes fall shut.

william was torn. he knew everything about mark, including his secret identity, and he felt like shit withholding that information from you. but it wasn't his place to tell you as much as he wanted it to be. he was both your friend and mark's friend which made it all the more harder.

you hand him your phone. "will you... delete his number for me?"

william slumped in his seat, a deep frown on his lips. "y/n... are you sure?"

"just do it." you muttered, tossing your phone to the cushion between you and burrowing back into your cocoon of misery.

"sure." william whispered, taking your phone. his finger hovered over the block button, but...

he set your phone down and called mark instead, demanding he make things right.

[]

that's how he ended up outside your window. you were just about to sink into your fluffy sheets and doze off when you heard the faint tap tap tap at your giant bay window.

you frowned, prowling over to the glass and peering through.

"ah—!" you shrieked when mark's face popped up, looking like nightmare fuel itself hanging there in the darkness.

"shh!" his voice was muffled on the other side. he smiled sheepishly as he pointed to the window lock.

your first instinct was to rip the window open and pull him into your arms, but...

"you're ... flying..." you whispered, staring at him in disbelief. after a moment, you let him in.

he hovered outside before slipping in, touching down on your carpet. he pulled off his civilian clothes to reveal the invincible suit underneath. "this is what i didn't want to tell you." he murmured.

you just stared at him, your mind already putting together the pieces. all the times he's had to run off, all the days he's come home tired... if you weren't so busy with your own career, you'd probably have picked up on it sooner.

"i was scared that i'd put you in danger." he frowned, walking up to you and placing a gentle hand on your arm. "i didn't want to put that burden on you."

you instinctively leaned into his touch, the familiarity overwhelming your confusion.

"you don't look so good," he mumbled, cupping your face and dragging his thumb over your cheeks. dark circles had bloomed on your skin.

"yeah, well..." you sighed, trying to steady your breathing. "i missed you."

mark softened, pulling your into his chest and tucking your head under his chin as he cradled you. "i missed you too, baby. i'm so sorry. i would never cheat on you, you know that, right?"

"yeah." you exhaled, burying yourself into his chest and soaking up his warmth. it felt good to be in his arms again. then your nails dug into his back.

he hissed. "wha—"

"don't make decisions on my behalf." you began, glaring up at him. "you're so sweet for thinking of me, but i'll choose what burdens to bear."

there was an apprehension on his face, as if he thought you didn't understand the gravity of being in a relationship with a superhero entailed, but he wasn't going to push you away again.

he needed you as much as you needed him.

"okay?" you pressed for an answer.

he smiled and kissed your forehead. "yes, ma'am. i love you."

you tumbled into bed together and the rest is history.

who's the cute guy with the wide brown eyes and the big bad mm, like—

after you and mark were completely open with each other, you were so full of joy and love; of course it seeped into your music. as well as your hornier thoughts.

you and mark didn't have to go anywhere in particular to feel like you were spending time together. relaxing in bed, hanging out with his family, or visiting your studio were the most common ways you enjoyed each other's presence.

you were recording your latest album, the tracks ranging from an i love you vibe to i want to fuck you vibe.

mark was there when you were recording one of the later, lounging on the couches in the producer's box as they listened to what direction you wanted to take the track.

he was always so enraptured with your singing. however when he started clueing into the lyrics, he might as well have shut down.

the first time he heard these lyrics, he sunk into the couch and pulled his hoodie over his head. it was obvious to the crew that the song was about him and everything he did to you, but thankfully they didn't pass him any weird looks or anything. how could they, when you were smiling so brightly in the booth as you giggled over these references, ones that only two people in the world would truly understand? he kept their talent happy, and that was what mattered.

of course, he didn't mind you writing about him. he loved it. but hearing your thoughts—how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, or how you're looking at me, yeah, i know what that means, and i'm obsessed—was the best gift in the world.

after your workday ended, mark had so much pent up energy to release.

"'bed chem', huh?" a lovesick grin spread on his face as he pulled his shirt over his head. "s'that what you think we have?"

"yeah." you giggled, pulling him in and rolling on top of him. your hand trailed down his chest. "you like the song?"

"love the girl who made it," he craned his neck to peck your lips, delighting in the giggle he drew from your lips and ramping up to give you more inspiration for your next album. better to start early.

wanna try out some freaky positions? ...have you ever tried this one?

it seems he gave you too much inspiration.

it was no secret you and mark were freaky. literally, it wasn't a secret—the team at the GDA always kept tabs on the people their heroes engaged with, so of course they knew of you and what you did.

mark learned this the hard way when your album finally released. the entire world loved it, tiktok dances and trends popping up left and right. unfortunately, because of its popularity it reached guardians' HQ and the pentagon (thanks to the younger employees who enjoyed a couple coffee breaks).

rex snorted as he blasted this song from the computer. "what do you and your girl get up to for her to be making bangers like this?"

mark's lips twitched up, his skin warming as he remembered the many times he gave you reason to write these lyrics. "i mean, she's telling you, isn't she?"

rex's smile grew as the song progressed. "fuzzy pink handcuffs?"

"nothing more you need to know."

the sound of someone clearing their throat made them both whip around.

cecil stood in the landing, unimpressed that they were using government property to listen to bubblegum pop.

"didn't realize this was a recreational facility, boys." he grumbled as he walked up the stairs.

mark's cheeks reddened. cecil's frown deepened when the chorus grew close to it's end, where you sang one of me is cute, but two though?

"...please don't be having children any time soon." the director's eyes flickered up to the lyric video playing on the screen. "you and your brother are trouble enough—"

"okay, okay!" mark cut him off, embarrassed this was even a conversation. his arm reached to pause the video when the bridge neared, knowing how crazy you went when writing it.

"no, no, i wanna hear it." rex pouted, slapping his hand away from the keyboard.

"yeah, you can listen to it all you want when our boss isn't in the room."

cecil rolled his eyes, waving him off. "i've already listened to all of it. against my will, of course, y/n is very popular at the pentagon."

in that moment, mark wanted the ability to teleport.

i'm working late 'cause i'm a singer / oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger / my twisted humor make him laugh so often / my honeybee, come and get this pollen

this song was dubbed the song of the summer; it played multiple times on the radio, in grocery stores, in coffee shops... mark couldn't escape it. and that's how he liked it.

mark is your number one fan. to have such a smart, loving, funny girl write songs about him was a blessing in of itself, and sometimes he watched your performances from the front row like ... how did i bag her?

100% started crying at the end of your concert. his phone was filled with hundreds of photos and videos of you. as confetti floated down from above and the colorful lights danced over the crowd, he felt overwhelmed. he's been surviving for so long, but with you it's like he finally got to just... live. exist without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

he was allowed backstage after you signed off on another successful night. he came up behind you, pulling your back to his chest and squeezing you tight.

you squeaked, trying not to spill your mouthful of water, setting down your water bottle. you gulped and pat his arms around your abdomen. "hey, baby."

he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, uncaring as you squirmed away from him.

"mark," heat grew on your face as you laughed. "i'm sweaty and hot—"

"you are hot."

"hot, as in warm." you chuckled with a shake of your head. "lemme shower and we can cuddle?"

mark let out a small laugh against your neck, his hold on you firm but gentle. "don’t care. i just wanna be close to you."

your heart squeezed at the way he said it... so soft, so full of love. you turned in his arms, brushing damp strands of hair from your face as you looked up at him. you knew you smelled like hairspray and hours of dancing.

"you okay?" you asked, voice gentle.

he nodded, but his eyes were a little glassy. "i just… what did i do to deserve you?"

you cupped his face, pressing a tender kiss to his lips and rubbing away the lipstick sticking to the corner of his mouth. "you don't have to do anything to 'deserve' love, mark. "

he exhaled shakily, a wobbly smile breaking through.

you rested your forehead against his. "and if you give me fifteen minutes, we can cuddle properly."

he pulled away, taking off his hoodie and offering it to you. he helped you get it over your head and found it so cute when your eyes peeked out of the huge hood. he chuckled as he squished your cheeks together, kissing your pursed lips. "with this pretty outfit on, it's definitely gonna take more than fifteen minutes to take it off and shower."

you hummed, thinking. he could see the idea pop into your head.

"you can come watch, if you want?"

mark was a simple guy. of course he took you up on your offer.

but if you want my kisses / i'll be your perfect mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies

you didn't tell him about your deluxe bonus songs. he listened to them on his own as soon as he could. something about this line made him contemplate his future with you.

he immediately flew to your house.

"mark!" you exclaimed, sitting up when he shot through your window. you settled for leaving it open nowadays, with how often he sneaks in.

"you mean this?" he panted, catching his breath. he held his phone up with your voice playing out the speaker.

you recognized the verse he was referring to, a bashful heat blooming on your face. "of course i mean it. but if—"

"no." he cut you off with a swiftness.

he chucked his phone aside, ripping off his mask and jumping onto the bed. he crawled between your legs, resting his head on the fluff of your tummy. he breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering closed as his arms snaked around your waist. "i love you."

you giggle, heart squeezing as you ran your fingers through his hair. "i love you, too, baby."

"i'll make it happen."

"yeah?"

"yeah," he smiled against your skin, pressing a sweet kiss to the apex of your thigh. "anything for you."

© invoncible

[monzabee]

pleading the fifth - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: a rather... interesting complication happens when jack’s nanny is called to school by the principal. the only person who can save either of them? it's aaron, of course.  

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings:  yelling (kinda), poor Jack is punished without a reason, other than that none?  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

You’d consider yourself a rather calm person—a pacifist, really. You don’t confront people, you don’t get unnecessarily angry, you can’t even recall a time you’ve raised your voice in public. But right now? Right now, you are trying your hardest not to bash the principal’s head into his desk as he stares you down. It’s a glorified staring contest between the two of you, with Jack as your unwilling audience and referee.  

When the school first called you to tell you should come into the principal’s office, you thought of the worst. The worst being Jack having an accident, or one of the crazy criminals his dad deals with escaping prison and somehow finding him—which should serve as a reminder for you to stop falling asleep to murder podcasts.  

But no. Instead, you find yourself in a situation so utterly ridiculous, so mind-bogglingly absurd, that you’re starting to wonder if Aaron spiked your morning coffee before he went into work as a juvenile prank. “You’re telling me,” you say slowly, pressing your palms against the desk, “that Jack is in trouble… because he didn’t answer a question in class?” 

“He was exhibiting disruptive behaviour, which hindered the ability of the other students in class to participate.” The principal explains, he’s an aging man with thinning hair and an ever-present scowl, folds his hands neatly in front of him and you find it hard to take him serious due to the absurdity of the situation.  

You blink. “Disruptive? He didn’t even talk!” 

“His silence, Miss Y/LN,” he points out, whilst he’s pointing at Jack, “was disruptive to other students.” 

Jack, sitting beside you, shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His little hands are folded in his lap, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He looks more annoyed than guilty. Your feel for him, for you know he’s not a bad kid, he’s the complete opposite, really. “But still. You called me down here because he didn’t want to answer a question?” 

“Yes,” the principal continues. “His teacher asked the students to share what their parents do for a living. When it was Jack’s turn, he refused to answer.” 

You glance at Jack. He meets your eyes and gives the tiniest shrug, as if to say Yeah, and?You return your attention to the principal. “With all due respect, I don’t see the issue here. Jack’s dad is a federal agent. Maybe he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it.” 

The principal sighs, rubbing his temples as if you’re the one being difficult. “Miss Y/LN, we encourage transparency in our students. Sharing personal details fosters a sense of community and trust within the classroom.” 

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “And you think forcing a child to disclose information about his father’s dangerous job is a healthy way to foster trust?” 

The principal’s scowl deepens. “It sets a precedent. When children refuse to participate, it encourages others to do the same. That’s not how we run things here.” 

Jack finally speaks up, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I did participate. I said, ‘I plead the Fifth.’” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. 

The principal looks unimpressed. “That’s not participation.” 

“Actually,” you say, unable to help yourself, “it’s a constitutional right.” 

Jack nods excitedly. “Exactly.” 

The principal rubs his temples. “Miss Y/LN, this is not a debate. We called you in because Jack’s response was disrespectful and set a bad example for his classmates.” 

“Oh, come on,” you say, exasperated. “He’s a seven-year-old, not a criminal. He didn’t swear, he didn’t insult anyone, he just chose not to disclose personal information about his father. And frankly, I think that’s smart.” 

“Oh, you misunderstood me—he talked about Mister Hotchner’s job.” The principal clarifies, “He refused to tell the class what his mother does as for a living.”  

You blink.  

Once. Twice.  

Slowly. 

Jack is still staring at his lap, clearly uncomfortable. The principal is watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to snap your fingers and magically produce an answer that will satisfy him. You take a breath, steady and slow, before asking, “And did it not occur to you that Jack doesn’t have a mother?” 

The principal’s expression falters for just a second before he recovers. “Well, I—” 

“No, really,” you cut him off, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “What exactly were you expecting him to say? That she passed away? That she’s not in the picture? That it’s none of your business?”Jack’s fingers tighten around the hem of his shirt, his small shoulders hunching. “Because all of those things are true, and dare I say, this is just a great ground for a lawsuit.” 

“I—” The principal clears his throat. “We didn’t realize—” 

“Oh, you didn’t realize?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re an educator, and you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe, forcing a child to talk about a subject he’s uncomfortable with might be a bad idea?” 

The principal shifts uncomfortably. “Miss Y/LN, we were only trying to encourage openness. Jack could’ve explained it to class—” 

You’re done. You pull out your phone and hand it over to Jack. “Go out and call your father, tell him to come here as soon as he can.” 

And Jack, being the sweet and smart kid that he is, doesn’t hesitate for a second. He takes the phone with a small but satisfied smile, hops off his chair, and walks out of the office, pressing the call button as he goes. Once you’re satisfied he’s out the door, you turn back to the principal.  

The principal watches him leave, his jaw tightening. “Miss Y/LN, I don’t think involving Agent Hotchner is necessary—” 

You arch a brow, crossing your arms. “Oh? You don’t? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you want to discipline a child for not wanting to discuss his dead mother in front of his classmates.” 

The principal shifts in his chair. “That is not what I said—” 

“It’s exactly what you said.” You let out a slow breath, reigning in the urge to throw his stapler at him. “Look, Jack is a kid. A good one. He’s polite, he does his work, and he keeps to himself. If he chooses not to answer a personal question in class, that’s his right. And you know what else? If Aaron were here, I guarantee you he’d be saying the same thing—but with a lot less patience than I am.” 

Aaron Hotchner is used to walking into tense situations. In fact, he thrives in them. He’s spent years profiling criminals, negotiating with hostage-takers, and dissecting the minds of the most dangerous people in the country. But right now? Right now, as he takes in the scene before him—his son looking uneasy, you standing rigid with barely contained anger, and the principal sitting behind his desk with an expression that’s quickly morphing from smug authority to barely concealed nervousness—he knows exactly what kind of situation this is. 

It’s one that will not end well for the man in front of him, and not because he’s about to chew the principal out, but because you’re just as angry as he is.  

“I’d like to hear why my son was called in for disciplinary action.” His voice is calm. Even. But it has the weight of authority behind it—the kind that makes grown men break eye contact and shuffle in their seats.  

The principal straightens, clearing his throat as if that will make Aaron any less unimpressed. “Well, Agent Hotchner, I assure you this is simply a misunderstanding,” the principal starts, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Jack refused to participate in a classroom discussion, which we found to be disruptive.” 

Aaron’s jaw tightens. “Disruptive,” he repeats flatly. He’s aware that the look he gives the man is quite off-putting, but he couldn’t care less given that his son has been put on the spot. 

“Y-yes,” the principal continues. “We encourage transparency in our students, and when Jack chose not to share what his mother does for a living—” 

Aaron hears you scoff at the flimsy excuse the principal offers. He also hears the faint shuffling of clothes, and he doesn’t need to turn around to see that Jack has tucked himself over to your side. It’s a comforting thing that he does whenever he feels overwhelmed, and though the two of you have tried very hard to help him overcome this, he feels glad that Jack has you at the moment to bring him relief.  

“He doesn’t have a mother.” Aaron’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. Sharp. Final. He’s also very aware of the fact that your lips are curling in an unapproving way, and of the fact that this can be an uncomfortable topic for most. But why should his child be put in an uncomfortable situation by the very people who are supposedly tasked with his well-being. 

The principal falters. His mouth opens, then closes, before he manages a weak, “I wasn’t aware.” 

Aaron’s expression remains unreadable, but his tone drops, making his displeasure crystal clear. “Then maybe you should have been.” 

Beside him, you shift slightly, and when Aaron looks over the shoulder to you, you have your arms protectively around Jack as you level the principal with an unimpressed look. “That’s what I said.” 

Aaron almost smirks. Almost. But the sight also tugs at some of the strings of his heart. 

The principal stammers, scrambling to regain some semblance of control. “Agent Hotchner, I assure you—” 

“Assure me what?” Aaron interrupts smoothly. His voice remains even, but there’s a razor-sharp quality to it now. His annoyance is amplified due to the fact the he is back at looking at the middle age principal instead of his son and you, but he tries to remain as stoic as he can. “That you failed to consider the emotional well-being of a child under your care? That you thought coercing him into sharing deeply personal information was an acceptable way to foster ‘transparency’?” 

The principal swallows. “I—” 

Aaron doesn’t give him room to recover. “Jack is a child. A good child. If he chose not to answer a question, there was a reason for it. And instead of respecting that, you decided to make an issue of it. You called in his guardian, wasted her time, wasted my time, and most importantly, made my son feel like he did something wrong when he didn’t.”The principal’s face is rapidly losing color, and you find it highly amusing to watch Aaron tear him a new one as you absentmindedly stroke Jack’s hair. Aaron takes a step forward, just enough to make the older man shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Jack will not be receiving any disciplinary action for this. Furthermore, I expect a formal apology from both you and his teacher.” 

“Agent Hotchner, I—I don’t think that’s necessary—” 

“I do.” 

The silence in the room is suffocating. The principal, realizing he’s backed into a corner, nods stiffly. “Of course.” 

Jack may be young, but he isn’t oblivious. He understands things far too well for a child his age—has seen too much to be anything but painfully aware of the way the world works. And right now, he understands that the adults who were supposed to protect him in this environment have let him down. 

Aaron takes in a slow breath and releases it just as steadily. He won’t let this moment define Jack’s time here. He won’t let this school—this principal—become another source of stress in his son’s life. 

He turns his attention back to the man in front of him, watching the principal squirm under his gaze. “I trust this won’t be an issue again.” 

“No, sir.” The principal nods quickly, his hands folded tightly together on his desk. 

The final look Aaron gives the man is cold, and you’d be lying if it isn’t at least a little bit satisfying to watch. With the matter settled, Aaron turns to Jack, his face softening. “Let’s go.” 

