#tries to impress him with how bad my hands are shaking

[pagesfromthevoid]

I Think He Knows | j.t.

Joaquin Torres x Avenger!reader

There’s always a lingering question between them in these moments. Will they cross that line finally? Who’s going to be the one who does it? But neither of them ever do. Sometimes it’s an interruption, sometimes it’s one of them backing down. 

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: kidnapping, angst, pwp, Joaquin has a pacemaker (his heart literally had to be restarted in BNW, you cannot tell me he doesn’t??), SMUUUUUUT (p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, cockwarming if you squint).

Author's Note: This came to me in a dream. I don't have much else to say. Also, I'm so sorry if the Spanish in this is...bad. I tried my best. Let me know how to improve it!! Reader's codename is Glimpse.

Talk to Me! | Coffee?

2024

“So…,”

She looks up from adjusting her gear, the roar of the plane’s engines almost drowning him out. 

“What’s it like, y’know, being an OG Avenger?” He asks, leaning against the hull of the plane.

Bucky makes a disgruntled sound beside her while she gives Joaquín a slow, crooked grin and a raised brow –the kind of look that says she’s already figured him out and isn’t sure if she’s impressed or just amused.

“Oh, it’s great,” she says, and the look Bucky gives her is one of warning as he stands up. Then she’s leaning forward some, and clasping her hands together in a snarky little clap. “Everyone I love is either dead or in hiding. My closest friend fucked off to the forties with his ex-girlfriend’s aunt. And, oh, the general public doesn’t particularly like me because I’m the only one in the public eye still, so I’m easy to blame.”

Joaquín stares at her for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh.”

“It’s great,” she repeats, giving him a painfully fake smile. “Love it.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t –,”

“Give me a ‘chute,” Bucky orders, interrupting the stammering of the officer. 

Joaquín shakes his head. “Oh, no. We’re too low for that –,”

But the soldier doesn’t let Joaquín finish his sentence before he’s tearing off his sleeve and throwing himself out of the plane. Joaquín looks horrified for a moment before he turns to her, frowning deeply.

“Do you…can you jump out of a plane without dying?”

“You wanna find out?” 

“I really don’t,” he practically begs. 

“Too late, flyboy.” And she’s grinning as she falls backwards out of the plane with a salute. 

Joaquín stares down as she falls, bracing for her impact, but it never comes. Actually, she’s nowhere to be seen as he pulls back into the plane and looks up with a hard exhale.

“Dios mío,” he breathes out. “I might be in love.”

2027

For the last week, Sam has been complaining about two things: the New Avengers and her absolute refusal to get involved in the issue. She insists it's because she’s not going to choose a side; she’s known both him and Bucky long enough to be friends with them both. He insists she’s a liar and just likes watching the two of them argue.

She doesn’t deny this.

However, she’s not really sure why Sam is so concerned with whether or not she chooses a side. She literally lives in D.C. and works with him and Joaquín on a regular basis. Less than six months ago, she helped stop Ross and Stern and prior to that, she ran missions with both him and Joaquín overseas.

To be fair, there’s a two part explanation for why she’s stuck around D.C. as long as she has. One, because prior to this New Avengers nonsense, she fully intended to join the team. However, the second reason is much more selfish –though, she’d argue that she deserves to be a little selfish after the hell that has been her life.

And that selfish reason comes down to Sam’s very attractive, very confident partner.

When they met three years ago, she didn’t think much of Joaquín Torres. A little jumpy, way too hyper –but he meant well. Even then, she thought he was cute. And he helped tremendously with the Flag Smasher situation –proved he wasn’t just some fanboy with a hero complex (though he might still be a fanboy, deep down). But as she continued to work with them after Sam officially took up the mantle of Captain America, Joaquín just kept growing on her. 

When she settled into her life in D.C., it was Joaquín that became her closest friend in the capital. He helped find her an apartment that wasn’t the worst, and had given her a list of the best places to eat around the area. Then insisted he take her whenever they got down time. He calls it Team Bonding.

She calls it Not Dating.

“What’s the plan for dinner today, Glimpse?” He asks as she pops into their base of operations. He’s not looking at her when she appears, though he never does anymore. The signature whoosh sound that follows her appearance gives her away, now that he’s trained to hear it. 

“I was thinking that ramen place in Petworth?” She suggests, plopping down on the couch and looking at her phone. “It’s the next on the list, but your list seems to keep getting longer.”

It’s a passive observation; the list he gave her when she first settled in had maybe thirty restaurants and they’d hit about half of them. However, every time she opens the Google sheet he made, somehow there’s always two or three more that weren’t there before. 

He turns around in his chair, leaning back as he looks her over. Feeling his eyes on her, she glances up from her phone with a soft smirk. 

“Gotta find ways for you to keep me around, cariño,” he grins. 

Her eyes are glued to her phone, though she’s not actually looking at anything. Every single time he says something affectionate or flirty in Spanish, her brain sort of short circuits. She took Spanish in high school, but it never really stuck. There’s a handful of phrases she knows, and she’s learned some from working with Joaquín –anything she’s learned from him is either flirty or inappropriate, however. 

“Oh yes,” she chuckles in response, kicking her feet up on the couch. “Because I only keep you around for your food recs.”

“Food recs, good looks, witty banter…,”

“You’re just the whole package, aren’t you, Torres?” 

“Your words, not mine,” he points out, pushing himself out of his chair.

Sitting beside her, he lifts her legs to rest on his lap, one hand lingering just above her knee. They share a look –a knowing one, like they both are aware that they’re playing with fire. It’s always like this when they’re close; hyper aware of how it feels to touch one another in a way that’s nothing short of unprofessional. Sometimes it’s a hand on her knee when they’re seated together. Sometimes it’s her fingers brushing the nape of his neck when he’s at his computer. 

There’s always a lingering question between them in these moments. Will they cross that line finally? Who’s going to be the one who does it? But neither of them ever do. Sometimes it’s an interruption, sometimes it’s one of them backing down. 

But they never make it past the touching. 

“I feel like I’m interruptin’ something in here,” Sam announces as he walks into the room. 

Sam is aware of how she feels, and while he doesn’t necessarily tease her about it –he’s annoying about it. 

While she doesn’t jerk away from Joaquín, she does move her legs away from his touch. His fingers drag across the fabric of her jeans as she pulls away, like he refuses to give up that closeness. But she’s standing up and pocketing her phone. 

“We’re going to that ramen place,” she offers, and Joaquín is throwing his head back against the couch. “You in?”

“No go,” he responds, shaking his head. “We’ve got some intel we need to review –remember what happened last month?”

“Yeah, Bob,” she snickers, recalling the picture of the New Avengers in the papers. “Isn’t he just…a guy? I thought Bucky had that handled?”

“Not Bob,” Sam corrects, rolling his eyes. “Dude isn’t just a guy either. Not that point though –the other thing that happened last month.”

“Krane?” Joaquín asks, frowning deeply, standing now.

She groans, rubbing the hell of her palm into her eye. “Fucking Krane.” 

Dr. Lenora Krane –the reason she has powers and the reason Nick Fury brought her on board in 2015 after just barely being seventeen. While the New Avengers were off handling Bob, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was bribing the Senate to pardon the doctor in order to put her to work for the U.S. government on a military base in California. However, that lasted as long as anyone could have predicted: last month, the reformed doctor went off the grid and no one has been able to find her since. 

Until today, apparently. 

Joaquín shifts into work mode with ease, sliding back into his chair and opening the files Sam has sent over. She sits on the arm of the chair, reading over the files as they pop up. Grainy photos and half-assed security feeds show her in Manhattan shortly after the Bob incident, but she seems to be making her way down to D.C. again. 

Even in bad photos, seeing the woman who made her life hell for most of her teen years makes the hero’s skin bristle. 

Taken from the children’s home she had grown up, under the guise of being a foster parent, Krane made it seem like her life was going to be great. But then the experiments started and only ended when Maria Hill infiltrated the lab she was kept in. Hill took her under her wing, kept her out of the system, then gave her a place amongst Earth’s mightiest heroes. 

The rest is history –though it seems like it might be repeating itself.

“What’s her deal?” Joaquín asks, looking up at her now as he leans back in his chair. “You think she’s here for you?”

His arm wraps around her from behind, linking his thumb through a belt loop since she’s using his arm rest as a seat. It’s comforting, though, whether he means for it to be or not.

If Sam notices, he doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean, I am the reason that she lost all her work and went to jail for nearly ten  years,” she points out, crossing her arms over her chest as she glances down at him. The look on Joaquín’s face is genuine concern, and it makes her heart ache. “She’s had a long time to plot her revenge against me.”

“Which means you are in danger,” Sam concludes, looking down at her with deep concern. “I’ve already talked to Barnes, you’re going to stay with him and his team of assholes. Differences or not, that Tower is the safest place –,”

“I am not going into hiding,” she counters, shooting up from the chair. Joaquín’s fingers are still caught in her belt loop and she yanks him out of his seat as she jumps up. “Joaquín –,”

“Sorry, shit,” he complains, letting her go finally and shaking out his hand. “She’s right though, Sam. We can’t just send her away, she’s an Avenger.”

“More importantly, I don’t want to uproot my shit and go hang out with Bucky. His team is weird. And Walker is there.”

“I thought you didn’t have a preference?” Sam argues, brow raised as he looks between her and Joaquín.

“You know damn well I’d rather be here than there,” she snaps back, pointing at him. “I am more than capable of handling myself, Sam. You know that.”

For a moment, there’s a tense silence in the room. There’s no reason to pick a real fight over this, but she doesn’t like being made to feel small when she’s been doing this since 2015; it’s not her first fight and it most certainly won’t be her last.

But finally, Sam nods in agreement. “You’re right. I can’t bench you –but I can at least make sure you’re not alone. One of us will stay with you.”

She’s about to argue that she doesn’t need a babysitter, but Joaquín is throwing his hand in the air. 

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Sam and her both look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Joaquín has enough self-awareness to look sheepish as he drops his hand and clears his throat. Then he tries to shrug nonchalantly. 

“I mean –I can stay with her. Not a big deal.” 

Covering her face with her hand, she shakes her head. There’s definitely a blush burning her cheeks, and his excitement doesn’t help the feelings that simmer just below the surface.

“Smooth, kid,” Sam sighs, and she can just hear the eye roll in his voice. “I’ll get a notice sent back to New York –S.A.B.E.R. is working on pinpointing her next location. Until then, you two go grab whatever you need from Torres’s place. Joaquín, when you get to her apartment, set up security protocols.”

“Heard,” he replies, sitting back down to transfer whatever data he may need to his laptop. Sam has disappeared back into his office, already on the phone. Then he grins up at her. “I got you, hermosa.”

Without thinking about it, she lays her hand on his shoulder gently. Their eyes meet, and she squeezes. “I don’t doubt that, flyboy.” 

And she doesn’t. Not for a second. 

It’s her that interrupts the moment this time, though, pulling away with a wave of her hand. “Okay –I used my powers to get here, so we can do that or you can drive.”

“Oh fuck no,” he immediately says, pushing his chair away from his desk to gather his cables. “Last time you quantum jumped us, I threw up.”

“It’s not quantum jumping,” she reminds him, rolling her eyes. “It’s teleporting. And you only threw up because you weren’t ready.”

“Nope. I’m driving.”

“But I’m faster.”

For a second, he stands up and she thinks he’s going to counter her again. Instead, he hands her a rolled up set of cables, and she takes them without question. With a sudden yank though, he’s pulling her closer and resting his free hand on her hip. Her hand immediately hits his chest as a way to keep herself upright, but the sudden closeness makes her heart pound in her fingertips –or maybe that’s his heartbeat. 

“Faster isn’t always better,” he murmurs, leaning down into her space. 

She’s about to respond –something wildly inappropriate, probably, but she’s not 100% sure because all thoughts have scattered the moment he pulled her in –when Sam walks back through the doors. With that distinctive whoosh, she’s on the other side of the room, cables in hand and for once, a blush burning her cheeks. 

Joaquín is trying to hold back a smug grin. 

Sam is unimpressed by them both. 

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

“I always forget how tiny your place is,” Joaquín comments as he drops his bag on her coffee table. 

If she rolls her eyes any harder, she’s certain they’ll get stuck that way. Setting their dinner on the counter –burgers, which she’s bitter about because she really wanted ramen –she takes out their respective meals. 

“I’m gonna go change, feel free to get comfortable.” 

Joaquín is looking around her apartment as if he hasn’t been there before, though she can feel his eyes as she walks into her bedroom. When she comes back out  –an old band t-shirt and sleep shorts replacing her jeans and top –he’s looking over the photos she’s hung up on the wall. She grins and taps his shoulder as she passes by, returning to the kitchen to take out plates for them. 

When he seems to have gotten over his surprise, he’s behind her with a hand on her lower back. The touch is warm, and secure, and she doesn’t flinch away from it. With no real threat of interruptions –no one to walk in on them or alarms to go off –the only thing standing between them is…well, them.

“The couch is a pull out, so you should be relatively comfortable,” she explains, glancing up at him over her shoulder. 

He’s reaching over and stealing a fry, hand still pressed against her back. The whole thing feels a little more domestic than she’s used to, but she’s not going to be the one that pulls away this time. Not as she turns around, and his hand is pulled around to rest on her hip again. 

Joaquín looks down at her, eyes searching, but not in a way that demands answers. It’s quieter than that –curious, cautious, like he’s waiting to see if she’ll bolt. 

She doesn’t.

“Didn’t think you’d hover this much when you volunteered to babysit,” she teases, glancing at him as she grabs another fry, tone light but not pushing him away.

“If it’s not welcome, I can leave you be,” he replies, his voice low, steady. His hand is still on her hip though, anchoring her.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t joke it off.

“It’s welcome,” she says instead.

He studies her for a beat longer, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. But his face breaks out into that boyish grin she thrives on seeing. “Okay,” he says, quieter now. “Good.”

But still, neither of them moves to close the space. The silence hums in the air, in the stillness, in the way his fingers stay at her hip like he doesn’t want to let go. Like he’s waiting for her to make the move.

She doesn’t know why he never does –not when he’s always the one who flirts first, who pushes the edge of that line just enough to make her wonder. And now, with nothing stopping them, it’s somehow harder. Closer. Sharper.

It’s him who pulls away this time, moving through her kitchen with ease as he opens her fridge and pulls out a beer. For a moment, she looks to whatever divine powers might be out there and silently wonders why the hell they keep dancing around this –and why the hell she can’t just man up and do it herself.

Nothing answers, of course.

“So what do you usually do when you’re home, all alone?” He asks as he takes what’s left of his food into the living room and drops onto the couch; he’d eaten half his burger on the way over. “Besides think about me, of course,” he adds for good measure, winking at her.

One more eye roll, then she’s joining him on the couch, sitting with her legs crossed under her. Her knee is brushing his thigh and he makes no move to get away. “Honestly, between watching trashy T.V. or reading trashy romance novels, I’m not the most exciting of people.”

Joaquín scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t believe that for a second. An OG Avenger and you don’t do anything exciting outside of work?”

“Being an Avenger isn’t half as exciting as you think it is,” she reminds him, giving him a pointed look. “You learned that the hard way, remember?”

Even if he pretends it didn’t happen, she can’t. Not when she sat in the hospital with Sam for days, worried that Joaquín wouldn’t wake up. She’s had a lot of close calls in her life, and she’s lost a lot of people in the last ten years. Watching him plummet into the ocean from the security feed of his mask scared the living hell out of her, and that’s most certainly contributed to their dialed up flirting recently. 

She’s not afraid to admit she thought she almost lost him. Truth be told, she told him that in the hospital when he woke up. But then he told them both how he just wants to be like them –to be a hero, to do right by the world. How he wanted to get out of Miami and prove himself worthy –and she couldn’t scold him for being reckless. Couldn’t argue with him that she almost lost him. Because he knew that. He knew the risks he took, and it wasn’t her place to remind him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He brushes it off. Always does. “When Krane is handled, I’m gonna take you out and show you how to use your down time.”

She raises a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Is this you finally asking me out, Torres?”

For just a beat, maybe two, they stare at each other. She’s crossed the line, finally. Pushed them to confront each other; to act on whatever these feelings they both clearly have are. Their food is long forgotten on the coffee table, and his hand is resting on her bare knee. 

“What if I am?” He asks, leaning in closer. 

“If you are, I’d say it took you long enough.”

A grin breaks out over his face, and Joaquín doesn’t waste any time as he wraps a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. He’s pulling her into his lap, and she’s on her knees straddling him. Other hand sliding up her shirt, he groans as his fingers skim below her breasts, realizing she isn’t wearing a bra.

“No sabes cuánto he deseado esto…,” he whispers against her lips, and even though she’s not sure what he’s saying, it sends a shiver down her spine. Taking advantage of his mouth being open, she licks into it, deepening the kiss as her hands trail down to the hem of his shirt. 

Just as she manages to pull his shirt over his head, glass shatters. They yank back from one another, looking at the broken window. It’s a split second –panic, a flash bang rolling into her living room. Joaquín is covering her with his body, just as a whoosh surrounds them. She’s not positive where she’s sent them, but they land with a thud against gravel and roll off one another with a groan. 

From the rooftop of the neighboring apartment building, there’s what’s supposed to be a disorienting bang and a flash of light. Her apartment lights up, and she sits up on her knees as they both watch smoke pour out of the broken window. Joaquín kneels beside her, feeling on the brink of throwing up from the sudden teleportation. He reaches out to touch her shoulder though, making sure she’s okay. 

“Fucking Krane,” she hisses, standing up. He watches her from the corner of his eye before looking back at the apartment. The D.C. air is frigid, and police sirens are echoing in the night as they approach the apartment building. “We need to call Sam –,”

“Both our phones are in the apartment,” he interrupts, reaching out to take his shirt from her. There’s a heavy feeling in his chest; another screw up. Another mistake that could have been avoided, just like when he tried to take down that missile. Only this time, it’s not his life that’s in danger. It’s hers. “Mierda –this is my fault.”

“How is it your fault?” 

“I didn’t set up the security protocols.” He slips on his shirt, then reaches out to take her hand. There’s no hesitation when he does this; just takes her hand and pulls her close as he leads them across the roof of the building. “We need to get outta here. If Krane is nearby, then you’re in danger and I don’t have…anything.”

The realization sinks in that the wings are at base, but his computer –his government issued computer, with thousands of gigs of data and files on it –has been compromised. If Krane gets a hold of that, and he can’t wipe it before she gets into it, then it’s more than just her that’s in trouble.

“Fuck,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “My laptop –,”

“I can get it,” she quickly reassures but he’s putting his hands up. “Joaquín, that’s my whole job –in and out –,”

“The apartment is compromised,” he counters, shaking his head. “I can’t let you go back in there.”

