#The swing of the coat by the model
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OVERCOAT AND UNION SUIT - Christopher Lagasse, Marist College Silver Needle Show (x)
#fashion#sewing#sewblr#christopher lagasse#again. obsessed#the matched paid with the stripes in between#The swing of the coat by the model#the mismatched but matching knits and corduroys?#again I’m obsessed!! this is so inspiring!!!
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Manfredi Bellati - Vogue Italia (Oct. 1969)
#manfredi bellati#vogue#vogue italia#photography#fashion photography#vintage fashion#vintage style#vintage#retro#aesthetic#beauty#sixties#60s#60s fashion#60s model#1960s#1960s fashion#swinging sixties#editorial#coat
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COCKY.

CHAPTER I
Bangchan x reader. (s,f)
Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (23,6k words)
Author's note: One order of extra large Chris is here. Hope you enjoy it and pls share what your thoughts on it after ♡
Working at a company that specializes in sexual health products isn’t exactly dinner table conversation, but it’s your job—and you take it seriously. As one of the lead researchers in product development, you’ve spent months working on a specialized condom for individuals with extra-large sizes. And now, it’s time to pitch it to the board.
You take a deep breath, tugging at the hem of your blazer before stepping into the conference room. A long, intimidating table stretches before you, lined with executives who look way too serious for a meeting about condoms. Behind you, the screen glows with the first slide of your presentation, the product name in bold letters.
"Good morning, everyone," you begin, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "Today, I'll be walking you through my research on a new condom designed specifically for those who find standard sizing... insufficient."
A few executives glance at each other. Some raise their brows, others nod with mild interest. You press on, clicking to the next slide. Graphs, charts, and anatomical studies fill the screen as you explain the glaring gap in the market and why this product is necessary.
"Our research shows a real demand for this," you continue. "Current options on the market are often too restrictive, uncomfortable, or prone to breakage. This design addresses those concerns by enhancing durability while maintaining a natural feel."
You move through the slides with confidence, breaking down the materials, elasticity testing, and the competition. But as you reach the last slide, you sense the shift in the room. Mr. Kim, the head of the board, leans forward, fingers steepled together.
"Your research is solid," he says. "The product has potential. But before we approve production, we need real-world testing."
You pause. "Of course. We're already in the process of recruiting participants—"
"Expedite it," another executive interrupts. "We need actual user data before we move forward. Bring us results, then we’ll talk."
You nod, maintaining a professional expression, but frustration bubbles beneath the surface. Finding participants for something this specific isn’t exactly a quick task. But without those test results, your project is stuck in limbo.
As the meeting wraps up and the executives file out, you exhale, already running through possible recruitment strategies in your head.
What you don’t realize is that one of your participants might already be in the room—watching you with quiet interest.
-
Back in your lab, you slump into your chair with a sigh, letting your head fall back against the headrest. The sterile, fluorescent lights hum softly above you, a stark contrast to the high-stakes tension of the conference room. You kick off your heels, rolling your chair toward your desk just as the door swings open.
"So? How'd it go?" your friend and co-worker, Jane, saunters in, her lab coat barely hanging onto her shoulders.
"Ugh." You rub your temples. "It went as expected. They love the concept, but they won’t approve production unless I bring them real-world test results. And fast."
Jane lets out a low whistle as she strolls over to the shelves lined with various prototype models and sample products. Without hesitation, she picks up one of the dildos—one of the many you use for testing elasticity and fit—and spins it in her hand like a baton. "So basically, you need to find guys with huge dicks willing to help out?"
You groan, burying your face in your hands. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But yes. And I haven’t found a single participant yet. Screening takes time, and I don’t have much of it."
Jane smirks, tapping the tip of the dildo against her palm. "Maybe you should try a more direct approach. Put up a ‘Now Hiring: Well-Endowed Men’ sign in the break room."
You shoot her a deadpan look. "Oh sure, that’ll go over great with HR."
She laughs, setting the dildo back with the others. "I’m just saying, desperate times call for desperate measures. You’re working against the clock, and if you don’t find someone soon, all that research goes to waste."
You exhale, staring at the mess of paperwork and sample prototypes on your desk. You know she’s right. You need a participant—fast.
Jane heads for the door but pauses before leaving, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, maybe you should start looking for participants here in the office. You never know who might be hiding a big secret."
She winks before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you groaning into your hands.
What you don’t know is that the solution to your problem is much closer than you think.
-
Lunch break couldn’t have come at a better time. You needed to step away from your desk, from the research, from the stress of finding participants. But Jane’s words from earlier linger in your head, much to your dismay.
Because now, as you sit in the company cafeteria, sipping on your drink, you catch yourself doing something utterly mortifying—unintentionally observing every single man who walks by. Or, more specifically, their crotches.
You aren’t trying to. Really. But Jane had planted the thought, and now, your brain has decided to betray you. Your eyes flicker over a group of IT specialists at the salad bar. Then to the finance associate adjusting his belt. Then to one of the marketing interns stretching in line for coffee. You don’t even realize you’re doing it until Jane elbows you with a wicked grin.
"Oh my God, you’re actually doing it," she laughs, nearly choking on her sandwich.
Your face heats instantly. "I’m not! I mean—not intentionally. I was just—oh, shut up. Let’s go."
Jane, still giggling, follows you out of the cafeteria, coffee cups in hand. She chatters about some office gossip as you make your way back to your lab, but you barely register her words. You just need to get back to work and shake this subconscious habit before you embarrass yourself further. But the moment you step into the lab, all coherent thought screeches to a halt.
Because standing in the middle of your workspace, examining a row of sample products with a curious yet unreadable expression, is Chris.
His fingers hover over one of the prototype models, but when he notices you, he straightens and offers a polite smile. "Good afternoon," he greets. "I came to speak with you."
Jane arches a brow, glances between the two of you, then smirks. "I’ll leave you to it," she says before slipping out, leaving you alone with Chris.
You turn back to him, slightly puzzled. "How can I assist you?"
He hesitates for a moment before nodding toward your desk. "I would like a more detailed explanation regarding your product—its functionality and how far in development are you."
You blink, pleasantly surprised by his interest. "Of course." You proceed to outline the design, materials, and the challenges in securing participants.
Chris listens attentively, though his expression remains unreadable. He appears to be weighing something in his mind but ultimately checks the time and exhales. "I have a meeting to attend, but could you come by my office later? Around four?"
You nod, though curiosity lingers. "Certainly. May I ask what this pertains to?"
He offers a small smile. "We’ll discuss it then."
And with that, he heads out, leaving you wondering what exactly he has in mind.
-
Chris Bang is a name everyone in the company knows. As a product manager, he’s known for his reliability, innovative ideas, and ability to bring projects to life. He’s respected, well-liked, and a natural leader. A social butterfly who effortlessly navigates through the office, friendly to everyone he meets.
You, on the other hand, have only ever interacted with him in passing—polite nods, brief greetings when you cross paths in the hallway. So when you receive an invitation to meet him in his office, you can’t help but wonder why he suddenly wants to talk to you.
A few minutes before four, you find yourself lingering outside Chris’s office, nervously shifting on your feet. You check your watch, heart thumping. A little after four, Chris finally appears, offering an apologetic smile.
"My apologies for the delay," he says. "Please, come in."
You follow him inside, settling into the chair across from his desk as he takes his seat. He folds his hands on the desk, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Thank you for coming. I wanted to discuss something regarding your research."
You nod, trying to keep your curiosity at bay. "Of course. How can I assist you?"
Chris watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. The slight shift in his posture draws your attention—just enough to make you hyper-aware of the space between you.
“What specific criteria are you looking for in a participant for your product test?” His voice is even, measured, but there’s something in the way he asks that makes your breath hitch for just a second.
You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “The main requirement is that participants need to have a genital size above average.”
His lips quirk up slightly, though his expression remains composed. “And what qualifies as above average?”
You’re certain he already knows the answer, but you respond anyway, keeping your tone professional. “Anything more than 5.5 inches when fully erect is considered above average.”
A beat of silence stretches between you. Chris doesn’t say anything immediately, just sits there, tapping a finger lightly against the desk, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes the air feel heavier.
Then, finally, he exhales, tilting his head slightly. “I may have a solution to your participant problem,” he says, his voice lower now. “I would like to volunteer.”
Your brain short-circuits for a second. “You… what?”
“I want to be a participant.”
You blink, your mouth opening slightly before snapping shut. Your grip on your pen tightens as you try to process what he just said.
He nods. "I see potential in your product, and I believe in its success. More importantly, I want to contribute to the company’s innovation."
You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around it. "How exactly are you going to be a participant?"
Chris leans back slightly. "I ask that my involvement remains anonymous."
Your throat feels dry as you nod. "Alright. But how are we going to conduct the test if you want to remain anonymous?"
He watches you carefully before answering. "We can arrange to do it outside of the office, in secret."
Without another word, Chris pushes himself up from his chair and moves around the desk. He stops right in front of you, leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you, waiting. And that’s when it happens.
For the first time, you really look at him—not just as a well-respected product manager but as a man. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, the way his fitted white dress shirt does absolutely nothing to hide the definition underneath. How had you never noticed before?
Your eyes trail lower before you can stop yourself, a fleeting glance—until you realize exactly where you’re looking. The bulge against his dark slacks.
Heat floods your face as you snap your gaze back up, praying he didn’t catch that momentary lapse in professionalism.
Chris doesn’t comment on it, but there’s something almost amused in the way he tilts his head. He extends a hand toward you, expectant.
“So? Do you agree to this arrangement?” he prompts.
“Yes,” you regret for answering too quickly, making you sound way too eager. When in fact, you're just glad to finally solve the problem but also, yeah, okay, you can’t lie, you're a bit curious about something, about Chris.
Your fingers wrap around his, and as you shake hands, you feel it. The shift. The undercurrent of something you can’t quite name just yet.
-
The next day, work starts as usual. You and Jane are in your lab, reviewing reports and planning your next steps. This time, she’s not interrogating you about Chris—at least, not yet. Instead, she’s too busy grumbling about her own research troubles.
“I swear, if I have to go through one more round of reformulations, I’m going to lose my mind,” she complains, tapping her pen against the table. “And to make matters worse, the participant who had the reaction was the best one in the trial. Great responses, perfect for data analysis, and now she’s out.” She rubs her forehead. “I need to find a replacement ASAP, or the timeline’s screwed.”
Hearing that, you can’t help but think about your own situation. At least Jane had a participant—even if it went south. Meanwhile, you were stuck—until yesterday.
Your thoughts drift back to Chris. To the conversation in his office. To the way he leaned against his desk, arms crossed, waiting for you to respond to his offer. To the handshake that sealed the agreement, his grip firm and unwavering.
To the fact that you somehow, in the middle of all that, had managed to glance down—
Nope. Not going there.
“Hey!” Jane’s voice snaps you out of it. You blink at her.
“What’s with that face?” she asks, squinting at you suspiciously.
“What face?”
“The one that says you were just thinking about something you don’t want to admit.”
Damn it. You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Just work.”
Jane narrows her eyes. Then, suddenly, her gaze flicks past you—to the glass window overlooking the lab.
“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh.”
Your stomach drops. You don’t even have to look to know what—or rather, who—she’s seeing. Still, against your better judgment, you glance up.
There he is. Chris is standing outside, observing another team of researchers working on their project. His hands are in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he listens to someone explaining something.
Jane lets out a low whistle. “Well, hello, product manager Bang.”
You close your eyes briefly. “Jane. No.”
Jane ignores you. “You know, I never really paid attention before, but now that I’m looking at him properly… Damn. You’ve been sitting on gold this whole time, and you didn’t even realize it.”
“I am not sitting on anything,” you hiss, horrified.
Jane grins, enjoying this far too much. “Not yet.”
You gape at her. “Stop.”
But your attention betrays you because the longer Chris stands there, the harder it is to ignore the way he looks. The rolled-up sleeves. The way his dress shirt fits just right. The way he listens so intently, brows furrowed in concentration.
Jane leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “You have to wonder, though… With a body like that, what else do you think he’s got going on under there?”
You suck in a breath, scandalized. “Jane.”
She smirks. “I mean, you would know better than me now, wouldn’t you?”
You nearly choke on air. “I—excuse me?”
Jane just winks. “Just saying. You’re in charge of a very… specific study. And he’s very… qualified.”
You don’t even get the chance to respond because, at that exact moment, Chris shifts—and his gaze lands directly on you. Your heart stops. For a second, neither of you moves.
Then, as if sensing the sheer panic flooding your system, Jane casually takes a step back and hums. “Welp, have fun processing that. I’ll let you get back to work.”
And with that, she strolls away, leaving you to deal with the mess she just made in your brain. The worst part? You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to look at Chris the same way again.
Especially when, minutes later, Chris finishes his observation and starts walking past your lab.
Your body tenses as he nears the doorway, but when he glances in and sees you, his expression remains calm—pleasant, even.
“Good morning,” he says, voice as smooth as ever.
“Good morning,” you manage to reply, keeping your tone neutral.
He offers a brief nod before continuing down the hall, leaving you exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
But just as you think the encounter is over, your phone buzzes. You glance down, unlocking it. A new message. From Chris.