Jack doesn’t hesitate. He hops off the chair and moves toward his father, but not before looking up at you. There’s something in his gaze—relief, maybe, or gratitude—and your heart clenches at the sight. 

You ruffle his hair playfully. “Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here before your dad arrests someone.” 

Aaron sighs. “I don’t arrest people for incompetence.” 

You smirk. “Pity.” 

[seospicybin]

COCKY.

FINAL CHAPTER

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (16,4k words)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“I—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Check your email. Now.”

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

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

Your breath catches. Already?

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

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

Official Product Launch Announcement – New Innovations in Health & Wellness

And there, among the listed products, is yours.

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

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

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

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

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

You groan. “But I hate public speaking.”

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold. “What?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane raises a brow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you insist, glancing away.

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

You frown. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

You immediately shake your head. “No.”

Her smirk deepens. “You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “No. Why would I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you free next weekend?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Your face heats up instantly. “Jane!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

I’m on my way.

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

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

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

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

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

Chris hums in approval. “See you soon.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

You shift under his stare. “What?”

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

You nod. “Mexican food sounds great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Han smirks. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes. “Since when?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? Where are you?”

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

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

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

Jane hums, unconvinced. “Right.”

“It is,” you insist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

His brows furrow. “Doing what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whoa there," a familiar voice drawls, amused. "Didn't think I'd see you like this tonight."

You look up through the haze, and for a moment, you think—Chris? But no, there’s something off. The grip is steady but playful, the warmth of the body against yours more teasing than concerned.

Your brows furrow as you sway slightly, and he easily shifts to support your weight, slipping an arm around your waist. "Let's get you somewhere before you pass out on me."

You want to protest, but everything is too heavy, and your tongue feels slow. So you just let him guide you, his body pressed close as he half-carries you toward the elevator.

By the time you reach a room, he’s lowering you onto the sofa, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary before he steps back. You blink blearily up at him, the alcohol making your thoughts sluggish.

"About earlier, I—" you murmur, your words slurred. "I'm sorry, Chris."

You blink a few times, trying to clear the haze in your mind, and when you finally focus on the man in front of you, you realize it’s not Chris—it’s Han.

Han tilts his head, watching your reaction with amusement. “Wow,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. “I save you from stumbling around drunk, and you call me by another guy’s name? That hurts, babe.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. You’re too disoriented, too embarrassed.

Han just chuckles, shaking his head. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room before the product manager turns over this place,” he jokingly says, reaching out to help you up from the sofa. His grip is firm but careful as he leans down slightly.

Just as he’s about to pull you up, there’s a knock on the door. Han pauses. You barely register it before he’s already walking over, pulling the door open with his usual ease. And then��

Chris. He stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his gaze shifting from Han to you slumped on the sofa. His eyes narrow slightly, taking in the situation.

Han leans against the doorframe, an easy smirk playing on his lips. “You’re bothering us, man,” he says, tilting his head slightly toward you as if the two of you had been in the middle of something.

Chris, unimpressed, ignores him completely and looks at you. “Let’s go back to our room,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind.

Han, however, steps forward, blocking the doorway before Chris can step inside. “What, you think you’re the only one with a big dick?” he taunts, arching a brow. "I can satisfy her just fine."

You fumble, shaking your head, trying to deny whatever this conversation is turning into—but your words come out slurred, incoherent.

Han laughs at your attempt. “See? She can’t even say it properly. Must be overwhelmed.” He turns back to you, lowering his voice slightly, his tone teasing. “Mine is better, right babe?”

Chris scoffs, his jaw ticking. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Han’s smirk widens, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know what? Let’s ask her,” he says, looking at you expectantly.

You open your mouth, struggling to string together a sentence, but the alcohol has made your thoughts sluggish. Your gaze bounces between the two men, their contrasting expressions—Chris, standing tall and tense, and Han, relaxed and enjoying every second of this.

Then Han grins down at you. “We both know you like mine better.”

And that’s when it just bursts out of you—louder than you intended, words tumbling before you can stop them.

“I like Chris!”

Silence.

Both men freeze, their gazes snapping to you. Your brain catches up a second too late, and your eyes widen in horror as you quickly scramble to correct yourself.

“I—I mean, I like Chris’s dick better!”

Chris exhales sharply, a sound dangerously close to a laugh, and when you dare glance up at him, you can see it—he’s trying not to smile. His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the situation.

Han, on the other hand, whistles lowly. “Damn. Didn’t even have to try that hard.” He shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “I guess that settles it, then.”

Chris doesn’t waste another second. He steps forward, taking you by the hand—not rough, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. “Come on,” he murmurs, guiding you carefully toward the door.

As he leads you out, Han calls after you with a cheeky grin. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me!”

-

You step out of the bathroom, damp hair clinging to the sides of your face, the cold shower having done its job in sobering you up. As you tighten the belt around your bathrobe, you notice Chris already waiting for you in the suite’s dimly lit living area, a glass of water in his hand.

His gaze lifts the second he hears you, scanning you briefly before he holds the glass out. “Feel better now?” His voice is quiet, careful.

You nod, stepping forward to take the water from him. As you drink, Chris gestures for you to sit on the sofa, and he takes the spot beside you. The room is still, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning, and for a moment, neither of you speak.

Then Chris exhales, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry.”

You put the glass down and hold your hands up at him. “No—I should be the one apologizing. I—”

But Chris shakes his head. “I’m not talking about earlier. Well, not just earlier.” He pauses, shifting slightly so that he’s facing you. “I should’ve been honest with you from the start.”

Your breath catches, sensing the weight in his words. He watches you carefully, he licks his before saying, “I like you.”

The words are soft but firm, spoken as if he’s been holding them in for too long. Chris lets out a quiet, almost self-deprecating chuckle. “I liked you before all of this,” he continues, his fingers rubbing against his knee. “But you never noticed me. And I thought... maybe that meant you weren’t interested.” He hesitates, then sighs. “That’s why I took this whole condom thing as an excuse. Just so I could be close to you.”

Inside your chest, your heart stutters and your lips part slightly, but no words come out. You completely taken aback by his confession.

His eyes search yours, waiting, wanting. Then, with more certainty, he says it again—clearer, deeper. “I like you.”

The room feels smaller, like the air has thickened around you, pressing in with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

Chris doesn’t break eye contact, and in the soft glow of the lamp, you see it—the quiet sincerity, the vulnerability he rarely ever lets show. He’s been waiting for this moment. For you.

Your heart is pounding. You don’t know if it’s from the weight of his confession or the way Chris is looking at you—hopeful, expectant, like he’s holding his breath for your answer. So you kiss him. You lean in without thinking, without hesitating, pressing your lips against his.

Chris responds instantly, a quiet sound of surprise escaping him before he kisses you back, his hand instinctively coming up to cup your cheek. The warmth of his lips, the way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, the way he pulls you just a little closer—it’s overwhelming, dizzying, and you don’t realize how much you’ve wanted this until now.

When you finally pull away, your breaths are uneven, your hands trembling slightly against him. Chris watches you, his eyes dark and laced with something unreadable—until a slow, teasing smirk spreads across his face.

“So,” he drawls, voice lower now, “does this mean you like me? Or just my extra large dick?”

Your stomach flips, and you immediately fumble for a response. “I—I like you! Of course, I like you—”

Chris raises an eyebrow, still smirking, enjoying how he can easily tease you.

You groan, realizing your mistake. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like your dick—”

Chris bites back a laugh while you sigh in frustration and run a hand through your hair before forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You look at him, trying to keep your voice steady. “What I mean is... your dick is a part of you. And I like you—all of you. As a whole person.”

Then you realize what you just said, and your face heats up instantly.

Chris grins, clearly enjoying your flustered state. He leans in, closing the distance between you again. “I really like when you get flustered like this,” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.

This time, he kisses you slower, deeper, savoring the moment. And when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, “I like you whole too.”

-

You never thought this was how things would turn out. What started as a professional arrangement—just testing a product, just a temporary thing—became something else entirely. Somewhere between the teasing, the lingering glances, the way Chris always found a way to pull you into his orbit, you fell. Hard.

And now, lying beside him in bed, as you hover over him, your fingers brushing against his jaw before leaning in to kiss him again, you wonder how you ever thought you could keep things casual.

Slowly, his fingers work at the tie of your bathrobe, loosening it with quiet precision. You feel the fabric slacken around you, but he doesn’t push it off just yet. Instead, he looks up at you, his gaze heavy, filled with something you can’t quite put into words.

You pull back just enough to take him in—the way his lips are slightly parted, his hair mussed from your hands, the way his chest rises and falls steadily beneath you.

Chris catches your lingering stare, and a slow grin tugs at his lips. “What are you thinking?” His voice is warm, teasing, but there’s an underlying softness to it.

You hesitate before speaking. “I was just thinking… I never expected this.”

He chuckles as he runs his hand through your hair. “What? That you’d fall for me?”

You briefly look away before shyly denying it. “I didn’t say that.”

He grins, brushing his nose against yours. “You didn’t have to.”

You don’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, you kiss him again, slower this time, letting yourself sink into the feeling of his lips, the way he responds to you so effortlessly.

As your mouths move together, you feel him shift beneath you, his hands finally sliding the bathrobe off your shoulders, letting it slip from your body. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his hands, the way they roam over you with quiet reverence.

Chris hums against your lips, his fingers tracing slow, circular patterns along your back. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

You shiver—not from the cold, but from the way he says it. From the way he looks at you, as if you’re something out of this world, ethereal. And then he’s pulling you down again, kissing you deeper, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.

The tension in the room only intensifies as your fingers trail down his front, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. Chris exhales softly as your hand moves lower, calmly working open the button of his jeans before tugging down the zipper. He lowly groans when you push the fabric aside, his arousal springing free into your waiting hand.

You wrap your fingers around his cock, feeling the heat of him pulse beneath your touch as you start to lightly stroke him. He groans in response, his head tilting back against the pillows, his hands gripping the nape of your neck as he exhales a shaky breath.

“You’re really not gonna take it slow, huh?” he murmurs, his voice roughened by want, but there’s amusement laced in his words.

You glance up at him, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips before you lower yourself further, trailing soft kisses down the ridges of his abs. His muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath uneven as you take your time.

Chris watches you with darkened eyes, his lips parted as you move lower still. Your head is hanging only inches from where he wants you the most and you're looking at him with mischievous glints in your eyes. His hand moves to your hair, not guiding, just resting, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you.

Keeping your eyes locked with his, your tongue glides slowly along his length, tracing every ridge and vein as you take your time tasting him. He growls low in his throat, the sound reverberating through the room, his grip tightening in your hair for just a second before he forces himself to relax.

When you finally take him into your mouth, inch by inch, he exhales sharply, his abs flexing beneath your hands. You try to take more of him, but his sheer size makes it difficult, and he notices immediately.

"Take it slow," he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint. His hand cradles the back of your head, not pushing, just guiding. "You're doing so well."

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock and you lick your lips before you try again, taking him slower this time. You let out a soft, breathy sound against him, sending vibrations through his body. He props himself up on one elbow, glancing down to watch you, his gaze dark and filled with something deeper than just desire. The way your lips stretch around him, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him—he can’t tear his eyes away.

"Look at you," he mutters, slipping his fingers through your hair, brushing it back so he can see you better. His thumb grazes your cheek, his touch almost reverent. "Making me feel so good."

You feel the heat of his gaze searing into you, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch, the way his breath shudders out in ragged exhales. Every sound he makes, every soft praise he gives, spurs you on, making you want to push his control to the edge.

“Damn,” he breathes out, voice strained. His fingers thread through your hair, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “You’re really trying to ruin me, huh?”

Your hand moves in perfect sync with your mouth, gliding along the rest of his length as you work him over with slow, gentle strokes. You can feel him losing his restraint, his fingers gripping your hair a little too tightly as he fights against the pleasure building inside him.

"Shit," he groans, his voice raw, his control slipping fast. You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his dark, hooded gaze, and that alone seems to push him to the edge.

Before he can warn you, his body shudders, and he spills into your mouth with a sharp, choked sound. The warmth floods your tongue too quickly for you to take it all, and some dribbles past your lips, running down your chin.

Chris curses under his breath, quickly sitting up, his hand cupping your cheek. "I'm sorry—I didn’t mean to—" he starts, his thumb swiping at the mess on your chin, but you just softly smile at him in response. Then, without breaking eye contact, you tilt your head back slightly and swallow.

He watches, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips parting in awe before he exhales a rough chuckle. His eyes darken with something deeper than just satisfaction.

"That was so fucking hot," he roughly murmurs before pulling you close and kissing you hard.

Chris pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes filled with something intense, something hungry. Before you can react, he tilts your chin up and swipes his tongue along your skin, cleaning up the remnants of his release with slow, little licks. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can even catch your breath, his lips crash into yours again, deep and consuming.

Then, just as quickly, he pulls away and slides off the bed. You watch, dazed, as he strides across the room toward your bag perched on the chair.

Your stomach twists when you realize what he’s doing. "Chris—"

He ignores your protest, rummaging through your belongings with zero shame. "I know you keep them in here," he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You bury your face in your hands, mortified, as he finally retrieves a condom. But instead of returning right away, his fingers pause, and when you peek through your fingers, you see him holding something else. Something small. Something very, very familiar.

Chris turns around, holding up a tiny bottle and you slightly panic remembering the edible lube Jane slipped into your bag after the expo. His smirk deepens as he examines the label. "How did you know I like watermelon?" He quirks a brow at you.

Your face burns, completely flustered and a little mortified. "I—I didn’t!"

He hums, clearly enjoying your embarrassment, before tossing the bottle onto the bed beside you. Then he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Guess we’ll have to put it to good use, then."

Chris pops the cap open with a soft click, and the sweet, fruity scent of watermelon fills the space between you. His gaze flickers up to yours, dark and amused, before he tips the bottle over your skin.

The cool gel dribbles onto your chest, your stomach, the sensitive curves of your breasts. You gasp at the sensation, your body tensing as he smears it over your skin with his broad hands, rubbing slow, teasing circles.

"Sensitive, huh?" His voice is warm with amusement as he smooths the lube over your skin, making sure to spread it evenly. "I’ll be gentle."

You barely have time to process his words before he leans in, his mouth pressing against your collarbone. His tongue swipes against your skin, slow and deliberate, tasting the sticky sweetness. The heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool gel, making you shiver as he works his way down, following the trail he created with his hands.

Chris hums as he licks a stripe up your chest, the vibration sending a fresh wave of tingles down your spine. "Not bad," he murmurs against your skin before he kisses the skin under your navel.

The next thing you know, his lips latch onto your hardening nipple, tugging it between his teeth, sucking at it so hard before finally letting go, leaving your nipple wet and swollen. He does the same with the other one but this time, his hand massaging your ample flesh in reverence, the lube makes his hand glides smoothly across the two mounds before he brings them to the middle, allowing him to take both nipples into his mouth.

You arch under his touch, hands gripping the sheets as he takes his time, licking, tasting, teasing. He’s thorough—almost too thorough—as if savoring every inch of you, dragging the moment out until you’re squirming beneath him, breathless and overstimulated.

Chris finally pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. He grins, voice husky when he says, "I think I might like watermelon even more now."

He watches you with a teasing glint in his eyes as he puts more lube on your most sensitive spot, his fingers moving with deliberate slowness as he smears it all over your pulsating sex. The cool sensation makes you gasp, your body instinctively arching against his touch. His smirk deepens at your reaction, and he dips his head, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you.

“You know,” he muses, dragging his fingers lazily through the slickness between your folds, “this might just be my new favorite flavor.”

Before you can respond, he leans in, his warm mouth pressing against your wetness, his tongue gliding through the sweetness he just applied. The contrast between the cool lube and the heat of his tongue sends a shudder through your body. His hands settle on your hips, holding you steady as he takes his time, savoring every movement.

Chris hums against you, the vibration making you gasp again, and he chuckles at your response. He flicks his tongue over your clit before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. “You taste even sweeter now,” he says, his voice low and playful.

He doesn’t stop until he feels you tremble beneath him, his grip firm yet reassuring as he holds you in place. The tension coiling deep inside you finally unravels, and a soft cry escapes your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you. He doesn’t pull away immediately, instead, his tongue moving gently to prolong your high until you’re left gasping, your body still humming from the aftershocks.

When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is glistening with your essence, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand before crawling up your body, settling between your legs as he hovers over you. There’s a teasing smirk on his lips as he leans in, brushing his mouth over yours.

“Told you,” he murmurs against your lips, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You don’t need to ask what he means—you can taste it for yourself as he deepens the kiss, letting you chase the sweetness lingering on his tongue. It’s intoxicating, the mix of his warmth and the remnants of your release making your head spin. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, slow and indulgent, and when he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing just as uneven as yours. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your hip, his touch gentle in contrast to everything that just happened.

“You good?” he asks softly, his voice laced with something deeper—something tender.

You nod, still catching your breath, and he smiles before pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time. “Good,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

-

Instead of rushing right into it, Chris takes his time. His lips press gentle kisses along your collarbone, your shoulders, down your arms—anywhere he can reach. His hands follow the same path, fingertips tracing every inch of your skin, sending warmth through your entire body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. His gaze sweeps over you, and there’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you, as if he can’t quite believe this is real.

His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing over your skin, his touch so delicate yet so certain. “I still can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” he admits, his voice hushed, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. “That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, to admire you like this.”

The possessiveness in his words makes your heart stutter, but it’s not suffocating—it’s something deeper, something real. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, before finally capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow, unhurried, and filled with so much emotion that it makes your chest ache. “And I get to kiss you like this, as many times as I want.”

He shifts slightly, reaching between you both, and you hear the soft crinkle of the condom wrapper before he rolls it on. When he hovers over you again, his hands slide along your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them. But instead of rushing, he just looks at you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“I want you to remember this,” he whispers, his thumb brushing along your hip. “I want you to know how much I want you—how much I care about you.”

There’s nothing hurried about the way he touches you, nothing rushed in the way he moves. It’s a moment he’s savoring just as much as you are. And when he finally kisses you again, it’s deep and unspoken in its meaning, telling you everything he doesn’t need to say out loud.

Chris intertwines his fingers with yours as he aligns himself with you. His movements are filled with the same tenderness that lingers in his gaze. When he finally presses his cockto your entrance, he does so with utmost care, inching inside you with a patience that makes you hold your breath.

He pauses once he’s settled deep enough within you, not wanting to hurt you. He drops his head, his forehead pressing against yours as both of you take a moment to adjust—to the feeling, to the closeness, to everything unspoken between you. His thumb brushes soothing circles over the back of your hand, a silent reassurance as he waits for you.

When you finally whisper, "More," your voice is breathy, laced with need, he nods. With another slow, measured push, he eases himself deeper, filling you completely. A low groan escapes his lips, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly.