“In and out,” she argues and he’s caught between not wanting to screw something else up and keeping her safe. He knows she’s good; she’s an OG. She’s been doing this long before he came along. But if something happens to her…

Except, she’s not giving him a chance to argue. She never does, because he’s not usually the one arguing against her. But that sound –that whoosh that has trained his brain to listen for –echoes in the air. And then she’s gone. 

“Dammit,” he hisses, pounding his fist once against the wall. 

He waits, watching from the edge of the building. 

Seconds. That’s all it should take.

She’s done this a thousand times. Disappearing across rooftops, slipping into sealed rooms, snatching intel mid-conversation without a whisper. The police are surrounding her apartment complex, guns drawn. No one has come in or out of the building since she entered, which is…bad. 

So why isn’t she back?

He paces on the rooftop, trying to calm his breathing. One beat. Two. Five. He stares at the spot where she vanished, willing the air to whisper with that tell-tale signal again. His ears are still ringing from the flashbang thrown through the window barely five minutes ago, and it sets his teeth on edge. But…

Nothing.

“She should be back,” he mutters aloud, to no one. “Why aren’t you back?”

His pulse hammers in his ears. She always makes it back. She’s cocky about it. Makes jokes. Teases him that she’s always going to be faster, always going to be a step ahead. Because she is, and he knows she is. In the three years he’s known her, he’s not once thought he’d ever be better than her. Because he’s too amazed by her –how could he want to be better when everything she does is so graceful and damn near perfect? 

All he had to do was protect her, and somehow…he blew it.

Sam’s going to kill him.

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

The guilt has been a slow bleed. Every hour without a lead makes it worse. 

Joaquín hasn’t slept. Not really. A few hours here and there, usually when Sam physically pries him away from the screen or the chair or the growing pile of coffee cups that he’s surviving on. But even when he does sleep, he dreams of her –trapped, bleeding, calling for him. Every time, he wakes up choking on guilt.

She’s been missing for seventy-six hours. Seventy-six hours since she vanished inside that apartment. Since she dove into danger to retrieve his laptop –his responsibility –because he hadn’t done his damn job in the first place. He was too distracted. Too busy being in love with her to remember that she’s not invincible.

Joaquín drags a hand through his curls, fingers catching as he stares at the rows of code on his screen.

“Come on, come on…,” he mutters, cycling through yet another security node.

He’s torn apart every digital trail Krane has ever left –fake aliases, ghosted emails, the occasional off-the-grid bio signature from a black market medical clinic. None of it points to where she’s keeping her. But Joaquín isn’t just looking for Krane anymore.

He’s looking for her. For the woman who scared the hell out of him by jumping out of that plane three years ago. Who teases him about his stupid restaurant spreadsheet; who kisses him like she’s just as wrecked as he is. 

He almost had her. Finally. And now?

Now all he has is silence. And a red blinking cursor on a map overlay.

But then –,

Something pings.

It’s small. Barely a whisper in the code. But Joaquín freezes, eyes narrowing. He backtracks, isolates the data string, and enhances the feed. It’s a signal bounce –from his laptop. A handshake request that shouldn’t exist, buried beneath three layers of dummy networks. Krane must have booted it, just briefly. Just long enough to trigger the dormant emergency protocol he’d hardwired into the system during a long forgotten all-nighter.

He stares at the screen as coordinates materialize. They’re fuzzy. The GPS is spoofed, bouncing between old S.H.I.E.L.D. black sites, but there's a pattern to the chaos.

“She’s not hiding you,” he says under his breath, breath catching in his chest. “She’s parading you. Daring us to come.”

He should feel fear. Hesitation. He doesn’t.

He locks onto the most consistent coordinate. An abandoned logistics warehouse 40 miles outside Richmond. Nothing special. No heat signatures from satellites. But something about it hums wrong. Quiet in a way that feels intentional.

That’s where she is. He knows it. He feels it in his bones.

Sam’s voice breaks the moment. “Any progress?”

Joaquín turns slowly, eyes still lit by the screen. “Yeah. I think I found her.”

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

She’s strapped to a reinforced medical chair, wrists restrained in a way that numbs her fingers. Her powers are suppressed –some kind of electromagnetic field layered into the restraints, maybe nanotech. It doesn’t matter. The result is the same: she can’t phase. Can’t jump. Can’t fight.

It’s like trying to scream with no voice. Like being a kid again.

Krane stands over her, monologuing in that smug, academic cadence that always made her want to tear her own ears off. She’s pacing now, dragging her fingers along the edge of a steel tray holding tools that aren’t exactly designed for healing.

“…quantum stability, neural mapping, synaptic plasticity,” Krane is saying, like she’s checking off items on a list. “You’re a blueprint with legs, nothing more,” the scientist finally concludes, looking over the hero with the same sadistic smile she’s always had. “You think you’re going to save the world again. But you’re just a failed experiment clinging to a label.”

She doesn’t respond. Not because she’s too weak –though Krane’s been dosing her with something, and her limbs feel like sandbags –but because she’s saving her strength. Waiting. Waiting for the moment when the sedatives slip, when the field flickers, when Krane makes a mistake.

Because the doctor always does.

But if she’s being honest, that’s not the only reason she’s quiet. The real reason –the part that burns low in her chest, white-hot and ugly –is this: she let Krane take her.

She didn’t fight back. Not really.

She had a window. A second and a half, maybe two. Enough time to jump. Enough time to leave. But she didn’t. Because the second she started to move, Krane said Joaquín’s name. Said it so calmly, so casually, like she hadn’t been watching them through the drone in his laptop camera.

“You go for this computer and I send a kill switch to your flyboy’s pacemaker,” Krane said, having picked up the laptop. There’s a remote in her hand –small, round, blinking. “You know he has one now, right? After that nasty fall into the ocean? Poor thing –you know, we had to restart his heart.”

“We?” She asked, looking at the doctor in disbelief.

“You should have read the file carefully, Glimpse,” the doctor scolded. “I’m reformed, remember? And before you, I was a very decorated military doctor.”

It was bullshit. It had to be.  But she didn’t know for sure. 

And that split second of hesitation –of imagining Joaquín’s body hitting the floor because she called Krane’s bluff –was enough. Enough for Krane to sedate her. Enough for the world to blur. 

Enough to lose.

And now, here she is. Chained and doped up in some forgotten corner of Virginia, reliving the worst years of her life like it never ended. Except this time, she’s not a little girl. She’s not powerless. And she knows that there’s at least two people looking for her.

And she knows neither of them will stop until they find her.

Her eyes flick to the blinking red light on the wall. A low pulse, like a heartbeat. It wasn’t there five seconds ago. That light isn’t part of the baseline infrastructure. She knows this place. Knows how Krane likes her labs –clinical, sterile, and absolutely under her control. 

That flicker is out of place. 

That flicker means hope.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t give Krane the satisfaction of knowing something’s changed.

Across the room, Krane is talking again –some self-righteous, pseudo-academic garbage about neural mapping and genetic anomalies and “weaponized empathy.” Her voice cuts through the silence like a scalpel. Her eyes are wild now, hands moving faster, yanking wires from machines and double-checking restraints that don’t need checking. Because something’s wrong. She can feel it.

And Krane knows it, too.

She tracks the shift in Krane’s energy with careful, weary eyes. There’s a tremor in her hands now. That smug detachment has begun to crack.

Good. Let it crack.

The moment comes in a shudder of metal. A deep, violent boom rattles the concrete walls as the lab door explodes inward in a spray of steel and sparks. The force of it echoes through her chest, more felt than heard. For a second, the light above her sputters out –then returns, flickering.

The first figure through the smoke is Sam. Wings half-folded, shield in hand, eyes like fire. He moves with that signature precision: not so much charging as cleaving through the space, knocking aside a pair of armored guards with brutal efficiency. They hit the wall hard and don’t get back up.

Joaquín follows half a beat later, sliding through the debris like a storm wrapped in a man’s frame. He’s dropped the wings for speed and brute force, shoulder-checking the last guard so hard the man’s body crumples like foil. He doesn’t slow –his eyes are already locked on her.

For a moment, she’s not Glimpse, a former Avenger. She’s just the girl strapped to the chair, covered in bruises and half-drugged, barely upright –but seen. Found.

And Joaquín looks at her like she's the only thing in the damn world worth saving.

He’s at her side in seconds, hands already on the restraints, breath coming fast and shallow.

“Hey,” she says, voice dry, mouth cracking into the ghost of a smile. Like this is just an everyday thing for them.

“Hey,” he breathes, eyes scanning her face like he’s checking for fractures. She’s certain she looks worse for wear; if the bruises on her arms are any indication, she’s certain her face isn’t much better. 

“Jesus, I –,” but he doesn’t finish. Just rips the cuff open with a grunt, tosses it to the floor, and moves to the next.

Her fingers twitch back to life. Painful, sluggish –but working.

Behind them, Krane shrieks. She’s at the far end of the room now, fumbling for something –another syringe, or maybe that damned remote again. Sam crosses the space in two strides and kicks it out of her hand before grabbing her by the collar and slamming her into the wall with controlled force.

“You’re done,” he growls.

Krane gasps for air, blinking like she can’t process how quickly the tables have turned.

Joaquín finishes unfastening the last restraint, and her body sags forward –only for him to catch her, arms steady around her frame. She doesn’t collapse, though. She uses his grip to pull herself upright, standing on legs that shake but hold.

“I’ve got you,” he promises. 

“I know,” she answers, but she’s pulling back some. Steadying her stance. She doesn’t need a full recovery. She just needs a little bit of spite and one shot.

“I can walk,” she adds, looking up at him.

Joaquín looks like he wants to argue, but doesn’t. Just stays close, hand at her back as she half-limps, half-strides toward the scientist that Sam has pinned to the wall. Half crazed, clawing at Sam’s hands to release her –Krane looks certifiably unhinged. 

Finally, her outsides match her insides.

“You don’t understand! All my work –everything I’ve worked on –it’s her!” The scientist screams, bucking against Sam’s hold. “I can change the world with her!”

And then she hears it: the click of a syringe behind them. Krane kicks Sam away, more force behind the movement than he expected. Still sneering. Still trying. The doctor lunges, chemical cocktail in hand –some desperate move to keep control. The scientist is aiming for Joaquín, but she’s not half as fast as the Avenger. 

Even if the drugs are weighing her down, and every muscle in her body is screaming at her not to, she shifts her weight, ducks under Joaquin’s arm, and slams her fist into Krane’s jaw with everything she has.

It’s not graceful. Not elegant. It's not powered or calculated.

It’s just…personal.

Joaquín lets out a low whistle as she nearly drops to her knees, but he catches her immediately. With ease, he’s lifting her into his arms, and she’s pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck with a wrecked sigh. All the strength she had left was put into that punch, and with Krane down –she’s able to finally drop her guard and give into the exhaustion. 

Vaguely, she’s aware of Sam telling Joaquín to get her out of here. But her body is exhausted, and finally quits on her as Joaquín promises he’s going to get her out of there. 

-><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><--><-

Luckily, she’s only in the hospital two nights. One night to clear her system of whatever drugs Krane had given her, a hook up to an IV to get her body regulated again, and another night for observation. Outside of drawing a little more blood than she should have, Krane didn’t intend to kill the hero –she intended to use the hero as a blueprint for more. 

Her apartment is still out of commission –smoke damaged and a crime scene, naturally –so he takes her back to his place. Sam brings her some clothes, and Joaquín zips her into his hoodie, saying she’s going to stay with him until she’s 100% again. He waits for an argument from her, but it never comes; she just slips herself into the passenger seat of his car and tells him to drive slowly.

The first few days are easy enough; she spends most of them asleep in his room, tucked into his bed like she belongs there. He makes her get up to shower and eat, but otherwise he lets her chill and recover from everything. He tries to leave her be during the day, especially when she’s asleep, but sometimes he just lays in there with her. Letting her curl into his side as he watches whatever is on T.V., holding her through the recovery. Maybe they should have talked about what this is between them, but Joaquín thinks there’s no reason to anymore. 

By the end of the week, she’s up and moving. 

More than that, really. 

Joaquín stepped out to help Sam with the last few details with Krane. He’d been gone maybe an hour –two tops. Left her in bed, sitting up and scrolling through her phone with a kiss to her temple and a promise to get dinner when he got back.

So imagine his surprise when he walks into his apartment and she’s standing in his kitchen, wearing one of his T-shirts and nothing else, cooking dinner. There’s music playing, and she’s singing along as she scrolls through the instructions on her phone. Joaquín can’t help it as he stares, arms crossed over his chest. This is the most awake she’s been in days, and the thought that maybe he has even a little influence on that makes him smile.

Pushing off the doorframe, he slips in behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “Mírate...mi cielo,” he murmurs against her ear, grinning as he looks over the ingredients on the counter. “Need some help?”

She glances up at him, and the smile she gives him could knock him out if he really wanted it to. “I’m almost done –you can take the pan out of the oven though.”

He hums, debating. “If I do that, I gotta let you go. And I don’t think I wanna do that.”

“At least turn off the oven so it doesn’t burn,” she counters, but she’s reaching over to do it herself.

The motion is innocent enough –but combined with her bare legs and his shirt and her ass brushing against him as she does it…Joaquín’s grip on her waist tightens some, cock twitching in his jeans, before he turns her around and presses her against the nearest clean countertop. She raises a brow up at him, but there’s a smirk on her face as her arms wrap around his neck.

“I take it you’re not hungry,” she teases but she’s cut off as he lifts her onto the counter.

“Oh baby, I’m starving,” he reassures, hands sliding down her waist now to grip her thighs, parting them so he can stand between them; pressing the growing bulge in his jeans against her center. “But I’m gonna need to start with dessert.”

“What are the odds one of us gets kidnapped again?” She jokes, pulling him closer by the back of his neck.

“Let’em try to take you from me again,” he promises, fingers trailing up her bare thighs and over the front of her panties. 

He nearly groans at the wet spot he feels, toying with her carefully through the damp fabric. The sigh she lets out, coupled with how her head tilts back, encourages him to pull her closer to the edge of the counter and kneel down between her legs. Slipping them over his shoulders, he presses open mouth kisses on the inside of her thighs before finally kissing the fabric that’s slick.

Her hands find his hair almost instantly, and he grins against her as he pulls the ruined garment down her legs finally. With how much they’ve teased each other over the years, and how often he’s thought about this exact moment, he wants to take it slow. Wants to drown himself in between her legs. But now that he’s here, all thoughts escape him as he licks a stripe from top to bottom, groaning at the taste. Then it’s entirely useless to consider what he’s going to do next, because all he wants is to feel her cum on his face as he dives in entirely.

The fingers in his hair tug, and the gasps coming from her lips only push him further into her as he sucks on her clit. With two fingers, he spreads her wider, allowing both a better view and more room as his tongue laps up into her entirely, taking in every ounce of her that he can. 

“Fuck,” she breathes out, and her legs are shaking. “Joaquín, please –I need –,”

Mouth still on her, he looks up through his lashes at the mess she is. Then, he pulls away just enough for her hips to chase his mouth but his fingers are what she meets. She writhes under his touch, fingers tightening in his curls as he spreads his spit and her slick all over her.

“What d’you need?” He asks, teasing, barely touching her now as her hips buck off the counter. “Gotta use your words, cariño.”

“Touch me,” she begs, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. “Please, I need you to –,”

“Like this?” 

His finger slides inside with ease, and the feeling of her clenching around just the one is enough to spur him on and he pulls her into a messy kiss. Her frantic yes, yes, yes’s are swallowed as he licks into her mouth, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Then, he slips another finger inside and she bites at his bottom lip, causing him to groan in response. Her grip on his hair tightens, hips moving against his hand, a silent plea to keep going. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” He murmurs into the kiss, breaking it only to trail wet kisses down her jaw and over her neck. She’s nodding frantically against him, eyes screwed shut as he picks up his speed and brushes her clit with his thumb. 

That seems to be her undoing as she cries out, clenching around his fingers tight as he feels her drip down his hand. He doesn’t pull away, but slows down his movements, easing her through the orgasm as her body shudders and falls limp against his chest. When she’s finally come down is when he finally slides his fingers from her sensitive core, causing her to shudder at the feeling.

“You good?” He asks softly but she’s dramatically falling back onto the countertop with a sigh. 

“I’m…much more than good,” she manages to say, leaning on her elbows to look up at him. 

Her eyes are trailing over him now –taking in the slick that he’s certain is on his face, down to his hand that’s still wet from her orgasm then to his dick that’s too hard to hide at this point. The gears are turning in her head; he can practically see them as she sits up and reaches for his belt. He’s about to stop her, tell her that she doesn’t need to return the favor, but then he’s swept up in a whoosh and they’re falling back into his bed.

“Fuck, I hate when you do that,” he complains, but there’s no bite in his tone as she reaches out for him. 

“You’ll get used to it,” she promises, tugging his shirt off over his head. 

Joaquín doesn’t hesitate to toss it to the side, fumbling with his belt and jeans next to kick them off. Then she’s throwing the shirt she has on into the pile, and he leans back into the pillows, staring shamelessly up at her. Every curve, every scar, every freckle –he’s staring like he’s trying to memorize every inch of her skin just in case she suddenly changes her mind.

But she doesn’t.

Thank god, she doesn’t as she finds herself straddling his hips with her hands on his chest. Joaquín sits up, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into him, trying to get as close to her as possible. Her hips roll against him as she pulls him in once again, kissing him like her life depends on it. His hands are guiding her hips, dragging her against his cock in order to coat him in the remnants of her first orgasm. 

The head of his cock catches her clit, and she gasps into his mouth. Joaquín grins into the kiss, unable to help himself, as he looks up at her again. His other hand gropes her chest, pinching and twisting at her nipples as he bites at her bottom lip.

“Joaquín, please,” she sighs, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe over his lips. She’s reaching between their bodies now to grasp his hard cock in her hands. “I need you –I need –,”

“What do you need, cariño?” He teases, trying to keep his hips from bucking up into her. “Take what you want, baby. C’mon…,”

She nods frantically, rising up onto her knees above him. Joaquín’s gaze drops to her hand around him, where she’s guiding his cock into her soaked core. As she slowly eases him into her, one of her hands shoots up to grip his arm, digging her nails into the skin to distract from the stretch. Joaquín’s head falls back again as she sinks down on him, his hands dropping to her ass just to hold something. Because if he doesn’t –shit, he’s going to lose any semblance of control he has.

Her grip on his arm tightens as their hips meet again, sinking him entirely inside her as she tries to adjust to his size. Joaquín groans as her walls clenched around him, and his hips involuntarily buck up –causing her to cry out in surprise and lurch forward, her hands gripping his shoulders tight. With her tits in his face, and his hands grasping her ass, Joaquín is done for –fuck control, he needed to ruin her.