Meet me tonight. Hotel Mira. 8 PM.
There’s no explanation. No context. Just the time. The place. And the undeniable fact that your life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
-
The sun is beginning to set, casting a dim orange glow through the windows. Most of the other researchers have already packed up and left, giving you just the moment of solitude you need.
With one last glance around, you reach for the shelf where your prototype samples are stored. Your fingers hover for a second before you carefully pick up a small box of the condoms—the very ones you’re supposed to be testing.
You hesitate only for a moment before swiftly slipping the box into your bag, ensuring it's hidden beneath your notebook and other miscellaneous items. Your pulse quickens. It’s not like you’re doing something wrong, but if Jane sees…
Yeah. You’d have a lot of explaining to do. You zip up your bag, moving as casually as possible, just in case—
“Hey.”
You nearly jump out of your skin. Snapping your head up, you see Jane standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised.
Your heart pounds as you quickly compose yourself, forcing your shoulders to relax. “Jesus, Jane. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
She shrugs, stepping into the lab. “Didn’t know I had to make an announcement before entering.” She leans lazily against the doorframe, completely unaware of the miniature panic attack she just induced. “Anyway, my car’s still in the shop. Can you give me a ride to the station?”
You blink, still recovering. “The station?”
“Yeah. You know, where trains exist.” She gives you a look. “It’s in the same direction as your place, isn’t it?”
Your fingers tighten around your bag strap. The station. Which just so happens to be on the way to Hotel Mira.
You nod, keeping your voice neutral. “Yeah, sure.”
“Great. Let me grab my stuff, and we can head out.”
Jane disappears for a moment, giving you time to let out a slow breath. That was way too close.
-
The drive to the hotel feels longer than it should, your mind running in circles despite the fact that this is nothing more than a professional meeting. A business matter. An agreement you both shook hands on.
And yet, as you pull into the parking lot and step out of your car, there’s an uneasy flutter in your stomach that you can’t quite suppress.
Inside, the hotel lobby is polished and pristine, dimly lit with a warm, intimate glow. You walk past the front desk without sparing a glance, heading straight toward the restrooms.
Once inside, you take a moment to steady yourself. You set your bag down, gripping the edge of the sink as you look at your reflection. Your face betrays you. You don’t look like someone heading into a purely professional meeting. You look… nervous. Almost like—
No. You shake your head, breaking the thought before it can go any further. With a quick breath, you smooth out the creases in your shirt, adjust your hair, and dab a cool drop of water against the back of your neck. You look fine. Presentable. Professional.
And then, without giving yourself any more time to overthink, you grab your bag and leave the restroom.
The elevator ride is quiet, save for the low hum of the machinery as you ascend. The numbers above the doors blink steadily—six, seven, eight—each one making your pulse tick higher. By the time you reach the tenth floor, your grip on your bag is tight.
Room 1003.
You walk down the hallway, the carpet swallowing the sound of your footsteps. The walls are lined with identical doors, each one leading to a private, undisclosed space. Your destination is at the end of the hall.
You stop in front of it. For a moment, you just stand there. The number on the door gleams under the soft glow of the overhead light. 1003. The right room. The right place.
Then, shifting your bag in front of you, you lift a hand—
And knock. A pause. Silence. Then, the sound of movement from the other side. A slow, deliberate click of the lock and then the door begins to open.
-
The door clicks open, and you swear your heart stumbles over itself. Chris stands before you, his usual professional image softened by the undone top buttons of his shirt and the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. He looks relaxed—too relaxed. And that only makes your nerves spike even more.
“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.
You force yourself to move, slipping past him and into the room. It’s a standard hotel suite, sleek and modern, but your attention flickers to the small bar cart near the TV. Chris follows your gaze.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks, walking toward it without waiting for an answer.
You shake your head, gripping your bag a little tighter. “I’m good. I’d rather get started with the test.”
Chris chuckles, glancing at you over his shoulder. “You’re all business, huh?” He picks up a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a small amount before holding up another glass. “Come on, just one drink. We’re going to be working closely together. Shouldn’t we at least loosen up a little?”
You hesitate, knowing this isn’t what you came here for. But the way he’s looking at you—warm, patient, but with an undeniable sense of control—makes you cave just a little. You sigh, finally moving toward the sofa. “Fine. Just one drink.”
Chris smiles, a pleased glint in his eyes as he pours your drink. You watch him quietly, noticing how different he seems outside the office. The polished product manager is still there, but here, in this dimly lit hotel room, he seems more at ease, more himself. He hands you the glass, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. You swallow before raising it slightly.
“To… professional courtesy?” you say, trying to keep this neutral.
Chris chuckles again, lifting his own glass. “To a successful product test.”
You clink glasses and take a sip, the burn of the alcohol trailing down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the drink or something else entirely, but suddenly, you feel a little hot.
You set your glass down on the table after a single sip, straightening in your seat as you slip back into work mode. Clearing your throat, you open your bag and take out your notebook. “Alright. Before we begin, I need to outline the process.”
Chris raises an amused brow, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Go on.”
You nod, focusing on your notes. “The test requires me to take measurements—both in a flaccid and an erect state. This includes length, girth, and width to ensure the condom’s fit and elasticity.”
You glance up, expecting him to react professionally. Instead, Chris chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. You frown. “What?”
He smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink before meeting your eyes. “You’re so serious about this.”
Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the comment. “Well… it is a serious matter. This is research.”
Chris hums as if considering your words. Then, with a teasing lilt, he tilts his head. “Or are you just impatient to see me naked?”
Your body locks up. “What—? No! That’s not—”
But Chris only chuckles, leaning back against the sofa, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”
You exhale sharply, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Without thinking, you grab your glass and take another sip, hoping the drink will calm the sudden fluster in your system.
Chris watches you with a knowing glint in his eyes, then lifts his own glass. “Alright. Once we finish these, we’ll start.”
You nod, trying not to overthink how nonchalant he is about all of this while you’re barely holding it together. This is just research. Just a product test. You tell yourself.
A few more sips and the glasses are emptied, the clink of crystal against the table sounding much louder in the quiet room.
Chris exhales, setting his drink down with ease before rising to his feet. Without thinking, you follow suit, standing just as he does—an instinctive reaction, though you’re not sure why.
The two of you find yourselves facing each other, the space between you charged with something unspoken. His gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable, and you realize you’re gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.
The silence stretches just long enough to make your pulse tick faster. Then, Chris breaks it with a low, amused murmur. “So… should we get started?”
His voice is smooth, casual, but the weight of the moment makes it feel heavier than it should.
You swallow, forcing a nod. “Y-Yes. We should.”
But your feet stay rooted in place and Chris notices. The corner of his mouth twitches—something between a smirk and a knowing smile. He tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours.
For a moment, you wonder if he’s waiting for you to make the next move. Or if he’s simply enjoying watching you hesitate. Either way, you need to snap out of it.
Clearing your throat, you tighten your grip on your notes and take a steadying breath. “Let’s begin.”
Chris hums in agreement, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze as he finally moves. And suddenly, it feels as if the real test is not just the one you came here for—but something else entirely.
He moves first, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his shirt with practiced ease. The fabric slips from his shoulders, revealing toned muscles beneath—broad chest, defined abs, and a confidence that makes the entire act seem effortless.
You keep your expression neutral, or at least you try to. “This is strictly professional,” you remind yourself silently.
Chris glances at you, catching the way your gaze flickers before you quickly refocus on your notes. “Do you need me to undress completely?” he asks, his tone smooth, almost teasing.
You press your lips together before answering. “For accurate measurement, I need access to the necessary area. So… yes.”
He chuckles, a deep, warm sound. “Straight to the point.”
You don’t respond, instead focusing on preparing the measuring tape and recording sheet. Anything to keep yourself occupied while he finishes undressing.
A moment later, you hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of a belt unfastening, the subtle shift of movement. You don’t look up until Chris speaks again.
“I’m ready when you are.”
When you finally lift your gaze, your breath catches for a fraction of a second. You do your best to maintain your professionalism—but the moment you see it, all thoughts momentarily leave your head.
Chris stands before you, bare from the waist down, his body relaxed yet radiating a quiet confidence. He doesn’t shy away, doesn’t fidget—he simply waits, watching for your reaction.
You knew he had to be on the larger side to even qualify for the study, but seeing it in person is something else entirely. Bigger than you expected. Definitely bigger than you imagined.
You barely catch yourself before audibly reacting, but your throat betrays you as you swallow air, a reflex you hope he doesn’t notice.
Chris, of course, notices everything. A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Something wrong?”
You snap out of it, quickly shaking your head as you reach for your measuring tape, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up your neck. “No, nothing at all. Let’s just get this done.”
Chris chuckles, but thankfully doesn’t press further. For now. You quickly move to retrieve a pair of latex gloves from your bag, slipping them on with practiced precision.
Chris raises an amused eyebrow. “You really came prepared, huh?”
You shoot him a pointed look. “Of course. This is an official product test.”
His lips twitch in amusement as he peeks into your open bag, catching a glimpse of all the testing materials. “What else do you have in there? A microscope? A lie detector?”
You ignore his teasing and pull out the measuring tape, standing straighter to compose yourself. “Alright. Let’s begin with the flaccid measurement.”
Chris doesn’t move, doesn’t make it easier for you. Instead, he watches—patient, unreadable—as you kneel slightly, positioning the measuring tape against him.
Your fingers brush against his skin through the latex, and you swear you feel the slightest twitch beneath your touch. You pretend not to notice. But Chris does.
And as the test continues, you realize that maintaining professionalism might be the hardest part of all.
You keep your focus steady, guiding the measuring tape along the length of Chris’s flaccid state. Your gloved fingers work efficiently, noting the exact numbers as you move on to measure his girth, wrapping the tape around the thickest part before finally noting the width calculation.
Chris watches you work, amusement flickering in his eyes. “How do you measure width, exactly?”
You don’t hesitate as you jot down the numbers. “You divide the girth by 3.14.”
Chris lets out a short laugh. “Huh. I used to think I wouldn’t need math in real life.”
You smirk, a little too focused on your notes when you reply, “Well, here’s a practical use of Pi for you.”
His chuckle is warm, and you don’t notice how his eyes linger on you as you make quick calculations in your notebook.
Once you’re done, you lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Alright, now I need to measure—” You stop mid-sentence as realization sets in. His fully erect size.
The complications of that request hit you all at once. Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly catching your hesitation. And for the first time, you’re at a complete loss for words.
You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound casual. “I need to take your measurements when you’re fully erect.”
Chris tilts his head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement. “And do you have any idea how to get me there?”
You keep your expression neutral. “You can look at pornographic images or watch an adult film. That should help.”
At that, Chris grins, a small chuckle escaping him. He shakes his head, clearly entertained by your clinical suggestion. “That’s one way,” he muses. “But I have a better idea.”
You don’t like the way his eyes darken ever so slightly, the playful glint in them laced with something else. You try to stay calm, but your fingers tighten around your measuring tape. “And… what’s that?”
He stalls, watching you carefully before answering. “You can help me with it.”
Chris must notice your reaction because he quickly adds, “I won’t touch you unless you give me permission.” His voice is smooth, patient, almost reassuring—but his gaze stays locked onto yours, watching your every move.
You know he’s waiting for a response but all you can think about is the weight of his words. And the heat in the way he’s looking at you. You take a steadying breath before nodding. “Okay.”
Chris’s eyes flicker with something unreadable before he speaks again, his voice firm yet gentle. “If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop.”
You nod again, not trusting your voice. He takes that as his cue, stepping closer. You hold your ground, determined to remain professional, but the moment he stops in front of you—so close that your bodies are only inches apart—you feel the heat radiating from him. And then, when you think this is where he’ll stop, he takes another step forward.
Your pulse quickens as the space between you disappears. He doesn’t touch you—not yet—but his presence alone is overwhelming. He tilts his head slightly, his mouth hovering near your neck, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
Chris stays there, simply breathing you in, dragging out the tension until your mind starts to blur. Then, in a low, hushed voice, he asks, “Can I hold you?”
You look at him, startled by the rawness of his request. His gaze meets yours, unwavering, intense. “I just need to hold you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Something about the way he says it—like he’s asking for permission but also making a promise—makes you nod before you can second-guess yourself.
Chris doesn’t waste time. He closes the remaining distance, his arms slipping around your waist, drawing you fully against him. The contact is intoxicating. His body is warm and solid, firm in all the right places, and you feel every inch of it pressing against you.
His breath is hot against your skin as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. The tip of his nose brushes against you, and then, slowly, his mouth follows, dragging lightly across your skin.
“You smell good,” he whispers, his voice deep, laced with something that sends shivers down your spine.
You could say the same about him. His cologne, a mix of something woodsy and subtly sweet, blends with his natural scent in a way that makes your head spin.
He’s not even doing anything—his hands remain on the small of your back, respectful, unmoving—yet the moment feels unbearably intimate. Dangerously intimate. And the worst part? It feels good. Too good.
Chris lets out a soft, teasing hum. “You know, I don’t bite.” His voice is low, velvety. “You can put your hands on me if you want.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes even as you keep your hands hovering near his shoulders. “I don’t want to.”