“God... you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice husky with restraint. His praise sends warmth through you, making your body tense in the best way. He draws back just enough before sinking into you again, his movements fluid and controlled.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as pleasure courses through you, and before you can stop yourself, your body clenches around him, the intensity overwhelming. Chris stills for a moment before chuckling softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Already?” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His thumb brushes over your cheek as he smiles down at you, his expression both affectionate and playful. “Guess you really are getting used to me.”

Even as heat floods your face, you can’t help but melt at the way he looks at you—like he’s reveling every second of this moment with you.

Chris stills for a moment, his forehead resting lightly against yours as he breathes you in. His voice is gentle when he asks, “Do you need a moment?”

You shake your head almost immediately, fingers tightening around his. “No,” you whisper, your breath warm against his lips. “Keep going.”

His lips curve into the softest smile before he obeys, rolling his hips with slow, deliberate movements, never breaking eye contact. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters in this moment, like he wants to memorize every breath, every sigh, every quiet gasp that escapes your lips.

Your hands remain intertwined, his grip firm yet reassuring, grounding you in the moment. Each measured thrust is unrushed, filled with something deeper than just desire. It’s as if he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into the way he moves, into the way he holds you, into the way he kisses your knuckles between each lingering gaze.

The world outside fades, leaving only the quiet creak of the mattress, the mingling of breaths, and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You feel everything—his touch, his presence, the emotions lingering between you.

Chris leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek before trailing down to your jaw. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with something tender.

And as he continues, keeping that slow, steady rhythm, you realize that this—being here with him, feeling this close—feels like something you never expected but something you never want to end.

This overwhelming feeling is taking over you. Your fingers tighten around Chris’s as you let out a soft, desperate whine. “Chris… I-I’m close.”

He hastily kisses you, his breath warm, his voice nothing but a soothing murmur. “It’s okay, baby,” he reassures you, his movements steady and unhurried. “Just let go.”

His words wash over you like a gentle tide, grounding you as you feel yourself unravel beneath him. But just as you’re about to fall apart, his pace never faltering, his gaze shifts—turning impossibly tender, reverent even. He looks at you as if you’re something sacred, something he never wants to let go of. His fingers squeeze yours as his lips part, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were made just for me.”

The words settle deep inside you, hitting somewhere beyond the physical, beyond the moment. And as you break apart beneath him, as he holds you through it, you realize—you’ve never felt more cherished than you do in this very moment.

Chris keeps moving, his rhythm growing more erratic as he chases his own release. His breaths turn ragged, his grip on your intertwined hands tightening as he buries his face against your neck. The warmth of his body, the way he clings to you, makes everything feel even more intimate.

And then, with a deep, shuddering groan, he finally lets go. His body tenses for a moment before he sinks into you completely, his weight pressing you into the bed as he collapses on top of you.

You wrap your arms around him instinctively, your fingers running soothingly down his back as he relishes the aftershocks of his climax. His chest rises and falls against yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything. There’s no need to—because right now, in this quiet, tangled-up moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

-

The slivers of sunlight shine through the cracks between the curtains. You stir awake, warmth surrounding you, and it takes you a moment to register the steady rise and fall of Chris’s breathing behind you. His strong arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you close, his body pressed flush against yours.

A slow, lazy kiss lands on your shoulder, then another, trailing up to the curve of your neck. His lips are warm, lingering, as if he’s enjoying the feel of you. His hand moves too—palming your breast with a gentle squeeze, your nipple is caught between his fingers.

You shift slightly, turning your head toward him, but before you can even murmur a good morning, he captures your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss. It’s soft at first, teasing, but then he deepens it, his fingers tightening around you as he pulls you impossibly closer. There’s a tenderness to the way he kisses you, like he’s been waiting all night for this.

As Chris finally pulls away from the kiss, his lips hover over yours, reluctant to part completely. You smile softly, your voice still laced with sleep as you murmur, “Good morning.”

He grins, pressing another quick peck to your lips before whispering, “Morning.”

For a moment, the two of you simply lay there, tangled up in each other, until a thought crosses your mind. “Should we be working today?” you ask, half-expecting him to remind you of responsibilities.

But he shakes his head, his fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns on your bare skin. “Let’s take another day off,” he suggests, his tone light, as if it’s the easiest decision in the world.

You hum in agreement, feeling no urge to argue. Just as he leans in for another kiss, you stop him with a playful, “Breakfast?”

Chris sighs dramatically, his lips curling into a smirk. “We can order it later.”

Before you can protest, his hand slips under the duvet, sliding along your thigh before gently lifting it, just enough to allow him access. A quiet giggle escapes you as you feel his morning wood nestled between your legs, his growing arousal pressing against your core.

“How did that get there?” you tease, your voice laced with amusement.

Chris chuckles, his lips brushing over yours. “It's your fault that I can't get enough of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with affection and something more.

He kisses you again, deep and unhurried, stealing your breath and any lingering thoughts of breakfast. When he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, he grins and says, “Maybe we should take one week off instead of just one day.”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, shaking your head at his playful grin. “One week?” you echo, arching a brow.

Chris hums, nuzzling against your neck. “Mm-hmm. One whole week. Just you and me.” His voice is warm, coaxing, tempting you into believing that reality can wait just a little longer.

And maybe it can.

Because right now, wrapped up in Chris’s arms, feeling the gentle way he touches you, the lazy kisses he presses to your skin, the way his body molds so perfectly against yours—it’s a moment you don’t want to end. A feeling you don’t want to slip away.

So instead of responding, you just sigh and pull him closer, pressing your lips to his once more, hoping that if you hold on tight enough, you can make this moment last forever.

-

You're in the middle of typing your report when the sharp scent of nail polish fills the air. You glance to the side and see Jane casually lounging next to you, legs crossed, meticulously painting her nails a deep red.

“You know this isn’t your personal salon, right?” you say, arching a brow.

Jane smirks, blowing lightly on her freshly painted nails. “Please, I work hard. I deserve some self-care during office hours.”

Before you can argue, your phone buzzes. You pick it up, and a message from Chris flashes on the screen.

Come to my office.

You swallow, already feeling the anticipation stir in your stomach. “I have to go,” you say, standing up.

Jane doesn't even look up as she caps her nail polish bottle. “Oh, I know where you're going.” She gives you a sly smile. “And yes, please take as much time as you want.”

Heat creeps up your neck, but you don’t dignify her with a response. Instead, you roll your eyes and make your way to Chris’s office, trying not to let your mind wander about why exactly he wants to see you.

After knocking on his door, you let yourself into Chris’s office and close the door behind you. He’s at his desk, leaning back in his chair with one hand resting on the armrest, the other scrolling through something on his screen. At the sound of your footsteps, he looks up and gives you a small, knowing smile.

“Come in,” he says, motioning for you to step closer.

You do, stopping in front of his desk, hands clasped in front of you. “You called?”

Chris leans forward, elbows on the desk. “How’s the development going?”

It takes you a second to register that he’s actually asking about work. You clear your throat. “Good. We’re finalizing the flavored variants for the extra-large line.”

Chris hums, pushing back his chair and standing up. “Flavored, huh?” He takes slow steps toward the door, locking it with a quiet click before turning back to you. “Like what flavors?”

“Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate—”

Your words cut off when he suddenly closes the distance between you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of his body, the way his fingers press into your lower back, sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been working hard,” Chris murmurs, his breath fanning over your lips. “Think you deserve a little break.”

Before you can say anything, he tilts his head down and presses his lips to yours, soft yet firm, coaxing, as if he’s been waiting all day to do this. The moment you melt into the kiss, he deepens it, one hand moving up to cup the back of your head and the other hand cupping your clothed ass cheek. The locked door, the office setting, the way he holds you like he can’t get enough—it all makes your head spin.

Chris doesn’t break the kiss as he lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of his desk. His hands settle on your thighs, keeping you close as he kisses you again—slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world.

Against his lips, you murmur, “Chris… we’re in the middle of work.”

He pulls back just enough to smirk at you, his eyes dark with amusement. “You can continue. I’m listening.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but the way he looks at you—completely enamored—makes it impossible to push him away. So, despite everything, you attempt to continue.

“The flavored variants… we’re still testing… different formulas,” you say, your voice slightly uneven as Chris leans in, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

“Mhm,” he hums as he trails down to your neck, his lips warm against your skin.

“We need to make sure… the taste is pleasant without affecting…” You gasp slightly when he finds a sensitive spot on your neck and nips at it. “…the integrity of the material.”

Chris chuckles, the sound low and teasing. “Sounds like important work.”

His lips find yours again, and this time, you don’t even attempt to finish your sentence. You sigh against him, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss, his fingers gripping your hips.

At this point, work is the last thing on your mind so you wrap your arms around Chris, pulling him closer as his lips move against yours, slow and unhurried. His hands explore your waist, your back, his fingers pressing into you like he never wants to let go.

But then, the sharp ring of his landline cuts through the moment. Chris groans in frustration, ignoring it in favor of deepening the kiss, but you pull back just enough to reach for the receiver, pressing it into his hand.

He glares at the phone like it personally offended him but sighs before answering. “Chris speaking.”

Even as he listens to the voice on the other end, his hands remain on you. One slides up your thigh, slipping beneath your skirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin. Your breath hitches when he teasingly brushes where you want him the most, his fingers graze the lacey fabric of your underwear and you grip his shoulders, trying to stay composed.

Chris smirks at your reaction but lets out another sigh before responding into the phone. “Yeah. I’ll be there in ten.”

With clear reluctance, he hangs up, his fingers still tracing circles on your thigh. “I guess work wins this round,” he mutters, his gaze flickering back to your lips.

You try to catch your breath, trying to ignore the way your body still aches for his touch. “You should go.”

Chris leans in one last time, stealing a lingering kiss before finally stepping back. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

And with the way he’s looking at you, you have no doubt that he will.

You smooth down your skirt, still trying to collect yourself as you slide off his desk. "And I should get back to work," you mumble, your voice not as steady as you'd like.

Chris watches you with an amused glint in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest like he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. As you turn toward the door, he calls out, “Oh, and by the way—”

You stop on your track and glance back at him.

His smirk deepens. “We’re testing the vanilla-flavored one tonight.”

Your breath catches, heat creeping up your neck at the implication. Chris simply grins, his gaze unwavering, and you quickly turn on your heel. As you walk out of his office, you swear you can still feel his smirk lingering in the air behind you.

-

The workday drags on longer than usual, but eventually, it’s time to leave. As you step into the elevator, exhausted yet content, the doors begin to close—until a hand slips between them at the last second.

Chris steps inside with his usual confidence, his presence filling the small space effortlessly. Dressed in his button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he looks every bit the professional and the man who has spent countless nights unraveling you.

He glances at you, a smirk playing at his lips. “So,” he starts, leaning against the elevator wall, “are you ready to test the vanilla-flavored one tonight?”

He then eyes your bag and grins, his dimples sunken into his cheeks. “I know the condom is there. In your bag.”

Your body betrays you before you can even form a response—cheeks heating, heart skipping, breath catching. You hate how easily he can do this to you.

Chris tilts his head, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You look away. “No.”

He chuckles. “Liar.”

Before you can defend yourself, he moves closer, his body inches from yours. His fingers brush against your wrist, then trail up your arm, setting every nerve alight. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, “I really like it when you get flustered.”

And then his lips are on yours—warm, slow, and deliberate. The kind of kiss that makes time irrelevant, that makes you forget you’re still in the office elevator. You sigh into it, your body melting against him as his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer.

The soft ding of the elevator chime startles you both. The doors glide open, revealing the lobby, and Chris pulls back just enough to look at you. His hand finds yours, fingers threading together, and with a knowing smile, he simply says—

“Let’s go home.”

-

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[nebularsung]

⭑ eating nerd!giselle out at the library ﹙+18﹚

she couldn’t focus. not with you sitting so close, completely unaware of the effect you had on her.

it wasn’t even intentional. it never was. but the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating, how your fingers absentmindedly twirled your pen, the way your teeth caught your lip when you were deep in thought—it was torture.

you were so effortlessly distracting.

you hadn’t even noticed how restless she had become, how her breath had grown uneven, or how she kept pressing her thighs together in a desperate attempt to ease the ache building inside her. but when you finally turned toward her, catching the flush spreading across her cheeks, the way her glasses slid slightly down her nose as she exhaled a shaky breath—

“gigi,” you whisper-shouted, amused, your voice laced with affection.

she nearly jolted, embarrassment taking over as she quickly adjusted her glasses. “i can’t help it,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. then, as if it explained everything, she added softly, “you’re so pretty…”

your heart swelled at the confession. giselle had always been shy—especially when it came to you. you were her first girlfriend, and before you, she had always kept her distance from girls—not because she didn’t admire them, but because they were all so beautiful, so untouchable. but then you came along, slipping so easily into her quiet world, filling it with warmth. and since the day you became hers, you were the only pretty girl that mattered.

you tilted your head, brushing your fingers against her cheek, your voice turning softer, lower. “poor baby…”

she sucked in a breath. she knew that tone.

“do you want my help, love?” you asked sweetly, and she hesitated for only a moment before nodding—eager, desperate, helpless under your gaze.

your lips curled into a smirk. “you just have to make sure you stay quiet… or else someone might hear us.” you leaned in, whispering the words against the shell of her ear, reveling in the way her body shivered in response. then, without another word, you slipped beneath the table.

giselle’s breath hitched.

it wasn’t like there were many people in the library—less than ten, at most—but even that felt like too much. she hated the idea of being caught, of people watching her in such a vulnerable state. or that was what she told herself. she could barely handle being the center of attention in normal situations, let alone now. but then she felt your hands on her thighs, and her thoughts scattered.

she swallowed hard, heart pounding as you lifted the hem of her pink checkered skirt, revealing her dampened panties. the sight made you hum in approval, and before she could even process the embarrassment, you blew a slow, teasing breath against her clothed heat.

a muffled gasp left her lips as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

you smiled, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, inching closer, making her sigh in anticipation. her glasses had slipped down her nose again, and when she reached up to push them back, she caught your gaze. the way you looked at her—like she was something to be worshiped—made her dizzy.

and then, without warning, your fingers hooked into the damp fabric, sliding it aside, baring her completely.

her breath stuttered once again.

you didn’t make her wait. your lips wrapped around her swollen clit, sucking lightly before running your tongue along her slit, tasting her. a ragged moan escaped before she could stop it, and panic flashed through her mind—were people looking? could they hear? but then you licked her again, slow and deliberate, and all thoughts of caution melted away. she couldn’t focus on anything but you.

her thighs trembled, threatening to close around your head, but your hands were already there, keeping her spread open for you. your tongue worked her in slow, teasing strokes—exploring her like you had all the time in the world, like you wanted to memorize every part of her all over again.

giselle let her head fall back, mouth parted in silent pleasure, fingers gripping the edge of the table as she tried so hard to stay quiet. she could feel the pressure building, the heat coiling low in her belly, but she forced her eyes open, checking her surroundings. no one had noticed—no one was looking.

that realization made her bold.

her hand shot down, tangling in your hair as she rolled her hips against your mouth, finding her own rhythm. the moment you let your tongue still, letting her take what she needed, she whimpered—so desperate, so completely lost in the moment.

she was so close.

and you knew it. you always knew.

your fingers found her clit again, rubbing slow, teasing circles before pinching it just right—just enough to make her gasp, to make her body lock up, to push her over the edge.

she came with a muffled, whimpering moan, body trembling, legs shaking around your shoulders as pleasure consumed her. her orgasm spilled over, soaking your lips, your chin, your tongue as you kept working her through it, savoring every drop.

the soft sounds of you licking her clean filled the space between you, and giselle felt her entire body sag into the chair, spent, overwhelmed, completely undone.

when she finally had the strength to look down, she found you gazing up at her—eyes dark, lips glistening, a self-satisfied smirk playing in your mouth. and when you raised your hand, dragging the back of it across your chin before slipping two fingers into your mouth to clean off the remnants of her pleasure—

she had to look away, hiding her face in her hands.

“you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed,” you teased, voice dripping with amusement. then, leaning closer, whispering just for her, “makes me wanna sit on your face…”

her breath caught, her eyes snapping to yours, pupils blown wide with something new, something deeper.

and you? you just smirked, already knowing exactly how the night was going to play out.

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 rum pum pum pum giselle has me.... 💦 like pls look at that woman and tell me you don't want her to ruin your life and then you say "thank you" when she gets out—

[bullet-prooflove]

The Betting Pool: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby has a shitty day, he just wants to be whereever you are and usually that's the pool.

For a while your nickname in the Pitt is RMC – Robby’s midlife crisis.

Almost 15 years younger and a lifeguard to boot…

Robby’s from the Baywatch era, he knows how it looks. They think you spend all day running around in a red swimsuit, swishing your hair back over your shoulder and giving mouth to mouth. That couldn’t be more further from the truth.

They don’t understand that every spare cent you have goes to your mother’s care, that you had to pivot at the height of a highly lucrative career and become something less than what you were always meant to be. They don’t see how hard you work, studying so you can be something more than the lot you were given.

“I need you to knock that shit off.” He tells his attendings during a staff meeting. “You have no idea how incredibly fucking demeaning it is.”

They do, they just don’t care because gossiping about him, it creates a lightness in The Pitt, a distraction from all the horrific shit they see. There’s no stopping it he realises when he walks into the security office and sees the betting pool stuck to the white board with brightly coloured post-its.

There’s all sorts of interesting thoughts.

Robby becomes the subject of a true crime podcast

Steal’s Robby’s car and cleans out his bank accounts.

Robby discovers he’s the other man.

There’s a lot of bets riding on that one. Looking at this board only reenforces the fact that people are going to think what they want to think and it’s on him to prove them wrong.

He picks up a pink post it and one of the black sharpies before scribbling his own bet.

$5000 dollars, he writes before he sticks it to the board. Happily married within the next three years.

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[scarluna]

Thoughts of You

Y/N starts work as a client agent at a big corporate company. There, she meets Jungkook, a man who confuses the hell out of her.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, fuckboy jungkook, insecurities, smoking

Chapter available: 2 |

Chapters: 1 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, a little sexual tension

A/N: So, this is something like a diary slash fanfic with Jungkook being the main character. It's something that is currently happening to me so. Stay tuned, xoxo.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Y/N sat in the back of the large training room, her hands wrapped tightly around the company-issued manual. She knew no one in this room. Fifty new hires, all squeezed into the corporate world like a fresh batch of recruits, eager to prove themselves.

But not her.

She wasn’t eager. She wasn’t excited.

She was terrified.

Not that she would ever let it show.

With her best neutral face in place, she kept to herself, making sure her laughter was just enough to blend in but not enough to invite attention. Years of perfecting the art of invisibility had turned her into a master at it.

That is, until he walked in.

Jeon Jungkook.

He was hard to ignore. Even if you wanted to.