Joaquín trails his fingers down her arms before wrapping them back around her hips, holding her tight against him as he pistons up into her. Not expecting that, a surprised cry leaves her lips as he catches her mouth with his again. He pulls her up, and she gets the hint as she rises to meet his thrusts, bouncing on his cock to bring herself closer and closer to the edge.

“Been thinking about you like this for so long,” he admits. He punctuates his last word with a hard thrust up that has the tip of his cock grazing a spot so deep inside her it makes her drop her face into his neck, crying out his name again.

“Fuck, Joaquín –you feel so good– please, god– please, please–,” Her words die in her throat when he yanks her down particularly hard, pressing her hips down to meet him and holding her there in slow, hard grind. She lets out a choked sob of his name, clenching hard around him and stealing a low moan from the back of his throat. 

She moans again, and Joaquín jolts up some as he feels her tongue trailing over the vein in his neck and over his jaw. Her mouth is on his again, and he can feel her tightening around him as her wetness starts to smear between their bodies. The sound of their skin slapping against skin only urges him forward, each thrust becoming messier and harder. It’s almost too much as his one hand dipped between their bodies, fingers fluently toying with her clit.

“Ven para mí,” he manages to breathe against her lips, nipping at her bottom one. “Cum for me again, baby, please –need you to cum on my cock –,”

Between the touch on her clit and the thrusts up into her, Joaquín can tell she’s close and he’d be damned if he came before her. Kissing her harder –all tongue, and teeth, and spit –he speeds up his thrusts in time with his fingers on her clit. She bites his lip for a moment before she gasps, closing her eyes tight as her body tenses up under him, only to spasm around him as she comes undone again. The only sound she makes are airy gasps of his name, begging him to keep going. Joaquín isn’t far behind as he thrusts up into her a few more times before his hips stutter against her. 

“Where –,”

“Inside –god, please,” she insists, holding tight to him as if afraid to lose his touch. “Pill -,”

Joaquín doesn’t think twice as he nods, taking hold of her jaw to kiss her again as he tenses up below her. He rolls his hips once, twice –then groans into her mouth as he fills her deep. She’s grinding against him still, riding out both of their orgasms now, as they both slowly come down. 

Then she drops against him, breathing heavily. Joaquín’s hand drops away from her jaw, pulling her back with him as he collapses on the bed. Her forehead presses against his neck, tucked just under his chin as she tries to catch her breath. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath himself, as he savors the moment of her skin against his, holding her close to his chest.

They lay like this for a while –basking in each other’s touch, enjoying the warmth both are feeling. Joaquín is still buried inside her, still half-hard, but he makes no move to pull out. Not when she’s laying on him like this, melting into his touch. Just as he’s about to say something –ask her if she wants to take a bath or something –both their phones ring. The same ringtone, for the same person –texting them both at the same time.

“You think he knows he’s always interrupting?” She asks, but her voice is hoarse. 

“There’s no way he doesn’t,” Joaquín responds, but he doesn’t move from the bed. Instead, he pulls her closer and pulls the blankets up over them both. “He can figure it out without us.”

“You know he’s gonna show up at the door,” she points out, but she’s pressing herself somehow closer to him as his arms tighten around her. 

“I don’t even care –I got my girl in my arms. He’ll understand.”

-------

Taglist: @messrkarmaismygf13 @thecowboyfiles (you asked me to share with the class so here we are)

[sunrotdropbrain]

[cressidagrey]

Classified Information

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Francesca Howard (Original Character)

Summary:

Liam Lawson tries to flirt with Red Bull’s new CTO.

Turns out, she’s Dr. Francesca Howard.

Also known as Max Verstappen’s wife.

And the mother of his son.

Oops.

Warnings and Notes: 

....Poor Liam is really going through in this.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Liam Lawson liked to think he had good instincts.

They had served him well in his racing career—knowing when to attack, when to defend, when to push and when to back off.

But apparently, those instincts failed him spectacularly the day he walked into the Red Bull factory for his seat fitting and met Francesca Howard for the first time.

He had heard the name before, of course. Everyone in the industry had. Francesca Howard—brilliant, ruthless, and the woman who had taken over as Red Bull Racing’s Chief Technology Officer after Adrian Newey’s departure.

What Liam hadn’t heard, however, was that she was also absolutely stunning.

She stood near the RB21 chassis, tablet in hand, deep in conversation with a few engineers. Her tone was sharp but calm, confident without arrogance, completely in control of every discussion around her.

And, Liam noted, she had a hell of a presence.

He adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie, rolling his shoulders back. He was good with first impressions. No harm in introducing himself, right?

He took one step forward—

And suddenly, he felt a hand grip his arm like a vice.

“Nope.”

Liam turned, startled, to find Gianpiero Lambiase looking at him like he was the biggest idiot to ever walk into the Red Bull garage.

Liam frowned. “What?”

GP sighed heavily, like this was already too much effort. “Don’t do it.”

Liam blinked, confused. “Do what?”

GP nodded toward Francesca. “Whatever you’re about to attempt over there—just don’t.”

Liam scoffed. “I’m literally just introducing myself.”

GP leveled him with a look, looking at him like he had just tried to run slick tires in the rain. “And yet, I’m still telling you not to.”

Liam folded his arms. “Why? Is she scary?”

GP snorted. “Not to me.”

That wasn’t an answer.

Liam narrowed his eyes. “Alright, what’s the deal?”

GP sighed again, rubbing his temples like he was too old for this conversation. “Lawson. I know you think you’ve got game. But trust me—not this time.”

Liam tilted his head. “What, is she taken or something?”

GP didn’t even bother looking up from his laptop as he muttered, “Something like that.”

Liam hesitated, suddenly feeling like he was missing some critical piece of information.

But then he shook it off. How bad could it be?

“C’mon,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

GP sighed again, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “rookies never learn” before shaking his head.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back and folding his arms. “Do what you want. But when this backfires, I’m not saving you.”

Liam rolled his eyes and kept walking.

How bad could it possibly be?

At worst, Francesca Howard would roll her eyes at him and shut him down politely. No harm done.

So he straightened his shoulders and walked over.

He liked to think he was pretty smooth, after all. 

Not in an arrogant way—just in a self-aware way. He had a certain charm, an easy confidence. People liked him. Women liked him.

What was the worst that could happen? Mild embarrassment? He’d survive.

So he walked up to Francesca Howard, clearing his throat as she studied something on her tablet.

“Miss Howard,” he greeted smoothly, flashing his most easygoing grin. “Liam Lawson. Figured it was time we officially met.”

She looked up, brow arching slightly, her expression somewhere between amused and unimpressed.

“Dr. Howard.”

Liam blinked. “Huh?”

Francesca tilted her head. “I have two doctorates. If you’re going to address me formally, at least get it right. Otherwise, you can just call me Francesca. It’s my name.”

Liam froze.

Two doctorates?

Two?!

He cleared his throat. “Uh. Right. Dr. Howard.”

Her smirk did not help his sudden feeling of impending doom.

Behind him, GP sighed loudly.

Liam could feel himself slipping.

Not in a physically tripping over a curb way—though, honestly, he wouldn’t put that past himself at this point—but in a mentally trying to keep up and failing spectacularly way.

Francesca Howard was too smart for her own good.

Or, rather, too smart for his own good.

And she knew it.

“So,” he started, recovering as best as he could. “Two doctorates, huh?”

She gave him a patient smile, the kind teachers gave students who had just asked an embarrassingly obvious question.

“Yes,” she said. “One in Aerospace Engineering, one in Physics.”

Liam nodded slowly, stalling for time.

“Right. Cool. Just… y’know, casual, two whole doctorates.”

Francesca smirked. “You only need one to replace Adrian Newey. I like to be thorough.”

GP, still lurking nearby, snorted loudly.

Liam ignored him.

“Well,” Liam said, shifting his weight, trying to regain some sense of control in this conversation, “I guess it’s a good thing we have the best of the best in charge.”

Francesca hummed, looking entirely unaffected. “I know.”

Liam blinked. “You know?”

“Yes.”

“No hesitation?”

Francesca shrugged. “Why would I hesitate? It’s a fact.”

Liam opened his mouth, then shut it.

Then opened it again.

Then shut it again.

There was no winning here.

Behind him, GP sighed loudly, shaking his head. “I told you, kid.”

Liam Lawson had officially lost control of this conversation.

Dr. Francesca Howard—too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates, and completely unbothered by his attempts to charm her—had thoroughly handed him his ass in a simple conversation.

And now, he was trying to figure out how to exit gracefully without admitting defeat.

(There was no graceful exit. He was so screwed.)

But before he could say anything else, a new voice cut in.

“You’re making this too easy for her.”

Liam turned—only to freeze at the sight of Max Verstappen walking into the garage.

With a baby in his arms.

Liam blinked. What.

Francesca’s expression instantly softened, her entire demeanor shifting as she abandoned whatever she had been working on and zeroed in on Max and the baby.

“There’s my boy,” she murmured, ignoring Liam completely as she reached for the baby, lifting him easily into her arms.

Liam blinked. What the hell was happening?

The baby—who had Verstappen blue eyes and a suspiciously familiar frown—giggled, grabbing at Francesca’s hair. 

“Did Papa bring you to see me?” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead.

Max, standing there with all the smugness of a four-time World Champion who knew exactly what he was doing, crossed his arms. “He missed you. You’ve been working too much.”

Francesca hummed, rocking the baby slightly. “That’s because someone keeps breaking parts, Maxie.”

Max did not look even a little guilty.

Liam, meanwhile, was still trying to process the absolute madness unfolding in front of him.

Papa?!

My boy?!

MAXIE?!

“What,” Liam said, voice slightly higher than normal, “the actual hell is going on?”

Francesca turned to him, just now remembering he existed.

She sighed but lifted her left hand, flashing a wedding band so obvious that Liam genuinely hated himself for not noticing it earlier.

Liam’s entire brain short-circuited. 

“We’re married,” she said casually. 

Liam choked.

“You’re—WHAT?!”“You’re—” He pointed between them. “Since when?!”

Max grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “A while now.”

Liam turned back to GP, who looked entirely unshocked by this development.

GP sighed. “Tried to warn you.”

Liam needed a second.

No—he needed several seconds.

Because nothing about this situation made sense.

Dr. Francesca Howard—Red Bull’s new Chief Technology Officer, terrifyingly smart, and the owner of two doctorates—was married to Max Verstappen.

And, apparently, they had a whole baby together.

A whole baby.

Liam had spent months hearing rumors about who would replace Adrian Newey. He’d even done his research—looked into Francesca’s background, her achievements, the way she was basically a walking encyclopedia of aerodynamics and engineering.

But nowhere in his research had it said, Oh, by the way, she’s married to a four-time World Champion.

And definitely nowhere had it mentioned, They have a baby together, too.

Liam opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again.

Then shut it.

Francesca, still holding the baby like he was the only thing in the world that mattered, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Lawson?”

Liam pointed between her and Max, looking vaguely like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“You—you—” he sputtered. “This—How did nobody tell me this?!”

Max, clearly enjoying every second of this, shrugged. “We don’t exactly make announcements.”

“You—” Liam gestured wildly at Francesca holding the literal Verstappen baby. “—You have a whole kid together!”

Francesca tilted her head, unimpressed. “Yes, Liam. That’s generally how it works when you’re married.”

Liam let out a strangled noise.

Max chuckled. “You thought you had a chance with her, didn’t you?”

Liam groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

GP, still entirely unshocked, clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

“Lesson learned?” GP asked, smirking.

Liam exhaled sharply, looking so very done with this entire team.

“Right,” he said finally, voice still slightly higher than normal. “So, just to recap—”

He pointed at Max.

“Four-time World Champion, absolute menace on track, king of the grudge-holders.”

Max smirked. “Correct.”

Liam turned to Francesca.

“Chief Technology Officer, too smart for her own good, owner of two doctorates—”

Francesca looked far too amused. “Correct again.”

Then Liam gestured wildly at the baby.

“And now you—together—have a whole child?”

Francesca, unfazed, adjusted the baby against her hip. “Would you prefer we only had half a child?”

Liam let out a deeply pained groan.

Max chuckled. “You’re making this too easy for her.”

Liam ignored him and turned back to GP, who was completely unbothered, like he had seen this exact scenario play out before.

“You knew,” Liam accused.

GP snorted. “Obviously.”

Liam threw his hands in the air. “Does the entire team know?!”

Max shrugged. “The ones who pay attention.”

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

Francesca, still holding the baby like Liam’s existential crisis was just background noise, turned to Max.

“I’m assuming you didn’t just come down here to break the rookie?” she asked dryly.

Max grinned. “No, I wanted to see you. And I think Joshua missed you.”

As if on cue, the baby—Joshua, apparently—made a happy babbling noise and patted Francesca’s face.

Francesca melted. “Oh, my love, I missed you too,” she cooed, kissing his forehead.

Max leaned down and kissed Francesca, quick and familiar, like it was second nature.

Liam immediately looked away.

“Right,” he muttered. “Nope. That’s enough for me today.”

Max pulled away, still looking far too pleased. “You sure? I could tell you how we met.”

Liam pointed aggressively at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Max just laughed.

Liam exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Okay. Fine. You win.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “We were playing a game?”

“I don’t know, Verstappen,” Liam muttered. “But if we were, you won.”

Francesca, still very much focused on her baby, hummed. “I always win.”

Liam shot GP a pained look. “Does she ever turn it off?”

GP snorted. “Nope.”

Max, smug as ever, leaned in slightly. “She’s always been this way, mate. You just had the misfortune of walking into it.”

Liam groaned. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

Max grinned. “Not a chance.”

GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “We’ll let this slide, since you’re new, but you might want to brush up on team dynamics before making a fool of yourself again.”

Francesca, finally tearing her attention away from her son, smirked at him. “You’ve learned an important lesson today, Liam.”

“Oh yeah?” he deadpanned. “What’s that?”

Francesca tilted her head, eyes sharp with amusement. “That I’m completely out of your league.”

Max let out a bark of laughter.

GP clapped a hand on Liam’s shoulder, offering zero comfort. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just... maybe do your homework next time.”

Liam shot him a deeply betrayed look. “You really let me dig my own grave, huh?”

GP shrugged. “I considered warning you. Then I didn’t.”

Liam groaned. “This is actual bullying.”

Francesca, clearly still amused, adjusted Joshua on her hip. “To be fair, you also called me Miss Howard.”

Liam winced.

Yeah. That had been a mistake.

“Right,” he muttered, shaking his head. “My bad, Dr. Howard.”

Max, absolutely no help at all, laughed.

Francesca pressed a kiss to Joshua’s temple before looking back at Liam, her expression turning mockingly sympathetic. “It’s okay, Liam. You’re not the first person to underestimate me.”

Liam groaned again.

“I wasn’t underestimating you,” he muttered. “I was just—” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t know! Trying to be nice!”

Max smirked. “By flirting with my wife?”

Liam turned bright red.

“Okay,” he said quickly, backpedaling so hard he could have reversed an F1 car. “I wasn’t flirting. I was just—” He waved a hand vaguely. “—being polite.”

GP snorted. “Sure, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Liam exhaled deeply.

Francesca, clearly having had her fun, glanced at Max. “I have a meeting soon. Can you take Joshua?”

Max nodded, easily reaching for the baby. “Of course.”

The moment Joshua was in his arms, he lit up, giggling happily as Max bounced him slightly.

Liam watched, still trying to adjust to this absolute fever dream of a reality.

Max Verstappen—the most intense, hyper-focused, emotionally guarded driver on the grid—was a whole dad.

And, somehow, it actually suited him.

Liam shook his head, still slightly dazed. “I need to sit down.”

Max chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

Liam seriously doubted that.

Francesca, still smirking, patted his shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard, Liam. You never stood a chance.”

Liam groaned.

Max grinned. “Welcome to Red Bull.”

[ivyues]

Hotter than expected ⋅ Bang Chan

How you found out your boyfriend can’t handle spicy food.

Chris and you had been dating for a little while now – long enough to feel comfortable around each other but still new enough that the little things felt exciting. Tonight, he was over at your apartment, lounging on the couch while you scrolled through your favorite food delivery app.

“Alright,” you said, clicking confirm on the order. “I hope you like this place. Their food is amazing.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Chris replied, giving you that warm smile that always made your stomach flutter. “What did you get?”

“Just some of my usual favorites. I think you’ll like it.”

“How’s the spicyness?” he asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.

You laughed lightly, shaking my head. “It’s got a little kick but isn’t too bad.”

He nodded, seemingly unfazed by your comment. Little did you know, Chris wasn’t exactly the best with spice. But wanting to impress you, he figured he’d be fine.

When the food finally arrived, you both sat down at the table, the aroma of the meal filling the air. Chris took his first bite, and at first, he thought he could handle it. But then the heat hit him. It crept up slowly, coating his tongue in a fiery burn that only intensified with every second. His eyes widened slightly, but he tried to play it cool.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Oh, wow.”

“How is it?” you asked, happily eating your own food.

“Good!” he said, voice just a little too high-pitched to be convincing. He grabbed his drink and took a sip, but it did little to help. Still, he was determined to push through. He took another bite—

Mistake. Big mistake.

The heat doubled. His mouth felt like it was on fire. He shot up from his seat, the chair lightly scraping against the floor. You blinked, confused as he started pacing back and forth, fanning himself with his hand.

“Uh… are you okay?” you asked, concerned.

“Y-yeah, totally fine,” he choked out, but the glint of sweat on his forehead and the way he was now grabbing his shirt, pulling it away from his burning skin, said otherwise. “It’s so hot in here.”

You stared at him for a second before realization dawned on you. “Oh my God, is it too spicy for you?”

Chris opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment, the heat surged again, and he had to take a deep breath as he ran his hand through his hair.

“Okay, wait, I think I have some milk… or maybe bread?,” you said, trying not to laugh as you rushed to the fridge.

You handed him a glass, and he practically chugged it in one go. But even after that, he couldn’t sit still. He walked in circles, sat down, then immediately got back up again. At one point, he even lifted his shirt slightly, fanning himself again, but quickly let it go as if remembering that things were still new between you two.

You bit your lip, watching him with pure amusement. When he finally sat down again, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“So…” you drawled, smirking. “You don’t manage spicy food very well, do you?”

Chris shot you a glare, cheeks flushed (whether from embarrassment or the spice, you weren’t sure). “Okay, first of all,” he said, voice still slightly strained, “this is not just ‘a little kick’. This is fire. This is lava.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh, poor baby. I didn’t think your spice tolerance was that bad.”

He groaned, dropping his head onto the table dramatically. “I wanted to impress you.”

“That’s cute,” you teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “But next time, we’ll make sure to order something mild for you.”