He chuckles, a knowing sound. “Mmm. Sure.”
And yet, as if magnetized, your hands eventually land on him. First, just your fingertips brushing against the fabric of his shirt, then your palms pressing gently against his broad shoulders. He’s solid beneath your touch, his warmth seeping through his shirt and into your skin.
Chris stays buried in your neck, breathing you in, his chest rising and falling against yours. Then, just as your heartbeat starts to slow, he leans in further, pressing his mouth to your ear.
His next words are a whisper. “Even if I did bite…” He pauses, his voice dipping lower, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I think you’d like it.”
You keep your head turned away, refusing to acknowledge the way his voice alone sends heat curling through your stomach.
Chris chuckles, the sound deep and rich, vibrating against your skin. You’re not sure if it’s the heat of his body or your own rising temperature, but you feel warm all over. Your first instinct is to get a space so you can cool down.
Sensing you about to pull away, he tightens his arms around your waist, keeping you close. He lifts his head just slightly, his face now barely an inch from yours. His eyes are dark, lidded, fixed on you. “Just five more minutes,” he murmurs, almost pleading.
Your breath catches. “Five minutes,” you warn.
Chris smirks before dropping his head back against your neck, exhaling deeply as if settling in. This time, he draws you even closer, molding your body against his. His fingers press lightly into your lower back, holding you there as he murmurs, “I like the way you feel against me.”
You don’t respond. You can’t. Then, his head tilts slightly, his lips grazing the column of your throat as he speaks again. “So soft,” he whispers. “So warm.”
You feel his head shift, his mouth now pressing against the curve of your jaw. His voice is barely a breath. “I was right,” he murmurs almost to himself. “Your body fits me just right.”
Your eyes meet his, and for a long second, neither of you moves. His gaze flickers down—to your lips. Your breath hitches, and he looks back into your eyes again. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in.
And without thinking, you close your eyes. Your instincts pulling you deeper into the moment but your body refuses to cooperate. You shift slightly on your feet and that’s when you feel it. Something firm presses against your thigh. Your eyes snap open.
Reflexively, you break away from his hold, your hands flying up as you step back. Your gaze darts downward before you can stop yourself. And there it is. His erection. Hard, prominent, taunting you with its size.
Your eyes widen, and the moment you realize you’ve been staring, you jerk your head away, heat burning up your face.
Chris exhales, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he watches you, amusement flickering in his gaze.
You clear your throat, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “It’s time for the measurements.”
For a split second, Chris looks almost… disappointed. But then he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he glances down at himself.
“Well,” he muses, smirking. “Guess I’m ready.”
You take a steadying breath, willing yourself to focus as you retrieve your measuring tape. Slipping back into professionalism, you kneel slightly to get a better angle, careful not to react to the sheer size of what you're working with.
Chris watches you with a smirk, his arms resting loosely at his sides. As you wrap the tape around him, he hums. “Are you always this serious?”
You glance up at him, momentarily thrown by the question. His eyes are amused, but there’s something else there—something unreadable.
“I’m working,” you say simply, jotting down the measurement in your notebook.
Chris tilts his head, watching you intently. “Still. You didn’t even flinch.” His smirk widens. “I’m kind of impressed.”
You roll your eyes, shifting to take the next measurement. “You’re not the first participant I’ve worked with.”
He chuckles at that, his voice dropping slightly. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Chris lets out a deep chuckle, shifting slightly under your touch. “So, you’re saying you do this often?” His voice is laced with playful curiosity.
You don’t look up, keeping your focus on writing down the numbers. “It’s my job.”
He hums. “Right. Your job.” There’s a pause, then a teasing edge creeps into his tone. “Do all your test subjects get this kind of personal attention?”
You snap your head up, eyes narrowing at the smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just being thorough.”
Chris bites back a grin, looking entirely too entertained by your reaction. “Thorough, huh? Should I be flattered?”
You scoff, rolling your eyes as you reach for your measuring tape again. “You should be cooperative.”
“Oh, I am,” he says smoothly. “But I have to admit, it’s kind of nice seeing you flustered.”
You pause for half a second—just enough for him to catch it—before quickly resuming your work. “I’m not flustered,” you mutter.
Chris chuckles again, low and knowing. “Right.” He shifts his weight slightly, and your fingers brush against his skin, making you tense. “You sure you don’t need to double-check any of those numbers? You know… just to be extra thorough?”
You shoot him a glare, but he just grins down at you, completely unbothered. You reach into your bag, pulling out one of the prototype condom packs. You hold it out to him, keeping your expression neutral. “Here. Try it on so I can check the fit.”
Chris takes the pack from your hand but doesn’t move to open it. Instead, he watches you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know…” He tears the wrapper slowly, his fingers deliberately smooth over the material. “Since you’re the expert, shouldn’t you be the one putting it on?”
Your breath catches, and you quickly shake your head, keeping your voice steady. “I think you can manage.”
Chris lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, I can. But wouldn’t it be more accurate if you did it? I mean, this is all in the name of research, right?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a challenge in his gaze, waiting to see how you’ll react.
You cross your arms. “Are you serious right now?”
He grins. “Completely.”
You exhale sharply, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”
Chris sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Fine, fine.” He slides the condom out of the wrapper, still smirking. “But I have a feeling you’d do a much better job.”
You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Just put it on, please?”
He chuckles again, finally following your instruction. But the way he keeps looking at you—as if he’s enjoying every second of your flustered state—tells you this won’t be the last time he teases you like this.
You take a step closer, eyes focused as you observe how the condom fits around him. Your fingers hover near, but you refrain from touching, keeping your professionalism intact.
“How does it feel?” you ask, glancing up at him.
Chris exhales slowly, rolling his hips slightly as if adjusting to the fit. “Honestly?” He looks down at himself. “It’s a little too tight.”
You immediately jot that down in your notebook. “Too tight…” you murmur, pen scratching against the paper.
“And I think it’s too short for my length,” he adds, pulling at the base slightly as if to emphasize his point.
Your eyes widen slightly before you catch yourself. You write it down quickly, nodding. “Alright, noted.”
Chris tilts his head, watching you with interest. “Are you sure you brought the right size?”
You don’t even look up as you answer, still focused on your notes. “Yes, these prototypes are all specifically made for extra-large sizes.”
Without thinking, you blurt out, “It’s your penis that’s too big.”
The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze.
Chris blinks. Then, slowly, a smirk curls on his lips. “Oh?” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something more amused—almost smug. “So you’re saying I’m too big?”
You clutch your notebook a little tighter, willing yourself to keep your composure. “Scientifically speaking,” you emphasize, clearing your throat, “it exceeds the parameters we accounted for in development.”
Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure, let’s call it that.”
You take a step back, regaining your composure as you focus on the real reason you're here. Flipping to a fresh page in your notebook, you clear your throat. "How does the material feel?" you ask, keeping your tone professional.
He glances down at himself, rolling his hips slightly as if assessing the sensation. He hums, thoughtful. "It’s… okay. Smooth, but a little tighter than I’d like. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just a bit restrictive."
You jot that down quickly. "Restrictive how? Like it’s compressing too much or just not flexible enough?"
Chris watches you with a smirk. "Look at you, so serious about this."
You shoot him a pointed look. "Just answer the question. Please."
He chuckles, but obliges. "I’d say both. The stretch is good, but it’s still a little snug, especially at the base. If I were to wear this for a long time, it might get uncomfortable."
You nod, scribbling notes. "Noted. What about sensitivity? Can you still feel everything, or does it dull the sensation?"
Chris leans in slightly, and you catch the glint in his eye before he speaks. "I can definitely still feel things. Though, if you really want an accurate answer, I’d have to—"
"Don't even finish that sentence," you interrupt, already knowing where he’s going with it.
Chris bursts out laughing, hands raised in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, full functionality testing might be necessary."
You shake your head, exhaling sharply. "Noted," you say dryly, though you don’t actually write that one down.
Chris watches you with amusement before tilting his head. "So, what now?"
You glance at him—more specifically, at his still-erect situation—and then back at your notes. "We’ll discuss material modifications later." You pause, shifting on your feet. "But first… you should take that off."
Chris’s grin returns, playful and teasing. "You might want to turn around for this."
Rolling your eyes, you turn away just as you hear him peel the condom off while you put everything back into your bag.
A moment later, Chris has already discarded the condom and pulled his slacks back on, though his shirt remains unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves still rolled up. He leans against the desk, arms crossed, watching you with that ever-present smirk.
"So," he says, drawing out the word. "What’s the verdict, Doc?"
You ignore his teasing tone and glance down at your notes. "The material needs improvement—more elasticity without sacrificing durability. The length also needs to be adjusted for better coverage. And the base should have a slightly looser fit to prevent discomfort over time."
Chris nods along, but you can tell he’s only half-listening. "So, in short, you need to make a custom size just for me."
You look up at him, unimpressed. "You're not the only man with this issue."
He grins. "No, but I bet I’m the first one to have you personally taking notes on it."
Your mouth opens, then closes. He’s not wrong, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "I appreciate your participation in this test. It was helpful."
Chris’s grin softens into something more genuine. "I’m glad. I mean it. I know this is important to you."
The sincerity catches you off guard. You hesitate, then nod. "It is."
A beat of silence stretches between you, the air oddly charged. Then Chris claps his hands together. "Well, I’d say that wraps up our very professional, totally scientific evening."
You huff a small laugh despite yourself. "Sure."
Chris pushes off the desk and steps closer, his voice lowering. "And I’m assuming this stays between us?"
You meet his gaze. "Obviously."
"Good," he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before he steps back.
As you gather your things, Chris watches you with a lazy smirk, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Just as you reach for the doorknob, he speaks up.
"You sure you don’t want another drink before you go?" His voice is smooth, almost coaxing. "I still have some left."
You glance back at him, shaking your head. "No, thanks. I have work tomorrow."
Chris tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "So do I."
"Exactly my point," you say, giving him a pointed look.
He chuckles, then raises his hands in surrender. "Alright. No more drinks. Just thought I’d offer."
You nod, gripping the strap of your bag. "I appreciate it."
Chris takes a slow step closer, his smirk softening into something unreadable. "Well then," he murmurs, "I guess I’ll see you at work."
You clear your throat, clutching your bag. "Yeah. See you."
And with that, you turn and walk out of the hotel room, acutely aware of his eyes on you the entire way.
-
The next morning, you arrive at the lab early, hoping to get a head start on your request for adjustments to the condom's materials and dimensions. You’re deep in thought, typing notes on your computer when Jane suddenly appears beside you, peering at your screen.
Her eyes narrow. "What’s this?"
You nearly jump out of your seat. "Jesus, Jane! Stop sneaking up on me like that!"
Jane ignores your reaction, leaning in closer to read. Her eyebrows lift as she scans the document. "Wait a minute... requests for material flexibility? Increased length and width?" She crosses her arms and looks at you, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Oh-ho. This is interesting."
You immediately close the document. "It’s nothing."
"Nothing?" Jane repeats, her smirk growing. "Sounds like the test subject was huge if you need to adjust everything."
You keep your face neutral. "It’s just data. The prototype wasn’t a perfect fit, so I have to make changes."
"Uh-huh," Jane says, tilting her head. "So? Who was it?"
"What?"
"Who was the guy?" She wiggles her eyebrows. "And don’t even try lying because I know you had a test subject last night."
You grab a random file from your desk, flipping through it as a distraction. "Confidential."
Jane groans dramatically. "Oh, come on! Throw me a bone here. Was he at least good-looking?"
You sigh, exasperated. "It’s not about that."
"But it is, isn't it?" Jane leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You had to see everything, didn’t you?"
You press your lips into a thin line, refusing to indulge her.
Jane gasps, then grins. "Oh my God. You totally did."
"I work in research, Jane. It’s part of my job."
She hums, clearly not buying it. "And yet, you're being all weird about it."
You shake your head, pretending to focus on your paperwork. "Just drop it."
Jane taps her chin, pretending to think. "Fine. I won’t ask any more questions." She pauses, then adds, "For now."
After lunch, the two of you step out onto the balcony before heading back to the lab. Jane lights a cigarette, taking a slow drag, while you sip on your iced coffee, letting the coolness settle in your throat. The sun is high, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, but there’s a nice breeze that makes it bearable.
“Man, I needed this,” Jane sighs, exhaling a stream of smoke. “I swear, if I have to deal with one more report about allergic reactions, I’m going to start developing a whole new drug—one for my patience.”
You chuckle, taking another sip of your coffee. “Maybe that’s the next project you should pitch.”
Jane hums in amusement, but her attention shifts suddenly. Her eyes lock on something—or someone—on the other end of the balcony. You follow her gaze and immediately spot Chris. He’s leaning against the railing, looking effortlessly put-together as always, engaged in conversation with a woman.
You recognize her instantly—Suze, the executive manager of another department. She’s beautiful, stylish, and carries an air of confidence that makes her stand out in any room. She’s also notoriously popular among the higher-ups and has a reputation for being both sharp and charming.
Jane clicks her tongue, watching the two of them. “Well, well. Looks like Miss Perfect is making her move.”
You raise an eyebrow. “What?”