Loud, energetic, effortlessly confident. The kind of person who could make friends in under five minutes just by existing. His laughter boomed across the room, a stark contrast to the dry corporate environment, and people naturally gravitated toward him like he was some kind of human magnet.

Y/N wasn’t immune to noticing him either.

But she refused to acknowledge it.

At least, not in the first week.

By the second week, she couldn’t help it.

It started small.

Jungkook had a way of filling up space—his energy, his voice, his stupidly attractive presence. She noticed the way he cracked jokes at the trainers, making even the most monotonous lectures somewhat bearable. He was the kind of person who could probably make the apocalypse seem like a minor inconvenience.

He got along with everyone.

And yet, somehow, his gaze found her.

She wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe during the lunch breaks where she sat at the end of the table, eating quietly while the rest of the team talked over each other. Or during the moments when he’d glance back at her in the training room and smirk, like he knew she was trying not to laugh at whatever nonsense he was spouting.

But the real turning point?

Smoking breaks.

The first time they all went out for a smoke, it was just a casual thing. A group of them—seven or eight—gathered outside, sharing lighters, passing around cigarettes like they were some kind of currency. Y/N had only gone because she wanted to escape the suffocating training room for a bit.

Jungkook had been there, of course.

And unlike the others, he noticed her.

“You smoke?” he asked, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable as she exhaled a slow stream of smoke into the cold air.

Y/N shrugged. “Only when work stresses me out.”

He grinned. “You’re gonna need a whole carton by the end of this training, then.”

She had chuckled at that. It was the first time she let her guard down around him.

The next day, the group went out again, but the day after that, it was just the two of them.

She hadn’t expected it.

Jungkook had caught her right before she was about to leave the training room, twirling his lighter between his fingers like a habit.

“Coming for a smoke?” he asked, casual as ever.

She hesitated.

Going with the group was fine. It was easy to blend in, to be just another face in the crowd.

But just with him?

Dangerous.

Still, she found herself nodding.

And as the two of them stepped outside, the crisp evening air wrapping around them, she realized something.

Jungkook wasn’t as loud when it was just the two of them.

He was different.

And for the first time in a long time, someone was paying attention to her.

She just didn’t know if she was ready for it.

The first few drags of the cigarette were always the best. The instant hit, the brief distraction. Y/N inhaled deeply, letting the smoke curl in her lungs before exhaling slowly. The cold air outside the office made it even sharper, grounding her in the moment.

Jungkook stood beside her, one foot propped against the wall, his cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. His gaze flickered up to the dimly lit sky before shifting back to her.

“So,” he exhaled, watching the smoke swirl into the night, “what do you think of everyone so far?”

Y/N hesitated, fingers tightening around her cigarette. This was easy. Casual. Just workplace gossip.

Still, she took her time answering.

“They’re… alright,” she finally said, keeping her tone neutral. “A lot of them seem too eager, though. Like, they actually care about impressing management.”

Jungkook snorted. “Right? Like, chill, we’re just client agents, not the CEO’s personal army.”

She smirked, a small victory that he agreed. But even as she spoke, she was hyper-aware of herself—of the way her coat hugged her arms, of how her thighs felt too large even when standing still, of the way her stomach folded slightly as she leaned against the railing.

She wasn’t comfortable. Not really.

But she was good at pretending.

“What about you?” she asked, flicking some ash off the tip of her cigarette. “You get along with everyone, don’t you?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I guess? I dunno. I just don’t like awkwardness. People make everything so weird when they could just talk.”

I wish it was that easy for me, she thought.

She didn’t hate people. She just hated how she felt around them.

She’d spent years perfecting the art of shrinking herself, even when her body refused to comply. In school, in college, even in her previous jobs—she had mastered the skill of being there, but not seen. She had laughed at jokes, participated in conversations, even flirted a little when the situation called for it.

But she never let herself believe it was real.

Because how could it be?

Desire, attraction, intimacy—those things weren’t meant for girls like her.

They were for women with effortless beauty, with curves in the right places, with confidence that didn’t feel like a carefully curated performance.

Not for someone who had spent years avoiding mirrors.

Not for someone who learned early on that “you have such a pretty face” was just a polite way of saying “if only you were thinner.”

Not for someone like her.

Jungkook’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Okay, but tell me you haven’t noticed how weirdly competitive the trainers are with each other.” He grinned, flicking his cigarette. “I swear, I saw Mark and Rachel fighting over who knew more about company policies.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I did notice. Mark’s insufferable, though.”

“Right?” Jungkook groaned. “Dude acts like he owns the company, but he’s literally just reading from a PowerPoint.”

She laughed again, and for a second, it felt normal.

Like she wasn’t overthinking every single thing.

Like she wasn’t hyper-aware of her body, of the space she took up, of the fact that she wasn’t the type of girl who ended up alone outside with a guy like him.

Because that’s what Jungkook was.

The kind of guy who was too attractive for his own good. The kind of guy who never had to second-guess himself. The kind of guy who could be loud and take up space and be seen without shame.

And the worst part?

She wanted to think about him that way.

She wanted to let herself have that.

To allow her mind to wander into thoughts that she had long denied herself—fantasies she had always buried under layers of self-doubt and self-disgust.

But the moment they surfaced, shame followed.

Because that wasn’t for her.

That wasn’t allowed.

She didn’t deserve to feel that way about herself.

Or about anyone.

Jungkook exhaled one last stream of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. “Wanna head back in?”

Y/N nodded quickly, eager to escape her own thoughts.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

As they walked back, she couldn’t help but wonder.

If Jungkook saw her the way she saw herself…

Or if, somehow, impossibly, he saw something else.

The training room buzzed with idle chatter, the afternoon slump creeping in as people half-listened to the trainer drone on about client retention strategies. Y/N sat in her usual spot, close to the back, where she could blend in without looking like she was actively avoiding people.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had no such concerns.

He had claimed the seat right behind her, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking effortlessly comfortable as if he owned the damn place. It had become a pattern over the past week—him choosing to sit near her, striking up random conversations, joking around like it was second nature.

She told herself it was nothing.

That it meant nothing.

Just Jungkook being Jungkook.

The way he was with everyone.

But then, the senior colleague walked in.

A woman from another department—older, energetic, and always in high spirits. She clapped her hands together, getting everyone's attention.

"Alright, guys! I know work can be exhausting, but let's put some good energy out there!" she announced. "Let’s do a little manifestation exercise. I’m gonna type out a few names—yours, mine—and we’ll manifest success, abundance, and money. Sound good?"

A few people chuckled, others nodded along.

Y/N shifted in her seat.

She never liked being called on, but since everyone was volunteering their names, she figured she should do the same.

"Y/N," she said softly, lifting her hand slightly.

Before she could say her last name, Jungkook’s voice cut through the room—clear, loud, and so damn casual that it took her brain a second to process.

"Jungkook's girlfriend."

Silence.

Then—laughter.

A few of their colleagues snickered, some making teasing "Ooooh" sounds like a bunch of high schoolers, and Y/N felt her entire body seize up.

Her face heated instantly.

Jungkook just grinned, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek like he was so pleased with himself.

The senior colleague chuckled, playing along. "Oh? Should I type that in?"

"Manifest it!" someone from across the room called out, making everyone laugh harder.

Y/N forced out a dry laugh, willing herself to stay composed. "Oh my god, shut up," she muttered under her breath, but Jungkook heard.

He leaned forward slightly, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence behind her.

"What?" he teased, voice low, just for her. "Wouldn't be the worst thing to manifest."

She refused to turn around.

Refused to acknowledge whatever the hell that meant.

Refused to let her mind go where it wanted to go.

It was a joke.

Just a joke.

Just Jungkook being… Jungkook.

Later that afternoon, Y/N found herself outside with a few of the girls from the office, their usual smoking spot tucked away from the main entrance. Jungkook wasn’t there—off doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t making her life unnecessarily difficult.

She exhaled a slow stream of smoke, grateful for the quiet.

Until one of the girls, Mina, smirked at her.

“So,” she started, her voice teasing, “you and Jungkook, huh?”

Y/N’s heart nearly stopped.

She scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on. He was just messing around.”

Another girl, Hana, raised an eyebrow. “Was he, though?”

“Yes!” Y/N insisted, but Mina wasn’t convinced.

“He does flirt with you a lot,” she pointed out, taking a drag of her cigarette.

Y/N stiffened. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Oh my god, are you blind?” Hana laughed. “He’s always around you.”

“That’s just because we started at the same time,” Y/N reasoned. “He’s like that with everyone.”

Mina hummed. “Not really. He jokes with everyone, sure, but have you noticed how close he sits to you?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Seriously,” Hana chimed in. “When we’re in the training room, he’s always scooting closer. Like, unnecessarily close.”

Mina nodded. “Yeah. And whenever he talks to you, he leans in just enough.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted.

They were wrong.

They had to be wrong.

Because if they weren’t—if there was even a chance that Jungkook did flirt with her—then what?

Then she’d have to consider the possibility that someone like him could see someone like her that way.

And that was dangerous.

Because she knew better.

She knew her place.

She wasn’t the kind of girl men leaned into.

She wasn’t the kind of girl men scooted closer to.

She wasn’t the kind of girl men flirted with—at least, not seriously.

Not with any real intention.

And yet…

She thought back to the way he had said it.

"Jungkook’s girlfriend."

The way his voice had wrapped around the words so easily.

She shook her head, exhaling sharply.

“Nope. Not reading into this,” she muttered. “It was a joke.”

Mina and Hana exchanged a look, clearly amused.

“Whatever you say,” Mina said with a knowing smile.

Y/N took another slow drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke settle in her lungs.

She wouldn’t let herself get caught up in delusions.

Because if she let herself believe—even for a second—that Jungkook could actually be interested in her…

Then she wouldn’t know what to do when reality reminded her that he never would be.

A few days had passed since the whole “Jungkook’s girlfriend” joke, and Y/N had done everything in her power to push it out of her mind.

It was nothing. Just him being playful, just the kind of thing someone like him could say without thinking twice.

She shouldn’t be thinking about it.

And yet, she still found herself too aware of him.

Of how he always ended up near her. Of how he leaned in when he talked. Of how she caught him looking at her sometimes—not in a mocking way, not in a wow, she’s huge way, but in a way that she couldn’t figure out.

It made her stomach twist.

It made her hope.

And that was dangerous.

Because hope was something she didn’t allow herself to have.

So, when the group went out for a smoke again, she tried to keep her distance.

The usual crowd was there—Jungkook, Mina, Hana, a few of the guys from their team. Lighters flicked, cigarettes lit, and the casual flow of conversation filled the crisp air.

Jungkook was in the middle of telling some stupid story, something about a girl he’d been with last weekend. Y/N tried not to listen too closely, tried not to let the words settle too deep.

Then he said it.

“I like pretty girls with fuller lips,” he mused, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Y’know, the ones who’ve had some work done. Looks so good.”

Y/N felt herself stiffen.

He wasn’t even talking to her, wasn’t looking at her when he said it. But the words hit anyway, like a cold slap to the face.

She turned slightly, watching as he took another drag of his cigarette, completely unaware of how her mind had just flipped on itself.

Mina smirked. “Oh, so you like the Instagram model type?”

Jungkook shrugged, grinning. “I mean, yeah. I like a girl who knows how to enhance what she’s got.”

“Yeah? And how many of those girls are you seeing?” one of the guys teased.

Jungkook chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t keep count, man. Just having fun.”

And that was it.

That was all Y/N needed to hear.

She took a slow step back, distancing herself from the conversation, suddenly feeling like an idiot for ever letting her mind wander in the first place.

Oh, he definitely isn’t into me.

Why was I even thinking about it?

The relief was almost immediate—like a weight lifting off her chest. Because now she had proof. Now she could shove away any lingering thoughts, any ridiculous ideas that maybe, maybe, there was something in the way he looked at her.

Because there wasn’t.

Jungkook liked confident girls. The kind who knew they were beautiful. The kind who walked into a room and owned it. The kind who got their lips done because they knew people would be looking at them.

And Y/N?

She barely wanted to be perceived.

She was nothing like the women he wanted.

And she never would be.

So she took another slow drag of her cigarette, let the smoke settle deep in her lungs, and decided that whatever she had been feeling before—

It was over.

The conversation had moved on.

Jungkook’s words about his type had already sunk into Y/N’s mind like a stone in deep water, and she had done her best to detach herself from it.

She was good at that—convincing herself not to care.

But then, casually, almost like an afterthought, he said something that made her pause.

“Yeah, I was in a relationship for four years,” he admitted, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

Y/N glanced at him before she could stop herself.

He had never mentioned that before.

“Wait,” Mina blinked, interested. “You? In a serious relationship?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Yeah. Long time, huh?”

“What happened?” one of the guys asked.

Jungkook shrugged. “It just ended. That’s all.”

Something in his tone told Y/N that wasn’t all, but she didn’t ask.

It wasn’t her place to.

And that was it. The topic drifted, people moved on, and she told herself she wouldn’t think about it.

But later—when it was just the two of them outside, the others having already gone back in—he brought it up again.

Y/N shivered slightly, rubbing her arms for warmth as she exhaled smoke into the cold night air. She had stayed behind for one last cigarette before heading back in, and somehow, Jungkook had done the same.

Now it was just them.

Quiet. No distractions.

And then, out of nowhere—

“I think I’m ready for something serious again.”

She turned to look at him, caught off guard.

His eyes weren’t on her. He was gazing at the ground, his cigarette between his fingers, expression unreadable.

Y/N swallowed. “You mean… a relationship?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Jungkook—the same guy who had just admitted to sleeping with countless women, the same guy who had laughed about not keeping count—wanted to be in a relationship?

“You said you were with someone for four years,” she said carefully. “What happened?”

He was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

“I was loyal to her,” he said simply. “But she cheated on me.”

Y/N felt something twist in her stomach.

She hadn’t expected that.

He took another slow drag, exhaling before speaking again. “Before I met her, I slept around a lot. Just… had fun, you know? And after she cheated, I guess I just went back to that.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Except now, I don’t even think about it. It just happens.”

Y/N stayed silent, absorbing his words.

She shouldn’t be feeling anything about this.

She shouldn’t care.

But for some reason, the way he said it—the way he admitted it, so bluntly—it made her uneasy.

Jungkook glanced at her then, eyes dark under the dim light. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?” she murmured.

“I don’t sleep next to them,” he said. “After we’re done, I leave. Or I ask them to.” He tilted his head slightly. “I just… I don’t like being next to someone I have no feelings for.”

Y/N’s pulse jumped.

She didn’t know why, but something about the way he said it, about the way his voice lowered just slightly, sent a strange heat crawling up her spine.

She forced a chuckle, trying to keep it light. “Wow. Such a gentleman.”

Jungkook smirked, flicking his cigarette away. “I never said I was a good guy, Y/N.”

Her breath hitched slightly.

The way he was looking at her now—like he was studying her, like he was waiting for something—was making it hard to breathe.

The tension was thick.

And she hated it.

Because she knew her place.

She knew she wasn’t the kind of girl men looked at like that.

And yet, as Jungkook’s gaze lingered, as the silence stretched between them, she found herself struggling to remember why.

Y/N didn’t know what to say.

The way Jungkook was looking at her, the weight of the conversation—it was too much.

She wasn’t used to this kind of talk.

She wasn’t used to him like this.

He was always loud, always playful, always joking around, but now… now he was just raw. Unfiltered. And she didn’t know what to do with it.

So, finally, she forced herself to ask, “Then… what are you looking for in a relationship?”

Jungkook exhaled, thinking for a moment before answering.

“I’ve lowered my standards,” he admitted, his tone casual, but there was something sharp beneath it.

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I used to have all these ideas of the perfect girl,” he said, leaning against the railing. “But now? I just want someone mature. Smart. Someone who actually knows how to communicate instead of just expecting things.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, trying to understand.

Jungkook sighed. “The girls I’m with now… they only care about their nails, their hair, their outfits—girly shit like that. And I don’t mind it, but sometimes I talk to them, and it’s like—” he snapped his fingers “—nothing. Zero brain capacity.”

Y/N blinked.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

Part of her wanted to laugh, to tell him he sounded ridiculous, but another part of her was just… confused.

Because he was acting like he wanted something real. Something deep.

And that didn’t make sense.

Not coming from him.

Not after everything he had just told her.

“So,” she started slowly, “you want someone who actually understands you?”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.”

Y/N hesitated, shifting slightly on her feet. “And what kind of boyfriend are you?”

Jungkook smirked at that, running a hand through his hair before answering.

“I don’t hold onto people too tight,” he said simply. “I’m not a jealous guy. I don’t believe in that possessive bullshit. If I’m with someone, it’s because I trust them. They’re their own person, I’m my own person. We have different friends, different lives.”

He paused for a second, then gave her an example.

“Like, let’s say we’re together,” he said, and Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

She felt her breath hitch, but he didn’t notice.

Or maybe he did.

But he continued anyway.

“If we’re together, and we’re out somewhere, and some guy starts checking you out,” he said, “I wouldn’t freak out. I wouldn’t get mad. Because, at the end of the day, I know you’re mine. That’s it. Simple.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Because none of that should have meant anything.

And yet, her mind clung to a single, ridiculous thought.

Some guy checking me out?

She almost wanted to laugh.

Because that would never happen.

She wasn’t the type of girl men looked at like that.

But the way Jungkook had said it—so effortlessly, like it was a completely normal scenario—made something strange bloom in her chest.

It made her want to believe it.

Just for a second.

Just to see what it would feel like.

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

So, instead, she forced herself to focus on his words.

“I think jealousy is unbelievably stupid,” she admitted, her voice quieter than before. “If there’s trust, care, and love… then what’s the point?”

Jungkook hummed, considering her answer.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Exactly.”

Silence stretched between them.

Something unspoken lingered in the air—thick, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Y/N’s mind was racing, trying to make sense of this, trying to convince herself that none of it meant anything.

But then Jungkook looked at her again.

And suddenly, she wasn’t so sure.

Y/N had been trying to avoid the weight of Jungkook’s words, trying to brush them off like they meant nothing, but then—

“You have pretty eyes.”

She froze.

The words came out so casually, so effortlessly, like he hadn’t even thought twice before saying them. But Y/N had never been told that before.

Not in a way that mattered.

Not in a way that wasn’t followed by some joke, some empty compliment thrown her way to be nice.

She kept her expression neutral, exhaling a slow stream of smoke before giving him a skeptical glance. “What?”

Jungkook leaned against the railing, looking at her—not through her, not past her, but at her.

“I said you have pretty eyes.” His gaze flickered to her glasses. “Why are you hiding them behind those?”

Y/N’s stomach clenched.

Her fingers instinctively twitched at the frame of her glasses, but she didn’t dare remove them.

She needed them.

Not just to see, but to conceal.

They were her safety net, a barrier between herself and the world—a world that never really saw her, that never wanted to see her.