Chris finally lifted his head, blinking up at you. His lips were still tinged red from the spice, but at least he wasn’t gasping for air anymore. “I can feel my mouth again,” he muttered, sounding both relieved and mildly traumatized.

Unable to resist, you leaned in with a smirk. “... but for someone who handles spice so well,” you teased, raising a brow, “I’d think you’d have an easier time with a little heat.”

Chris groaned, but couldn’t help a small smile. “Not the same thing, and you know it.”

“Mmm, sure. Whatever you say, babe.”

masterlist

[y3sterdaysproblem]

stuck with u - c.s.

takes place after this

cw: smut, angst, chris being toxic, p!link

wc: 2.8k

part of the toxic!fwb!chris series

he’s here again, just like you knew he would be.

he blows you off, hurts you more than you ever thought he’d be able to and then once you’re ready to walk away, he comes crawling back and begs for forgiveness, tells you that he just needs a little more time to figure things out.

it never made sense to you. you were under the impression you’d both stopped sleeping with other people, you spent time together without sex being involved and he did things for you that he never used to do before he knew how you felt.

he’d rub your feet after a long day at work, hold you close when your emotions got the best of you, even make you food to the best of his abilities if you were too lazy to get up.

why wouldn’t he just bite the bullet and tell you how he feels, too? part of you desperately hoped that things would change this time, that this would be the moment that he finally gets the balls to admit what you both know is true.

sure, you had your issues, your own toxic traits like sleeping around when things got hard, looking for comfort in a man when you couldn’t face reality, deflecting when you couldn’t win an argument, acting like you could never be wrong. all of this extended so far past chris, it seeped into your every day life, relationships that meant even more to you than this one, but being around him felt like maybe it would be worth it to try and not be so bitter, so awful.

chris texts you to tell you he’s arrived and you’re at your door in the next ten seconds, pulling it open to reveal him on the other side.

you’re beyond shocked when you see a bouquet of flowers in his hand, your favorites, held out as he grinned sheepishly. “hi,” he says, stepping into the threshold. “hi…” you answer breathlessly as you watch him come closer.

he looked good, exactly how he knew you liked him. baggy, blue jeans, knees ripped up slightly, dirty air force ones on his feet, black hoodie zipped up halfway on top of a black t-shirt and a snapback flipped around on his head, curly hair peeking out the bottom.

he steps into your apartment and immediately presses his lips to your cheek, letting them linger while his hand pushed the door shut behind him. “i’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, wrapping his arms around you, bouquet resting against your back.

you sigh, wanting to melt into him but needing to hold your ground. “for what?” you ask, stepping out of his grasp to turn and walk away, heading to your bedroom to curl up in bed while he inevitably tried to save things again.

chris follows you, setting the flowers down on your table as he passes it. when you guys get into the bedroom, he looks around, noticing that it looked slightly more disheveled than it usually did. “for last night,” he says like it’s obvious, watching you move to sit on the edge of the bed. “for ditching you when i said i’d be there. i don’t mean to make you feel like you’re not important.”

here he goes, his typical spiel when it comes to gluing things back together. you stare up at him, expression blank. you’re exhausted, all the back and forth finally catching up with you. you didn’t understand how he wasn’t tired of all of this, too.

“chris,” you sigh, shaking your head as you scratch at your scalp, messy bun wobbling with your actions. “i think it might be time we call this.”

he looks taken aback, head pulling back slightly in shock. “what are you talking about?” he asks, coming closer until he can sit next to you in bed. “why would we do that?”

you don’t want to look at him but his presence is so demanding any time he’s around you that it’s like your eyes are just drawn to him, your body turning to face his. “because it’s exhausting, chris. i can’t keep doing this and acting like it doesn’t fucking suck. you act like my boyfriend and then turn around and do some shit that fucks me up so bad i feel like i’m crazy! i let my guard down and then you do some shit like go hang out with girls you don’t even know when you’re supposed to be with me.”

“i didn’t know there were gonna be more girls there,” chris groans, knowing exactly what this was about to turn into. but you didn’t want an argument, you just wanted to be done. “come on, it’s not like i did anything with them.”

you stare at chris, not quite believing him and he senses this. “you were drunk around girls and you didn’t do anything?” you ask him, raising your eyebrows slightly, tone flat. “would matt say the same thing?”

“yes,” chris says instantly and his answer shocks you. he sounded so confident that matt would corroborate his story. “i thought about you the whole fucking night. i felt terrible. i was sitting in the corner of the room by myself texting you, trying to call you, waiting for you to just text me back.”

his hand comes out to rest on your thigh that faced him and you knew you should’ve pushed him off, but something about the way he spoke to you had you believing him, a mistake you seemed to make every time you found yourself in this position.

“chris-“ you start, but he interrupts you, turning his body to face yours as well. “i know you don’t believe me, but you can ask him. you know matt would never lie to you.” he sighs, seemingly distressed.

you’ve never seen him like this, this worried. “you know how hard all of this is for me but i’m trying,” chris continues, his other hand coming out to grab one of yours. “i’m trying. i want… fuck, i don’t know. i want you in a way i’ve never wanted anybody else before and that scares me. i’m used to fucking things up, ruining anything good that happens to me but i talk about you all the time, even when i don’t realize i’m doing it. you’re constantly on my mind.”

you stare at him, your eyes searching his for a thread of honesty, and it terrified you how truthful and remorseful he looked. “chris…” you sigh again, and once more he scoots closer, tightening his grip on your thigh. “i can’t do this-“

“stop,” he interrupts, dropping your hand from his to reach up and tuck a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, wanting to take in your full appearance no matter how disheveled you seemed. “you don’t mean that, you’re just mad at me. listen when i tell you that i’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”

“but it will happen again!” you huff as you push his hand away from your face. “that’s the problem. it’ll always happen again with you and i’m sick of it. all this back and forth, all these emotions that come with being around you, it’s exhausting. i never know what version of you i’m going to get, and sure, it’s been a lot better recently but for what? you’re never gonna be my boyfriend, so why waste my time falling for you more and more when you’re just gonna run off some day?”

chris seems taken aback at your words, his hand that rubbed over your skin pausing for a few moments as he thought of what to say. “why… why do we have to label anything? we enjoy being around each other, we’re not sleeping with anybody else, can’t you just give me time to figure out what it is that i want?”

you sigh, expecting nothing more than to hear him say those words. time. that’s all he ever asked for was time. “i’ve given you time,” you say quietly, defeated. “i’m out of time. i can’t do this.”

he shakes his head, not accepting this answer and he moves quicker than you can stop him, pinning your body down to your bed, his hips settling between your thighs familiarly. “don’t push me away,” chris breathes out, voice full of desperation as he looks down at your wide eyed expression. “come on, you don’t mean this. i’ll get better, i swear. give me another chance.”

you’re about to speak, about to push him away and tell him to fuck off, that you’re serious this time, but when his lips come down and start pressing against your jaw, kissing down to your neck the way he knows you love, the only sound that comes out of you is a whiny breath, head tilting away from him as your eyes flutter.

“there’s my girl,” he whispers against your skin, one of his hands sliding up underneath your tank top, his cold fingers triggering goosebumps on your stomach. “i know you don’t want me to leave. you’d just embarrass yourself anyway when you beg me to come back, tellin’ me nobody else can make you feel like i can. just let me stick around and i’ll make it worth it.”

you reach up to hold onto his biceps, torn between pushing him away and just pulling him closer, but you were never strong enough to push him off of you, especially not right now when it’s been so long, when you craved him so badly. “chris,” you breathe out and you feel his lips curl up as they kiss against your collarbone now, teeth nipping gently at your skin.

“what, baby?” he coos, tone almost mocking as he pushes your tank top over your tits, moving his mouth down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, moaning as he flattened his tongue against you. he craved you just as badly as you craved him if not more.

chris pops his lips off of you, staring down at spit slicked skin. every part of you always tasted so good, whether you had just gotten out of the shower or were covered in a sheen of sweat, he loved having his mouth whenever he could on you, but now as he looked at you, chest already rising and falling as you watched him, too, he needed more.

chris scoots down the bed and wastes no time in slipping your shorts and panties down your legs with your help, throwing them onto the floor haphazardly. you instinctively spread your legs for him the second you were unrestricted, not missing the slight smirk on his face when he saw the slightest glisten in your folds.

“shut up,” you say sternly, wanting nothing more than to smack the look right off of his face. “i didn’t say anything,” chris hums with a prideful shrug, taking off his hoodie and throwing it somewhere as well before he grabs both of your thighs and pushes them up, leaning in and immediately attaching his lips to your pussy.

filthy moans slip from both of your mouths, yours a sound of relief at the feeling of him finally settling where you needed him most and his a hungry groan of desire. despite how toxic things always got between you two, you’d always give into him, unable to stand your ground very long when you would tell him things needed to change.

he ate you out like a man starved, loud slurping noises filling the air as his fingers dug into your skin, holding your thighs apart to keep you spread underneath him.

you reach down and pull the hat off of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair immediately like they always do, holding his face close and refusing to let him move away as he devoured you, deep groans of satisfaction rolling from his lips with every taste.

“f-fuck, chris, i’m not letting you off this easy,” you choke out, voice strained as you throw your head back into your pillow. he doesn’t answer, only hums and slides one hand up until he’s able to dip two fingers inside of you, forcing your thoughts even further back in your head. “oh my- yes, right there.”

his fingers curl and twist inside of you just like he knows you love, tongue still working tirelessly on your clit, bringing you close to the edge faster than anyone else has ever been able to do. chris has always been so good at making you feel good, his tongue, fingers, his dick always taking you to heights you’d never even been able to imagine prior to him, and that fact didn’t change now, even as you tried to cut him off and end things, he was still the only one that could make you feel like this.

just as you’re approaching your climax, chris pulls off and slips his fingers out of you, sliding up the bed between your legs. his free hand comes up to grip your jaw, forcing you to peel your eyes open and look at him as he presses his two middle fingers against your clit and starts rubbing back and forth quickly, soaking in your desperate moans.

“you gonna cum for me?” he rasps, staring into your eyes as your face contorts from the pleasure, your thighs trying to close on either side of him. all you can do is nod while you grip onto the sheets, your orgasm plowing into you violently, entire body trembling.

chris coaxes you through it, only pulling his hand away when you started whimpering from overstimulation, but he only moves away to undo his belt and the button on his jeans, pushing them down just enough to pull his cock from his briefs.

“gonna run your mouth ‘n sound all pathetic and whiny just to fall apart for me, huh?” he teases ruthlessly, wasting no time in burying himself to the hilt inside of you, groaning at the feeling of your walls still twitching from your orgasm.

“fuuuck,” chris breathes, his own eyes fluttering shut for a moment before reopening. you stare up at him helplessly, completely surrendered to him. he was right and you knew it. you’d always give it up to him.

chris reaches his hand for yours and untangles it from your bed sheets, pressing it into the pillow next to your head as he laces your fingers together, holding you tightly as he starts to fuck into you slowly.

“i’m not going anywhere. i’m right where i belong, buried inside this pussy made for me, ruining you for anybody else.” he’s babbling mindlessly as his hips rock back and forth, your slick walls dragging obscenely over his length.

chris leans down and presses his lips to your jaw again, kissing your skin as he continued to whisper in your ear. “you want me to stay, don’t you? keep making you feel like this? i’m right here, baby, you can’t get rid of me. i’ll say whatever you wanna hear just so i can keep tasting you, keeping fucking you like you need me to so bad.”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes as he speaks, his words soft but harsh at the same time, his fingers interlocked with yours overwhelming your senses. you were so close to having the relationship you wanted with him, but it felt so out of reach. you just needed him to be vulnerable and trust you.

chris pulls back and looks down at you, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, fingers still slick with your arousal, the scent filling your nostrils as you sucked in a deep breath. “you look so fucking pretty when you cry,” he taunts, thumb brushing over your skin as a tear slips out. “just give me time, yeah? you know that’s all i need. you know exactly who i belong to.”

he emphasizes his sentence with a sharp thrust and the gasp that leaves your lips is all he needs for a switch to be flipped, his movements changing from soft and gentle to rough and fast, hips snapping in and out of you as he chased his orgasm now.

“come on, beautiful, give me another one before i show you who this pussy really belongs to.”

you’re completely at his mercy when his fingers work on your clit again, another orgasm cascading over you and triggering chris’s, a loud moan ripping out of him as he spills deep inside you, filling you up like he always does.

you lay there for a few moments, chest heaving as you come down, your hand still wrapped tight around chris’s as he does the same, his face dropping into your neck.

“still want me to go?” he asks, voice muffled by your skin and you can’t help but laugh breathlessly, your other hand coming up to smack the back of his head.

“shut the fuck up.”

a/n: yall fed??? or u need more. lmk. (i already know the answer)

[partiallysame]

Ok ok let me take this from @goatgoesmbe and this spin off from @cupidsworstcrime in a different direction bc making them needy and subby is what I live for

Soap is giving a full speech, pointing to a pretend presentation board listing all the reasons hypothermia is bad and you naked with him is good. Simon is nodding along. Both trying to not so sneakily undo buckles and Velcro slowly ridding them of all their gear as Johnny gives his ‘lesson’.

Price is watching fully amused and takes Gaz’s side when he tries to direct you away from his degenerate teammates but you stun all four of them when you pull your hand away from Gaz. “I can take of myself Garrick. Really think I can’t handle those two?” You ask eyebrows raised as you begin to take off your own gear. Soap is now stripping the rest of his things off comically fast. (Simon too but slightly slower) Gaz and price retreat in defeat to the other room.

You turn to the now butt ass naked men staring at you. Watching as you rid yourself of the rest of your wardrobe. Johnny is practically bouncing on his toes in excitement. Within the few seconds you look at them you watch both of their cocks begin to grow to impressive sizes, neither ashamed in the slightest.

Johnny all but runs towards you but is stopped with a soft flat hand on his chest. Looking up and keeping eye contact with the man who was shaking with excitement. “I am doing this to stay warm” your hand slid its way south until you gripped his cock and he let out and involuntarily whimper “this” you pumped him slightly “is not my problem. So behave yourself MacTavish” and with that you released him and made your way to the make shift bed on the side of the room. Laying down you looked over to the two men who were staring at you like deer in headlights.

“It’s getting cold. Are you gonna come warm up lieutenant? Sargent?” You patted the bed and their feet started moving. Simon laid down first. On his back. Stiff as a board. as far away from you as the bed allowed. This was supposed to be a way to have a sexy threesome not whatever is happening and man he was scared you’d tease him like you did to Johnny. But it is cold and you knew what you agreed to so you scooted over. Throwing one leg over your lieutenant, the back of your thigh putting pressure on his still hard cock resting against his abdomen, a groan getting caught in his throat at the action. Tits pressed against his side as your hand laid comfortably on his chest. The perfect snuggle position. And you could feel him stiffen (everywhere). All he had to do was shift slightly and he’d be able to slide through your folds and sink into you. Ghost was very aware of just how close you were when Soap tried to make an awkward “room for one more” joke as he climbed on the bed and slotted himself behind you. There was no way he was going to let this opportunity pass. Wrapping an arm around your waist and earning a grumble from Simon when it slightly separated your stomach from him. Johnny wiggled forward until his chest was flush against your back and his hard on was flush against the curve of your ass. The whimper that fell from his lips when you adjusted to get comfortable and grinded against him had you smirking. You wiggled a little more and Simon brought a large hand to the thigh draped across him, trying to stop you from rubbing it on his length any more than you already were.

“So how long have to two been thinking of fucking me?” If you were gonna be here you were gonna have fun with it. Torture them a little. Soap choked out an awkward cough and Simon simply responded “a while”.

“Am I what you think about when you’re alone in your room. Fisting your cock?” You questioned and the man behind you started to move his hips, sliding his cock against your ass. “Do you think about me? Under you. Moaning your name?” Your sultry voice was spurring on the man behind you. Humping at you like a puppy. “What would I call you? Ghost? Soap?” No reaction so you continued. “Lieutenant? Sargent?” Simon let out a breath after hearing is rank come from your mouth in that tone of voice. “Simon? Johnny?” You let their names fall breathy from your lips as if you were actually being fucked and Simon’s grip on your thigh tightened while Johnny picked up his pace behind you.

Lifting your thigh under Simon’s grip, you lowered it slightly trapping his cock between your thigh and his stomach and it was his turn to swallow his pride and start grinding. Looking for some type of friction. You could start to feel the sticky wet of Johnny’s precum on your ass where he was grinding, his breath and shallow moans directly in your ear. Laying there, letting the two men use you to get off was not the way you thought you’d fight the cold but man this was way more fun. Watching the muscles tense as they chased a release just from rubbing on you like some virgin pre teens. A few “fuck me” and “bloody hell”’s could be heard from both men as they started to get closer and closer to finishing.

“If you make a mess on me boys im gonna make you lick your own cum off me. Understood?” And suddenly ghost is lifting you away from him, to cum onto his stomach and pushing you into Johnny who uses the opportunity to slip his cock between your thighs and cum all over your folds just to roll you over and shove his face into your pussy and lick his cum off of you. Your hand immediately finds itself tangled into his Mohawk letting him lap at you for a moment before pulling him away from your cunt by his hair

“You know what I think about when alone? Pussy dripping down my fingers?” You paused for a moment and looked over the Simon before taking a finger, swiping his cum from his stomach and sticking your finger covered in his cum into your mouth, eliciting an almost pornograhic moan from them both. “I think about Gaz and the Captain” and with that you are removing yourself from the bed and sauntering over to the other room where the rest of your team is waiting.

[cameronsbabydoll]

BURNT COOKIES — SPOILED KOOK READER + RAFE

WARNINGS — kissing and it implies that they end up having sex but it’s not shown in the writing?

You were determined to do something nice for Rafe, especially after he’d been working late for the past few days. The house felt empty without him around, and you figured baking him cookies would be the perfect way to show him you cared. You'd seen some cute recipe online—how hard could it be, right?

Now, standing in the kitchen, you’ve realized just how badly you misjudged the situation. The oven timer went off a while ago, and you can smell something burnt in the air. A quick glance at the tray reveals that your attempt at baking turned into a charred disaster. Your cookies look like they’ve been through a fire, and not the kind that makes them crispy in a good way.

Pouting, you stand in the middle of the kitchen, holding the ruined cookies in both hands. You're wearing one of Rafe’s oversized hoodies, your long legs in knee-high socks, and your hair in a messy ponytail. You look more adorable than anything else as you chew on your lip, contemplating your next move.

Rafe walks into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the scene. He’s just returned from the gym, his shirt sticking to his broad chest, and his hair still damp from the shower. When he spots you, he smirks, sensing your nervous energy. “What’s all this, baby?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.

