You and Sebastian Stan had been cast as co-leads in a new superhero franchise—your chemistry on-screen was electric, but off-screen? It was even more chaotic. From the moment you met during table reads, you knew he was going to be trouble. Charming, smug, and frustratingly good-looking, Sebastian had this annoying habit of teasing you relentlessly. And for some reason, you kept letting him get away with it. Now, months later, you were at your first Comic Con together, seated at your respective signing tables. Fans lined up for hours just to meet the two of you. You were in the middle of signing a fan’s Funko Pop when suddenly you felt someone behind you—close. A little too close. Sebastian. He didn’t just lean over you—he draped himself over you. One hand planted firmly on the table next to yours, the other stretched over your shoulder as he signed a photo for a fan standing just across the table. His chest pressed lightly against your back, and his breath grazed your neck as he casually said, “Hope you don’t mind. They really wanted this one signed by both of us.” You slowly turned your head, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?” you whispered, caught somewhere between flustered and furious. He just smirked, not moving an inch. “Making memories,” he said lowly, eyes flicking down to meet yours. The fans watching the scene lost their minds. Cameras clicked. Squeals erupted. And you? You just sat there, heart pounding, skin on fire, trying not to let it show how much this idiot had gotten under it. Again. You swore you were going to kill him later. And maybe kiss him, too. But mostly kill him.