She forced out a chuckle, shaking her head. “I’m not hiding anything. I just need them.”

Jungkook didn’t push, but he didn’t look convinced either.

He just took another drag of his cigarette, watching her through the smoke.

Y/N’s mind spiraled.

Because that was just it, wasn’t it?

They were too different.

They were from completely different worlds.

Jungkook was charming, effortless, someone who moved through life with ease. He surrounded himself with people who were just like him—beautiful, confident, carefree.

And her?

She barely wanted to be perceived.

Even if, in some ridiculous, alternate universe, they were together… she’d never fit into his world.

His friends wouldn’t understand her.

She’d always be second-guessing herself, always feeling like the odd one out, always waiting for someone to question why Jungkook was with her in the first place.

The thought settled deep inside her chest, heavy and painful.

Because even if she wanted to believe there was something here, something small and unspoken—

It didn’t matter.

It never would.

The days without Jungkook felt different.

He had taken some vacation leave, and Y/N told herself it was nice to have a break from him.

No teasing remarks.

No lingering stares.

No reason for her stupid, ridiculous thoughts to resurface.

But the office felt… emptier.

It wasn’t just that Jungkook was loud, that he filled the room with his energy. It was something else, something she didn’t want to name.

She wasn’t supposed to miss his presence.

She wasn’t supposed to care.

But she found herself noticing his absence anyway.

And then—he came back.

And everything felt different.

Not because he acted differently.

But because now, every time she saw him, he was on his phone.

Texting.

Talking.

Always busy, always distracted, always somewhere else.

He’d laugh at his screen, fingers flying over the keyboard, sometimes whispering something to his male friends, chuckling under his breath.

And Y/N knew.

She knew.

He was talking to them.

The girls.

The ones he slept with. The ones who fit into his world, who had the kind of beauty that turned heads.

And maybe, before, she could have convinced herself that none of it mattered.

But after that night—after his words, after the way he had looked at her—

It did matter.

And that was the worst part.

Y/N sat across from her best friend, Luna, stirring her iced coffee absently as she tried to figure out how to explain the mess inside her head.

Luna, being a psychologist, always had a way of cutting through her bullshit. It was annoying, but Y/N knew she needed it.

“So let me get this straight,” Luna leaned forward, crossing her arms. “You have a thing for this guy—”

“I don’t have a thing for him,” Y/N interrupted quickly.

Luna gave her a flat look. “Okay. You don’t have a thing for him. But you’re clearly affected by him.”

Y/N sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “… Maybe a little.”

Luna smirked. “Thought so. Go on.”

Y/N hesitated before continuing. “It’s just… sometimes it feels like he sees me. Like he says things that catch me off guard, things I’m not used to hearing.”

“Like?”

Y/N sighed. “Like telling me I have pretty eyes and asking why I hide behind my glasses.”

Luna’s brows lifted slightly. “And that bothers you because…?”

“Because he’s him,” Y/N exhaled sharply. “Because I don’t fit in his world, Luna. I mean—he literally sleeps with different girls all the time. He’s always on his phone texting them. And when he does talk about relationships, it’s like—he wants someone mature, someone who understands him, but at the same time, he surrounds himself with the opposite.”

Luna tilted her head. “So what’s the real problem here?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Luna leaned back in her chair, studying her. “The way I see it, you’re not upset about Jungkook himself. You’re upset because, for the first time, you’re actually considering the possibility that someone like him could see you in a way you’ve never allowed yourself to be seen.”

Y/N froze.

That hit too deep, too fast.

Luna continued. “You’ve spent so long believing that you don’t belong in certain spaces, that men like him would never look at you in that way, that even the idea of it makes you uncomfortable. So now, when something happens that contradicts that belief—like him telling you that you’re beautiful in some way—you panic. Because it doesn’t fit the story you’ve told yourself.”

Y/N stared at her drink, feeling her throat tighten.

She wanted to argue.

She wanted to say Luna was wrong.

But she wasn’t.

Because it was true.

Y/N had spent years convincing herself that attraction, desire, and romance were things meant for other women.

Women who were smaller.

Women who fit in.

So when someone like Jungkook—someone who shouldn’t even notice her—said something that made her feel seen, she didn’t know what to do with it.

It hurt more than it should.

Because even if, in some impossible, alternate reality, Jungkook did look at her like that—what then?

She still wouldn’t belong in his world.

She still wouldn’t fit.

And that thought burned more than she wanted to admit.

Luna sighed, her voice softer now. “Look, I’m not saying he’s in love with you or anything. Maybe he’s just naturally flirty, maybe he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. But Y/N… you deserve to stop hiding. Whether it’s him or someone else, you deserve to be seen.”

Y/N swallowed hard, gripping her coffee cup a little tighter.

She didn’t know if she was ready for that.

But a part of her—a tiny, fragile part—was starting to wonder if maybe, maybe, Luna was right.

Avoiding Jungkook was easier said than done.

Y/N told herself it was for the best—that she needed space, that she was just overthinking things, that none of it mattered in the grand scheme of things.

So, she distanced herself.

She stopped going for smoke breaks when she knew he’d be there.

She started sitting on the opposite side of the training room.

She spent more time with her other colleagues, forcing herself to engage in conversations and laugh at jokes she barely paid attention to.

And for the most part, it worked.

Jungkook was always surrounded by people anyway. He was always talking, always laughing, always moving. He barely even noticed she was keeping her distance.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

But then there were moments—small, fleeting ones—where she could feel his eyes on her.

When she’d be chatting with Mina and the others, laughing at something ridiculous, and suddenly, she’d catch the slightest shift in the air.

When she’d glance up just in time to see Jungkook looking at her across the room, brows slightly furrowed, like he was trying to figure something out.

But he never said anything.

And neither did she.

She just kept pulling away, convincing herself that it was the right thing to do.

That she wasn’t meant to be part of his world.

That she was better off staying exactly where she was.

[somuchanxietysolittletime]

I know I already reblogged this. I know I am now reblogging this from a mutual who is JUST as fed up with the Democratic party as I am. And I know I am SO TIRED of their inaction too, but at the same time... like... it must be so demoralizing and frustrating to be a Democrat in office right now because MAGA LOVES it when they pitch a rightful fit.

Make no mistake, behind their whataboutisms and whinging about decorum, MAGA is run by a bunch of fucking trolls. They cater to fucking trolls. Their base is full of fucking trolls. These are some of the most immature, bratty, evil-hearted individuals on the planet and they want nothing more than to see Liberals and Leftists lose their shit over abuses of power and abject cruelty. It's why they are doing it.

If you ever see a moment where fascism is out in full light and wonder, 'How do they get away with this???' it's because they know it pisses you off, and they love it. It's a power game. They get control, and they get emotional satisfaction from watching the other side scream bloody murder.

This is one big performance piece.

Normally, if this was an online forum (Speaking from experience as a former professional moderator), this is where the adults in the room step in. We'd remind people to not feed the trolls, ban those involved, remind users of community guidelines, and tighten up our sweeps to make sure to catch stragglers.

But the Republicans have spent the past ten-ish years getting rid of the adults in the room. There are no moderators anymore. And any time someone tries to step into that role, like judges trying to reign in Trump's power, they are threatened by the very institutions they are trying to protect.

And Republicans would love nothing more than to be able to say Democrats have become a party of dissidents who must be expelled from Congress and lose what little power they still have in the government. It would make them SO happy to have even the smallest excuse to do so.

Make no mistake, I am in no way excusing their inaction. We can't fight fashion by color-coordinating it out of existence. Pink suits doesn't stop the fact that we're two steps from pink triangles again.

I also would like to point to the excellent video by Innuendo Studios called The Alt-Right Playbook: You Go High, We Go Low. In it he touches on a big failure of liberals: Their reliance on invisible rules that Republicans don't play by or even believe in. Essentially, liberals never play dirty. They govern like they sincerely believe that if they follow the playbook, eventually a referee will come in and call they game for them.

There is no referee. They were all shot by Trump in the middle of mainstreet and no one who matters, cares.

The problem is, Liberals should have been playing dirty ten years ago. Now they will have to work twice as smart and three times as hard, while trying to avoid giving fascist trolls an excuse to seize more power.

Can anybody give these old-ass Democrats protest lessons? They're acting like they're still living in pre-2015 politics when the GOP gave a shit and wasn't deranged.

A member gets up and starts shouting: All get up and shout with him.

Don't walk out: MAKE them carry you all out, not shutting up the entire time. I'm serious, go limp, be dead weight.

Putin's Puppet says a provable lie: Everyone chant "LIE" in unison for a solid minute instead of holding pitiful little signs in front of a man who can't read above a 3rd grade level.

Have someone who knows ASL sitting with you, interpreting everything in full view.

If you're gonna hold signs, make them BIG like you're actually trying to do something. Have them in multiple languages.

Make other signs that say clever or cutting things that will make him rage for days. "DOESN'T OLD TRUMP LOOK TIRED?" or "PUPPET PRESIDENT" or "EVERYONE IS FACT-CHECKING THIS SPEECH TRUMP DIDN'T WRITE" or "THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES" or his current tanking approval rating next to a laughing emoji.

Make a stink every day in congress, throw as many bills as you can on the floor even if they go nowhere, look like you're trying.

Have someone, idk maybe someone you actually want to boost for President in 3 gd years, be your voice of opposition in the media, loudly complaining and telling the facts, every single day. Let the people know you're there!

How hard is this? There's probably better suggestions than mine if they actually hired seasoned protestors or behaviorists/psychologists or even the biggest teenage troll they can find on a messageboard.

The Emperor Has No Clothes. So fucking act like it.

[darkmatilda]

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer reid tries to focus on work, but keeps getting distracted. first by an unexpected phone call. then by the way you start flirting with another agent right across from his desk. but in the end, why does it even bother him?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spender reid x diva!chemist reader, reader kinda threatens to poison him, but its not a threat, just their silly way of showing mutual affection <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request. heyyy wonderful people, just letting you know that your request was the second-to-last in my inbox, so im opening them again! feel free to send me your ideas for the diva reader series, im already grateful in advance :>

Spencer usually gave out his phone number only to the people closest to him.

That way, he didn’t get unnecessary calls distracting him from more important matters, and he could be sure that if someone truly needed to reach him, they wouldn’t have any trouble doing so.

So, as he walked through the Quantico office, planning to track down Hotch—who supposedly wanted to see him—he was so absorbed in their case that he pressed his phone to his ear without thinking, without even looking at the screen, fully expecting to hear a familiar voice. Someone from the team, maybe.

Instead…

"Hey there, gorgeous."

A slightly raspy male voice. Spencer immediately estimated the caller to be around forty, judging by the subtle rustling sound—whoever it was, they were holding the phone just a little too close to their mouth.

Spencer froze in place.

His first thought—a wrong number.

His second—another one of Morgan’s pranks.

Just in case it was the latter, he didn’t hang up immediately. If his friend had planned something, he needed to find out what—so he could properly retaliate later.

"We met last night, don’t know if you remember," the man continued after a brief silence, caused entirely by Spencer’s confusion. "I hope you do. Because I sure do. Hard to forget a face like yours. You still there, sweetheart?"

In case anyone had any doubts—Spencer was not the intended recipient of this conversation.

He hadn’t gone out the night before, let alone given his number to a stranger. In fact, he had been in an entirely different state.

"Oh, sweetheart, don’t make me mad now. Or maybe you’re staying quiet because you’re curious how much I remember about you? Want me to remind you what you were wearing?"

Suddenly, it clicked.

After a brief second of pure disbelief, Spencer rolled his eyes upward, staring straight into the glare of the overhead lights. He blinked slowly.

His brain was exceptionally sharp that day. Even more so than usual.

Which meant it didn’t take long for him to put the pieces together. A quick mental chain reaction, linking scattered fragments of information into a single, clear conclusion. 

The man on the other end of the line thought Spencer was the woman he had met the night before.

Spencer had a few female friends, but everything—literally everything—pointed to her.

First of all, he was nearly certain none of the others had gone out last night. They had all been working together, after all.

Second, and somehow more importantly—none of them, except her, would have found it remotely funny to give his number to a random guy.

As a joke? Was that what this was supposed to be?

“There’s no need for that,” Spencer cut in sharply, before the man on the other end could start poetically or less poetically describing her outfit.

This time, the silence came from the other side, laced with clear confusion.

Spencer couldn’t stop the faint crease forming on his forehead, nor the subtle tension drawing his shoulder blades together. The entire conversation left a bad taste in his mouth, and it wasn’t just because the guy was wasting his time.

It was his voice.

Self-important. Smug. Wet in a way that made simply listening to him an unpleasant experience. The kind of voice that could turn an otherwise neutral or even affectionate word sweetheart into something damn near degrading.

Years of experience profiling people meant Spencer had no trouble picturing exactly the kind of man he was dealing with. And the distaste coiling in his gut only sharpened.

“For future reference,” he said, barely pausing for breath, his grip tightening on the phone, “I’d suggest double-checking the numbers women give you when they’re trying to get rid of you. Because this isn’t your sweetheart. This is the Behavioral Analysis Unit, which, for your information, is part of the FBI. And your utterly pointless, time-wasting phone call could be considered obstruction of justice, which, surprise, can land you several years in prison.

A loud silence followed—one that left Spencer with a strange feeling. Satisfaction, maybe.

The man cleared his throat, and Spencer would bet good money that there were one or two silent curses mixed in there.

“This whore must’ve given me a fake number,” the guy muttered, no longer speaking directly into the phone.

The sudden shift from sweetheart to whore was so blatant that Spencer couldn’t hold back a sharp, mocking scoff.

“Well, I’m guessing you didn’t think of her as a whore when you were trying to hit on her last night—”

He barely finished the last word before the line went dead.

For a moment, he remained motionless, the phone still pressed to his ear, analyzing his own reaction. He was completely taken aback by it. Almost immediately, though, he forced himself into a nonchalant shrug, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation at an unwanted call.

Work. Right. Work. He had work to do, he had to meet with Hotch…

…but he had barely covered a few meters when his gaze caught a familiar stride and silhouette crossing one of the hallways. And before his mind could even consciously make the decision, he found himself heading in that direction—despite originally going somewhere entirely different.

“Did you have fun last night?” he asked as her hand pressed the elevator button.

She didn’t look at him at first, though she must have heard his footsteps. It wasn’t until he spoke that she slightly turned her head toward him.

“Not too bad,” she admitted casually. Her hands immediately moved to their usual position, arms crossed over her chest, and a small teasing smile danced on her lips.“How about your morning? Any interesting phone calls?”

He opened and closed his mouth, not expecting to be so transparent. He also felt a bit confused by her enigmatic, calm reaction. The elevator stopped, and she confidently stepped inside first.

Spencer followed her.

“I don’t quite get it,” he admitted, furrowing his brows. “Was that supposed to be a joke at my expense, or that guy’s?”

They stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder in the small elevator space. He looked at her, and she stared ahead. She slowly shrugged.

“Maybe both,” she replied, inspecting her nails. Spencer clenched his lips, holding back from saying that she could at least spare him the ignorant, irritating attitude for once. “Or maybe I just wanted to get rid of the pushy guy by giving him the first random number I could think of” She paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “And maybe I was hoping you'd scare the shit out of him with some long lecture, preferably about the law. Was I right?”

She shifted her gaze fully to him, her piercing eyes locking onto him with such intensity that denial was out of the question. He didn’t even need to answer—the flicker of expression that crossed his face gave him away instantly.

Her short laugh filled the elevator.

He always felt a little humiliated, standing there in silence while she laughed at his expense. So he spoke first, blurting out the first thing that came to mind—the thing that had been sitting there for a while now.

“Does that happen a lot? Guys being pushy?”

She gave him a closer look, maybe because of the unintended seriousness in his voice. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that way. Clearing his throat, he tried to appear more indifferent.

“Well, yes,” she said simply. Stating an obvious fact, a reality she was used to. “Every time. But getting rid of them isn’t hard. A well-placed conversation, and they run off just as fast as they showed up.” She scoffed. “But sometimes I’d rather just, you know, actually enjoy my evening instead of dealing with them. And that’s when the fake number trick comes in.”

Spencer caught himself listening with genuine interest. He was well aware of the effect she had on people—how she drew eyes just by existing, how so many of those looks were filled with nothing but desire. He also had the impression that, for the most part, she regarded them with mild disdain—or maybe even enjoyed being the center of attention.

He hadn’t considered that sometimes she’d had enough of them—so much so that she had an entire list of strategies to get rid of them just as quickly as she attracted them.

He realized he had fallen silent, lost in thought. The elevator stopped at her floor—he hadn’t planned on getting in with her in the first place, which meant he was now stuck pretending he was going somewhere else.

She took a step toward the open doors before his voice stopped her.

“Wait, you’re not even going to say thank you?” he asked. “I did waste some time on that guy. That was a solid lecture.”

She stood in front of the open doors, facing him.

“I have a suspicion,” she began, one brow arching as a teasing smirk tugged at her lips, “that you enjoyed it way too much to actually need my thanks.”

She gave him a small wave—just her fingers, really—before the elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from each other. Spencer hated to admit—even to himself—that she had a point. Okay, a lot of a point, he realized as he recalled that fleeting rush of satisfaction when the call abruptly ended, punctuated by a hint of panic on the other end.

And maybe that was what ultimately decided it—because from that moment on, on the rare occasions he received similar calls, he always had a long, meticulously crafted, stern lecture at the ready. One that, just before the inevitable abrupt hang-up, sent the smallest, most satisfying shiver down his spine.

*

"You have three hours."

"I can handle it in two."

 "Do it in one."

Spencer remembered these words, muttering a soft shit under his breath. The massive stack of papers that not only needed to be read but also carefully analyzed seemed to be getting no smaller. The hour on the clock, however, kept ticking forward.

"Hm? What's up? Do you have something?"

He slowly shifted his unwilling gaze to the man he was trapped in the room with. Well, not literally trapped, but that’s how it felt. Dean Bradley, an agent who’d been working on the case they’d just been assigned to for years, knew it inside out—naturally, he had been assigned to cooperate with them. His current role, however, seemed to involve nothing more than pretending to write something on the whiteboard and occasionally throwing out a theory that supposedly brought them closer to the solution but, in reality, only pushed them further away. Bradley was incredibly distracting to Spencer.

"No... I just... nothing." Spencer replied rubbing his throbbing temple. That case had been exceptionally exhausting, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and the coffee he had just drunk hadn’t helped at all. "Nothing. Just...can you not say anything to me for a while?"

Bradley raised an eyebrow at him but Reid didn’t really care. Simply buried his nose in the papers again, reading, or rather, devouring the pages with his eyes. There hadn’t been the best atmosphere between them ever since Spencer had ignored his outstretched hand for a greeting. Well, that was because he had seen Bradley leaving the bathroom earlier, and even if he had washed his hands, he had immediately touched the door handle that everyone in the building touched, half of whom hadn’t washed their hands. Honestly, Spencer would have preferred to kiss him as a greeting. It would have been safer.