“I—I made you cookies,” you say sheepishly, holding them out to him. “But... they didn’t turn out exactly like the picture...”

Rafe stifles a chuckle as he takes a step closer. He looks down at the charred cookies, his lips curling into a smirk. “I can see that.” His gaze flickers back to you, a playful glint in his eyes. “And here I thought you were trying to impress me.”

You bite your lip, feeling a mix of embarrassment and affection for him. “I was, I swear! I didn’t mean to mess them up.” You tilt your head, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “But, um... I was hoping you’d still like them? I really tried...”

Rafe chuckles, his hand cupping your chin gently as he lifts your face to meet his. “You’re so cute, baby,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair out of your face. He kisses your forehead before looking down at the cookies again. “You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it. You know that, right?”

You nod eagerly, smiling at the praise, even if it’s only for your effort and not your baking skills. “Yeah, I wanted to make you happy,” you say with a soft giggle. “But... I think I messed it up.”

Rafe shakes his head, stepping closer and taking your hand. “You didn’t mess anything up, baby.” He pulls you toward him, your bodies pressing together as his hands slide down to your hips. He lowers his head, kissing you gently at first, and you melt into him, your hands wrapping around his neck. The kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against your lips, demanding entry as you let out a soft sigh.

When he pulls away, his eyes darken slightly, and he lowers his voice, now teasing. “I think you’re just using those cookies as an excuse to get my attention, huh?”

You giggle, playfully looking up at him. “Maybe,” you admit, your voice sweet and innocent, but there's a little hint of mischief in your eyes. “Is that bad?”

Rafe’s hands slide up your waist, pulling you even closer. His lips curve into a possessive smirk. “Not at all,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough now. “But now that you’ve got me here…” He gently pushes you back against the counter, his hands moving to your hips, keeping you locked against him.

“You’re so distracting, you know that?” he growls, his lips trailing down your neck. “I was trying to get some work done, but all I can think about is how cute you look in that hoodie. How sweet and innocent you seem, with those big eyes and that pretty smile.” His hands wander beneath the hoodie, his fingertips grazing the skin of your thighs, making you shiver with anticipation.

You giggle again, your hand running through his damp hair. “I can’t help it, Rafe... I just want to be with you.”

With a growl, Rafe pulls you closer, lifting you onto the counter as he stands between your legs. He looks down at you, his gaze heated and possessive. “You’re going to be the death of me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “But I’m not complaining.” He presses his lips to yours once more, this time with more urgency, his hands roaming over your body as his touch becomes more insistent.

You lean into him, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Rafe... I really did try with the cookies,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his as your fingers trace the lines of his muscles.

“I know you did, baby,” he replies, his lips trailing down your neck again as his hand slides under the waistband of your lacy underwear, finding the heat between your legs. “And you know what? You’re perfect just the way you are. Now... let me show you how much I appreciate it.”

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141!(Part 5)

The shithead owner decides that he needs to sign up for a "restaurant renovation" show. Chaos ensues.

"A fucking TV show?"

Gaz frowns while polishing glasses.

"Told him it was a bad idea."

Price shrugs, lighting a cigar. You are horrified, being on the screen for millions of people to see was nerve wracking. And it'll be the first time you meet the owner.

"Restaurant renovation... Lik' he gives twa fucks aboot renovating this shitehole."

Johnny ashes his smoke and passes it to you. You take a deep drag and sigh, this is gonna be a disaster.

~

Cameras are set up everywhere, everyone's mic'd up, there are too many people in too small of a space. Some obnoxiously loud man introduces himself. He seems to be an amalgamation of every TV host you've ever seen, wearing too much cologne and too much hair gel. He puts a hand on your shoulder,

"The place looks terrible but at least they got something nice to look at here."

He flashes a smile, cheap veneer blindingly white. You awkwardly laugh while Price steps in, introducing himself. You scurry away to the back where the rest of the boys are,

"I want everyone to be on their best behavior today. No fucking around. Don't make me look bad."

The owner is a bland man, average height and weight, with a shitty haircut and wearing an ugly flashy shirt. He turns around and briefly introduces himself, he already smells like liquor. Great. He gets waved over to get interviewed by the host. You and the guys watch from the other end of the restaurant. It's quite embarrassing, the host pointing out how run down the place looks, the menu is confusing and overwhelming, and then asks if he's drunk,

"I can smell the alcohol from here Carl... it's only 11am buddy."

The owner stutters and blinks,

"I- just uh, just a crazy night is all."

The host stares, unconvinced. Carl shifts awkwardly in his chair. The next segment was ordering food apparently, so you were up. You walk up to the table as the host asks you a barrage of questions,

"How would you say the fish is here? Is everything fresh? What do you think of the steak? Do you have any recommendations?"

When you say you only ate the fries from here and he laughs loudly,

"That is not a good sign folks!"

He stares at the camera, showing off teeth that were too big for his mouth before you walk off and punch in the order. There's a cameraman recording John and Simon cooking,

"Steak and potatoes."

John reads the slip out loud, they move around the kitchen while the owner watches. For such a simple dish there's a lot of chaos, Carl is yelling at them to move faster and cook properly, John is busy arguing with Carl and burns the steak, Simon plates up the food and hands it off to you. You place the plate down in front of the host,

"Oh...oh my God..."

You keep a straight face, hands behind your back. The host looks back up at you,

"Does the food usually come out like this?"

There's a tone of disgust and concern, his eyebrows turned up, you shrug. He stares back down at the filet and cuts into it,

"It's very impressive that one is able to overcook such a large piece of meat. That takes...skill."

You watch concertedly as he picks up a piece and puts it into his mouth, it looks like he wants to cry.

He goes on to complain about the quality of the food to the camera as he walks to the kitchen,

"At least it's clean back here. I've seen kitchens in wors- is that a fucking pigeon?"

Sure enough, there is. How the fuck did it get in here?

"Oh! I just left the door open to let some fresh air in..."

Carl awkwardly tries to catch the bird while the boys watch amusedly, even the camera crew stifle a laugh.

"Christ Almighty, what is wrong with you man?"

The host shakes his head, watching the whole scene in disbelief. Eventually, the bird is out of the building and the sweep of the kitchen continues.

"Food is not expired, everything is stored properly, it's all very well organized. I was honestly expecting worse."

The host walks up to the bar next, plucking up bottles and examining them,

"So, Kyle is it? How long have you been working here for?"

"Just a little over five years."

Gaz leans against the bar. There's a gasp and the host waves the camera over,

"Look at this shit,"

He points at the label,

"Expired in August,"

You look over at Gaz and Soap, they look like they're about to piss themselves, holding back laughs.

"Of 2012!"

The host looks disgusted,

"Why didn't you throw this away?"

"Carl told me to not toss anything."

Kyle shrugged. Soap is almost in tears, shaking, trying to bite back a howl of laughter.

The next two days are like this, you don't know why Carl hasn't pulled the plug on this fiasco yet,

"I think he's getting drunker as the days go by."

Johnny says, ashing his cigarette. There's a nod from Simon,

"I think he enjoys being embarrassed, seems like the type to get off on that."

'The big finale' as the host calls it, means getting a new menu, refreshing the cooks(John's) skills, and cleaning out the bar. The place is opened and there's a line out of the door. It's overwhelming, the customers are putting on a show, acting like dickheads and sending everything back even when there's nothing wrong with the food. Simon and John are on top of everything, putting out food as fast as possible, Carl is shitting himself running around the kitchen like a headless chicken. The night goes by fast and everyone is at the bar,

"So the cooks are for the most part competent, the waitress is amazing, and the bartender is well... The man can do no wrong. The problem here is you,"

The host points at Carl who is fucking sloshed swaying back and forth,

"I genuinely think this restaurant would be better off without you."

Carl starts bawling. The host is visibly uncomfortable. The boys and you are looking at each other. Then when all the cameras and lights are gone, it's all back to normal. Carl is looking for reassurance from anyone and you and the boys just pack up and head home, Price patting him on the back,

"You'll be alright."

~

A few months later, you're all sat on the couch watching the TV. Johnny's over the moon pointing at the screen,

"Look thare A am! See hou sexy A look?"

He's smiling and waving at the camera in the background of the scene where Carl is crying his eyes out. That gets a laugh out of Gaz,

"You're a sick bastard, Soap."

Once the episode dropped, the restaurant got busy for a few months. Most of the customers are horny women ogling at Kyle. On occasion you get the request to bring out "the scary looking one" and you just laugh it off.

"You're so lucky working with all these guys, I don't know if I'd be able to control myself,"

A particularly drunk woman said to you one day. You just smile while Kyle winks at you over his shoulder.

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Smudged Nail Polish (+18)

General Masterlist ceo!harry x fem!reader / assistant!reader

Summary: Late nights at the office often meant brainstorming sessions and a ton of work undone. But one evening, the line between work and pleasure begins to blur. A simple roleplay dynamic all for the sake of the project ends up in something more real.

A/n: Hello pretty people! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did, just a little one shot i did out of small inspo, i have some requests pending that i'll be working on next week, but for now i hope you like this 🥰 as always thanks to my @eileenrry

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT, workplace dynamics, soft dom, roleplay, spitting, breeding kink, small anal play, dirty talk, protected sex, inappropriate workplace relationship. (If i'm missing something pleaseeee tell me)

It was a late night. Late nights in the office always felt strange—quiet and oddly intimate—but you didn’t mind at all. Just a few months ago, you had landed your dream job: Creative Assistant to the CEO of Pleasing. The title alone sounded impressive, but the perks? Even better. Flexible hours, generous benefits, and the freedom to manage your own schedule on certain days. It was everything you’d hoped for.

But the real dream? That was Harry Styles.

Harry was a force of nature—successful, sharp, and effortlessly charismatic. He was always impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that seemed to be his signature. The faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air whenever he passed by, a scent you couldn’t place but would recognize anywhere. And then there was his demeanor: respectful, composed, and so disarmingly kind that it almost felt unfair.

Tonight, though, the air in his office felt different. It was just the two of you. Everyone else had already gone home, but with the project nearing completion and half the marketing team either on vacation or out on maternity leave, the workload had piled up. 

“Alright,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he rummaged through a stack of papers. “We’ve got the main framework done, but we still need to draft some scenarios for the campaign since the focus group couldn’t deliver.”

You glanced up from your laptop, frowning. “But how are we supposed to do that? We need feedback from the potential users for each specific scenario they proposed.”

Harry’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, a small, confident smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, we’ll do it ourselves,” he said like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You blinked, trying to make sense of his calm demeanor. “What do you mean we’ll do it?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his smile growing as if he was letting you in on some great secret. “Roleplay,” he said casually, the word hanging in the air between you.

“Roleplay?” you echoed, your brow furrowing as you tried to process his words.

“We’ll act out the scenarios ourselves,” he explained. “It doesn’t need to be Oscar-worthy, just convincing enough to predict how well each idea might sell.”

You stared at him for a moment, unsure whether he was being serious or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. “Okay… I mean, I’m not exactly an actress,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping, “but if it helps finish this project, I’ll give it my best shot.”

His lips curved into a small smile— “That’s the spirit,” he said, glancing at the papers spread across his desk. “Let’s start with the luxury skincare line scenario. Imagine you’re the target customer—fancy, discerning, and effortlessly chic.”

You straighten your posture, pretending to smooth an imaginary designer coat, and adopted your best posh accent. “Oh, darling,” you began, with an exaggerated wave of your hand, “I simply must have that serum. It’s the fountain of youth bottled, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Not bad, but tone it down just a bit,” he said, gesturing toward you. “Think confident, not cartoon-ish”

“Right,” you replied, clearing your throat and trying again. As the exercise continued, his focus on the scenarios was unwavering, but there was something about his presence—calm yet bossy—that made the small office feel more intimate.”Stop laughing!” 

“I’m not, i’m sorry…continue” he said obviously holding back a laughter that tried to disguise as a smile

Each line you spoke, each moment of collaboration, seemed to shift the atmosphere slightly. You weren’t sure if it was the late hour or the proximity, but it felt as though the boundaries between professional and personal had started to blur, ever so slightly.

Harry glanced at the next sheet of paper in the pile, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—anticipation, maybe? “Alright, now let’s switch gears,” he said, holding the paper up. “This one’s targeted at men. The campaign focuses on nail polish as a statement piece for confidence and individuality.” he read.

You tilted your head, intrigued. “And who’s playing the confident, self-expressive man?”

His gaze met yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “That would be me.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the image of Harry Styles—polished, corporate Harry—role-playing as a nail-polish-loving trendsetter suddenly lighting up your night. “Alright then, Mr. CEO. Show me how it’s done.”

He reached into the desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of nail polish. Black, of course. “We’ll use this as a prop,” he said casually.

“Where did you even get that?” you asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

“It’s from one of the older product lines,” he replied, shaking the bottle lightly. “Okay, here’s the scenario. You’re the interviewer, and I’m the guy explaining why nail polish isn’t just for women—it’s about breaking boundaries, blah blah blah”

You leaned forward, picking up a pen as if it were a microphone. “Alright, sir,” you began, adopting a mock-serious tone, “what inspired you to wear nail polish?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He extended his hand, pretending to examine his nails like a pro. “Confidence,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s not about following trends; it’s about creating them. Nail polish isn’t just color—it’s an attitude.”

You raised an eyebrow, fully immersed in the act now. “And what does black say about your attitude?”

“It says I know who I am,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that momentarily made you forget this was all pretend. “Strong. Bold. Unapologetic.”

You faltered, your pen lowering slightly as you tried to keep the playful mood intact. “That’s... a very convincing pitch,” you admitted, your voice softening.

Harry smiled, uncapping the bottle and holding it out toward you. “Want to try?”

You blinked, surprised. “You want to paint my nails?”

He shrugged, still holding the bottle steady. “Why not? Consider it part of the roleplay.” You hesitated, glancing between him and the tiny bottle of polish. “Alright,” you said, holding out your hand with a mix of curiosity and nerves. “But if this ends up a mess, It’s on you.”

Harry chuckled softly, taking your hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and unexpectedly gentle as they held yours. “Trust me,” he murmured, dipping the brush into the black polish. “I have a steady hand. You’ll be fine.”

The first stroke of the brush sent a shiver up your spine, the cool polish meeting your nail while his grip remained firm yet careful. “You’re oddly good at this,” you said, watching as he filled in the nail with precision.

He glanced up briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Years of being in this business, love. You pick up a thing or two.”

Your heart stuttered at the casual “love” nickname, though you weren’t sure if he even realized he’d said it. You shifted slightly in your chair, trying to play it cool. “So, is this part of your usual day? Painting nails after hours?”

He chuckled again, his eyes focused on the task. “Not exactly. You’re the first.”

Something about the way he said it—low and intentional—made the air between you feel thicker. You swallowed, feeling his thumb brush lightly against your knuckle as he moved to the next nail.

“Done,” he said finally, releasing your hand and holding it up to inspect his work. The glossy black polish caught the light, neat and perfect. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

You looked at your hand, then back at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Styles. You might be working on the wrong department”

“Ready for the next scenario?”

“Ready”

He reached for another paper, scanning it briefly before meeting your gaze. “We’re supposed to act as a married couple discussing which products fit into their daily routine.”

Your stomach flipped, though you weren’t sure why. “A married couple?”

“Yep,” he said, standing and straightening his suit jacket. “We’ll set it up in the kitchen. I’ll be making coffee, and you…” He gestured toward the mock product setup on the counter. “You can decide which items fit into our routine, like something we both can share”

You followed him to the makeshift set, your polished hand still tingling from his touch. As he walked, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly looking far more casual—and far more distracting.

“So,” he said, moving behind the counter and grabbing a prop mug, “how long have we been married?”

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “How long do you think we’d last?”

His lips twitched into a sly smile. “Forever, obviously. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Your cheeks flushed despite yourself, and you rolled your eyes to hide it. “Alright then, Mr. Perfect Husband. Let’s see how good you really are at this.”

You stood in the imaginary kitchen, fiddling with a bottle of moisturizer from the array of products set out on the counter. Harry leaned casually against the opposite side, arms crossed, the tie around his neck loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly handsome.

“So, darling,” he began, his tone dripping with mock affection, “are we really going to argue about whose moisturizer is better again?”

You rolled your eyes, holding up one of the bottles. “Well, Mr. Styles, when your so-called favorite leaves your skin looking like it’s been through a desert, I think it’s fair to say mine is better.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, stepping closer and picking up another bottle. “Excuse me, but this—” he pointed at the label, feigning offense—“is luxury. You just don’t appreciate the finer things.”

“Luxury doesn’t mean effective,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips. “And besides, we both know you’ve been stealing mine anyway.”

He smirked, setting the bottle down and closing the distance between you in two easy steps. “Caught me,” he admitted, his voice lower now. “But can you blame me? Yours smells better. And…” His eyes flickered over you, playful but intense. “It works.”

You froze, the playful banter suddenly charged with something else. Harry’s presence was overwhelming, the way his voice dipped and the heat in his gaze as he looked at you made the air in the room feel heavier.

“So,” you said, trying to regain control of the moment, “does that mean you’ll finally admit mine’s the better choice?”

“Never,” he said with a grin, though the teasing edge in his voice had softened. His hand brushed past yours as he reached for the product, and the brief contact sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the moisturizer as if it were your lifeline. “Well, then I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“Guess so,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the moisturizer anymore. He was looking at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. His hand lingered on the counter next to yours, the proximity making your pulse quicken. He took a step closer. Inches away.

“Harry…” you began, but your voice faltered.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability. “If this isn’t okay…”

But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, your pulse racing. His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“This doesn’t feel like roleplay anymore,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“Good,” he said simply before his lips met yours.

The kiss started slowly, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his other hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The desk pressed against your back, and all thoughts of work, scenarios, and professionalism melted away.

His lips left yours briefly, trailing down to your jaw and neck as his hands explored, his touch igniting every nerve. “You have no idea how hard it’s been,” he whispered against your skin, “pretending this wasn’t on my mind.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gasped softly. “We shouldn’t—”

“But we are,” he cut in, his voice firm yet laced with desire. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you want this…”

“I do,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess them.

That was all he needed. He lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, his lips finding yours again as the world outside his office ceased to exist. you could feel his growing thickness against your thigh, and a surge of anticipation shot through you.

It was risky. It was unprofessional. But god, did it feel right.

He pushed your skirt up, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties and tugging them down. His breath was warm against your skin, the faint stubble of his jaw rough and enticing.

Your body responded eagerly to his touch, your heart pounding with every brush of his lips against your skin. and the heat and wetness between your legs just growing bigger and bigger by the second

As he kissed his way down your body, his hands exploring every inch, a new, raw sensation overtook you. He was unraveling you—piece by piece, moment by moment—until all that remained was need.