Jane gestures subtly toward them with her cigarette. “You don’t know? Suze has been eyeing Chris for a while now. Apparently, she’s been dropping hints left and right, but he’s been playing it cool.”
You turn your gaze back to the pair. Suze is smiling, leaning in slightly as she speaks. Chris listens, nodding occasionally, but his expression remains unreadable.
Jane lets out a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, they’d make a ridiculously good-looking couple. It’s almost unfair.”
You don’t respond, just watching the way Suze tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her manicured fingers brushing the lapel of Chris’s blazer ever so slightly.
Jane exhales another puff of smoke. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. You think he’s into her?”
You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “I wouldn’t know.”
Jane side-eyes you, smirking. “You sound like you don’t care, but I know you care.”
You scoff, finishing the last of your coffee. “I don’t.”
“Sure,” she drawls, taking one last drag before stubbing out her cigarette. “And I don’t need nicotine to survive the workday.”
You roll your eyes. “Come on, we need to get back.”
But as you turn to leave, you can’t help but glance one last time at Chris and Suze. And for some reason, the sight of them together lingers in your mind longer than you’d like.
-
In the lab, you and Jane stand over a workstation where another team has been developing edible lubricants. Small sample bottles line the table, each labeled with different flavors—strawberry, vanilla, honey, and even some unconventional ones like mojito and buttered popcorn.
Jane picks up a small vial labeled “Salted Caramel” and gives it an experimental sniff. “Huh. Smells legit,” she muses before wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Wanna try some?”
You scoff. “That’s not what we’re here for.”
Jane ignores your protest and dabs a tiny drop onto her finger before popping it into her mouth. She hums in thought, smacking her lips. “Damn. That’s actually good.”
You shake your head, amused. “You do realize this is meant for other uses, right?”
“Obviously.” Jane grins before picking up another sample labeled “Piña Colada.” She dabs some onto her finger and holds it out to you. “C’mon, just one taste. For science.”
You hesitate, narrowing your eyes at her suspiciously. “You’re just trying to make me look ridiculous.”
She gasps, feigning offense. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am a woman of integrity.”
You snort, but before you can respond, a voice cuts through the room.
“Can I talk to you?”
You turn, your breath catching slightly when you see Chris standing there. His expression is serious, his posture relaxed but purposeful.
Jane, still sucking on her finger from the piña colada lube, slowly lowers her hand and looks between the two of you. “Uh-oh. That sounds important.”
Chris doesn’t react to her comment, his gaze fixed on you.
You clear your throat. “Right now?”
He nods. “If you’re free.”
You glance at Jane, who raises both hands in surrender. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll just be here taste-testing the entire catalog.”
Chris doesn’t wait for further response—he simply turns and heads toward the door, expecting you to follow.
You exhale sharply, setting down the sample bottle you were holding. Whatever this is about, it’s clearly not a casual chat. You throw Jane a look before heading after Chris, your heart thumping just a little harder than it should.
-
You inhale a long air before you reach Chris’s office door. After that night, you weren’t sure how it would go. Would he act like nothing happened? Would he bring it up? Would things be… weird?
Pushing those thoughts aside, you knock.
"Come in."
You step inside, closing the door behind you. Chris is at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but when he looks up and sees you, that familiar smirk tugs at his lips.
Chris gestures to the seat across from him. "Have a seat."
You hesitate but eventually do as he says. Your fingers unconsciously tighten around the side of your lab coat.
He leans back in his chair, studying you. "How are you feeling?"
It’s a loaded question, but you pretend not to notice. "Fine. Why?"
His lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re doing. "Just checking." He nods toward your bag. "Did you review our test’s results?"
"Yes," you say, clearing your throat. "The prototype was too tight and short for your size. I’ll have to make some adjustments to the material and dimensions before moving forward with mass production."
Chris hums. "So, you’re saying I’m too big for the product."
Your fingers twitch, remembering last night’s slip-up. You keep your tone professional. "Technically, yes. The size I brought was meant for extra-large measurements, but you exceeded expectations."
Chris grins. "Exceeding expectations… I like the sound of that."
You shoot him a look. "Excuse me?"
He chuckles. "Back to business." He sits up, his expression turning a little more serious. "What’s your next step?"
"I already sent in a request for adjustments to the prototype," you explain. "It’ll take some time, but I can get an updated batch for testing soon."
Chris nods. "And when that happens, will I be your test subject again?"
You hesitate. "That depends. Are you still willing to participate?"
He tilts his head slightly. "What do you think?"
Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—calm, confident, but with something simmering beneath the surface. You look away, keeping your voice even. "I’ll keep you updated."
Chris watches you for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You know… I have to admit, that was more fun than I expected."
You raise a brow. "Testing a condom was fun?"
He chuckles. "No, but watching you try to stay professional while clearly flustered? That was fun."
Your face heats up. "I wasn’t flustered."
Chris’s smirk deepens. "Sure you weren’t."
Then, as if the weight of the conversation suddenly lightens, he tilts his head slightly. “You’ll let me know when it’s ready, right?”
His words sound casual, but there’s an underlying meaning in them that you can’t quite decipher. You nod, keeping your voice steady. “Of course.”
Chris holds your gaze for a second longer, then leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Good,” he repeats, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your stomach flip.
-
Exactly three days later, the revised prototypes arrives in your lab. You carefully open the box, inspecting the changes you requested. The material feels smoother, the elasticity slightly improved. Satisfied, you make a note in your log—only to jump slightly when Jane suddenly leans over your shoulder.
“Length 8.07 inches and width 2.02 inches... Holy shit!” Her voice is filled with pure astonishment as she snatches one of the foil packets and flips it over in her hands. “Are you seeing this? This is huge.”
You try to stay composed, pretending to be preoccupied with the paperwork in front of you. “It’s within the expected range,” you say coolly.
Jane squints at you, then back at the condom in her hand. “Expected range, my ass. You’ve been working on this for weeks, and I’ve never seen a prototype this size before.” She pauses, then gasps dramatically. “Wait a second… did you finally find a participant?”
Your heart nearly stops. “What? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “I just figured… why stop at extra-large when we can push the boundaries even further? There’s always a demand for more variety in the market.”
Jane eyes you suspiciously, her lips pursed. “Hmm.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “Are you sure you’re not hiding some secret test subject from me?”
You force a casual laugh. “Jane, I would tell you if I had someone lined up. It’s just research.”
She doesn’t seem fully convinced, but she lets out a sigh and puts the condom back. “Alright, fine. But if you do have a participant, I wanna meet him.”
You quickly turn back to your paperwork, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your ears are burning. As soon as Jane leaves, you let out a slow breath, your fingers still gripping the pen you had been pretending to write with. You wait a few moments to make sure she’s really gone before pulling out your phone.
Your thumb hovers over Chris’s contact for a second, your mind briefly flashing back to the last test, to the way he had looked at you, the way he had—
You shake the thought away and type out a quick message.
The revised prototype is ready for testing. Let me know when you’re available.
You hit send, placing your phone face-down on the desk as you try to focus on your notes. But the distraction is already there, the anticipation simmering in the back of your mind.
A few minutes pass before your phone vibrates. You glance at the screen to read a reply from Chris.
Tonight. Same place.
Your breath catches slightly. No hesitation. No pleasantries. Just straight to the point. Your fingers tighten around your phone before you type back.
Understood. See you then.
You lock your screen and exhale, pressing your hands to your warm cheeks. This is fine. It’s just a professional test. Just like last time.
…Right?
-
As the workday winds down, you keep your head low, avoiding unnecessary conversations. You wait until Jane is nowhere in sight before discreetly slipping a box of the new prototype into your bag, carefully tucking it beneath your other belongings. Just as you zip it up, your phone buzzes. You pull it out, and your stomach does an unexpected flip when you see Chris's name.
Can’t do the test tonight. Something came up.
You stare at the message, an unfamiliar twinge settling in your chest. Disappointment? No, that’s ridiculous. This is strictly professional. You quickly type out a response before you overthink it.
That’s okay. Let me know when you’re available, and we’ll reschedule.
You lock your phone and sigh, shaking off the strange feeling as you hear familiar footsteps approaching.
"Hey," Jane leans against the doorway. "Can you give me a lift again?"
You figured as much. You nod, grabbing your things, and the two of you make your way down to the parking lot.
Just as you unlock your car, Jane grabs your arm, stopping you mid-motion.
"Oh my God," she whispers excitedly, nodding toward a sleek black car a few rows away.
You follow her gaze and instantly regret it. Chris is there. But he’s not alone. Suze is with him, sliding into the passenger seat like she’s done it a hundred times before. Chris gets in right after her, and within seconds, they’re driving off together.
Jane whistles low, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. "Damn. Guess the rumors weren’t just rumors."
You don't respond, just gripping your car keys a little tighter.
Jane, of course, doesn’t stop there. "I mean, it makes sense. She’s his type, isn’t she? Gorgeous, high-profile, and let’s be real, she’s been eyeing him for a while now. Wonder if they’re dating or just—"
"Can we go?" you interrupt, climbing into the driver's seat before Jane can read your face.
Jane laughs, sliding into the passenger seat. "Alright, alright. No need to get grumpy."
You roll your eyes, but as you start the car, you can't shake the odd heaviness in your chest. It’s none of your business. It shouldn’t bother you. But somehow… it does.
-
The entire company is in high spirits, and it doesn’t take long to remember why—tonight is the launch event for the newest collection of vibrators.
The venue is decked out with neon lights and sleek product displays, and there’s an open bar keeping everyone’s spirits high.
You mingle with your co-workers, drink in hand, while Jane, as expected, thrives in the lively atmosphere. She’s laughing, flirting, and making jokes that get progressively bolder with each sip of her cocktail.
At one point, she throws an arm around your shoulders. “This is fun, huh?” she grins.
You force a smile. “Yeah. Totally.”
It’s not that you aren’t enjoying yourself—you just need a breather.
“I’ll get you another drink,” you tell her, using it as an excuse to slip away from the group.
Jane waves you off without a second thought, already too invested in another conversation. You weave through the crowd and make your way to the bar, ordering another drink. As you wait, you take a deep breath, letting yourself relax. But before you can even take a sip—
“Hey, can we talk?”
The familiar deep voice makes you turn, and there stands Chris, looking effortlessly sharp in his suit. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are locked onto you with intent.
You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Chris doesn’t wait for an answer—he just reaches for your wrist and leads you away from the crowd.
Your pulse jumps as he guides you through the party, his grip firm yet careful. The noise fades behind you as he takes you into a quiet hallway, away from the music, the laughter, and most importantly—prying eyes.
Finally, he stops, turning to face you. His gaze is steady, searching.
Your heart beats a little too fast. “What is this about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling inside you.
Chris exhales, running a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. “Sorry about bailing on you last night,” he says, his voice softer now. “Something came up.”
You shake your head. “It’s fine. We can do it another time.”
There’s a brief silence between you. The muffled sounds of the party filter in from the other end of the hallway, but here, in this secluded space, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world.
Then Chris asks, “Do you have any plans this weekend?”
You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.
“I—uh—” You hesitate, quickly running through your mental calendar, but there’s nothing. “No, not really.”
Chris grins at that. “Good. Let’s do the product test tomorrow. Saturday night.”
You weren’t expecting that. The way he says it so casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, throws you off. But before you even fully process it, you find yourself nodding.
“Okay,” you agree, your voice quieter than you intended.
His smile lingers as he pushes off the wall, standing tall in front of you. “I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”
You nod again, almost dazed, and Chris watches you for a second longer before he turns to leave. Just as he’s a few steps away, he glances back, his voice dropping slightly. “Can’t wait for tomorrow.”
And with that, he walks away, disappearing into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You definitely need another drink. Or at least a moment to breathe.
-
Your phone buzzes early Saturday morning, and when you check the screen, it’s a text from Chris.
Dinner first. 7 PM. La Riviera.
That’s it. No unnecessary words, no emojis—just the time and place. You stare at the message longer than you probably should.
Dinner? This wasn’t how the last test went. You were expecting another hotel, another quick, professional meeting. But a restaurant?
You shake your head, telling yourself not to overthink it. It’s probably just to discuss the test before getting into it. But despite that rationalization, you catch yourself preparing more than you intended to.
Your outfit selection takes longer than it should, your makeup is a little more put together, and even when you tell yourself it’s just because you’re stepping out for the evening—not because of who you’re meeting—you know it’s a lie.
You arrive at La Riviera a little before 7 PM, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. The restaurant is elegant but not overwhelmingly fancy—warm lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and the faint aroma of wine and freshly baked bread filling the air and then you spot him.
Chris is already seated, dressed in a casual formal ensemble. A dark button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to tease his forearms, paired with tailored slacks. The contrast between the deep color of his shirt and his pale skin is striking, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.
His eyes find yours almost instantly, and he smiles, standing up slightly as you approach. “Glad you made it.”
You sit across from him, suddenly feeling a little nervous because this—this doesn’t feel like a business meeting at all. The dim lighting, the quiet atmosphere, the way he leans slightly forward as he watches you—it feels like a date.
Dinner starts off casually enough, but then Chris begins asking you questions.
“Are you seeing anyone right now?”
His question catches you off guard, but you answer by shaking your head, then throw it back at him. When you ask if he’s seeing someone, he hums, picking up his wine glass. “I am.”