For a moment, Bradley was actually quiet. He didn’t stay that way for too long, though—just long enough.

"So, where are those lab results? Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?"

"They were. So, I’m guessing they’ll be here any minute," Spencer replied shortly.

"It’s taking a while. Maybe I should just go grab them myself?"

Yeah, please do, Spencer nearly begged. He even opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, the door swung open and a woman stepped in, moving with quick, confident steps, but this time with a bit of frustration in her stride.

Completely ignoring the man's gaze landing on her, she stepped up to his desk and dropped the promised lab results onto it with a sharp motion.

"Could you tell me," she began, one hand still resting on the papers, preventing him from immediately going through them. Because she was standing while he was sitting, her figure loomed over him, forcing him to tilt his head slightly to meet her eyes. Naturally, he did, his gaze moving from her hand with neatly manicured fingers to her beautiful face, her bottom lip slightly protruding as she prepared to speak. "When exactly did I become your secretary? Because I don't remember that moment."

Spencer didn't even blink before responding, so used to thir verbal sparring and the fast pace she always set, just like her steps.

"Well, maybe since you started handing out my number left and right," he shot back instantly. Without breaking his gaze, he grabbed the empty cup sitting within arm's reach. "And since you consider yourself my secretary, would you be so kind as to make me a coffee?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Agent Bradley watching their exchange with fascination, focused on only one side of the conversation. No need to specify which side. Meanwhile, the woman tilted her head slightly to the side, a certain gleam lighting up her eyes.

"Sure," she replied, to his surprise. There was something devious in her tone. Suddenly, Spencer didn't want the coffee anymore. "But I’m not sure I’d be so kind as to make sure those ten teaspoons of sugar you put in your coffee are actually sugar, and not, say, arsenic..."

Instinctively, he pulled the cup closer to himself.

"Not ten," he mumbled.

"Oh, my eternal apologies, I exaggerated a bit. Five?"

"Well, now you're getting closer..."

Their conversation, or rather their verbal sparring, was interrupted by a cough.

“Reid,” Bradley said his last name much friendlier than ever before, with a mischievous grin on his face. “When you said the chemist would bring us the lab results, I imagined, I don’t know, Einstein with his hair sticking out in all directions. Did you really lock such a treasure in the lab?” he chuckled. “So it wouldn't distract y’all?”

Spencer looked up at the woman in front of him again, who had only just noticed the third person in the room. Her hand slowly slid off the papers she’d been resting on, though it stayed on the desk. She half turned her body toward the new speaker, casually sitting on the desk. There was something hypnotic in the fluid, clock-like motion as she crossed one knee over the other. For a moment, he just watched, realizing after a while that he wasn’t the only one.

“Maybe I locked myself in there,” she replied. Her tone calm, too calm, as it always was before she’d throw words, like precisely aimed darts, at the other person. “So I wouldn’t have to listen to the same tired lines from agents with the same tired faces, thinking they’re being creative.”

For a moment, he completely forgot about the pile of papers waiting to be analyzed. He watched what was unfolding in front of him, a small smile involuntarily starting to form on his lips. However, it faded the moment he noticed Bradley’s expression. He had expected him to be shut down. Speechless, maybe. Hurt in that characteristic, pathetic way typical of fragile male pride. Instead, Bradley was grinning like an idiot.

“Wow, that’s a bit harsh,” Bradley commented lightly, not in the slightest bit put off by her words. In fact, the fascination on his face only grew.

Spencer couldn’t help but glance at the profile of the woman sitting motionless on the desk. Her gaze was now also more focused, following the person across from her. Her eyes seemed even more concentrated, intrigued, and entertained than during their conversation. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, physically making himself look back at the papers. Work, right, work. He had to focus on it, despite how distracted he was by their presence. It was, after all, natural. They were speaking rather loudly, right in front of him. He began reading the text on the page, concentrating only on it.

“You must feel like some princess locked in a tower,”

His ears, against his better judgment, picked up Bradley’s next words. He shook his head. Text. A quick glance at the woman’s face. Text.

“You know, that German fairy tale from the 18th century…”

Spencer, from his own experience, knew that info dumping wasn’t the most effective way to flirt with a woman. Especially when it wasn’t even accurate.

“17th century,” he corrected, unable to stop himself. Both their gazes landed on him, but he didn’t respond to either, keeping his eyes fixed on the papers. He was reading them, but couldn’t grasp their meaning. He started analyzing the same paragraph again, continuing, “Assuming we’re talking about the German version of that fairy tale recorded by The Brothers Grimm. Because, actually, this was developed from the French literary fairy tale Persinette by Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de La Force, which itself is an alternative version of the Italian fairy tale Petrosinella by Giambattista Basile.”

A long silence fell. The woman shifted slightly in her seat, pretending to be focused on her work, and he tried not to look at her face. Was there pity or amusement on it? Why did it matter to him so much to figure that out? What mattered was only one thing: they were bothering him. The two of them. With the noise they were generating, to be precise.

The sound that filled the room was probably just a long breath from Bradley.

“Wow,” he repeated, thrown off. “Thanks for the clarification, Agent Reid.”

“It’s Doctor Reid.”

He couldn’t stop himself and looked at her. She closed her eyes when a smile spread across her lips. She didn’t try to hide it or hold it back. It was simply there. Bradley noticed it too, his arms, which had been casually resting on his hips, sliding down along his body.

"Didn't you have some urgent documents to analyze?" he began, trying not to sound confrontational, but he failed. He sounded confrontational. "The ones you kept reminding me about every five minutes since we got here?"

Reid didn't have a sharp retort ready for that one; in fact, Bradley had hit the nail on the head. He did have a lot of urgent documents to go through, but for reasons unknown to him, he'd decided to engage in this pointless conversation instead. His silence only seemed to fuel the satisfaction on Bradley's face, which was broken only by the movement of the woman. Specifically, her rising from the desk.

"You could've just said we’re interrupting," she remarked, stretching one leg after the other, every movement fluid. "Especially if it's something important. Is it?"

"Well, actually, yes..."

"In that case, I suppose we're in the way. Shall we go, Agent Bradley?"

She must have read his last name off the badge pinned to her chest. Both Spencer and Bradley looked at her, but only one of them slowly cracked a smile. The other let out a sigh, pretending to feel relief, though deep down, he genuinely did—finally, he could focus on what he had wanted to from the start.

They both made their way toward the door. Unused to her quick pace, and still a bit surprised by the attention she had given him, the agent trailed after her like a lost puppy. As they crossed the threshold, she turned back to him over her shoulder, looking like a kid bragging about winning a bike race.

Spencer merely shook his head with pity, and when they both disappeared in the same direction, he scoffed.

He returned to his work.

After a while, he found himself thinking that perhaps he preferred their conversation to be within earshot, rather than out of it.

[bjwmastermind-writes]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[sevsgiirl]

Sevika headcanons please? Romantic & sexual, when she has crush etc? Pretty pleaseeee?

— sevika being a lovesick puppy for you

synopsis: sevika doesn’t understand why she can’t seem to act normally around silco’s new hire. she’s never had a problem letting anybody know what she thinks about them, but you? you were different. and it was driving her insane.

note: my first req 🥹 so sorry if this was sloppy I did it last minute but I was just excited to write this for you. I hope you like it and thank you for sending this in!

𖥔 sevika wouldn’t consider herself a shy romantic. she isn’t the type to stutter when she sees a person she likes and she definitely has no problem walking up to people she finds attractive and asking them out. when she wants something, she goes for it.

𖥔 that’s why she was baffled when she met you. you were silco’s new hire and when he informed sevika about you saying you were his new informant and that you’d be joining her in missions, she didn’t think much of it.

𖥔 what she didn’t expect was her becoming so smitten by you that she avoided talking to you for the first couple of weeks. there was just something about you and the way you walked into a room and her eyes immediately gravitated towards you but she just couldn’t seem to muster the courage to introduce herself.

𖥔 you assumed she was either just guarded or that she didn’t like you. you tried not to take it personally but you had to admit it was torture because you found the older woman incredibly interesting and wanted to strike up a conversation with her.

𖥔 but it seems like whenever she sees you she refuses to acknowledge your presence. walking past you, answering your work related questions with either a hum or a nonchalant ‘yes’ or ‘no’

𖥔 what you didn’t know is that sevika was losing her mind because she’s never acted this way around anybody.

𖥔 perhaps it was your innocent and warm personality that made her hesitant to talk to you, because you were so different from her and everybody else that worked for silco. you didn’t seem like you fit here but you always got the job done when asked and that just flustered her even more.

𖥔 not to mention, you’re hot. so fucking hot especially when you’d walk around in those tight fitted shorts you always wore that showed off your legs and thighs that made her mouth go dry every single time.

𖥔 sometimes you’d do things by accident that would make her brain go haywire. whether it was leaning against the bar talking to thieram and you’d arch your back enough for your ass to poke out. how you’d fold your arms together and it’d cause your tits to be pushed together. how every time you’d talk to someone, you have this habit of tilting your head and biting your lower lip and she’d have to restrain yourself from biting her entire fist.

𖥔 don’t even get her started on the way you say her name, your voice all sultry and sweet “sevika? are you ready to go?” she always ends up giving you a nod because she knew if she responded verbally she’d be a spluttering mess.

𖥔 she didn’t want to come across as a bitch but she knew it was likely looking that way, but she just didn’t know how to act around you. it was frustrating.

𖥔 eventually though, you’ve had enough and asked her about it “sevika? can I have a word with you?”

𖥔 she was backed into a corner and she tried so hard not to sound like an idiot “what for?” she asked, hoping you didn’t notice the panic in her tone.

𖥔 you sighed, looking down on your feet “I just wanted to ask if we’re good? I’ve been working here for almost a month now and I know it’s probably not that serious but I just can’t let it slide how you talk to everyone here but me. if I did something wrong that made you dislike me please just-“

𖥔 “what? no!” she exclaimed which surprised you “I mean… fuck. I don’t hate you, princess. you’ve done nothing wrong and you’re…” basically fucking perfect is what she wanted to say, but she stopped herself “you’re good. you’re more than good but I just have a hard time with new hires, it doesn’t help that you’re younger.”

𖥔 “well, that’s silly. you know you can talk to me, I won’t bite.” the implications of your words made her gulp “how about you come to my place this saturday and I cook you lunch? please? I really want to get to know you.”

𖥔 trying to talk to you while there was so many people around was already a struggle, imagine being left alone with you “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

𖥔 “please?” and there it is again, that tone you always use that makes her fucking melt “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

𖥔 the next thing sevika knew, it was saturday and she was in front of your door wondering whether or not her decision to come to your place was a great idea.

𖥔 truth be told, you had every right to feel hurt about sevika’s ambivalence towards you, but usually people would just let it slide because they were scared of her. you though?

𖥔 “sevika, hi!” you said as you greeted her at your door “I was wondering when you’d show.”

𖥔 she offered an awkward smile “yeah well, I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

𖥔 what she came to realize as soon as she arrived however, both to her pleasure and horror, was that you were good company to have around. which she hated. it was enough that she was not only attracted to you physically but the fact she was smitten by your personality as well made her want to pull her hair out. you could talk for hours and she’d listen to every single word.

𖥔 “I’m really glad we cleared the air because I was scared that I did something wrong for you to ignore me,” you said with a sheepish smile as you ate lunch with her “for a moment, I thought I was being a show off which might’ve annoyed you…”

𖥔 sevika immediately shook her head “no, that’s not… don’t ever think that.” you blinked up at her, as if to coax her into saying what really was the reason why she avoided you like the plague.

𖥔 and she thought since she’s here and there’s no point in acting like a sappy teenager at her grown age, she might as well come clean “I just find you attractive is all, princess. you came in and you had this sparkle about you and I didn’t know how to handle it. I’m used to being surrounded with old men at work so seeing you - young, bright and full of potential… I didn’t know how to make of it.”

𖥔 you were stunned for a second, your mouth agape “sev…” you bit your lip as you look down on your plate “well… if it’s any consolation I must say the feelings are mutual.”

𖥔 sevika’s eyes widened so much she swore they almost popped out.

𖥔 “what?” she asked as you nodded.

𖥔 “yeah, you’re so experienced and good at your job and silco trusts you so much. that’s why it was a big deal that you liked me or not because the truth is, out of everyone at work, I crave your validation the most.”

𖥔 her throat bobbed at your confession, an unmistakable heat pooling at her insides “yeah?” she said hoarsely.

𖥔 you smiled “I mean, of course, take it as you will. but I just wanted to let you know.”

𖥔 sevika swore she wasn’t going to cave into the allure of your words, of what they suggested, you were the new hire and it’d be so unprofessional of her to make a move on you. she kept that in mind even as you both finished lunch and she was about to walk out your apartment and leave…

𖥔 that’s why she doesn’t understand how she got here, stomach flat on the bed with your thighs trembling on both sides of her head as she licked a fat stripe off your leaking pussy. looking up at you with needy eyes and you stared back at her, a sly grin on your face.

𖥔 “oh sevi…” you moaned “and here I thought you hated me.”

[deramin2]

My most shit-post-but-serious political opinion is that any politician from the city to national level should be required to play 16 hours of literally any city builder game before they get to make judgements about how to run society.

Personally I think resource management city builders that require more logistics than moving money around are better preparation, but literally any simulation of people interacting with social services over time will do. They are all an interactive and playful way to experience how taking care of people benefits you as grand overlord, and makes more money/resources than leaving poor people to suffer.

It's basically impossible to make a city builder which includes any mechanics for food, shelter, education, healthcare, and mass transit that doesn't show that just fucking providing those things makes the entire society function better and be wealthier.

I'm assuming in this framework that the biggest impact would be on people who don't understand that caring for people as human beings is a moral goal for society in itself. I want this to drill into the heads of the die-hard capitalists who only view people as money that it's still just fucking cheaper to house people than to jail them. That free healthcare is fundamentally cheaper than letting people deteriorate and die. If they can't muster up empathy, maybe statistics would work.

I'm so sick of society being such a dysfunctional nightmare because the people in charge lack even a basic over-simplified concept of how societies and "benefit programs" function. Force them to confront it in any way.

obsessed with how fixable society is, on a structural level.

obsessed with how all you need to do is throw money at public education and eliminate most standardized testing and you will start getting smarter, more engaged, kinder adults. obsessed with how giving people safe housing, reliable access to good food, and decent wages dramatically reduces drug overdoses and gun violence. obsessed with how much people actually want to get together and fix infrastructure, invent new ways of helping each other, and create global ways of living sustainably once you give them livable pay to do so. obsessed with how tracking diseases, developing medicines, and improving public health becomes so much easier when you just make healthcare free at point of use.

obsessed with how easy it all becomes, if we can just figure out how to wrench the wealth out of the hands of the hoarders.

[godjustkys]

Hello!! I love your works. I was just wondering if I could request Dean Winchester x Top M!reader?

Maybe something along the lines of Dean had been grumpy & filled with attitude the whole day. I’m talking like snarky, sarcastic comments/reply’s to people if they were to ask him a simple question. So, reader goes to check up on him once it’s just them and turns out Dean’s been acting like that for a stupid jealously reason. And one thing leads to another and they fuck?

Could you maybe throw some overstimulation in too? Thank you!

THEME: fucking dean to reassure that you only want him! <3

CHARACTER: top!male reader x dean winchester

NOTE: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP. but, just imagine dean throwing a hissy fit because you were studying lore with sam..

p.s. i cannot write for shit rn, forgive me please what the fuck.

WARNING: overstimulation (dean cums a lot),, PRAISE,, cocky reader,, dirty talk,, multiple handjobs,, light dacryphilia,, light pet name use,, cum used as lube,, pathetic dean,, brief fingering,, unprotected sex,, creampie,,

“dean, did you get the book?” sam asked his older brother, not looking up from the papers he had scattered around the table. “yea, totally did. Not.” dean responded in a mocking tone, emphasizing the 'not', sitting comfortably on the couch, arms folded over his chest and a gruff expression on his face. sam blinked his confusion away as he looked up at dean, eyebrows furrowed. “dude? why not?” the younger inquired, clearly baffled. “get it yourself, you lazy dunce.” dean quipped, rolling his eyes and tilting his head to the side.

you looked up from the papers as well, raising an eyebrow at dean's tone. you see, dean woke up, ready to get some care from you, some cuddles, kisses, whatever, but when he opened his eyes, you weren't there. you were already up, studying with sam. missing his morning kisses made him grumpy, and to see that he missed out on it because you chose to help sam - it made him jealous.

for the entirety of the day dean was snarky, giving you and sam judgemental glances and scowls. he purposefully did things to annoy you; left trash somewhere in the bunker, left his plate on the table, didn't fold the laundry, whatever he could possibly think of to piss you off. you cleaned up after him when you took a break, like you would after a small child. the entire day, dean didn't get any attention from you and it frustrated him even more. night eventually rolled around.

dean was in your shared room, a frown on his face as he changed his clothes, his back facing the bed. through the years of hunting, you had learnt to walk silently, without a single sound. so basically, you sneaked up behind dean and heard him grumbling something along the lines of 'stupid motherfuckers' and a rough whisper of your name. you couldn't make it out fully, but that didn't matter right now. wrapping your arms around dean's waist, you pressed your nose to his hair. dean jumped slightly as he had just left you alone with sam. “what-” he mumbled, his hands landing on your forearms and gripping them. “off.” he said roughly, trying to get out of your grip. “what's the matter with you today?” you asked softly, moving your head to the side, your lips ghosting against the shell of dean's ear. he let out a bitter scoff, his grip on your arms tightening. “fuck off, go back to study lore with that stupid idiot, you nerd.” dean managed harshly, his face a scowl. ah, that was it.

you sighed against his skin, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of his neck. “grumpy, aren't we?” you mumbled, a hand moving down to dean's lower abdomen. dean's muscles contracted a bit at the contact. “i ain't grumpy—” he started but did not finish his sentence once your hand slipped past the fabric of his boxers. dean looked down, his mouth agape as he breathed through it. your fingers wrapped around his cock, lazily stroking him and getting him hard. dean just watched, not saying a singular word as soft pants left his lips.