When his mouth finally found the place between your thighs, you had to bite back a moan. His tongue was slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you until he found the perfect spot. Your fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer as the sensations overwhelmed you.

His grip on your thighs was firm, holding you in place as he worked his magic. When your orgasm began to build, it felt like nothing you had experienced before—hot, heavy, and urgent. It swept over you, making your legs tremble and your breath catch.

Afterwards, he stood up and leaned over you, a smug grin on his face. "My perfect wife" he said in almost a moan before capturing your lips again "Fucking perfect sweet wife"

"Fuck, Harry..."

"I'm not done yet"

Before you could process his words, he pulled off his boxers, and his cock was right there, thick and pulsing and begging for attention.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. You licked your lips.

He reached into the pocket of his suit pants, pulling out a condom and tearing open the foil wrapper with his teeth. The sound of his belt and zipper being undone sent a fresh wave of excitement through you. He slid the condom over his hard length and pressed into you, filling you with one smooth thrust.

"Oh god"

"God has nothing to do with this" his voice thick with lust

"Fuck, Harry, please"

"Please what?" he asked, his tone low and teasing “Use your words”

"Just fuck me"

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips snapped against yours, driving him deeper inside with every thrust. It was primal, urgent, and everything you didn't know you needed. You gripped the edge of the desk, bracing yourself as he pounded into you.

The tension coiled in your belly, hot and electric. He reached down, his thumb finding your clit and drawing tight circles.

"Knew right when i chose you to be my wife" he said as if he was still roleplaying but god both of you were too far from it.

"You're mine" he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "All mine"

"Yes"

"Say it"

"I'm yours"

He thrust into you harder, the edge of the desk pressing against your ass. He was relentless, his fingers and cock taking you apart bit by bit. "Gonna knock you up, fill you up with my babies"

Your toes curled at his words, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. It was wrong, so wrong, but the taboo only made it more exciting.

"God, yes"

He drove into you again and again, his rhythm frantic and desperate. "Gonna put a baby in m'wife"

Your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him deeper, you felt one hand on your ass gripping you tightly, him calling you wife made things twist inside you, this was a roleplay that wasn't in the work papers.

"Turn around" he demanded as he pulled back.

"What?"

"Now"

You turned around, tummy on the desk and raising your ass up. He slammed into you again, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you against him.

"That's it, love, take it"

His words were filthy, but they only fueled the fire inside you. He reached around, his fingers finding your tightest hole teasing just a bit to see your reaction.

"Mmm, fuck. I can't wait to ruin this pretty little ass too"

He spit directly into your hole. He pressed against your entrance, pushing the tip of his finger in as his cock pounded into you. It was too much, the sensations overwhelming and intoxicating.

"More"

"Can't do more love i don't have lube in here and i don't want to hurt this pretty hole"

"Next time..." you breathed

"Next time" he echoed, his voice full of promise

You clenched around him, feeling the tension building. His breath was hot against your neck, his thrusts relentless. "Gonna fill you up, m'pretty wife"

"Yes"

"Come around my cock, Gonna put a baby in this tight fucking cunt"

That was it, that was all you needed to hear. Your orgasm tore through you, leaving you shaking and breathless. He followed soon after filling up the condom, his cock pulsing inside you.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, the reality of what had just happened hanging heavy in the air. He pulled out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash. He helped you off the desk, his fingers brushing against your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nodded, your heartbeat still racing.

“My nail polish it’s ruined” you said breathlessly looking at your nails. the nail polish, all smudged.

“Oh love, i’m going to ruin more than nail polish on you”

------

Taglist: @hermionelove

[strawberrysohn]

“quite an impression” | taste — jjk (pt 1)

series summary: your best friend (with benefits) has a new girlfriend...little does she know, you were and would always be there first.

what to expect for this part: fuckbuddy! jk, y/n is kind of a bad person (sorry), cheating, fingering, slight degradation (m receiving), doing it in a public restroom stall (ew!) you guys can also imagine 2018/2019 jungkook for this whole series tyvm!!

no word count...it's just a lot of words ok!!

enjoy!

"you're gonna wear that to meet my girlfriend?"

y/n turns around to greet her friend with a smile. "jungkookie, you told me to look nice," she pouts before doing a little twirl. "you don't think i look nice?"

jungkook shakes his head quickly. "no, no," he sticks his hands in his jeans pockets. "no, you look nice. so nice. it's just..." he purses his lips trying to find the words. "don't you think it's kinda..."

"revealing?"

jungkook nods sheepishly. "yeah," he looks down at the ground momentarily before he perks up again. "i mean, it shouldn't be too bad. we are going clubbing afterwards, right?"

y/n hums in response. "mhm, that's right," she looks at herself in the mirror again. she runs her hands over her curves, seeing the way the leathery fabric clings to her. the swooping neckline of her dress not leaving much to the imagination. "where did you say she works? waffle house or something?"

the male laughs, running a hand through his neatly brushed hair. "no, it's just a diner. you know the one...by jimin's old place?"

y/n stifles a laugh. "geez, really?" she recalls the old, dumpy looking diner on the corner a few streets down. "how much does she make, two dollars a week?" she looks through the mirror at her friend, who's no longer smiling.

"you don't have to make fun of her, you know," jungkook's voice was quieter. "you haven't even met her yet."

feeling "empathetic", y/n mimics his frown and approaches him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. "oh, jungkookie..." she looks up at him with big, innocent eyes. "it was meant to be a joke. i'm sure seyeon is really nice."

"siyeon."

"hm?"

jungkook clears his throat. "her name is siyeon."

"what did i say?" y/n cocks her head to the side.

"seyeon," jungkook fiddles with his fingers, his hands ghosting over their familiar home of y/n's hips. "it's siyeon."

y/n forces a laugh. "oh, silly me!" she shakes her head at herself before looking back up at him. "my mistake, jungkook." she boops his nose teasingly before pulling away from him and grabbing her purse and phone. "all ready to go?"

jungkook stands still and stares at her for a little longer before blinking and nodding, turning towards the door. he opens it for y/n, trying his best not to watch her as she walked out.

"bye, minah!" y/n waves goodbye to her roommate, who barely acknowledges the two leaving. "i'll be back after midnight so leave the door unlocked, okay?"

jungkook opens the door again for her, sending a polite smile to minah, who rolls her eyes.

"i don't think your roommate likes me."

"it's not you yourself..." y/n trails off, her heels clacking on the pavement as they approached the diner. "she's just a stickler for morals, you know?"

"oh." jungkook gulps. "well, i don't know what she's upset about...it's not like we've fooled around recently. i'm with siyeon. i haven't cheated on her."

y/n smirks, but jungkook doesn't see it. "yeah, well, she probably assumes that you will," she shrugs. "i mean, she's plenty familiar with you."

"how? we haven't met?" jungkook tries to recall actually being introduced to his friend's roommate, but can't.

"i'm sure she knows your name from me moaning it nonstop last semester," y/n speaks, nonchalantly letting the words fall from her mouth. she looks up at jungkook with innocent eyes. "maybe that's it."

he gulps, his throat feeling dry. "y-yeah, sure," he calms himself down by force as they get to the diner where siyeon works.

he pulls open the door for y/n, who walks past him closely, "accidentally" rubbing herself against him on the way in.

jungkook leads y/n over to the counter, where an average height woman is wiping things down. she has dark brown hair, tied into a tight low ponytail. she looks up when jungkook approaches, her tired eyes lighting up just a little. "hey, babe," she smiles as he leans in for a quick peck. her eyes fall to y/n, giving her the once over, her eyes widening slightly at her outfit. "who is this?"

jungkook smiles and gestures to y/n. "siyeon, this is–"

"hi, i'm y/n!" she takes the chance to introduce herself. she holds out her hand for siyeon to shake. "i'm jungkook's best friend, i'm sure he's mentioned me."

"he has," siyeon replies, tentatively shaking y/n's hand. "it's, um, nice to meet you. i'm siyeon."

"so i hear," y/n stifles a small chuckle as she looks around the place. still as dumpy as she remembered. "so, you work here, huh?" there was a hint of a demeaning tone in her voice that she tried to mask as much as she could.

jungkook steps closer to the counter. closer to siyeon, who instinctively places a hand on his arm, almost possessively. y/n almost laughs again at that, the small gesture showing more insecurity than she bet siyeon wanted to show.

"siyeon, y/n and i are hanging out tonight," jungkook explains to his girlfriend. he glances back at y/n who continues to watch siyeon with a gleam in her eyes. jungkook continues, "we're going clubbing. it's tradition."

"tradition? what tradition?" siyeon looks at jungkook with big, confused eyes.

"it's the anniversary of when we became friends," jungkook replies quickly. so quickly that y/n can't help but giggle, earning a quick glance from siyeon. "we celebrate every year since sophomore year of high school."

siyeon nods, understanding. her boyfriend was just so kind and considerate. she knew she didn't have to worry about him. to be fair, it wasn't him she was worried about...

y/n checks the time on her phone. "jungkookie, we should get going," she flips her phone screen around so he can see the time, making sure that the photo of her and jungkook on her locks reen was visible to siyeon.

the photo was of the two of them from two summers ago on the beach. in the photo, y/n was hoisted up by jungkook, her legs wrapped around his waist. it was quite the precarious photo for a pair of friends, because from the outside, that's all they were.

jungkook nods. "yeah, the club should open soon," he leans in to kiss his girlfriend again, this time in a parting gesture. when he pulls away, siyeon pulls him back, kissing him deeply. it was clearly a message, yet y/n just watched, unfazed.

when siyeon breaks the kiss, she glances at y/n, who is checking her nails, unbothered. she looks up, impatient. "ready?" she glances at jungkook, who rubs the back of his neck nervously.

the male nods, smiling at y/n. "yep!" he glances at siyeon again. "bye, baby. see you tomorrow sometime."

y/n waves enthusiastically to siyeon. "bye, siyeon! it was lovely meeting you!" she gives the girl the once over again, her expression still polite, though if you looked long enough, you could see the hint of a smirk on her face as she looked at the other.

“yeah, nice meeting you,” siyeon replies to y/n. “you sure leave quite an impression.”

y/n grins at her words, then looks to jungkook as they head out. once again, he holds the door for her and she slides out past him. jungkook lets the door of the diner swing closed, the bell above the doorway dinging.

“the anniversary of when became friends?” y/n asks him, a hint of amusement evident in her tone. “quick thinking on your part, jungkookie.”

“forgive me for not wanting to tell my girlfriend that today is the anniversary of when we had sex for the first time,” jungkook retorts, waiting until they were far enough from the diner to walk closer to y/n, his hands in his pockets as he nudges her with his elbow. “feels hard to explain that, don’t you think?”

y/n shrugs. “i thought honesty was important in a relationship,” she teases. “but if you want to keep secrets from your partner, that’s your choice.”

jungkook rolls his eyes as the neon light marquee of the club comes into view. “you’re so annoying, y/n,” he smiles through his words. “you know that?”

“i’ve been told,” she shrugs, before laughing as she shakes her head. “god, did you see the way she got kinda possessive over you? that was so pathetic.”

“she has a right to be concerned about you, you know.”

“no duh.”

jungkook sighs. “y/n, let’s not do anything stupid tonight,” he speaks, his voice serious. y/n glances at him, an amused gleam in her eyes. “okay?”

“holy shit,” y/n looks at him in disbelief. she stifles a laugh. “you really like that girl, don’t you?” she teases, watching the small blush appear on his cheeks.

“this is my first actual girlfriend,” he explains. “i’d like to keep her, if you don’t mind.”

y/n nods in mock understanding. “yeah, sure,” she looks up at him one last time before facing forward again. "whatever you say..."

they get to the front doors, present the bouncer with their fake id's, and head inside the club.

the music pounds through the whole building, the floor shaking. y/n turns to jungkook immediately, tilting her head at him. "come on, jungkookie," she pouts. "dance with me?"

the male smiles and grabs y/n's hands, leading her towards the big mob of people. "i know you love this song," he watches as she starts to get into the music, really feeling herself.

"i know you love watching me dance," she speaks above the music. her eyes locked on his before she turns around, dancing against jungkook sensually.

he hisses as her ass rubs against him. "y/n, what did i say—" he's cut off as she turns around, placing a finger on his lips.

"shh, jungkookie..." she smirks up at him. "relax! have a little fun, yeah?" she drapes her arms over his shoulders again, this time his hands find her hips quickly.

"y/n, i can't tonight, okay?"

"can't what?"

jungkook grits his teeth. "can't have sex with you," he keeps his voice low, directly in her ear. "we can't do it."

she nods. "i know," she reminds him. "i didn't say we should. you're the one that keeps telling me."

jungkook's face hardens. he knew they shouldn't—no, couldn't. he had a girlfriend now. he vowed to be a loyal partner to siyeon. he knew that nothing could happen tonight between he and y/n—his best friend. it couldn't.

but he also knew that it very well could.

jungkook pushes y/n up against the door to the bathroom once they're both inside, his lips immediately crashing onto her neck. she can't hide the victorious smirk on her face.

"you really had to—" he sucks on her skin. "—flirt with that guy, huh?" jungkook pulls his lips away to stare her in the face, his eyes bouncing from her eyes to her lips. she could smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.

"he flirted with me, jungkook," she explains. "what was i supposed to do? not take the compliment?"

"it's this outfit," jungkook's shaky hands find her hips again. "god, you look so hot." he practically groans as he buries his face in her neck again. he was breathing hard and heavy, his control finally having snapped.

she hums as one of her hands slides down to teasingly rub his growing hardness through his pants. he lets out a whispered sigh right in her ear, his possessive grip on her hips loosening. "y-y/n..."

he decides to return the favor, his hand slipping under the short skirt of her dress. he lifts his head to look at her, pupils big and eyebrows furrowed. shit, he already looked a mess. "n-no panties...?"

she shakes her head, biting her lip. "it's tradition," she smirks up at him, seeing the way his eyes roll back slightly. his internal (and external, at this point) struggle was so arousing to her.

"shit..." his fingers find her wet folds and he slides past them with his pointer finger. her hand continues to tease him through the denim fabric of his jeans, the friction making his vision a little blurry. without another thought, he enters one finger into her wetness, feeling her free hand grip his bicep tight.

"mm, jungkook," she moans his name softly, once again unable to hide the satisfied grin on her face. she had won, of course. to be honest, she didn't have to try hard. jungkook had been a ticking time bomb since he saw her dress earlier that evening. she grips his bicep as his finger fucks into her, shortly joined by a second.

the sound of her wetness, his soft groans, and her moans fill the luckily empty bathroom, the bass still booming through the heavy door. he pushes his middle and ring finger into her faster, the squelching sounds heightening in volume.

"jungkookie, ah—" she exclaims, her eyebrows furrowed at his movements. "mm, fuck, baby..." she whines as she digs her nails into his arm, something he'd probably have to cover up.

jungkook leans in to kiss her, her lips happily welcoming his. the kiss is messy quickly, both of their tongues fighting for dominance. y/n's wins as jungkook whines into the kiss, his free hand shaky against her hip. it really was so fun to watch him break.

y/n pulls away from the kiss, reaching down to pull his fingers out of her. he watches her with a puzzled expression. she lifts his slick covered fingers to her lips and sucks them dry, her eyes locked on his. she sees the way his eyelids flutter halfway closed and he has to fight to keep them open so he can keep watching her.

"w-why did you...?" is all he can muster as she pulls his fingers from her mouth.

"i'd rather cum around your cock."

jungkook feels his head start to spin. the power she held over him should be researched, truly. the magnetic pull towards her he felt whenever she appeared...it wasn't healthy. it wasn't good for his relationship with siyeon, and it definitely wasn't good for his health.

"you're unbelievable, y/n," he tells her and she shrugs. nothing she didn't already know. "i don't know how you do it...i don't care how i just..."

she knew what came next.

he looks down at her, his eyes with that usual desperate gleam in them. "i need you," he's pleading, pathetic and needy. how could she say no?

"mm, i bet you do," y/n smirks. she grabs the back of jungkook's neck, pulling him in for another kiss. he sighs happily against her lips before she pulls away. "want you inside me." she whispers against his lips and he whines like a hungry puppy.

she grabs his hand and pulls him into the nearest stall—not the handicap stall, they couldn't be so lucky.

as soon as the lock is on the door, jungkook toys with his jean buttons and zipper, fumbling a few times due to his rushing. he was already sweating. his shaky fingers finally get his pants undone, and he glances at y/n, who watches him, trying not to chuckle at his clearly frazzled and desperate state.

he grabs her waist and pulls her on top of him as he sits down on the toilet, y/n immediately straddling his hips. she hums at the position and reaches down to pull her dress up enough to where her core is exposed. she finds his open jeans and slips her hand in, pulling his aching length through his boxers and through the opening in his pants. god, he was so hard and leaking precum. his cock was desperate for her too.

clearly given up on his own morals by now, jungkook grips his length, watching as y/n lifts her hips up, aligning herself with his tip. she teases a little, sliding past his tip a few times, hearing him groan in distress.

"please, baby, no more teasing," jungkook nearly whines. "just let me—oh, shit..."

she had cut him off, of course, by finally sinking down on him, his cock instantly stretching her. her arms find his shoulders, draping her arms around them. "mm, there we go..." she hums as she sinks down further, his whole length inside her now.

"g-god, y/n, i—" jungkook's mouth goes dry as his hands find familiarity on her hips, gripping tightly this time. "you feel s' good..." he slurs his words, already drunk on her pussy.

"mm, yeah?" she teases verbally as she begins to ride him, her eyes locked on his. "you feel good too, baby..."

jungkook groans lowly, watching as she moves up and down on him. he couldn't tear his hooded gaze away from her face, the way her brows were furrowed in pleasure and her lips—her beautiful lips parted in a perfect 'o' shape.

he lets out a small yelp as y/n begins to bounce quickly on his cock, his grip on her grips tightening. "s-shit–"

she chuckles at his disheveled, desperate state. "hah, should've known you'd crack so quickly," she moves her hand to grip his chin. "always so weak in the knees for me, jungkookie...it's so pathetic."

jungkook whimpers at her change in demeanor, his big doe eyes wide as he stares up at her. his throat was dry, words failing him. his face heats up, the soft pink blush on his cheeks quite obvious.

"look at you...you're blushing," y/n pouts in faux sympathy. she hears the whimpers that follow every bounce on his cock, the sound music to her ears. "face it, you'll always come crawling back to me, huh? you can't help it, can you?"

jungkook gulps and shakes his head. "l-love being inside you..." he speaks, his hips bucking up slightly, thrusting up into her.

she moans at the feeling, smirking. "you wanna fuck up into me, jungkookie?" she raises a brow and he can't nod fast enough.