Your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Is it Suze?”
Chris freezes mid-sip, then lowers his glass, blinking at you. “Suze?”
You instantly regret your brashness, but it’s too late now. You clear your throat, trying to sound indifferent. “Yeah. You two seem close, and the rumor said—”
“The rumor.” Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course.”
You watch as he leans back in his seat, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And what exactly did the rumor say?”
You shift in your seat, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. “Just… that Suze and you are close.”
Chris tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And do you believe everything the rumor says?”
You purse your lips, looking away. “Not everything.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and amused. “Well, for the record, Suze and I are not a thing. She’s a great colleague, but that’s it.”
You should feel relieved—it’s not like you care who he’s seeing—but something about his tone makes you wary. You meet his eyes again. “Then who’s the someone you’re seeing?”
Chris doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his wine, watching you over the rim of his glass. The silence stretches just long enough to make your stomach twist. Then, finally, he sets his glass down and leans in slightly, his voice lower now. “You.”
Your heart skips a beat and a second later, you blink. “Me?”
Chris grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Well, we are having dinner together, aren’t we?”
Your lips part, but no words come out. He’s messing with you—he has to be. You try to regain your composure, clearing your throat. “This is a business meeting.”
Chris raises an eyebrow, his fingers casually tapping against the stem of his glass. “Is it?”
You open your mouth to say yes, obviously, but the way he’s looking at you—the way tonight feels—makes you hesitate. The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken.
Chris tilts his head. “Tell me… if I didn’t bring up the product test, would you still be here?”
Your stomach twists again. You don’t know how to answer that. You feel your pulse quicken, the weight of his question pressing down on you. Instead of answering, you grab your napkin and mutter, “I—I need to use the restroom.”
Chris doesn’t stop you. He just leans back in his seat, watching with quiet amusement as you push your chair back and walk away, your heart pounding with every step.
The moment you step into the restroom, you grip the edge of the sink and take a deep breath. What the hell was that?
You turn on the faucet, letting the cool water run over your hands as if it’ll help clear your thoughts. This was supposed to be a simple dinner before the product test—so why does it feel like he’s pulling you into something else entirely? And worse, why aren’t you stopping him?
You glance at yourself in the mirror, your reflection betraying the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that this is just work, that Chris is just teasing, something about the way he looks at you makes it hard to believe that. You take another breath, steadying yourself. Just go back out there and keep it professional.
Easier said than done.
-
The car ride is quiet, but the tension between you is thick. You grip the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric twist between your fingers as you steal glances at Chris. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. His sleeves are rolled up again, exposing the strong lines of his forearms, and it takes everything in you not to stare. Then, you notice something. The hotel he took you to last time—the one you were expecting—flashes past the window.
“Wait,” you blurt out, turning to him. “You just passed the hotel.”
Chris doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he grins slightly, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, I know.”
Your brows furrow. “Then where are we going?”
“I know a nicer hotel,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Then, as if reading your thoughts, he adds, “It’s not like you have anything to do tomorrow, right?”
No, you don’t. But the way he phrases it—like it’s already decided—sends a shiver down your spine.
Chris glances at you then, his gaze flickering down to your hands still gripping your dress. His smirk softens, but his voice is just as teasing when he says, “Relax. It’s just for the test, remember?”
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to loosen your grip. But you’re not sure if it’s his words or the way he says them that make your pulse race even more.
Chris pulls into the hotel’s driveway, the warm glow of the entrance lights reflecting off the sleek surface of his car. You step out, adjusting your dress as you follow him inside, your heart pounding a little too fast.
The lobby is luxurious, far more upscale than the previous hotel. The marble floors gleam under the chandelier lights, and the air is filled with a faint scent of expensive cologne and polished wood. You try not to fidget as Chris approaches the front desk.
“One suite, please,” he says smoothly.
Your head snaps toward him. “A suite?”
Chris doesn’t even glance at you, just slides his card across the counter to the receptionist. “Yeah.” Then, finally, he looks at you, an amused glint in his eyes. “Problem?”
You hesitate, glancing between him and the receptionist, who remains professional as she processes the request. You don’t know why you expected anything less from Chris—of course, he wouldn’t settle for a standard room. But a suite?
“I just thought…” You trail off, pressing your lips together.
Chris leans in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “If we’re testing a product, shouldn’t we have more space to move around?”
Your breath catches at the implication, and he chuckles at your reaction before straightening up, accepting the key card from the receptionist. “Let’s go.”
You follow him into the elevator in silence, gripping the strap of your bag tighter than necessary. The numbers on the display climb higher, the anticipation pressing down on you.
When the doors finally slide open, Chris gestures for you to step out first. You do, walking down the plush carpeted hallway until he stops in front of a door and swipes the key card. The lock clicks open.
He pushes the door wide and turns to you with a smirk. “After you.”
You hesitate for just a second before stepping inside, and as the door closes behind you, you realize just how different tonight already feels.
Instead of taking a tour around the room, you hurriedly take a seat on the sofa, your hands clasped together as you watch Chris move around the suite with ease, like he belongs here. The room is larger than you expected—modern, sleek, and far too intimate.
Your nerves start creeping in, tightening your shoulders. It’s not that you haven’t done this before, but something about tonight feels… different. More deliberate. More dangerous.
Chris, on the other hand, looks completely at ease as he wanders over to the minibar, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the complimentary bottle of champagne. He plucks it from its ice bucket and grins. “Perfect timing.”
You watch as he peels off the foil and works the cork loose. “You don’t have to open that—”
Pop!
The cork flies off, the sudden noise making you jump. Chris bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Relax,” he drawls, pouring the golden liquid into two glasses. “You’re acting like this is your first time in a hotel room with me.”
You press your lips together, refusing to respond to that, and instead accept the glass he offers you. He raises his in a toast, his voice smooth. “To… scientific research.”
You huff a small laugh despite yourself and clink your glass against his before taking a sip. The champagne fizzes pleasantly on your tongue, cool and crisp.
But then—
“You know,” Chris muses, swirling his drink, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous. Maybe even a little flustered. But that can’t be right, can it?”
You shoot him a glare. “I’m not—”
And then it happens. Your fingers slip, and in your haste to retort, your glass tips forward, sending a splash of champagne straight down the front of your dress. The cold liquid soaks through the fabric instantly, making you gasp.
Chris freezes for a second, then— He bursts out laughing. You groan, setting your glass down as you grab a napkin from the table, dabbing at the wet stain. But it’s useless. The fabric clings to your skin, highlighting every curve.
He leans back against the minibar, arms crossed, watching you with open amusement. “Well,” he says, biting back another chuckle, “if you wanted to take your dress off, you could’ve just asked.”
His laughter still lingers in the air as he moves across the room, casually plucking a plush bathrobe from the hotel’s wardrobe. He turns to you, holding it up like a peace offering, his grin unrepentant.
“Here,” he says. “You can’t just sit around in a wet dress all night.”
You hesitate, gripping the damp fabric clinging to your skin. It’s uncomfortable, borderline unbearable—but the idea of slipping into a hotel bathrobe, of making yourself even remotely comfortable here, feels dangerous.
Still, you don’t have much choice. With a sigh, you accept the robe and head toward the spacious en-suite bathroom. Just as you’re about to close the door behind you, a shadow appears in the doorway.
Chris. You look up in confusion, but he leans against the doorframe, completely unfazed by your reaction. “Want some help?”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, completely at ease. “I mean, it only makes sense, doesn’t it? You need me ready for the test, and I need a little… encouragement. Two birds, one stone.”
You gape at him, caught between indignation and sheer disbelief. “You—”
Chris lifts both hands in mock surrender, though there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Just a suggestion.”
Your fingers tighten around the door handle, and for a second, you actually consider slamming the door in his face. But then reality kicks in—the sooner you finish this test, the sooner you can leave.
With a deep breath, you step back and pull the door open just a little wider. “Fine.”
Chris blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting you to agree so quickly. Then, a slow smirk curves his lips as he steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him.
-
The bathroom feels smaller with Chris standing behind you, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting both of your reflections in the mirror. You keep your gaze locked on yourself, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body as he reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress.
His fingers brush against your skin as he tugs it down, agonizingly slow, and the air shifts—suddenly heavier, thicker. The fabric loosens around your shoulders, slipping slightly, exposing more of your back. “You’re tense,” he murmurs, his voice low.
You grip the edge of the counter, willing yourself to focus on anything but the way his fingers ghost over your spine as he eases the zipper all the way down. “I wonder why,” you say dryly.
Chris chuckles, the sound vibrating so close that you can feel it. He places his hands lightly on your shoulders, his thumbs pressing gently into the bare skin there. “Relax,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “It’s just a dress.”
Just a dress. Just a simple, professional test. You exhale and let the straps slide off your shoulders, the silky fabric pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, making you shiver slightly. You’re left in nothing but your underwear, standing there in front of him, vulnerable yet unwilling to let it show.
Chris doesn’t move right away. His gaze flickers up to meet yours in the mirror, something unreadable swimming in his dark eyes.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Chris finally steps back, his lips quirking into that knowing smirk.
“There,” he says, voice softer now. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He grabs a clean washcloth, dampens it with warm water, and steps closer. You watch him through the mirror as he wrings out the excess water, his sleeves already rolled up, revealing his forearms.
“This might be a little cold,” he says, but before you can react, he presses the cloth against your bare shoulder, wiping away the sticky remnants of wine.
You inhale sharply—not because of the temperature, but because of the slow, deliberate way he drags the cloth down your arm, over your collarbone, and lower. His touch is gentle, almost too careful, as if he’s savoring every second of this moment.
“You have nice skin,” he muses, his voice taking on that teasing lilt. “Soft… delicate...”
You grip the edge of the counter a little tighter. “Chris.”
“What?” He tilts his head, eyes dark with amusement as he crouches slightly, now running the damp cloth along your side. “I’m just making an observation. It’s not every day I get to admire my researcher up close.”
You shoot him a glare through the mirror. “I don’t recall this being part of the test.”
He grins, completely unbothered. “No, but it’s a nice bonus.”
The cloth moves lower, skimming along the curve of your waist, across your stomach. His knuckles brush against your ribs, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s intentionally slowing down.
“You’re staring,” you point out, trying to sound unaffected.
Chris doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can you blame me?” He leans in just slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “You look incredible.”
Your pulse jumps. You keep your eyes on the mirror, on the way his hands move with too much ease, too much familiarity. The way his gaze lingers, dark and intense. It feels too intimate. Too much.
You clear your throat, shifting your weight. “Are you done?”
Chris smirks, but he finally straightens up, tossing the cloth into the sink. “Yeah,” he says, stepping back. “For now.”
Before you can even react, Chris's hands grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you onto the sink. A surprised gasp escapes you as your palms press against the counter for balance. "Chris—"
"I'm not done yet," he interrupts smoothly, already crouching in front of you, the wet cloth in hand.
Your heart skips a beat as he starts wiping down your legs, his touch slow, precise, like he's savoring every second. He starts at your ankle, dragging the warm cloth up the length of your calf, then to your knee, and higher still. His fingers brush against your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine.
Your entire body feels like it's on high alert. "You don’t have to—"
"Shh," he hums, amusement flickering in his eyes as he continues. "Let me do this properly."
You press your lips together, watching him through the reflection on the shower glass door. He looks entirely too focused, like this is some kind of ritual for him. And then, just as he finishes, he does something you don’t expect. He parts your legs.
Your breath catches as he steps between them, standing so close that his body heat seeps into your skin. His hands rest on the counter beside you, effectively caging you in. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t move any closer, just lingers there—his chest barely an inch from yours, his face so close that you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes.
The air between you shifts, thickening with something unspoken. You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when Chris is looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s daring you to react.
"Chris," you murmur, unsure of what you’re even asking for.
He tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His voice is low, teasing. "Nervous?"
You straighten your shoulders, meeting Chris’s intense gaze with as much composure as you can muster. "No," you say firmly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "No?"
All of a sudden, his hands grip your waist again, and with one sharp tug, he pulls you flush against him. The sudden contact knocks the air from your lungs—his body is solid, warm, pressing into you in a way that makes it impossible to ignore just how close you are.
"Don't be shy," he murmurs, his voice edged with challenge. "Go ahead and put your hands on me."
You hesitate, feeling the weight of his expectation hanging in the air. Then, awkwardly, you lift your arms, wrapping them around his broad shoulders.
Chris watches you the entire time, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Good girl."
Before you can process those words, he moves again—this time gripping the backs of your thighs and lifting them, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The position forces you even closer, your core pressed right against the hardness growing beneath his pants. His arms snake around you, locking you in place as he leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear.
"You feel so damn good," he murmurs, his voice like silk against your skin. "Better than I even imagined."
Your fingers tighten on his shoulders, a shudder running down your spine at his words. And then—he moves.
Slowly, deliberately, he rolls his hips against you. The pressure is subtle at first, almost teasing, but the friction sends a wave of heat straight through your core. He does it again, this time with more intent, dragging his clothed length against you in a way that makes your breath hitch.
"You like that?" he whispers, his lips brushing your ear.
Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, your body tensing against his. You don’t answer, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, your silence only encourages him. He grinds against you again, this time slower, more drawn out, savoring the way your body reacts to him. A quiet groan rumbles in his chest as he buries his face into your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
"You feel perfect," he breathes.
You swallow hard, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it's slipping fast. The way he’s moving, the way he’s talking—it's intoxicating.
Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. "Tell me to stop," he challenges, voice low and husky. "If you want me to."
He watches you, waiting, his lips hovering just a breath away from your skin. His body stays pressed against yours, his hands firm on your waist, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself sink into the sensation.
The warmth of his breath against your neck, the intoxicating way his body molds against yours—it’s dangerously easy to forget why you're here. You close your eyes, allowing yourself just one more second of indulgence. One more second of feeling him. But then—an alarm rings in your head.
Reality crashes down on you like a wave of cold water. Your eyes snap open, and with a quiet breath, you press your hands against his chest, gently pushing him away. Chris hesitates for a fraction of a second before letting you go, his gaze flickering with something unreadable as you quickly slip down from the sink.
The heat of his body is gone instantly, but the lingering effect still pulses through your veins. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move, to ground yourself back in the real reason you’re here.
You grab the bathrobe and hurriedly wrap it around yourself, securing the belt tighter than necessary. You can feel Chris’s eyes on you the entire time, silently watching, waiting for you to say something.
You clear your throat. "It’s time for the test," you say, your voice firmer than you expected.
Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he takes a step back. "Right," he murmurs, amusement laced in his voice. "The test."
There’s something in the way he says it—like he knows exactly what just happened between the two of you. Like he knows how close you were to completely surrendering but he doesn’t push.
Instead, he watches as you gather yourself, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright," he says, taking a step toward the door. "Let’s get started."
-
Despite dressed in a bathrobe, you clear your throat and slip back into professionalism as you grab the pack of condoms from your bag. Without looking at him, you extend your hand, offering one of the revised prototypes.
Chris takes it from you with a small, amused hum. "Let’s see how this one goes, then."
As you make a move to turn around and step out of the room to give him privacy, his voice stops you.
"You can stay," he says, his tone casual but carrying that underlying teasing edge. "It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before."
You pause mid-step, fingers tightening slightly on your notebook. That’s true, but it doesn’t make it any less… distracting.
Still, you force yourself to act unfazed. You shift back to your previous spot, keeping your eyes locked on your notes as Chris continues undressing. The sound of fabric rustling fills the room, and when you finally glance up, your breath nearly catches.
The first time you saw him naked, he’d still had his shirt on. But this time, he’s taken everything off. Completely bare. Your grip tightens around your pen as you force yourself to maintain a neutral expression. But your eyes… they betray you. They keep flickering downward, drawn helplessly to the sheer size of him. It’s eye-catching, unfairly so, and despite your best efforts, you keep stealing glances.
Chris notices. Of course, he does. He smirks as he tears open the condom wrapper and then— "Want to put it on for me this time?"
You snap your head up, shooting him an unimpressed look. Without dignifying his question with a response, you roll your eyes and immediately focus on writing down the preliminary details of the product test.
He chuckles but doesn’t push. He sits down at the edge of the bed, takes the condom, and rolls it down his length with practiced ease. Your eyes flicker toward him again—just for a second—but it's enough for him to catch you looking.
You quickly redirect your gaze back to your notes. "How does it feel?" you ask, voice all business.
Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back slightly, spreading his legs just a little as he looks down at himself, inspecting the way the condom fits around his length.
You keep your eyes on your notebook, pen poised over the page, but your fingers are tense around it. Your pulse is unsteady.
"It feels better than the last one," Chris finally says, his tone casual, though there’s a smirk playing on his lips. "Not as tight. And the length is better, too."
You nod, quickly jotting down his feedback, willing yourself to focus on the task and not on the fact that he’s sitting there, completely naked, completely unbothered.
"The material feels smoother," he continues, running a hand along his length, testing the stretch. You don’t dare look up. "Not too thick, but sturdy enough."
You scribble his words down, keeping your head low.
Chris hums. "You’re really not gonna look, huh?"
Your grip on your pen tightens. "I don’t need to look. I just need your feedback."
"Right," he drawls, clearly amused. "And what if I had trouble putting it on? You wouldn’t have helped me?"
You finally glance up, rolling your eyes. "You’re a grown man, Chris."
He grins. "I know, but isn’t this a part of product testing? Hands-on research?"
You shoot him a glare, but he just chuckles, leaning forward slightly. "Relax," he says, voice low and teasing. "I’m just messing with you."
You sigh, shaking your head as you jot down the final notes. "If the fit feels good, then we can move on to the next phase of testing."
Chris tilts his head. "The durability test?"
You meet his gaze, keeping your expression neutral. "Yes."
A slow smirk spreads across his face. "I’m looking forward to it."
You walk back to your bag resting in a chair, you pull out the box of condoms from your bag and hand it to Chris, keeping your expression professional. “For the durability test, you can conduct it yourself and come back to me with your feedback.”
Chris blinks at you, clearly confused. He glances down at the box in his hands, then back at you. “Wait… what?”
You arch a brow. “You don’t need me for that part. Just use it and let me know how it holds up.”
Chris leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “I thought we agreed to keep this a secret.”
“We are,” you reply evenly. “Your sexual partner doesn’t have to know the condom you’re using.”
His eyes narrow slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought you and I were doing this together.”
“We are,” you say, nodding. “Just… not that way.”
Chris lets out a low sigh, tilting his head as he studies you. Then, after a pause, he says, “Isn’t it better if we do it together?”
Your stomach tightens, but you keep your expression neutral. “Chris—”
He leans in slightly, voice lowering. “That way, I can give you feedback right away. No outside variables. Just you and me.” His gaze lingers on yours, unreadable yet intense. “And this stays between us.”
You exhale sharply, trying to keep your composure. “Chris, that’s not how this works.”
Chris smirks, tilting his head. “Why not?” He taps the box of condoms against his palm, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re the researcher. I’m the participant. Wouldn’t it be more efficient if we tested it… together?”
You roll your eyes and cross your arms. “That’s not how clinical testing works.”
His smirk widens. “Oh? And what exactly is stopping you?” He leans in, his voice dropping just slightly. “Are you scared?”
Your jaw tightens. “I’m not scared.”
“Then why not?” His gaze flicks over you, studying your reaction. “You’ve already seen everything. Touched, even. What’s one more step?”
You scoff. “There are plenty of reasons why.”
Chris hums, pretending to think. “Is it because you’re not attracted to me?” His grin turns playful. “Because I don’t believe that.”
Your lips part, but nothing comes out.
He leans even closer, just enough for you to catch the faintest scent of his cologne. “Or…” he murmurs, “is it because you are?”
That catches you off guard. His smirk deepens at your silence, clearly enjoying the way he has you cornered. You swallow, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact.
“It’s because we work together,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Chris lets out a low hum, tilting his head. “So it’s not because you don’t want to?”
You exhale sharply. “That’s not what I—”
He takes a slow step forward, closing the small space between you. “Because if that’s the only reason stopping you,” he murmurs, “then it’s not really a reason, is it?”
You scoff, crossing your arms. “Chris, workplace relationships are complicated.”
His smirk softens just slightly. “Who said anything about a relationship?”
You blink your eyes at him, nonplussed.
He chuckles at your reaction, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m just talking about product testing.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize his point. “Two consenting adults conducting a private experiment.”
You shake your head, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re relentless.”
Chris grins. “I just don’t like wasting good opportunities.” He taps the box against his palm again. “And you can’t tell me you’re not at least curious.”
Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—like he already knows the answer.
“Look,” he says, his voice softer now, more coaxing. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than product testing. No strings. No expectations. Just a controlled experiment.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize the professionalism of it all.
You let out a slow breath, glancing away. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a bad idea, that this is crossing a line. But then there’s the way Chris is looking at you, the way your body still remembers the way he felt pressed against you in the bathroom, the way your curiosity is getting the better of you.
You press your lips together, weighing your options. “Just product testing,” you repeat, as if saying it out loud will make it less dangerous.
Chris nods, his expression unreadable. “Just product testing.”
Another beat of silence. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you slowly nod. “Okay.”
The corner of Chris’s mouth tugs upward, a slow, knowing smile. “Good.” He takes a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. “Shall we begin?”
-
It's unclear how long you've been standing there, unsure on how to do this, or even to process that you, a researcher, are about to conduct a durability test on your product with your participant.
Chris watches you for a moment, then leans back on the bed, his legs slightly spread as he gestures toward you. “Take off the bathrobe,” he says, his voice smooth, assured. “Then sit next to me.”
Your fingers tighten around the edges of the fabric, hesitation gripping you, but you remind yourself—this is just a test. Just product testing.
Slowly and awkwardly, you untie the robe, letting it slip from your shoulders, revealing your body with your matching underwear covering your private bits. The cool air of the room prickles against your skin as you step toward the bed and lower yourself beside him. Your heart is pounding so loudly that you barely register the way Chris shifts, turning toward you.
A moment later, his hand reaches for your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. Instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut.
Chris chuckles, low and warm. “Why so nervous?” he teases, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “You’ve been so composed this whole time… but now?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is barely functioning. His touch is gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his breath warm as he leans in. Your lips part slightly, bracing for a kiss—
But instead, he presses his lips to your closed eyelid. Your breath stutters, the unexpected tenderness sending a shiver down your spine. Then he moves, kissing the other eyelid, his lips soft and lingering.
A small sound escapes you before you can stop it, a quiet moan slipping from your parted lips and that’s when Chris takes the opening, tilting his head and capturing your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.
Chris deepens the kiss, his lips moving slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second. His hand drifts from your face, down the slope of your neck, skimming the curve of your shoulder before sliding further down. His fingers find the strap of your bra, tracing it lightly before slipping it off your shoulder.
Your breath catches as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and firm, grounding you even as your mind spins. He kisses you deeper, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you further into the moment.
Then, with practiced ease, he reaches behind you, fingers deftly working the clasp of your bra. The fabric loosens, and he slowly pulls it away, his lips never leaving yours as he discards it to the side.
Chris shifts, guiding you backward onto the bed, his body following as he hovers over you. His hands smooth over your sides, his touch steady but unhurried, as if giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. But you don’t.
His fingers trail down to the waistband of your underwear, teasing along the edge before he hooks his fingers under the fabric. He pulls back just slightly, his dark eyes searching yours, silently asking for permission.
And when you give him the smallest nod, he slides them down, the slow drag of fabric sending a shiver up your spine. He discards them just as he did with your bra, then settles back over you, his body warm against yours.
For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze dark and intense, his lips slightly parted as if taking in the sight of you beneath him. Then he leans down again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your jaw, his lips trailing lower as his hands explore your body, mapping every inch of you. Your lips, your neck, your breasts and the way they fit his hands as if they were made for him. The dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, the ample flesh of your ass cheek. Then, there’s the miles and miles of soft skin, endlessly enthralling him.
Your body tenses beneath him, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders. “Chris, I don’t think you’ll fit,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.
He stops, lifting his head to look at you, and for a brief moment, you catch the amusement flickering in his dark eyes. Then he lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers coming up to gently brush your cheek. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. “Just relax.”
His touch is warm, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. Then, with ease, he presses you back against the pillows, his weight hovering over you but not pressing down. He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss—this time softer, slower, as if coaxing the tension out of you with every gentle movement.
His mouth leaves yours, traveling downward, leaving a heated trail along your jaw, your neck. His lips linger at your collarbone, pressing a kiss there before continuing lower. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you as he moves further down, his lips grazing the center of your chest, the valley between your breasts and then a quick lick on each of your hardening nipples.
You try to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when he’s kissing down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, feeling, exploring. He’s deliberate with every touch, every kiss, giving you time to ease into the moment.
“Mmh... You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice hushed, almost reverent. Then he continues, his mouth mapping a path further down, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.
Chris lingers at the curve of your hip, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin. His hands trail down your thighs, his touch both firm and teasing. You shudder as he parts them further, settling between them with an air of confidence that makes your pulse race.
He looks up at you through hooded eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Still nervous?” he asks, his voice husky.
You don’t answer—not because you don’t want to, but because the moment his lips press against your inner thigh, all coherent thoughts slip from your mind. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a ripple of anticipation through you.
Chris lands his plush lips on your cunt, his tongue skillfully part your folds so he can drown in your wetness. This time, his mouth moving in lazy, unhurried strokes. Every kiss, every brush of his full lips, sets your skin alight. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you still as he delves deeper, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns that have your fingers digging into the sheets.
A soft gasp escapes your lips as he finds the right spot, his rhythm precise, purposeful. Your body arches instinctively, a rush of warmth flooding through you as the sensation builds. Chris hums against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his tongue moving with a practiced ease that leaves you breathless. Your hand flies to his hair, gripping onto him as the pressure inside you coils tighter and tighter. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s relentless, determined to pull every last bit of pleasure from you.
Your head tilts back against the pillow, your lips parting on a shaky moan as your body gives in, waves of sensation crashing over you in a slow, intoxicating release. Chris doesn’t move away immediately—he lingers, pressing one last, lingering kiss against on your clit before finally pulling back, his hands smoothing up your trembling thighs.