“nice, ain't it?” you mumbled, your other hand resting on the side of his waist. “see, this type of treatment is reserved only for you, baby,” you cooed softly, your tone bordering on mocking which dean did not approve of. he grumbled out, shifting on the balls of his feet slightly, leaning back into you for some support. “do you ever just- shut up..” dean breathed out, the bitterness in his voice very distinguishable. “i do, but I'll make sure you won't.” you responded flatly in a quiet voice, thumb sliding over his tip to spread the already leaking precum. the threat, or you could say a promise, sent a shot of heat straight to his cock, making it twitch lightly. “enjoy this, dean. your first orgasm for tonight, certainly not the fucking last.”

dean groaned softly, his hips canting forwards, pushing into your hand. his eyes were still watching your hand jerk him off beneath the fabric. mind you, his hands were still on your forearms. his grip tightened momentarily, gathering himself. “mhh, shit..” his voice was a soft moan, slightly higher pitched. adorable, really. the longer you continued to stroke him at this pace, the closer he was getting. fast forward a couple moments later and he cummed, his stomach tensing as he let out a drawn out groan, his hands sliding down from your forearms to your wrists, his grip almost desperate. dean's cum was mostly on your hand, so you just slowed your pace to stimulate him properly again, his cock getting slick with his own precum and cum, too. “y— wh- again?” dean managed, his skin getting coated with a very thin layer of sweat. “told you, didn't I? so, c'mon lovely, be a good boy and stand still.” you answered him flatly, your own hard-on pressing against dean's ass.

his legs tensed as he did his best to stay still, no matter how much he wanted to walk away from this just to spite you. he couldn't. he just.. loved the way you approached him; so abrupt and nonchalant. it dizzied his mind. his cock twitched more, whining out your name in a low voice, indicating he was overstimulated. that was what you wanted though, so you didn't pay any mind to it. despite the overwhelming feeling, dean rutted into your hand unsteadily with absolutely no rhythm, soundless gasps leaving his throat as his eyes fluttered shut. he came a second time after a little while, this time with a louder groan. his shoulders hunched forward and his chest heaved. your hand was dirtied with his cum - yet again. you pulled dean aside and pushed him onto the bed. he fell down with a grunt, his body tingling with need even though your hands just left his body.

it was a matter of time until you were atop of dean, his legs spread wide for you. you took off his boxers with his assistance, discarding them to the floor. your dirty hand went under and the tip of your finger prodded at his entrance. dean raised his hips a bit, almost instinctively, moving his own hand to press to your chest. he was propping himself up by his elbows. pushing your finger all the way in, dean's eyes shut once again, eyebrows furrowing. “so pretty, gonna fuck you stupid,” you breathed out, your eyes locked onto his face and facial expressions. you pushed the digit in and out for a short while, before adding another one. dean's hole clenched slightly at the feeling, his face twitching once or twice. “you're fucking slow.” dean rapsed out, his head pressing back into the mattress as he laid down fully. as you processed his words, you pushed a third digit in, stretching him out properly. it was rather normal, until you curled your fingers. dean's back arched slightly off of the bed, his other hand moving to grasp your bicep. “ah.. god, fuck you.” he said as he turned his head to the side. dean's legs bent at the knee, his feet on the bed itself. his thighs trembled and threatened to close; but couldn't. you were in-between them. “oh, what a pretty little slut.. you make such gorgeous sounds, sweetheart, keep 'em comin’..”

you resumed pushing your fingers in and out of dean, curling them at prodding ever so slightly at his prostate. at first he held in his sounds, just out of pure spite, but it was getting harder to do so. his breathing was more laboured than before and he had a difficult time keeping his eyes open. not that it mattered. luckily, your hand was still rather slick with dean's cum, so once you pulled out your cock, you lubed it up with it. it wasn't much but it would have to do. your hand held the inner side of dean's thigh, the other - adjusting your tip to his hole. you pushed in just barely, before pulling back and doing it again. just prodding at his entrance. dean whined as he realized what you were doing, squirming slightly. he opened his mouth to speak but a loud, whore-ish moan was punched out of him as you bottomed out with zero warning. “g—ghh..od fucking damn it!” dean whisper-yelled, clenching his jaw, his lower body taut. “ugh, yeah, yeah baby, lemme hear you,” you groaned out, your voice strained as you started thrusting at a steady pace. the man under you let out a shaky breath, his hole clenching around you almost desperately. “so so good,” you enunciated your point with a harsh thrust, not only making dean's cock throb, but also making his legs tremble. in a very pathetic attempt to keep you close, dean wrapped his legs around your waist.

dean moaned your name, his hand on your chest fisting the fabric of your shirt. your pace quickened, thrusts only getting deeper and harder. you adored the sight in front of you; seriously, who wouldn't love themselves a pathetic, needy dean? speaking of which, the soft, barely audible groans that left dean every time you thrusted in were agonizingly adorable. eventually, when you shifted and switched the angle, you started abusing dean's prostate. he was a fucking mess. “oh— ah- ah-huh, there, there, fuck, fuck fuck fuck, yes, keep- keep going,” dean rambled, despite pulling his hips back as you hit his prostate each time. his face was scrunched up, but you could tell it was in pleasure. you regulated your breathing as you kept up the harsh pace, moving your hand to dean's cock once again, starting to jerk him off unsteadily. it was then that dean started babbling absolute nonsense, half of it not even coherent. he was thrashing around slightly, squirming and writhing, his body overwhelmed.

a very good pounding later, dean was spent. he came at least four times, two times just from your hand, two other times from your cock. it was an intense session, you were relentless. pressing a soft kiss to dean's forehead, you slowly pulled out, cum dripping from dean's entrance. “you're amazing.” you muttered softly, moving to press a chaste kiss to his lips. dean blinked his tears from overstimulation away, groaning in annoyance. “you're a bitch.” he muttered, his shaky hand moving up to wipe the drool off of the corners of his mouth. “a stupid one.” he finished begrudgingly, his legs falling limp.

[invoncible]

♡ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ... ! (CECIL VER.) cw. suggestive towards the end

— as requested. i've gotten a few asks for some cecil, conquest, and nolan stuff so i'm gonna make this a mini series! the next part will probs be conquest ? i imagine you're controversially young for them in comparison. because lets be real these guys are fossils. — i probs got him ooc IM SORRY

cecil is a private man. nobody knows about your relationship, and that's how he liked it.

you were a secretary at the pentagon, a well-to-do front line desk worker that loved your low maintenance job that allowed you great pay, easy hours, and lots of benefits. 

the first time you met, he came in to work grumbling as usual about all the shit he had to deal with... until he saw your bright smile over the counter. 

"hiii!" you sprung up from your seat, offering him a coffee. "director stedman, good to see you today."

his name and 'good to see you today' rarely coincided. being the guy that made all the hard decisions didn’t leave much room for camaraderie—no one got buddy buddy with the guy in charge (except donald). 

he accepted the coffee on autopilot while scrutinizing you. you were a new face, at least to his knowledge. first day, maybe? wanting to make a good impression on the boss?

"thanks." he muttered, taking a sip and trying to hide his surprise when it was made just how he liked it. he was too picky for it to be a lucky guess, so you probably asked around... for information on him... interesting. he had to be careful with you. 

he caught your eyes over the rim of the cup; you were watching him with an equal intensity, searching for any microexpressions that would affirm you did a good job. your lips quirked up in a smug little smile when you managed to pull approval from his facade, smoothing down your pants as you dropped into your seat again. 

"have a good day, sir." you hummed, eyes flickering up to him as he walked away. 

"yeah." he cleared his throat, more confused than anything. 

he brushed it off as a fluke—again, he thought you were new and wanting to make a great first impression. which you did, by the way, but his intrigue grew when you just didn't stop.

every morning without fail, you had his coffee ready, a sweet little greeting, a warm smile. it became a comfort for him, but he didn't even allow himself to go down that road of ... affection. because you were you and he was him. 

"so, how about that secretary, sir?" donald asked him one day. 

"what about 'em, donald?" cecil sighed, but he was itching to talk about it, too. his thoughts drifted to you more often than he’d like, and it was becoming a biiit of a problem. 

“nothing.”

“you brought it up. clearly you had something to say.” cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “so talk.”

donald’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “are you aware they only prepare coffee for you?”

no, he wasn’t aware. it’d become so normal that he hadn’t even considered that. he might as well be hyper-aware, now. breaking people down to their innermost desires and principles were his trade, and his analytical mind was not lost on you. and so, every morning without fail, he talked a bit. went beyond the ‘have a nice day’ thing you’ve both grown comfortable with.  

you perked up in your seat upon seeing cecil walk in, another thing that endeared you to him. “director—”

“how do you like your coffee?”

you blinked, thrown off by the change in routine. “um… i like to try something different each time, i guess..?”

“if you had to choose.” he murmured, delicately accepting the warm cup from your outstretched hand. “humor me.”

that was where it started. from then on, he showed up with your coffee, performing an amicable exchange of sorts (he had ulterior motives, of course) and while you two sipped on the hot invigorating brew, you talked about how you ended up here, what you did outside work, places you’ve traveled… emphasis on you because he wasn’t going to spoil this slice of heaven with his troublesome past.

“it’s a good deal, you know?” you hummed, swirling the cup in your hand. “nice desk all to myself, easy admin work, no one annoying to handle for the most part.”

“for the most part?” he inquired, leaning over the counter. 

you waved him off as you sipped from your cup. he frowned and chucked his empty cup in the garbage behind your desk. 

“tell me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your cup along his, licking your lips of the residual taste. “mm. you have bigger things to deal with, director. things that needed your attention…” you trailed off, glancing at your screen. “what, an hour or so ago?”

“is it the end of the world?”

“no.”

“then the team can handle it.” cecil’s lips parted in a smug smile, his words holding a finality you couldn’t help but listen to. you couldn’t suppress the warm feeling pooling in your gut. “tell me. that’s an order.”

“oh?” you reacted verbally, your eyes widening, the firm command making your heart flutter. “since when do you give me orders?”

“since i care about harassment in my building.” he shot back before allowing himself to be impressed with your audacity. since i care about you. 

you giggle softly and he takes a moment to commit the sound to memory. 

“i’m just kidding,” you stand and jog your papers against the desk surface, preparing to make your rounds with the freshly printed documents. “you are my boss, after all.”

yeah… he is your boss. but with you, he often felt like you were in charge. 

you’d be lying to say this wasn’t your plan all along. you saw him when you came in for your job interview and decided to try your luck. you didn’t expect it to work, much less work well. you had him wrapped around your finger! at first, it was just a fun way to pass the time at your desk; now it was something you looked forward to everyday.

“it’s just some analyst from upstairs that comes to bug me.” you shrug with a roll of your eyes. “just stands there and talks for hours.”

“isn’t that what i do?” the question left his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it. the more he talked to you, the less of a filter he had, rarely thinking things over before speaking and impulsively saying what’s on his mind. 

your lips spread in a small, mischievous smile, a glint in your eye. “you’re different. i like you.”

you’d become more and more forward and it was getting harder for him to dismiss the hints you dropped. the man’s been around, and he wasn’t so dumb to be blind to what you were doing. what you were trying to get him to feel. although considering that he was your boss, he was simply content with the song and dance you had right now.

he watched you walk away until you disappeared from his sight with a heavy sigh.

side note, you never saw that analyst again. 

there was one day you weren’t at your desk, and your absence rang some alarms in his head. he’d been sneaking looks at your records and would know if you requested time off. more than that, you would have told him.

he was about to walk off when he heard the doors behind him burst open and the rapid clack clack clack of shoes racing across the floor. 

he turned to watch you, looking deliciously disheveled might he add, with a raise of his brow. “y/n—“

“i’m sorry!” you stop in front of him to catch your breath. “i didn’t get your coffee today—“

“that’s fine,” cecil said lowly, his expression amused. “you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“—i got up late and… and… damn, that’s the first time i’ve sprinted in a while. fuck.” you bent over your knees, panting. “there was traffic and a whole line at the coffee shop—someone knocked it out of my hand when i was leaving—“

“hey.” he set your coffee down on the counter behind him, putting his hands on hips. “you don’t have to apologize. it was nice you even started to do that in the first place, doll.”

your eyes snap to the cup he got you, a frown tugging on your lips. “but you—“

“don’t worry about it.” 

“okay, but—“

“i said don’t worry. that’s an order.”

you huffed a breathless laugh as you straightened up. “i’m beginning to think you just like telling me what to do.” (he did.)

your odd relationship with the director came to a head at a workplace get together. a rare moment of respite which was really a space for the entire department to wallow in their misery together rather than alone.

cecil never came to these things until he knew you’d be at them. he figured he’d drop in just to scope things out, and he wasn’t sure what he expected but he definitely did not expect you, and many others, to be piss drunk. 

you recognized him through the dim light, brightening up as you usually do. you stumbled over, jostled by the packed bodies pushing and pulling you through the crowd.

“easy.” cecil murmured, coaxing the glass out of your hand. “damn, you’re wasted.” he commented more to himself than you, a short incredulous laugh slipping through his lips. 

“mhmm.” you slurred, head thumping into his chest. 

“okay.” he whispered, downing the rest of your glass and setting it aside to free up his hands. can’t let good wine go to waste. a thought passed through his head as he swallowed the beverage: this must be what you taste like right now. pump the brakes, loverboy.

he propped you back upright by your shoulders. “how ‘bout we lay off the drinks?”

“whatever you say, boss.” you hummed, a buzzed smile on your lips.

“you want a ride?”

your clumsy hands wrapped around his tie, pressing into him and tugging him forward by the loose fabric. “you offering?” 

holy shit. his eyes flickered to your delicate fingers, the same ones he’s watched type away at a keyboard, walk up and up and up his red tie. “no.” he said curtly.  

“‘nd i don’t mean a car.” you hiccup.

he paused, wondering if you realized you were talking to him, not some other co-worker. “i know.” 

you sigh dramatically, leaning into him. “you should give me your number.”

cecil groaned, shaking his head. now he knew you needed to get some water in you and sleep your intoxication off. you were saying nonsense. “let’s get you out of here, kid, i’ll call you a cab.”

“no. m’serious,” you pushed, lips pursed in a pout. “i want your number.”

his steely blue eyes narrowed at you, searching your face even as you swayed from side to side. “no, you don’t.” 

you scoffed and knocked your head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm for support as he walked you out of the gathering. “whyyyy…” you mumbled.

cecil dialed someone on his phone, holding it up to his ear as it rang. “you’re drunk, y/n. you’re not thinking straight.”

“i am!” you retorted petulantly, tugging on his arm and pulling the phone away from his head. “i’ve wanted it for a while, just took a little liquid courage to ask…” you trailed off, eyes drooping. “we have coffee dates all the time, what’s so different if—”

“woah, woah, woah.” he stopped you, “dates?” he echoed incredulously. 

you bite your lip, peering up at him while his response buffered in your inebriated mind. after a moment, you nodded. “uh-huh.”

“those aren’t dates, kid.” this bitch was lying through his teeth. he considered them dates, too, but anything to keep a semblance of control over the situation. 

“might as well be. ‘nd stop calling me that.” you scrunched up your nose in distaste. he’s never called you ‘kid’ before this and you’re beginning to think it’s his way of putting distance between you. 

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want.” he snapped, growing defensive. he liked your little game, the fun will-they-won’t-they thing you two had going on, but now that it was becoming real to him… now that you were forcing him to confront the feelings he knew he had for you, he had to build his walls back up again—even if it pushed you away in the process. 

“yeah? cuz you’re my boss?” you managed to shoot back, still gripping onto him for support. 

“look at that, you got it. was that so hard?” he scoffed, turning away from you to prevent himself from caving. your shiny eyes in the darkness and tinted lips from the drinks made him want to throw caution to the wind. “i know you think you want something from me… trust me, sweetheart, i’m doing you a favor.”

you roll your eyes. “cuz you’re so noble like that.”

cecil’s eyes narrowed, getting into your space. he walked into you, unintentionally guiding your back into a wall. “mock me all you want, doll. the moment you lie in bed with me is the moment you’re erased from existence. i won’t allow anything to happen to you, and i’ll do everything to prevent that from happening.”

“okay?” 

he put his hands on his hips. “i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything half-assed.”

you giggled drunkenly. “and that’s supposed to be a threat?”

“you know i love when you talk, but shut up for a second,” cecil closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. you always had a knack for undermining his authority. but in retrospect, he made it way too easy to do so. when he looked at you again, something had shifted.

“this isn’t a game to me,” he muttered, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you blinked up at him, suddenly realizing how close he was—not just physically, but in a way that made your heart stutter. you were finally on the precipice of what you’d been building up to since you met him. 

cecil exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “i’ve spent months convincing myself i should keep you at arm’s length.” his hand curled around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “if you push me…” he trailed off, leaning in closer… and closer… his nose brushed against yours and that singular touch sent a jolt of clarity into him. 

he pulled back, stepping back and shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “this is reckless.”

“cuz you’re my boss?” you offered, finally finding your voice, your mind no longer occupied by his proximity or the scent of his cologne. 

“uh-huh. and i can’t be your boss if i’m with you like that.” cecil adjusted his tie and shirt. “also. you’re drunk.”

“i’m not that drunk.” 

“drunk enough.” he shot back with a raise of his brow. 

“cecil.” you step towards him, reaching out to him. your heart swelled when he didn’t try to evade you. your hand fastened around his wrist. “i’m telling you i’m not. scrub me from your records for all i care. keep an eye on me. i know you do that already, anyway. the only thing that’s changing is that we’re both getting what we want. i don’t want you to just be my boss.”

he groaned, turning away from you despite the tether you had on his arm. “don’t say that shit.”

“what? that i want you?”

“will you stop?” cecil turned to you, a scowl on his face. 

your lips split into a grin. his instructions never really worked on you. “do you want me to?”

cecil rolled his eyes. obviously the answer was no. “...fuck.” he cursed before dragging you outside, storming across the parking lot.

he stood next to his car. “last chance to back—”

“fuck no.” you scoffed with that stupid grin of yours and cecil wasted no time ripping the back door open and shoving you into the back seats. he quickly followed you inside. 

his breath hitched as you clambered onto his lap, hands landing on your hips. for a brief moment, he hesitated—just a fraction of a second before he kissed you. 

it was rough and desperate and months in the making, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t pull you in fast enough. his hands slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you up further on his lap as he let his legs shift apart. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him deeper.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” he growled against your lips, his grip tightening around you contrary to his declaration. 

you laughed brightly. “you're taking me to coffee tomorrow. but for now... still up for that ride?”

© invoncible

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 4

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: The lines of your agreement begin to blur with one simple word: sweetheart.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented and/or followed me!! I truly appreciate each and every one of you💜(I’m screaming with joy on the inside)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: age gap, alcohol, mild fluff, feelings, foul language, hospital stresses, some angst thrown in because what the hell, slowburn, they AWKWARD (I love them)/bad jokes, idk Robby’s a hockey fan because I could totally see that (baseball too)

not beta read

When one of your co-workers had asked you on a date the following week, you had turned him down. It had come as a surprise, not having said much more than pleasantries to each other when you passed in the hall. He was nice, attractive enough to have caught your attention before, but you told him you were not looking to date. Too busy, gotta focus on school, just not for me right now, were all valid reasons. Not because of Michael. Nope. That would be stupid.