"w-wanna...so bad, y/n," he whines again and she chuckles at his desperation. he bucks hips up again, this time in a rhythm with her bounces.

the mix of her moans, his whines and groans, the skin slapping, and faint sound of music playing fills the bathroom. anyone else who might have walked in wouldn't have to guess what was happening in that stall.

"fuck, jungkookie," y/n moans his name, his cock hitting her spot perfectly with every thrust. her head lolls back for a moment, his grip on her hips tightening. "you feel so good inside me, baby..." she whispers the praise in her ear and he lets out a mix of a growl and a whine, his noises growing more needy by the minute.

"holy hell, y/n, i can't—" jungkook bites his lip as his thrusts grow more sloppy. "...can't hold for much longer..."

"cum for me, jungkookie," y/n speaks, her words mixing with a moan as her sounds heighten in pitch. "fucking fill up my pussy with your cum."

"i'm gonna—i'm—oh my god..." jungkook's eyelids flutter and he leans his head back, his load shooting into her, the milky substance filling her up. y/n's own release follows, her cum mixing with his as they both groan from the pleasure of their release.

as they both catch their breaths, y/n chuckles in success. she eyes jungkook, the way his neatly combed hair had since stuck to his sweat covered forehead. the way he looked completely spent, his chest rising and falling. she looks between them, the mixed cum that leaked out of her pussy to pool around the base of his cock.

she leans in to whisper in his ear, her voice low, sending a shiver through his body. "happy anniversary, jungkookie."

jungkook blinks, looking down at the mess, the up at y/n, who eyes him with a knowing smirk. he takes a deep breath, leaning his head back as he regains his train of thought. one word can sum up how he feels.

"fuck."

tags:

@ttanniett

[kashverse]

Nanami and yuuji? Or maybe jst Nanami..You can choose the prompt! I jst wanna see more of them

i live to write for papamin and yuuji <3 thanks for requesting

there were many things people didn’t know about nanami. for instance, his impressive ability to make five different kinds of soufflés, his uncanny knack for always finding the best parking spots, and, of course, his surprisingly adept skill with a guitar. whenever he strummed those strings, the rich, mellow notes would fill the room like warm honey, each chord carefully played, each song a testament to years of practice. and, of course, yuuji noticed.

"papa," yuuji announced one day, struggling to drag nanami’s acoustic guitar across the floor, the instrument’s body screeching horribly against the tiles. “i wanna be a moosician like you!” nanami, cringing at the sacrilegious sound of his beloved guitar being manhandled, managed a tight smile. "that’s great, yuuji. but maybe we should start with something… smaller."

and so, enter the ukulele. a tiny, four-stringed instrument that seemed perfectly sized for yuuji’s chubby little hands. yuuji took to it immediately, strumming with all the enthusiasm of a rockstar playing a sold-out concert at madison square garden. "TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAaaaRRRRR!" he belted out in a voice that could only be described as beautifully tone-deaf. "HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU AaaaREEEE!"

you tried to hide your smile behind your hand as yuuji’s fingers fumbled clumsily over the strings, creating a unique version of the song that could only be described as experimental jazz. nanami, sipping his coffee with the resignation of a man who knew he’d never experience silence again, watched as his son poured his entire soul into the performance.

"up above the world so high! like a diamond… in the… pie?" yuuji paused, face scrunching in confusion. "no… in the sky!"

nanami chuckled softly. "almost, yuuji."

but the grand finale was yet to come. as yuuji reached the dramatic end, he went for a flourish, fingers flying wildly over the strings—and the ukulele pick slipped from his fingers, disappearing into the sound hole with a soft thunk.

there was a moment of silence. yuuji blinked down at the instrument, poking a chubby finger inside. 

"papa… it ate my pick."

you snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, while nanami set down his coffee, hiding his grin behind his hand.

"papa, is it hungry? do i need to feed it more picks?"

nanami shook his head. "no, yuuji. we just have to get it out."

"okay!" yuuji turned the ukulele upside down, shaking it violently, tiny brows furrowed in concentration. "give it back, you bad ukey-lely!"

you finally let out a giggle, watching as nanami tried to calm yuuji down, showing him how to gently retrieve the pick instead of waterboarding the poor instrument. and later, when the ukulele was pick-free and yuuji was tucked in for the night, you glanced over at nanami, who was softly strumming his guitar in the dim light of the living room.

"i think he gets his musical talent from you," you murmured. nanami chuckled, plucking a gentle melody. “he certainly gets the enthusiasm.” 

you leaned into his side, a soft smile playing on your lips. "and the dramatics."

he hummed, fingers dancing over the strings. "we’ll work on the lyrics next."

from his room, yuuji’s voice called out, "papa, can i sing twinkle twinkle again tomorrow?"

nanami sighed, setting his guitar down. "of course, yuuji. every night if you want."

"yay!"

and though it meant endless nights of off-key lullabies and missing ukulele picks, nanami couldn’t help but think that, these were the moments he’d remember forever.

plus, he figured he could write a pretty great song about it one day.

[swarvey]

how they react to you getting hurt | sdv x g/n reader (part two)

part one

paper rings - harvey x reader

a/n: part two with the rest of the bachelors ! let me know if you guys want to see the bachelorettes <3

—

alex

this big softie starts to blame himself when he sees you with scratches and bruises

insists on following you on your adventures from that day forward

pretty much acts as a personal bodyguard for a week

you wince as you rub a disinfectant pad on the large scratch on the side of your arm, thankful your husband isn't due to be home for another couple of hours. he worries enough about you as is — the last thing he needs is something to feed his paranoia, as cute as it is. just as you're about to apply some ointment on your arm, you hear the front door open, alex's familiar voice ringing through the house.

"baby, i'm home!" he calls out, voice as bright as ever. you hear your pet pattering over to greet him. "aw, hey buddy! where's y/n, huh? have you seen 'em?" you swear under your breath as your pet betrays you, leading alex straight towards the bedroom. "are you in there, honey? grams didn't need as much help as i thought—"

you hear him suck in a sharp breath at the sight of you and the first aid kit spread out across the bed.

"i'm fine," you assure. he ignores you, eyes glued to your injured arm as he makes his way to the bed. "seriously, it's not even that bad."

"here, let me do it," he says, and you swear you've never heard him speak so softly. blinking in shock, you hand the bottle of ointment over to him, watching as he gently begins to apply it.

"alex, you're scaring me a bit," you half-joke. he's never been one to be so silent. "it's okay—"

"it's not, though!" your eyes widen as alex looks at you with gleamy eyes. "see, i knew you'd get hurt one day, and i still let you go off and do all these things alone. i should've been there to help you." his head bows in shame, and your heart breaks. "i'm sorry. i'll be by your side next time, i promise."

shaking your head, you wrap your unhurt arm around his neck and pull him into a hug. he gladly hides his face in your shoulder, his arms holding onto your midsection tightly.

"alex, there's nothing to be sorry for," you reassure, rubbing his back to provide some comfort. "this is part of my job, it's what i signed up for." he pulls away suddenly to look at you with serious eyes.

"then quit!" he exclaims. "i'll do it all, you can teach me."

you laugh. "as much as i love you, you are not taking over my grandfather's farm."

"well, i'll just do everything with you, then." alex nods to himself, grabbing the roll of bandages from the kit and beginning to wrap your arm. his eyes widen when he notices the bruises on your legs. "how did this even happen?"

"oh, i was gathering hardwood and some slimes snuck up on me. i fell, but i was able to fight them off." no response. "alex?" a dark look comes over your husband's face.

"get me a sword."

"what?!"

sebastian

seb is one of the bachelors i see respecting your strength the most, always subtly bragging about your fighting skills and the work you do on the farm (sam and abigail are thoroughly impressed)

that being said, he is all the more startled when he sees you limping home from the clinic after nearly passing out from exhaustion

tries to keep his cool, as he always does, but it's hard for him to see the person he cares about the most in pain

"wear the brace for a week, then stop by for another appointment with me so we can see how you're doing," harvey instructs, clasping the brace around your ankle. "drink plenty of water and eat something when you get back. and be mindful while you're working on the farm, i don't want this to be a regular occurrence," he chides.

the doctor had practically dragged you into his office after running into you in front of pierre's, half-conscious as you claimed you just needed some coffee.

"i will," you sigh, using his arm for support as you stand. "thanks, harvey. i owe you."

"no need to worry about that, just get some rest at home. i'm sure sebastian is wondering where you are."

shit. you chew your lip as you slowly make your way back to the farm, trying to find the right words to say to your husband. it's not like you to overwork yourself like this on the farm, but after waking up a bit too late in the morning, you'd found yourself rushing to get everything done. seb had been sound asleep as you worked, but with the sun beginning to set in the sky, you knew he had to be up and waiting for you at home.

sure enough, as you walk towards your front door, you see him already sitting on the front steps, a book in hand. his head quickly turns at the sound of your footsteps.

"you're back! did you have errands to run?" seb asks, setting his book down. "i thought you had a lot to do this morning?"

you hesitate, nodding slowly as you avoid his gaze. "i did," you answer, swallowing. "i was, ah, at the clinic."

"what? why—?" only then does he notice the bags under your eyes and the brace wrapped around your ankle. "hey, what happened?" he walks over to your side, slowly guiding you to the steps and helping you sit down.

"i'm alright," you say, though you unsuccessfully hide your discomfort as you stretch your hurt ankle out. "i twisted my ankle, is all."

"right." you know sebastian well enough to tell when he's worrying; his brow is furrowed, his eyes glued to the ground.

"come on, seb, don't be so dramatic," you joke, shoving him lightly with your shoulder. "it's not like i'm dying." he looks at you suddenly with squinted eyes, as if he's trying to decode your words. "what?"

"people tend to say that when things are worse than they are," he says, looking you up and down. "what really happened?"

"what are you talking about?"

"maybe i'll go talk to harvey." he begins to stand, but you grab his wrist and drag him back down.

"okay, okay!" the last thing you want is for him to take the doctor's words too seriously and put you on a house lockdown. "i just overworked myself in the heat, alright? seriously! harvey said i should be fine with some rest."

"really? that's all?"

"yes."

"all you hurt was your ankle?"

"yes."

"did you set up another appointment with him?"

"yes, seb, i'm fine!" you grab his arm and pull him closer, looking straight into his worried eyes. "look, see? i'm in one piece."

sebastian sighs, grabbing your hand and holding it tightly. "i know, you've always been strong," he says, smiling lightly. "just . . . don't overdo it, okay? i'm here to help you, too."

you smile back at him. "i know." you pause. "you know, harvey said i need to lay off the rest of my work today."

"yeah?" seb grins, helping you stand. "what are you thinking?"

you pretend to ponder for a moment. "maybe some dinner and TV? we still have that show we need to catch up on."

he laughs, wrapping an arm around you as the two of you head inside.

"whatever you want, dear."

sam

he thinks you're invincible.

completely freaks out when he sees you actually hurt for the first time

makes you spend the rest of the day in bed and brings you some of his mom's food

(claims it has healing powers)

the sun is still high in the sky when you leave the mines. your plan had been to spend the whole day gathering resources, but after a rough tousle with some monsters, you don't have the energy to keep going. your head is throbbing, and you're mildly aware of the cut on your forehead that finally stopped bleeding.

you make your way across the farm and toward your house, and you can hear sam practicing on his skateboard. you hope you can avoid him, at least until you're able to clean up your injury.

as you open the front door, though, a loud creak fills the air, and you freeze. the sound of the skateboard stops.

"baby, is that you?" sam calls out, walking around to the front porch. you keep your back turned. "did you forget something?"

"uh, no! no, the mines were just a bit empty today, so . . ." you trail off. you turn your head away from him as sam tries to look at your face, but sigh in defeat when he cups your cheek and makes you face him.

immediately, his eyes widen. "you're hurt!"

"i'm fine—"

without another word, sam grabs your hand and drags you inside, bringing you into the bathroom. he spends the next few minutes tenderly cleaning the cut on your forehead, apologizing every time you flinch in pain. then, he brings you to your shared bedroom, covering you in the sheets and bringing you a mug of your favorite drink.

"stay here," he instructs, "i'll be right back." he turns to your pet, tail wagging as it sits at your bedside. "you're in charge while i'm gone, alright? make sure they stay put!" you laugh lightly as sam hurriedly leaves the house, hearing the sound of his skateboard rolling away. you let out a sigh, closing your eyes as you begin to fall asleep.

"baby, wake up."

your eyes open to the sound of your husband beside you once again, holding a bowl of steaming soup.

"i stopped by mom's to get some of her soup. you know i'm not the best cook," he admits, "but you need to eat something with lots of nutrients to get better."

you laugh lightly, gladly letting him feed you the first bite. the warmth of the soup makes you feel already a bit better.

"thank you, sam," you say, looking at him gratefully. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

"hey, shouldn't i be saying that?" he jokes, planting a kiss on your cheek. "here, eat up. you need all the strength you can get!"

after you finish eating, you begin to sit up, stretching your arms.

"hey, what are you doing?" sam questions, setting the bowl on your nightstand.

"i need to check on the animals one more time," you sigh, ignoring the ache in your arms. he scoffs, grabbing your arms and sitting you back down in bed.

"right, and just what kind of husband would i be if i let you do that?" he straightens his back and crosses his arms, smiling confidently. "leave it to me!"

"sam."

"yes, dear?"

"do you even know what you'd be checking for?"

he pauses, arms dropping. "right," he says, sighing. "i guess i don't." you laugh, standing back up but grabbing his hand.

"come on, you can be my assistant for tonight."

"yes!"

[applecidersturniolo]

still friends

in which fwb!matt reminds you that you guys are still just as much of friends as you are hook up buddies.

“ you’re so fuckin’ bad at answering your phone!” you exclaim while throwing your purse through matt’s passenger side window, it landing with a thump on his seat.

“ oh yeah? how bad?” matt smirked, you rolled your eyes and opened the door to the van, “extremely,” you say, sitting in the seat, you leaned back and put on your seatbelt, “i mean i called you like 3 times, texted you like a fuck ton and noooo response” you spoke slightly annoyed, “yeah well you were asking a question that you can clearly answer yourself!” matt chuckled a bit as he pulled out of your driveway, “ ‘what do i wear?’ sweetheart, all we are doing is driving around and listening to music” matt spoke leaning back in his seat as well, his ring clasped hands gliding down the steering wheel, landing at the bottom of it.

you smiled and looked down at your lap, shaking your head, knowing it was a dumb question. you didn’t have to impress matt, he wasn’t your boyfriend, nor did he care what you looked like or wore in general, unaware to you, matt thought you looked effortlessly beautiful no matter what.

comfortable silence filled the van until you spoke up, “why are you driving me around anyway?” you questioned, fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt.

matt smirked and put his tongue in his cheek, “you do know that there is a friends part in this whole friends with benefits thing, right?” matt spoke glancing at you then back at the road, “we were friends before we started fucking, we are still friends now..i just..enjoy your company” he shrugged.

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling the little knot in your stomach that you always seemed to push down when you were around him. “i enjoy your company too..” you spoke simply, glancing over at matt.

“ matt! get outta my face!!” you squealed as you tried to push matt off of you, matt, who was currently holding his phone in your face yelling, “say it again, y/n!! what the fuck were you just sayin’ in my ear!” he yelled between laughs, you both couldn’t catch your breath, you gripped your stomach as your head fell back on the headrest, “i- um- i said-“ you spoke between laughs, “turn that fu-fucking camera off, SHUT IT OFF-“ you watched the flashing light dim as matt stopped recording. at this point you guys were on top of each other, foreheads stuck together as you laughed at absolutely nothing.

“ i missed spending time with you like this” matt spoke as he leaned back in his seat, adjusting his position so he sat up right.

you smiled and adjusted in your seat as well, “yeah me too” you agreed quietly

you know that pit in your stomach you felt earlier? yeah it’s back again. but this time you couldn’t shove it down, not at all.

you let out a shaky breath, your hand reached for matt’s jaw, “ look at me” you mumbled, matt’s eyes flickered to yours, god, you wanted to break the unspoken rule, you wanted to so bad, but..

“you know you’re my best friend right?” you spoke gently.

matt smiled and shoved your hand away from his jaw, “shut the fuck up”

TAGLIST: @sosasturns @oopsiedaisydeer @aaliyahsturniolo @courta13

(comment or inbox to be apart of the taglist ‼️)

thank you @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers !!!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

pink princess

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ only!!, smut, p in v sex, female receiving oral, girly!reader, violence, blood, rafe beats someone up, kelce is the bad guy in this D:

“i just don't get it rafe.” kelce shakes his head.

“what?” rafe mumbles, barely paying attention to his friend. even topper seems barely interested, both too focused on the football game playing on the television.

“how you could date a girl like y/n.” 

your name has rafe snapping to attention, turning to glare at kelce. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” rafe has only been your boyfriend for a couple months now, but he wouldn't question beating the shit out of his friend if he insulted you.

“don't get me wrong, the girl is nice and all. i like her she's just so… girly.” kelce says like it's an insult. “she only ever wears pink, she's all sweet and innocent. she's just not your type, that's all. im surprised.”

you let out a little sound, all of the boys attention snapping to you, kelces eyes widening when he realizes you have entered the living room.

“baby.” rafe coos softly. “come here.”

you cross over to rafe, rounding the couch to plop on his lap, keeping your head down to avoid looking at kelce.

“don't listen to him, princess.” rafe says softly, his voice so sweet, in contrast to the scared look on kelces face. “you're exactly my type.”

“shit rafe, i-i-didn’t mean-i didn't know she was-”

“get the fuck out.” rafe says, voice still soft as he pets his hand over your back, hating the pout that graces your sparkly gloss painted lips.

“rafe-” kelce tries to argue.

“no. get the fuck out. you're lucky im not beating your ass into the ground for upsetting my girl. now get the fuck out.”

kelce scrambles, rushing out of tanneyhill as the game continues on the tv, topper rightly deciding to remain silent.

“baby, talk to me.” rafe says softly, seeing tears still brimming in your eyes.

“im fine.” your voice is hoarse when the words finally escape your mouth.

“darling.” rafe sighs, tugging your bodies closer together, letting your head bury in his shoulder, not caring if you leave makeup stains on his shirt.

rafe knows the best thing to do is just let you breath, not wanting to work you up more with his words as his hand strokes over your back, hoping it's bringing you some sort of comfort.

“i had no idea he felt that way.” you finally pick your head up. you weren't close to very many girls, so when you and rafe started dating, you tried to quickly assimilate into his friend group and consider his few friends yours as well.

“he's just being a dick. don't worry, alright bunny? you're absolutely my type, and i love how girly you are, mkay?” rafe waits for you to nod and agree with him before he pulls you into a kiss, topper keeping his eyes trained on the tv while you make out.

--

“you ready to go princess?” rafe calls up the stairs, tapping his foot against the wood floor, waiting for you to finish getting ready to attend the gala he promised his dad he would be at.