He looks up at you, his lips glistening, a satisfied smirk curving them. “See?” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “Told you to relax.”
Chris hovers over you, his hand smoothing over your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance. His gaze drags over your body, dark and hooded with desire. He exhales a slow breath, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your skin.
“You’re right. You're so little,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice filled with something close to awe. His hands roam over your waist, your hips, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you beneath him.
Chris takes one look at his cock, making sure the condom is still snug around him before he gives it a few pumps as if it's not hard, stiff enough. He takes your legs and puts them over his waist as he positions himself in between.
The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he slowly pushes forward, just the tip stretching you open, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips. A sudden twinge of discomfort has you clenching around him, your hands gripping onto his arms as you mewl softly in protest.
“Chris, I—” You can't even finish your sentence as the sudden sensation surges through you.
Chris stops immediately, his brows knitting together as he watches you, his fingers stroking soothingly along your thigh. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice gentle, “breathe.”
But even with just that little bit inside you, the feeling is overwhelming. A shiver runs down your spine as you try to adjust, your body tightening involuntarily. Your breaths come in shaky pants, heat blooming from where your bodies connect.
Chris watches you intently, eyes never leaving your face as he shifts slightly, and suddenly, a sharp pleasure shoots through you, unexpected and electric. Your back arches off the bed as a strangled moan escapes your lips, your body quivering around him. The pressure, the stretch—it’s too much, yet somehow, it sends a rush of pleasure so intense that your body trembles beneath him.
Chris stills, his expression flickering with surprise before it melts into amusement. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips as he watches the way you writhe beneath him, helpless against the sensation.
“You came just from that?” he muses, his thumb brushing over your hip in lazy circles. “That’s cute.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks, embarrassment and lingering pleasure making your body feel even more sensitive. Chris chuckles softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against your parted lips before whispering, “Guess we’ll have to take our time, won’t we?”
Chris stays still for a moment, his warmth pressed against your back as he lets you catch your breath. His arms tighten around you slightly, anchoring you to him as he presses a lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder. You’re still trembling, body sensitive and flushed from your sudden release.
He exhales softly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You okay?” His voice is low, gentle.
You nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. The feeling of him still inside you, filling you completely, makes you shudder.
Chris shifts behind you, adjusting the way he’s holding you. His arm is draped over your waist, fingers spread over your stomach, grounding you. His other hand smooths over your thigh, soothing, patient.
“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks, voice laced with restraint, as if he’s willing to stop if you say no.
To his surprise, you whisper, “Yes.”
A deep, quiet groan rumbles from his chest, and you feel his fingers flex against your skin. His lips press into the curve of your neck before he moves again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. The stretch burns slightly, but the pleasure laced in it makes your breath hitch.
Chris moves carefully, his thrusts slow and deep, keeping you flush against him as he spoons you. His hand trails from your breasts, to your stomach, splaying over your skin as if he wants to feel every reaction, every tremor that ripples through you.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice breathless against your ear. His pace remains steady, each push and pull measured, sending waves of heat through your body.
Your hands grip onto his arm, holding onto him as pleasure coils low in your stomach once again. Every movement is intimate, every breath shared in the quiet space between you. Chris’s lips ghost over your shoulder, his soft grunts vibrating against your skin as he continues to move within you, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can.
And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, pressed against him so completely, you find yourself lost in the way he makes you feel—like you were meant to fit together like this.
Chris’s breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Feels good,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin. “Fits just right… but I think it could be thinner. Let me feel you more.”
His slow, deliberate thrusts send a shiver through you, your body tightening around him in response. He chuckles, the sound deep and breathless. “You like that, don’t you?” He presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, his hand gripping your hip to keep you steady as he rolls into you again, deeper this time.
You don’t answer, too lost in the pleasure unfurling inside you. Chris doesn’t mind. He continues to move, the tension building between you both. “Maybe I should test a few more,” he muses between ragged breaths, his voice laced with amusement. “Make sure we get it just right.”
His words make you whimper, and he groans in response. “You’re so cute moaning like that,” he breathes, his pace quickening as he nears his peak. His grip on you tightens, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic. The coil in your stomach tightens, and before you know it, you’re coming again, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crash over you.
Chris groans against your neck, his hips stuttering as he follows right behind you. His grip on you never loosens, holding you close as he spills into the condom, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.
For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling. Chris presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder before shifting, turning you gently onto your back so he can look at you. His dark eyes flick over your face, taking in your dazed expression before he leans down, kissing you deeply.
When he pulls back, a smirk tugs at his lips. Then, he reaches for the duvet at the foot of the bed and carefully pulls it over both of you, tucking it around your bare body. The warmth is instant, but not nearly as comforting as the way he wraps himself around you right after.
His arms tighten around your waist, drawing you flush against his chest. His breath is warm against the back of your neck as he settles in, his lips barely grazing your skin. For a while, neither of you speak. The rise and fall of your breaths eventually sync, the exhaustion from the night settling into your limbs. Just as your eyes begin to flutter shut, his voice breaks the silence—low, drowsy, and laced with something softer than usual.
“Goodnight,” he murmurs, the word barely more than a breath against your skin.
For a moment, you hesitate, but then, in the safety of the dimly lit room and the comfort of his arms, you whisper back, “Goodnight.”
Chris hums in contentment, tightening his hold just slightly before finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.
-
The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel suite. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you're disoriented—until the sound of running water brings everything back.
Chris is in the shower.
Your stomach tightens as memories from last night flood in, and instinct kicks in. You need to leave. Carefully, you slip out of bed, scanning the room for your clothes. But just as you reach for your bag, the bathroom door swings open, and there he stands—his hair damp, beads of water clinging to his toned skin, a white towel hanging dangerously low around his hips. You freeze in place.
Chris notices your reaction and grins. "Unless you want to walk out of the hotel naked, I don’t think you’re going anywhere."
Your brows furrow in confusion as he tilts his head toward the chair. "I sent your dress for dry cleaning."
Your lips part in disbelief. "You what?"
Chris walks up to you, holding out a plush bathrobe. “Relax. It'll be back soon.” He doesn’t just hand it to you—he steps closer, draping it over your shoulders and helping you slip your arms through the sleeves, his touch far too gentle for how casual he's acting.
"Go shower," he tells you, his voice softer now.
You hesitate but eventually nod, dragging yourself toward the bathroom. Just as you reach the doorway, he calls after you, "Better hurry. I ordered room service for breakfast."
Your body tenses at his words, but you say nothing. Instead, you step inside and shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment—just processing everything from last night to this very second.
The test, the sex, everything blurs into one and before you recall more memories from last night, you get into the shower in hope to wash it away.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the suite as you step out of the bathroom, now wrapped in the bathrobe Chris gave you. He’s already seated at the small dining table by the window, scrolling through his phone while absentmindedly sipping from his cup. A full spread of breakfast is laid out—omelets, toast, fruit, and two cups of coffee.
Without a word, you take the seat across from him. He glances up briefly but doesn’t say anything, just pushes a plate toward you in a silent invitation to eat.
The quiet stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts. You focus on your food, taking small bites, though you barely taste anything. Chris, on the other hand, eats leisurely, like this is just another morning. Then, he finally breaks the silence.
“So,” he says, setting his fork down. “What’s your conclusion on the product test last night?”
You almost choke on your coffee. Your eyes dart to him, but his expression is unreadable, as if he’s genuinely asking for a professional evaluation. You hesitate, gripping your fork a little tighter.
"Well?" he presses, taking another sip of his coffee. "Did it pass?"
You clear your throat, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “I think… to be thorough, it’s better to run a few more tests.”
Chris quirks an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “A few more tests, huh?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect you to be so dedicated to research.”
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s just proper procedure.”
“Proper procedure,” he repeats, his smirk widening. “You sure it’s just that? Because last night, it kinda seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”
Your jaw tightens, and you stab a piece of fruit with your fork. “That’s not relevant to the study.”
Chris chuckles, clearly entertained. “Right, of course. All in the name of science.” He tilts his head slightly, his gaze locked onto you. “So, how many more ‘tests’ are we talking about? Two? Three? A full trial period?”
You sigh, exasperated. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Chris hums, taking another bite of his toast. “Well, just let me know. I’m happy to help.” His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip.
You quickly focus on your breakfast, pretending not to notice the way he’s watching you.
Chris leisurely takes a sip of his coffee, playing it cool as he glances around the suite. “You know,” he muses, “I’m really liking this hotel. Feels… comfortable.” He leans back slightly, stretching his muscular arms before resting them on the table. “I think it’d be a great place to conduct another test.”
You pause mid-bite, eyes flickering up to him. He’s watching you, but his expression is unreadable—except for the slight curve of his lips. Then, he grins. “Maybe next weekend?”
You nearly choke on your food, quickly taking a sip of water to recover. “You’re already planning the next one?”
Chris shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just being proactive. You said it yourself—we need more tests for accuracy.” He lifts his coffee cup again, smirking over the rim. “And I wouldn’t want to let you down.”
You exhale sharply, placing your utensils down. “I haven’t even analyzed the results from last night.”
“Take your time,” he says easily, “but don’t overthink it too much.” He tilts his head, studying you. “Unless… you’re backing out?”
You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how flustered you are. “I’ll let you know,” you say, keeping your voice even.
Chris chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “I’ll be waiting.”
-
Monday morning, you walk into work with an unusual lightness in your step. You try not to think too much about that night—about Chris, his touch, the way he whispered in your ear—but the memories flash unbidden in your mind, making your face warm. You force yourself to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to attract any suspicion. Especially from Jane.
Speaking of which… you realize she hasn’t come to bother you like usual. Curious, you make your way to her lab, where you find her hunched over her workstation, deeply focused.
“Hey,” you call out, stepping inside. “What’s got you so busy?”
Jane barely glances up before turning back to her notes. “I have to finish my reformulation today,” she says quickly. “Final presentation’s tomorrow, and if I don’t get this right, all my work’s going down the drain.”
You nod in understanding. The pressure of finalizing a product before launch is no joke, and seeing Jane—who’s usually so carefree—this stressed means she’s really cutting it close.
“You got this,” you tell her sincerely. “Good luck.”
She lets out a deep breath, finally pausing to give you a smirk. “I better. If I crash and burn, I’m dragging you down with me.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Noted.”
Back in your own lab, you try to push all thoughts of Chris aside and focus on your own work. But as you review your notes and the adjustments you’ve made to the product, an uncomfortable realization creeps in—you’re running out of time.
Jane’s stress reminds you that your own product is also in a critical stage. If she’s giving her final presentation tomorrow, that means your deadline isn’t far behind. You tap your pen against your clipboard, staring at the latest batch of data, and suddenly, the pressure starts to settle heavily on your shoulders.
You sigh and grab your phone, quickly sending an email to the team in charge of screening participants. A few minutes later, you receive a reply:
Final stage of screening participants. Will update once selection is complete.
You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. Final stage. That means any day now, you’ll have another participant to help move this process forward—another participant who isn’t Chris. For some reason, that last thought lingers a little too long in your mind.
-
A few days later, Jane is a walking ball of stress, and unfortunately, it’s rubbing off on you.
She paces back and forth in the break room, arms crossed, her fingers tapping against her upper arm impatiently. “I don’t get it. They should’ve given me an answer by now,” she mutters before turning to you with a sharp look. “What if they hated it? What if they’re just trying to figure out a way to reject it without making me throw a fit?”
You sip your iced coffee, trying to keep your own anxiety in check. “If they hated it, they would’ve told you already,” you reason, though you understand her panic completely.
Jane groans and drops her head onto the table. “I can’t take this anymore. The waiting is worse than the presentation itself.”
You don’t say it out loud, but you completely agree. Because the uncertainty of your own project’s progress is starting to gnaw at you too. You haven’t received any updates on the new participant, and without that, you can’t finalize the product. And without a finalized product, you can’t meet your deadline.
You exhale and press your fingers against your temples, suddenly feeling the weight of everything piling up. “Your stress is contagious, you know that?” you mumble.
Jane lifts her head just enough to give you a weak smirk. “Misery loves company.”
Later that day, you get a message from Chris’s secretary, asking you to stop by his office. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should prepare yourself for whatever he has in store this time. But you shake off the thought and head over.
When you step inside, Chris is leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly good as usual. He grins when he sees you. “Hey, right on time,” he says, and you do as told, walking over to his desk.
“I wanted to let you know I’m available this weekend for the test,” he says, watching you closely.
You nod, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Okay. That works.”
Chris tilts his head, his grin faltering slightly. “That’s it? No excitement?”
You blink at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
His brow raises. “I don’t know… maybe something like ‘Great! Can’t wait!’” He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “What’s wrong with you today?”
You sigh and rub your temples. “I’m just stressed about my product. There’s still so much to do, and I don’t even know if I’ll have another participant before the deadline.”
Chris hums in thought, then leans back again. “Well, you’re doing your best, right?”
“I guess.”
He smirks. “That’s all that matters. Besides, I’m the one doing my best for you.”
You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitches at his teasing. “Of course, how could I forget?”
Chris chuckles, pleased with himself. “Exactly. So stop stressing. I’ve got you.”