You tried to remove yourself from getting too wrapped up in your imagination. Frankly, because it was making you incredibly anxious. You texted Erin and Marsi to hang out, to come study, to go out for brunch, anything to get you out of your apartment. You worked longer hours. You even joined a random study group with some other accounting majors.

You believed you had it all back on track just two weeks after your dinner. But it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever he called. You kept telling yourself it was still the anxiety around the arrangement and not the person on the other end.

Michael called late one Tuesday, exhausted from his shift. You began to think that perhaps he did not enjoy returning to an empty, quiet apartment to be alone with his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, rougher than usual.

“Long night?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, laying down on your bed after changing into some pajamas.

He let out a long sigh, “Perhaps another time.”

You were smart enough to pick up on the deflection, but you hummed, “Sure.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt stupid for getting upset over his deflection, annoyed that it was likely just going to be another night you filled the void with your voice. Was it stupid and unjustified to get frustrated with him? More than likely. Did you feel that way anyways? Definitely. You kept trying to remind yourself you were both barely acquaintances, and this was exactly what you had signed up for.

“Can I ask you something?” You ventured, glancing at your nails.

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you become a doctor?”

There were several moments of silence as he digested the question, and you anxiously bit at the side of your nails.

“I wanted to help people.” He told you, but there was something in his tone that suggested it was just a reflex answer. In the quiet that followed, he cleared his throat, “It wasn’t easy. I was tested at every turn, still am. But it meant something. It mattered.”

Something so large went unspoken between you — I mattered. You did not dare speak on it.

“That’s very honorable.”

“Honor’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Well, I find that very honorable. Selfless.” You stressed, staring up at your ceiling.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “how was your day?”

Despite wanting to push, you realized that perhaps you had wandered into territory far too personal for your arrangement, which made your cheeks flare with heat. You found yourself wanting to get to know him more than was likely appropriate.

You launched into your day, discussing a few minor details about work and the new system they were slowly beginning to implement. You paused after he yawned, causing you to mirror it.

“Goodnight,” you said first, eyes heavy.

“Goodnight,”

—

It was easily your busiest day all month. Between onboarding a bunch of new employees, cashing out a handful of ones that had quit, studying for an exam, a project and a few prior commitments to hang out with your friends, you were stretched thin. You left your apartment early and were not set to return until late.

Hunger ate away at your stomach as lunchtime came and went without stopping to eat. Thankfully you had left a granola bar in your desk drawer, but it did little to satisfy you.

After clocking in overtime, you left the office just after 6 — moving into your car and finally taking a breath. You quickly went through a handful of notifications, before finding a text from Michael timestamped at 2:23.

Can we talk tonight?

You debated it. You wanted to, but you still had things to do and you were starving.

Raincheck?

I had the busiest day and I haven’t been able to eat yet.

Your phone buzzed with an alert not even a moment later, while you sat still in your car, trying to take a moment for yourself.

We could grab food instead?

. . .

New Thai place opened up near me

Your stomach grumbled, making up your mind for you. Smiling to yourself and deciding the last details of your project could be edited the following morning, you agreed, asking for the address.

You were far too hungry for the nerves of seeing him again to invade — instead trying to freshen up with the aid of your sun visor mirror and whatever you could find in your bag. Lipgloss and a tiny bottle of perfume were going to have to make it work. You studied your reflection, and tried to fix your hair as much as you could given the circumstances.

The Thai place was busy, which considering they had only just opened, should have been expected. You found a parking space near the back and sent a text to let Michael know you had arrived.

Smoothing out your work slacks and blouse once you were out of the car, you pulled your blazer tight ��� the evening having grown chilly. You saw Michael waiting near the front door, dressed in jeans and a casual zip-up sweatshirt, a festival t-shirt peeking through.

You smiled as you approached, “Hi.”

He smiled in return, taking you in, putting his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Hi.”

You glanced in the window to see how busy the place was and your stomach protested.

“They said the wait to sit down was likely going to be an hour,”

You frowned, glancing around at the other buildings on each side of the street.

“There’s a Chinese place just a block away, we could try that?” He offered.

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly, bringing your arms across your body. “I’d still like to check this place out, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

He smiled easily, “Not at all.”

You stepped into pace with him, heading down the sidewalk towards the Chinese restaurant. You were away from the more central part of Pittsburgh, but traffic still whizzed by, undisturbed by the darkening skies.

“Did you work today?” You asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye.

“No, but I have a swing shift tomorrow. Haven’t had to work one of those in awhile, but we’re short staffed.” He explained with a tiny shrug.

You absorbed the new information. “You usually work days?”

“Normally, yeah. Sort of a perk of…my job title.” He chuckled.

Part of you wanted to ask what exactly that title was, but realized it would likely give away too much information. From everything you knew about his job, it definitely seemed like he worked in a hospital as opposed to a clinic or private practice — ICU perhaps? Emergency room? Curiosity ate away in your mind, picturing him in a white lab coat, but you tried to shake off the thought.

He held the door open for you, and you stepped into the restaurant, taking it in. The smell of food was overwhelming until it was all you could consider, your stomach making it painfully obvious how empty it was. You took note of the vending machines against the wall and the two tables — both occupied. You turned back to him and watched as he noticed the lack of seating as well.

“We could just get take out,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “My place is just a few blocks away.”

You swallowed, and genuinely considered it. You were far too hungry to try someplace else and you turned to look at the menu. Fuck it.

“That was—that was forward of me. I didn’t mean—just so we have a place to sit down and eat. We can—”

You looked up at him and smiled, “No, that’s fine. Killing me would be so hypocritical of the whole ‘do no harm’ thing.”

He blinked and your face instantly heated, digesting your own words.

“That was a terrible joke, oh my god—”

He laughed. He laughed.

All your fears washed away at the sound of it, and you smiled sheepishly before turning towards the counter at the end of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a breath, grin still stretched across his face, “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“No! I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to insinuate—”

He waved off your concern, moving towards the counter. “No harm done.”

You both ordered, and you got your usual and Michael ordered orange chicken — but you both moved to pay. You stared down at each of your cards, catching just a glimpse of his full name on the front — Michael C. Rob — the rest covered by his thumb. You glanced at his face.

His brown eyed gaze was on you, too, holding steady for several beats of your heart, and it took the sigh from the woman behind the counter for you to move again.

“I got it.” He said.

“Thank you.” You whispered, putting your card back into your wallet.

The woman informed you it would just take ten minutes, much to your relief. You moved off to the side and leaned against the wall to wait, Michael leaning next to you. It was a small space, filled with the sounds from the kitchen seen behind the counter, and the light conversation from the five other people sitting down.

Thoughts moving from your hunger and the food, you absorbed the information that he lived near here. It was a considerably nicer part of Pittsburgh, you knew you could never even afford a studio in the area, but it made sense. He had money — he had money to burn, considering your monthly stipend.

The walk back to his place after you had collected your food was quiet, and you savored the sound of his street — off the main streets, it was nice. You had long grown used to the white noise of cars outside your window in your own apartment.

There was a doorman when you arrived at his building, and you craned your neck to look up at it. Red brick and large windows, and your shoes clacked! on the clean tile once you were through the main door. It was immaculate, and gave you the sudden intrusive thought that you did not belong. It worked up your throat like bile and you turned your eyes to the floor.

You took the elevator up with him to one of the top floors, and you stared at yourself in the mirror on either side of the elevator. His reflection watched you, until the elevator doors opened. The hallway was empty and quiet, and you reflexively reached for the takeout bag so he could get his keys.

21B

His apartment was beautiful. Even before he flicked the lights on, you knew — late evening light spilling in from the windows along the far wall. It was an open floor plan, his front door opening into his living room with a tiny entryway. His kitchen was laid on the right side, with a quaint dining room set up, large windows and a door to a balcony. There was an archway that led to a hallway along the wall to your left — presumably to his bedroom and bathroom.

The brick accents did wonders for the space, and the furnishings were modest. Not fancy or flashy, but clearly not second-hand. There was something distinctly lived in about the space, a discarded book on the end table and scattered coasters on the coffee table. There was a dip on the L-shaped couch, a favorite spot undoubtedly, with the remote haphazardly discarded on one of the cushions.

He removed his shoes in the entryway, and you followed his lead before you followed after him.

“I don’t have much in terms of drinks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, I’ve got water and iced tea…wine, I also have wine.”

You smiled at him, placing your bag on the granite countertop. “Water’s just fine, thank you.”

He nodded, putting the takeout bag next to the sink, when he reached into one of the cabinets to get a glass. While he sorted through the bag, and got your drink, you wandered over to the windows, glancing at the city sprawled out before you, the sunset burning behind the buildings. The sky was a fine array of oranges and reds, and you found you loved the view.

Michael cleared his throat behind you, making you jump. He smiled sheepishly, handing you the glass of water. You took it with a smile of your own and sipped it.

“You have a really nice place.” You found yourself saying, still looking over the walls and wood finishes.

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked back into the kitchen with him and followed his lead bringing your food into his living room. You glanced at his dining table, but did not question it — not being able to argue to sit down on a very comfortable looking couch after you had been running around all day.

You both began eating with a Penguins game in the background, and you did your best to be polite and not inhale your food.

“Did you want to talk about your day?” He asked after a few bites of his orange chicken.

You looked over to him, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Me?”

He looked amused, “You.”

You blinked, “I mean, aside from it being an incredibly long and busy day, there’s not much to say. A shitshow, but hey, that’s showbiz, baby.”

The corners of his lips rose into a grin, “Yeah? I didn’t know accounting and show business were related.”

You held up your hand and crossed two of your fingers, “Incredibly intertwined. You could play ‘pick the narcissist’ with either profession, and you’d be right either way.”

Michael laughed, “Run into a lot of those today?”

You shrugged, but your lips were inching upward, “Without delving into company secrets, yeah, my boss can be a bit of a megalomaniac. It’s all a numbers game, even at the price of employee satisfaction. There’s been a high turnover rate recently.”

Michael nodded like he fully understood what you were talking about. “Have you considered leaving?”

“Frequently. Once I graduate, for sure. Only a few more months.” You chewed a bite of your food, the hunger in your stomach ebbing away, “How has work been for you?”

“Admin has been on my ass,” he told you, eyes flickering to the tv and back to you. “Patient satisfaction scores, you know?”

“You have satisfaction scores?” You asked incredulously, confusion knitting your brows together. “That sounds like some shit they do for a fast food chain.”

He gestured wildly with his hands, “That’s what I said.”

“I mean, sure, satisfaction is important in any industry — but that wouldn’t be my main concern in a hospital environment. How is employee satisfaction?”

“Down,” Michael said with a frown. “Understaffing is a big problem. Nurses, attendings, techs, you name it. Wait times are high, and I just don’t have the staff to bring it down.”

“Damn,” you breathed out, “I guess I can’t say I’m surprised, especially not after the pandemic.”

He looked down into his food, nodding, “The pandemic hit us hard. There’s definitely a distinct difference in life before and life after for most of us.”

You watched him, noticing the smallest wince in his cheek at the mention of it. And to think just the other week that I had been thinking how nice it had been to work from home. You swallowed your guilt with the last bite of your food, noticing how the mood shifted.

Your knees brushed when he turned his eyes back to the television, a faraway look in his eyes. You bumped his knee purposefully the second time, gaining his attention.

“I don’t know how to help you, or even if I can, or if you even want me to. But I’m always here if you want to talk, or if you need a distraction.” You offered with a small smile.

His face relaxed at that, “And that’s enough, sweetheart, thank you. Being able to talk, or think about anything else has been incredibly helpful.”

While you absorbed everything he said, the word sweetheart bounced around in your head, making your palms clammy.

“Of course, yeah,” you looked away from him, unable to hold his gaze.

“I mean it.” He said, gaining your full attention, “Thank you.”

A genuine smile appeared on your face, soft and gentle.

Hours passed with simpler conversation, both your attentions on the hockey game. But you would be lying if you said you missed the way his touch lingered on your skin, or how warm his body felt next to you, throwing your thoughts in a frenzy.

You were thankful that he was talking about simple, mundane things, because you were having a hard time focusing on it. You felt like a stupid hormonal teenager sat next to him, stuck in your own head rather than the moment.

When the game ended at a brutal 3-0 against, you could not help but yawn.

“I should probably call it,” you said, glancing at the time on your phone.

He nodded, moving to sit up, rolling his shoulders with the softest groan that short-circuited your brain. He held his hand out to you and you took it, gathering your scattered thoughts, trying to remember to grab all your things.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He said, putting on his shoes.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Well, I’m going to anyway. It’s late and your car is several blocks away.”

You grabbed your bag, cheeks heating, “Alright.”

Once outside, you absentmindedly looped your arm with his, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. Neither of you spoke on it, his eyes only lingering on your face for a few short seconds. You enjoyed the warmth of his body, pressed into his side — the thoughts in your head momentarily quieting.

You felt like the walk to your car had been far too short as opposed to the walk to his place, and it took a moment to finally let go of him.

“Thank you for walking me.” You said, looking at him. “I had a good time tonight.”

“I did, too. Spontaneous. It was good.”

Nodding in agreement, you stepped toward your car. “I’ll let you know when I get home?”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly at you. “get home safe.”

You parted with a lingering goodbye.

—

It had only been a few days since you had heard from Michael, though that wasn’t uncommon. Part of you felt antsy about it — fingers itching to send him a message or call to check in on him. You felt foolish, a tiny part of your brain aching to connect with him. Every time the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it back down, desperate to discard it. He wasn’t looking for connection — that was the exact opposite of what he was looking for.

Sweetheart echoed in your head even now, the rough timber of his voice burrowing deep, making your heart flutter.

Huffing a long sigh, you focused back on your report, but your eyes seemed to look straight through the screen like it wasn’t even there.

When your phone buzzed, you quickly reached for it. You tried not to feel the disappointment flood through your system at the text from Marsi.

I had the worst day. Let’s go out tonight?

You pursed your lips, debating it. It surely would get your mind off a certain someone, and maybe even help you get your thoughts back on track.

Please

You sent back.

—

The bar was pretty busy. It had been a long time since you had been out on a Friday night. Marsi clearly had been through it, her numerical analytics presentation for her computer science masters had gone terribly when she had misunderstood a pretty large part of the project. She had the weekend to correct it — the professor not wanting to fail her.

But she had needed a night off, and you decided a night off would be good for you, too. It was nice. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Marsi ordered shots, downing hers as quickly as it came. You hesitated, staring at the clear liquid. You debated it, but then decided a shot and a drink wouldn’t throw off your weekend too much.

“Alright, you’re so off. Spill.”

Your eyes went wide, looking back to your friend. “What are you talking about?”

“That! That look right there.”

You pursed your lips and frowned, sipping your drink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is it a guy?” When she received no immediate answer, she continued, “Oh jeez, did he find out about that sugar daddy thing?”

“No! What? No, of course not.” Speaking quickly, you turned her eyes away from your friend, hoping she wouldn’t notice you flustering. “There’s no guy.”

Marsi did not look even slightly convinced, narrowing her eyes over her jack and ginger. “You suck at lying.”

Flustered, you tried to change the subject. “Did you catch the Penguins game last night?”

“What?” Marsi laughed, “Don’t try to change the subject!”

“There’s no guy.” You huffed, stressing your words.

She quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t believe you. Is it a taboo thing? Is it a co-worker?”

You tried to quiet your friend, hushing her. Give it to Marsi to see right through you. At least it’s not Erin, your mind commented.

“Professor?” Marsi shooed away your hands, “Jeez, stop that!”

“What? Ew, no!”

“Oh fuck.” Marsi said after a moment's realization. “Is it the sugar daddy?”

“No!” You protested quickly, too quickly, before adding with your nose scrunched and face ablaze, “Don’t call him that,”

Marsi groaned, “Jesus. Didn’t Erin warn you about that?”

You tried to collect yourself, taking a deep breath to steady your heart, your thoughts hazy from the questions. “Please don’t get it twisted. It’s not like that.”

Marsi gave an unconvinced hum, sipping her drink. “Do you wish it was?”

“I don’t—I—uhh—no!” You closed your eyes tight, leaning your head back trying to stifle your annoyed groan. You looked back at your friend, “No.”

Marsi was quiet, watching you closely.

“Look, I don’t want that. He’s nice. I enjoy talking with him, but that’s it. It’s not complicated like that.” You told her, gulping the last of your drink.

“Whatever you say,” Marsi waved off. “That guy across the bar has been eyeing you up for the last ten minutes. Maybe you should get laid.”

Your face burned, not even bothering to check. “I’m not into one-night stands.”

“I’m sure that’s the reason you haven’t looked.” Marsi said with a smirk.

You groaned in frustration. “Can you just drop it?”

“Sure, sure,” she sipped her drink. “You’re awfully flustered for it being something that’s not complicated.”

“Please.”

When you opened your eyes, Marsi was frowning at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

You sighed, “Thank you. I just don’t want a lecture right now.”

Marsi nodded, “You’re right, we came out to have fun! Let me tell you about this—”

Your phone buzzed on the bartop, Michael’s name lighting up your screen. Marsi’s eyes flickered from the tv above the bar to your phone to your face. She gave a wry grin.

Exasperated, ignoring the butterflies in your gut, you grabbed your phone. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Marsi laughed, “I didn’t even say anything!”

You gave her a dry look, “I’ll be right back.”

You were out of your seat, moving quickly towards the entrance of the bar. Your heart picked back up, worry ebbing into your excitement. He never called this late without warning you first.

Not wanting to risk missing his call, you answered, “Hold on.” You moved out onto the sidewalk, moving until you were under the streetlight. “Hey.”

“Am I interrupting? I’m sorry—”

“No, no. Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to—I thought—” Michael sighed. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re clearly busy,”

“I want to talk to you, too.” You said, I wanted to talk to you all day went unspoken.

“Oh.”

You smiled gently, staring down at your feet, ‘I’m just not home yet. Can I call in like an hour?”

“Please do.”

—

“So…night out…uh, solo?” He asked after you greeted each other.

Was that jealousy in his tone? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah, one of my friends really needed it,” you explained, kicking off your shoes and moving into your bedroom. “She had a bad day.”

“Oh.”

“I’m glad to be home now,” You said, removing your dress, placing him on speaker. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging out with her. Just Friday nights out aren’t always my thing, not much anymore, anyway.”

“I get that,” he said, his tone raspy. “I wanted to check in about work. I know the last week has been stressful for you.”

You pulled a pajama top over your head. “Some of the new staff is picking up the slack, I just hope they don’t leave before I do.” You chuckled.

He let out a breathy laugh.

You crawled into your bed, stretching out with a long yawn. “Admin still up your ass?”

“More than usual, yeah.”

It did not take long into your conversation for the light snoring on the other end to start, indicating that Michael had fallen asleep. His soft breaths in and out brought a comfort to you, enjoying the simplicity of him. Instead of ending the call, you placed your phone on the nightstand next to your head.

Closing your eyes, you laid back on your pillow and went to sleep.

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