“coming now!” you say before rushing down the stairs, but still being careful not to trip in your heels.

“you look gorgeous, honey.” rafe admires your outfit. its a new dress, or at least one that he hasn’t seen before. rafe takes your hand in his as you finish your descent, frowning when he realizes the glittery polish that was on your fingers has been scrubbed off, replaced with a creamy white that matches your dress, the only pink thing on your body being your lipstick.

“is that what you are wearing?” rafe questions.

“why, is something wrong with it?” you frown as you look down at your body.

“no-no.” rafe shakes his head. “not at all baby its just… very formal.” he figures the wording is better than blatantly asking why you’re not covered in pink and sparkles.

“well, it’s a formal event.” you roll your eyes, heading towards the door, not wanting to give ward a bad impression, and you know you’re already running late.

“yeah, right.” rafe nods, but his mind whirls in secret, wondering if there could be more to your change in appearance than that.

--

“you're going golfing with top today right?” you ask, rubbing your fingers through rafes hair, massaging his head. 

rafe knows you said something, but he's too relaxed to actually make out your words, struggling to blink his eyes open before humming, “what?”

you giggle at his blissed out expression, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “you're going golfing with topper later today right?”

“mhm.” rafe nods, letting out a soft moan when your long acrylics gently scratch over his scalp.

“maybe you can take me. ya know, i could learn how to golf. probably start with just putting.” you shrug.

“baby-” rafe has to take your hands and move them away, knowing he won't be able to focus on the conversation. “why do you want to learn how to golf? you hate sports.”

“that's not true!” you complain. “i like um… gymnastics and figure skating.”

rafe rolls his eyes “you like them for the sparkly outfits and music.”

you pout, moving yourself from straddling rafes lap to next to him on the couch. “aren't i allowed to be interested in the things you're interested in?”

“yes, of course.” rafe sighs, moving to kneel between your knees on the floor, taking your face in his hands, not letting you look away. “and if you really want to come, id love to have you. but if you are asking because you're trying to be less girly, then baby-” rafe leans in to press a kiss to your pouty lips- “i don't want you to change. i love you for who you are.”

“promise you don't mind?” your fingers play with the collar on his shirt, distracting yourself.

“promise.” rafe nods.

“okay, thank god.” you let out a giggle. “golf is so boring.”

--

you have your laptop and phone opened up, intensely scrolling as you switch between them, brow furrowed as you do your research.

“y/n-” 

you slam shut the laptop and turn the screen off on your phone as rafe walks into the room.

“what are you doing?” rafe questions. 

“nothing.” you smile at rafe. “just some online shopping.” you hope it's believable, but you can tell by rafes hesitation that he doesn't fully trust your explanation.

“okay…” rafe slowly approaches the bed, and you quickly move your laptop and phone to the bedside table as rafe crawls up next to you.

you distract him from asking more questions as you press your lips against his, pushing him to lay back on the bed as you grind down.

“ah, fuck.” rafe moans when you pull away, pulling your shirt off over your head to reveal that you aren't wearing anything underneath.

rafes hands cup your tits, massaging them in his large palms before suddenly flipping so you're the one laying down against the bed, completely forgetting about your suspicious behavior when he entered the room.

what rafe doesn't know, as he lowers down your body and flicks your nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, is that you weren't online shopping, rather scowering through social media, trying to find all of rafes ex girlfriends or anyone he interacted with, all while you compared the girls to yourself.

you wish kelces words didn't still echo in your head, especially after rafes insistence they weren't true.

--

“gonna take a shower.” you tell rafe, setting your bags down in the foyer, knowing you'll get around to them later.

“you sure not a bath? i can run one for you.” rafe offers, following you up the stairs.

“nah, that's fine.” you shrug, frowning slightly when you see your display of lush bath bombs. you're trying to be less high maintenance, more easy going. 

“come on, what if i wanna soak with you in the bath?” rafe pouts. “please baby.”

you can't help but giggle at his doe eyes blinking at you. “okay, sure.”

“good.” rafe hums before placing a hand on your waist, pulling you in for a quick kiss before he heads towards the bath, turning the hot tap on. you watch as he looks at your bath bombs before selecting a light blue bath bomb with star embeds.

rafe sets the bath bomb down on the edge of the large tub before turning to you. “what should we do while we wait for the bath to fill?” you question, tugging your ponytail out to let your hair fall.

“mmm, i know exactly what i want to do.” rafe says.

in only a few moments he has your shorts down, perched on the edge of the bathtub while his head is buried in between your legs, tongue licking greedy stripes over your cunt.

--

“missed you.” you whine, burying your face into rafes chest as he rocks gently, holding you tight to him.

“missed you too, princess.” rafe is relieved to finally have you back in his arms. hes been away for an entire week, and you came to the airport to get him despite rafe insisting that he was fine to get himself home. you just couldn't wait any longer.

you whine when rafe pulls away slightly, making him laugh and tug you back into him.

“clingy baby.” rafe coos, but the words make your cheeks hot as you pull away. 

“hey, hey.” rafe grabs your hand, tugging you back against his chest. “i didn't mean it like that.”

“okay.” you whisper with a nod, tears brimming in your eyes. with rafe being gone, you spiraled even further, going as far as to befriend a couple of his exes to compare yourself even more to them. you also attended a party that kelce was at, and while he didn't speak at all to you, you could occasionally feel his eyes on you, disapproval in his gaze.

“love you so much bunny.” rafe says, rubbing his large hands over your shoulders. “let's get home so i can show you how much i missed you, yeah?”

you perk up as you nod, making sure your hand is clasp together with rafes as you head out of the airport and towards the parking lot, your keys hanging from your finger that isn't intertwined with rafes.

“here, baby.” rafe opens the passenger side door for you, but you frown and don't move towards it.

“you just got off a flight, rafe. i can drive.” 

“nope.” rafe snatches the keys out of your grasp. “you're my girl, and as long as im here you have no need to drive yourself. now get in, my passenger princess.”

--

“ready for the party?” you ask rafe, adjusting your skirt as rafe walks down the stairs.

“of course.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips before looking down at your outfit.

“baby… is this really what you want to wear?” rafe asks. he likes any clothes you put on, but the black skirt paired with a plain white cropped tee, not even accented by any jewelry just isn't you.

“i just…” you swallow. “i just know kelce is gonna be there. wanna show him that i don't need to be wearing sparkly pink every second.”

rafe can't speak, the anger quickly rising when he realizes that months later you still haven't let go of kelces words, still worrying that you arent the right person for rafe.

“go put on a sparkly dress.” rafe simply says, not able to keep his voice soft, despite addressing you. you hustle upstairs, changing into the outfit you really wanted to wear, adding some jewelry and colourpop super shock shadow to your lid.

you bounce down the stairs, feeling much more yourself now.

“theres my pretty girl.” rafe says, his words sweet but his face still angry as he places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out towards his truck.

he speeds to the party as you sit there silently, playing with your rings, worried about what is going to happen when you get to the party, especially knowing kelce is gonna be there.

“rafey, don’t do anythi-” you tell him as he helps you down after parking, but you can’t even finish your sentence.

rafe eyes kelce standing on the front lawn, a red solo cup in his hand. he hasn’t spotted rafe yet, but you know as soon as he does the smile is going to drop from his face.

rafe begins to stalk towards him while you trail behind, grimacing when rafe throws a punch, landing right on kelces cheek.

“fuck you!” rafe shouts, shoving him back before kelce can even realize what is happening.

“yo, man, stop!” some guy you recognize but don’t know his name yells, but doesn’t try to get in the middle as rafe punches kelce again.

you can’t help the smile on your face, watching your man defend you throughout anything, even if it involves turning one of his close friends into a bloody pulp.

“y/n… it’s gone on long enough, stop him.” topper comes up behind you, making you jump.

you turn to look at him before back at kelce, eyes glazed over as rafe shouts at him again. you rush to rafes side, grabbing at his fist. “okay, okay.” you tell him softly. “he gets it.”

rafe steps away as kelce falls to the ground, his chest heaving as his lip and nose drip blood. “let this be a lesson.” rafe turns to the crowd that has grown. “no one shit talk me or my girlfriend or this is what happens to you.” rafe points at kelce, not giving another word before stalking away, literally grabbing you and picking you up to carry you back towards his truck. you stay quiet as rafe sets you in the passenger seat.

“are your knuckles hurt?” you ask, petting your hand gently over his wrist as rafe shifts the car into gear, rushing away from the party.

“i’ll be fine, baby.” rafe says, glancing at his reddened fingers. “just need to get you home.”

“oh.” you nod, knowing that while rafe got some of his anger out on kelce, he’s certainly going to get the rest of his pent up energy out on you. 

it takes minutes from the time you get home for rafe to have your back flat on the bed, his large cock thrusting into you. 

you moan out, hands gripping at his shoulders, your nails leaving scratches against his tanned skin. 

“you’re. my. fucking. girl.” rafe says, accentuating each word by pounding his cock inside of you.

you let out a moan, kelces mean words thoroughly beat out of your head as you nod. “im yours.”

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[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY PREVIEW.

BAD.

Han x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: You’ve always known Han Jisung is trouble—the kind of guy who flirts like it’s breathing and disappears like smoke when things get real. But the more time you spend with him, the deeper you fall—despite knowing he’ll probably break your heart. Again and again.

Preview under cut!

...

Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, warming your bare shoulders, gently waking you up from your slumber. You stirred, stretching out a hand to the other side of the bed—only to find it empty and cold.

Of course. You muttered in your head as you heart sank a little. You let out a quiet sigh and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You should’ve known better. One night, a little charm, and then gone by morning. Classic. Still, you couldn’t help the flicker of disappointment curling in your chest. Because, as much as you tried not to… you liked Han.

And then—there it was. The unmistakable clatter of something in the kitchen, followed by a low curse.

Pulling on whatever piece of clothing from the floor, you padded out of the bedroom and found him in the kitchen.

Han was shirtless and under the pale sunlight, his tattoos were contrast to his honey skin, his hair messily tousled, standing in front of your coffee machine with a deep frown on his face. His fingers were poking at buttons like they personally offended him. He looked up the moment he sensed you and broke into a sheepish grin.

“Morning. So, I may or may not be losing a fight to this highly complicated coffee machine.”

You squinted, walking closer to assess the issue. “Did you… plug it in?”

He paused and then he checked the back of the machine, finding the unplugged cord hanging limply beside the counter.

“Ah.” He scratched the back of his head while sheepishly chuckling. “That explains the lack of coffee. I was just about to blame capitalism.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head as you plugged it in. “Are you always this charming in the morning?”

“24/7 actually,” he said, watching you with that same lopsided grin.

As the coffee started brewing, the warm scent beginning to fill the kitchen, you turned toward the fridge. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Han leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest as he watched you. “Are you sure? I mean, I was planning to impress you with my gourmet bowl of cereal.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the eggs. “How about you handle coffee duty, Chef Cereal and I’ll take care of the rest?”

“Copy that, Kitchen Commando,” he said, reaching for two mugs with a mock salute.

The two of you moved around each other in quiet rhythm, filling the kitchen with soft clinks and sizzling sounds. No awkwardness. No morning-after weirdness. Just warmth, quiet laughter, and the smell of coffee and toast. It was… easy, strangely easy and you couldn’t remember the last time something felt like that.

The two of you sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, plates filled with scrambled eggs and toast between you, steaming mugs in hand. He took a bite, chewed, and gave you an impressed nod. You held the urge to chuckle at the way his cheeks puffed as he chewed on his food.

“Okay, chef,” he said with a grin. “This is actually good. I had low expectations after seeing your coffee machine situation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean your coffee machine situation?”

He pointed at you with his fork. “Fair.”

Between bites and sips of coffee, the conversation drifted into something lighter. Easier.

“So, what do you do?” you asked, wiping a crumb off your lip.

Han leaned back a little, stretching his legs under the table. “I work at a music studio. Mostly sound engineering. Some producing. It depends on who’s asking.” He smirked. “But yeah, I help make people sound better than they actually are.”

You laughed. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Long hours, weird clients, but music’s kind of the only thing I ever wanted to do. Even when I was a kid.”

There was a flicker of something sincere in his eyes, and for a moment, it made your chest warm.

He tilted his head. “What about you?”

“I co-own a vintage clothing store with a friend,” you said, reaching for your coffee. “We do a lot of curating, reselling, sometimes minor alterations. I’m there most days.”

Han perked up. “Wait, so you’re telling me I know someone with taste and access to cool jackets?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

“Do I get a discount if I come shop there?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That depends. Do you plan on plugging in the coffee machine next time?”

He let out a laugh and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Harsh but fair.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of coffee refills, inside jokes already forming, and conversations that slipped from playful to surprisingly thoughtful with ease. It felt oddly natural—like the two of you had known each other long enough to tease and jab without hesitation.

And maybe that was what made it so dangerous.Han, with his charm and his grin and his casual warmth—he was the kind of trouble that came wrapped in comfort.

When it was time for him to go, you followed him to the front door, your sweater sleeves pulled down over your hands, fingers gripping the hem to keep yourself from reaching for him. He crouched slightly to put on his sneakers, and a strange heaviness pressed on your chest—the kind that came with goodbyes, especially the ones you didn’t want to say out loud.

This is it, you thought. A fun night. A morning after. And then he disappears like they always do.

But just as he finished lacing up his shoes, Han straightened and turned to face you again. His eyes flicked across your features, lingering in that way that made it feel like he was seeing more of you than he should.

“So,” he said slowly, almost cautiously, “can I see you again?”

Your breath hitched—just for a second. “Well... You know where to find me.”

A smirk crept onto his lips, cocky and triumphant, like he’d just won a game you didn’t realize you were playing. “That I do.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you stretched taut with something unspoken. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and when he stepped forward, it was deliberate.

Han reached up, his fingers gentle as they found your chin and tipped your head slightly toward him. He leaned in slowly—so slowly—and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It wasn’t lustful or teasing this time. It was tender, like a promise.

When he pulled away, his voice was lower than before. “I’ll see you soon.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say it back, but you barely got the words out before he leaned in again and kissed you deeper this time, stealing the air from your lungs. It left your head swimming, your hands balled into the fabric of your sweater to keep yourself from holding onto him. And then he stepped back, letting go of your chin with frustrating gentleness. You almost frowned at the absence of his touch but caught yourself, painting a smile on instead.

Han turned toward the door, opened it, and paused—just for a beat. His eyes found yours again, like he was trying to burn the image of you into memory, then he stepped out.

You stood frozen for a moment after the door shut, the silence of your apartment suddenly deafening, and without meaning to, you were already counting the seconds until you saw him again.

...

Full fic is available exclusively on my Patreon:

[oystermark]

reaper gn!reader x rex splode (here's the intro to the reader) (first paragraph is taken from that post, think of this as like..another route in a dating game..? also not proofread.)

after a rather rough mission of going around the hospital to ... help, you just... broke down on the floor at your last patient's door. you were giving them peace, sure, your touch wa making them feel as close as they can get to heaven with how...warm the sensation you bring them, sure, but you cannot, ever touch another being. to you, your touch only brings about destruction, you can never get too close you can never touch, hug, kiss, love another being.

your instincts screamed at you to pull your body backwards as you feel another person's warmth way too close to you then they should be if they want to stay alive. with an unknowingly harsh gaze at the person in front of you you pulled back and picked yourself up with your wobbly legs. he held up his hands in front of himself as he spoke,

"heeey, relax, i didn't mean to startle you that bad, i mean i didn't mean to startle you at all but you just looked reaaaally down there, physically and emotionally it looks like and i-"

you caught his rambling off with a raised hand, wiping your eyes harshly with the back of your other hand as you spoke, your tone barely above a whisper, "don't touch me if you want to stay alive," his eyes widened and he let out a laugh out of reflex, "hey, come on do i look that bad? i mean yes i did fight some aliens and probably do not smell my best but," he looked you up and down, checking you out and assesing your state at the same time, "would hate to leave a bad impression on someone like you,"

you shook your hand and took another step backwards, "its not...its not any of those reasons its my power," you swallowed dryly as you teared your gaze away from him, as soon as you tell anyone of your powers they either; look at you with pity, get scared shitless, were already weirded out by your eyes and purple arms and your power being more than enough to make them run away, or they just awkwardly tried to prod you to give more information which cecil prohibited you from doing so.

and you've had enough emotional tax write offs today to see any of those expressions on his face, "my touch kills any and all living beings. anywhere on my body, every spot is imminent death for you," your hand shot up to find your pulse to soothe yourself, out of habit, the soft thrum of it calming your nerves a little.

rex takes note of this cute habit.

"so, just, don't touch me," you finally look up at him for a second, just to make your apology actually sincere, "sorry for the reaction", your hand still slowly rubbing over your pulse, you can feel your nails digging a little bit but it just grounds you. habits are not easy to drop after all.

"ah i see,"

here it comes, the pity, the prodding, the horror.

to your surprise, he chuckles, "that's...so powerful, holy shit," you finally look at him with wide eyes, taking all of him in for the first time since he interrupted your incoming panic attack, and, it pains you to say, he's really attractive.

your eyes look at him and back on the ground, your feet finally facing his direction, not thinking of running away anymore, and your hand drops from the spot of your pulse, "you..." you look back up to his face, "you're not like, scared, or like- um," he shakes his head and takes one step closer to you which makes your heart lurch in alarm, "that is.. harrowing but also so fucking cool, like, hauntingly cool,"

you...don't know how to respond to that, only wrapping your cloak around your body a little tighter, your fingers twitching with the want to pull the hood of your cloak back on, but before you can do anything else you hear him take his goggles off and then it is thrust into your sight.

he's looking at you expectantly as he's holding the one of the strap of the goggles, you look at him with confusion written all over your -adorable, to him- face, and his smile widens, "we can hold hands like this then, yeah? i mean, if its too much you can tell me to fuck off and i can forget all this but you looked like you wanted company so i thought-" he is, once again, interrupted as you grab onto the goggles with a shaking hand.

seeing your fingers shake so much just from a simple offer like this... broke his heart, he doesn't know why he's even doing this it just..felt like he should, you looked like you needed someone to tell you it's going to be okay and goddamn it he wants to help someone today after that invasion fiasco.

you take one step forward and a whiff of...something light and, lavender hits his nose.

is this what death smells like? way less grim then he imagined.

"let's take a walk together out of this place, stuck in this damn white prison is going to drive me mad,"

you chuckle softly and he feels like his heart is about to burst, guilt in the vision of eve's face flashes through his brain for a second but he pays it no mind. its just...your power and presence that has him captivated, nothing more.

"let's go, then"

and when you mutter those words, the warmth of your voice cages his heart as guilt strikes deep.

he is so fucked.