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, still feeling the weight of your stress pressing down on you. “You know… you could’ve just texted me about the test instead of calling me to your office.”
Chris scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I could’ve.”
You wait for him to continue, but he just looks at you like you should already know the answer. When you don’t say anything, he leans forward slightly, voice dropping a little.
“But I wanted to see you.”
His words catch you completely off guard, and you freeze for a second, unsure how to respond. He watches you closely, amused by your reaction.
Your mouth opens, then closes. You clear your throat, trying to brush off the sudden shift in atmosphere. “Well… you’ve seen me now,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze.
Chris chuckles. “Yeah, I have.” He tilts his head. “And?”
“And what?”
He grins. “Feel better?”
You scoff. “No.”
Chris just laughs at your flat response, shaking his head. “Liar.”
He leans back in his chair, still smirking as he watches you squirm under his gaze. “I think you do feel better,” he teases. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I’m stressed, I’m stressed. Seeing you doesn’t magically fix that.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe not, but I bet it helps a little.”
You scoff, looking away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The part you hate the most is because he’s not entirely wrong. Despite everything weighing on you, there’s something about his presence—his confidence, his teasing, the way he acts like he’s got everything under control—that makes you feel just a little lighter.
And that annoys you.
-
The hotel lobby is dimly lit, elegant but not overly extravagant. You step through the entrance, scanning the space until your eyes land on Chris, who’s waiting near the elevators. He’s dressed casually but polished—dark slacks, a fitted shirt with the top two buttons undone, looking unfairly good as usual.
Just as you take a step toward him, your phone buzzes in your bag. You fish it out and sigh when you see Jane’s name flashing on the screen. Pressing the phone to your ear, you barely manage a greeting before she starts rambling.
“I swear, if they don’t approve this formula, I’m quitting,” she huffs. “I mean, not really, but you get what I mean. I haven’t slept properly in three days, and I think I’m running on caffeine and pure delusion at this point.”
You let out a small laugh, even though the stress in her voice weighs on you. “It’ll be fine, Jane. You worked hard on it.”
“That’s what people say before something blows up in their face,” she groans. “Anyway, where are you? I need to rant.”
Panic flickers in your chest. You glance around, as if she could somehow see you through the phone. “Uh… just out,” you say vaguely. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
She huffs again. “Fine. But if I have a breakdown, it’s on you.”
You chuckle. “Duly noted.” Ending the call, you sigh, but the stress clings to you, the tension knotting in your shoulders refusing to ease.
You take a deep breath and walk toward Chris, who straightens when he sees you. He starts to say something, but before he can get a word out, you grab his face and kiss him.
Chris barely has time to react when you press your lips to his, the kiss sudden and hurried, almost desperate. His hands instinctively settle on your waist, grounding you for the few fleeting seconds before you pull away.
Your lips are still parted as you mutter, “Why don’t we just skip dinner and head upstairs?”
Chris blinks, momentarily surprised by your forwardness. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Someone’s eager tonight,” he muses, his voice low and teasing.
You huff, looking away. “I just—” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temple. “I'm just a little stressed.”
His expression softens slightly. “Ah.”
“It’s work. I'm stressed about work, and I just—I don’t know.” You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s like I can’t escape it.”
Chris tilts his head, studying you for a moment before his hand finds yours. “Then let’s go.”
You look at him questioningly.
He squeezes your hand. “Upstairs,” he clarifies. “Since that’s what you want.”
You nod, letting him lead you toward the elevators. As the doors close behind you, sealing you both away from the rest of the world, Chris turns to you, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
“Want me to help you take your mind off work?” he asks, his voice rich with suggestion.
You swallow, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Yes.”
-
The hotel suite door barely shuts behind you before Chris pulls you in, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, heated, and rushed—both of you hungry for each other. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer as you stumble toward the bed.
Chris’s hands slide down your back, finding the zipper of your dress and pulling it down in one swift motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you in your lingerie as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You gasp, arms looping around his neck as he carries you to the bed, laying you down gently against the plush sheets.
He kneels above you, his dark eyes drinking you in before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undoes them, his toned chest coming into view, and once the shirt is off, he tosses it aside without a second thought. Then, he leans in again, claiming your lips with his own, his body pressing against yours as the heat between you intensifies.
For a moment, the purpose of tonight is forgotten. There’s no product test, no work stress—just the two of you tangled together, lips moving in sync, hands wandering, breaths coming out in soft, desperate gasps.
Then, your fingers trail down his chest, lower and lower, until you feel the growing bulge beneath his pants. Chris groans softly against your lips, his body tensing slightly at your touch. That’s when reality crashes back into you.
You break the kiss slightly, your breaths mingling as you whisper, “Chris, the condom. In my bag.”
Chris hovers above you for a second, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a slow smirk, he leans in, brushing a teasing kiss against your lips before murmuring, “Yes, ma’am.”
He gets off the bed, heading toward where you left your bag, and as you watch him, heart racing, you can’t help but think—maybe this test is just an excuse now.
You watch as Chris retrieves the condom from your bag, his fingers expertly tearing open the wrapper. He steps out of his remaining clothes, his bare form illuminated by the dim hotel lighting. Your eyes are drawn downward, and despite having seen him before, the sheer size of him still makes your stomach flip. It’s intimidating—taunting, even—and the nerves creep up on you all over again.
Chris notices the way you tense, the way your thighs press together involuntarily. Rolling the condom over his length with practiced ease, he turns back to you, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
“You need to relax,” he murmurs, his voice smooth yet edged with something deeper, something almost reassuring.
He crawls back onto the bed, hovering over you once more, his hands running along your sides as if to coax the tension out of your body. “You’re overthinking it,” he adds, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear.
Your breath hitches when his lips trail lower, down your neck, his touch slow and deliberate. It’s almost distracting enough to make you forget your nerves—almost. But when he settles between your legs, his gaze locking onto yours, the anticipation coils tightly in your stomach once more.
Chris smirks, tilting his head. “You trust me, don’t you?”
And the way he asks it—soft, teasing, but with a glimmer of something genuine—makes your heart skip.
His hands roam your body with a deliberate slowness, his fingertips tracing the curves of your waist, the dip of your stomach, the softness of your thighs. Each touch is meant to ease the tension out of you, to replace your nerves with something warmer, something deeper.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone. “So soft… so perfect.”
His voice is a lull, smoothing over your anxiety like silk. He drags his mouth lower, his breath fanning across your skin as he continues whispering praises—how good you feel, how much he likes touching you, how you have no idea what you do to him.
You shudder beneath him, your body instinctively responding to his words, his touch. The tension in your muscles slowly unravels, and Chris pulls back just enough to take in the sight of you. His gaze sweeps over your bare form, dark and heavy with admiration. He doesn’t rush. He just looks.
“Gosh,” he breathes out, a slow grin forming on his lips. “I could look at you all night.”
The intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch, heat rising in your cheeks. He leans in again, his hands framing your face as he brushes his lips over yours.
“You okay now?” he asks, voice low, his forehead resting against yours.
And maybe it’s the way he’s holding you, or the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—but you find yourself nodding, your nerves fading into something else entirely.
Chris’s fingers trail down your body with deliberate slowness, his touch igniting warmth everywhere he grazes. His lips brush against your ear as his fingers tease along your inner thigh, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.
“You’re already trembling,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement and something deeper—something that makes your stomach tighten. “Are you nervous or just impatient?”
You don’t answer, not when his fingers finally slip between your legs, parting you with ease and easily finds your clit as it pulsates with each gentle rub. He does it for a long moment, waiting until you're wet enough for him to slip his two fingers inside you. A soft gasp escapes before you can stop it, and Chris hums in approval, pressing a lingering kiss just below your jaw.
“You always take me so well,” he whispers, his fingers moving in slow, calculated pumps that make your toes curl. “And you’re already clenching around me… How do you think you’ll handle me when I’m actually inside you?”
The words alone send heat rushing through you, but it’s the way he says them—low and coaxing, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. You turn your face into his shoulder, gripping onto him as if grounding yourself, but Chris only chuckles.
“Don’t hide from me,” he coaxes, shifting so he can watch your face. “I want to see everything.”
He curls his fingers inside to get to your sensitive spot, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, and your breath stutters. Chris smiles against your cheek, his voice softer now, gentler.
“Just relax,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”
Your body tightens around his fingers as the pleasure builds, your breath hitching with every precise movement of his hand. Chris watches you intently, his dark eyes flickering with something both possessive and admiring as he feels you getting closer.
"That's it," he whispers, his lips grazing your temple. "You’re so good for me."
His thumb circles your clit just right, and the tension in your body unravels all at once. A sharp cry slips from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Chris doesn’t stop right away—he works you through it, dragging out every last wave until you're gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders for stability.
When you finally go limp against him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his voice warm and full of praise. "So beautiful when you come around my fingers like that," he murmurs, his fingers slipping away only to trail soothingly along your thigh.
You barely have time to catch your breath before he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Think you’re ready for me now?" he asks, a teasing grin playing at his lips.
Despite his words, he gives you a moment to climb down your high, touching you, kissing you, keeping you heated just enough for the next one.
When he deems you're ready, he settles himself between your legs and take another moment to warm you up, sliding his cock between your folds, intentionally lubricating it with your essence.
The moment he starts to push his cock into your entrance, you whimper, your fingers gripping the sheets. He stills immediately, his brows furrowing.
“Still hurts?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, tinted with concern.
You shake your head instinctively, but he isn’t convinced. His large hands massage your hips soothingly, and for a moment, he just stays there, warm and solid against you. Then, as if making a decision, he leans down, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades before murmuring against your skin, “There’s more than one way to do this.”
Before you can ask what he means, he shifts, gently guiding you onto your stomach. His hands coax your legs together, and then you feel it—his length settling between your thighs, snug and heavy. He lets out a low hum of approval as he starts a slow, deliberate movement, sliding his cock against you, the condom still doing its job.
“This works just fine for the test,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. “No need for penetration.”
The new sensation sends a shiver through you. His body is warm against your back, his arms caging you in as he moves, taking his time. His above average cock allowing him to hit your clit for every time he thrusts forward. Every deliberate stroke of his tip on your clit has you squirming, and when he presses his lips to your ear, his breath hot, he whispers, “You feel so good like this… almost better than the real thing.”
His hands grip your waist, guiding you to match his rhythm, and before you know it, the tension in your body builds again. The sensation overwhelms you, and with one final push of pleasure, you come undone beneath him, trembling as the feeling washes over you. Chris lets out a low groan, his own release following moments after.
A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as your breathing evens out, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else disappears.
Chris lets out a content sigh, his grip on you loosening slightly as he shifts onto his side, still keeping you close. He presses a lazy kiss against the back of your shoulder before murmuring, “Well, I gotta say, the condom held up pretty well.”
You blink in confusion, still trying to come down from your high. “What?”
He chuckles, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you. “You know… the test? The whole reason we’re here?” His smirk deepens when you don’t respond right away. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
Heat rushes to your face as you realize he’s right. You were so caught up in the moment, in him, that you completely forgot this was supposed to be about work. You scowl at his teasing tone, but Chris only grins wider.
“That’s cute,” he muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re really slacking as a researcher, you know? Getting too distracted by your test subject.”
You groan, pushing at his chest, but he just laughs, rolling onto his back with a smug expression. “Don’t worry,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “We can always run more tests. Just to be thorough.”
You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know you’re in trouble—because a part of you is already considering it.
Chris stretches his arms behind his head, still lounging in the bed with that smug expression. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Should we order some room service?”
You hesitate, still tangled in the sheets, still feeling the lingering heat between you. But the idea of food is tempting, and you nod. “Yeah… okay.”
Chris grins, reaching for the hotel’s menu on the nightstand. “Good. I was gonna order anyway, but I figured I’d be polite and ask.”
You scoff but let it slide, watching as he casually flips through the options. He orders for both of you without asking what you want, but somehow, he picks exactly what you would have chosen.
When the food arrives, the two of you settle onto the couch, eating in comfortable silence for a while. The tension from earlier has softened into something almost… normal. Like this is just another dinner, another night spent together. Then, as you poke at your plate, you find yourself speaking without really thinking. “Thanks, by the way.”
Chris glances up from his food. “For what?”
You shift slightly, feeling a little awkward. “For earlier. For not… pushing it when I said it hurt.”
Chris leans back, setting his fork down. He studies you for a moment before giving a small shrug. “I told you before, didn’t I? I wasn’t gonna do anything you weren’t ready for.”
You swallow, feeling something tighten in your chest.
Chris smirks, sensing the shift in your expression. “What? Surprised I’m a decent guy?”
You roll your eyes. “A little.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me.” But there’s something softer in his eyes now, something that makes you look away before he can read too much into your expression.
Chris doesn’t push. Instead, he just picks up his fork again, casually adding, “Guess that means we’ll just have to try again next time.”
Your stomach flips. “Next time?”
Chris just grins. “Unless you’re saying the test is complete?”
You don’t answer, and his smirk widens as he takes another bite of his food.
-
The morning sunlight filters through the hotel suite’s curtains as you fasten the last button of your blouse, trying to ignore the way Chris watches you from across the room. He’s standing by the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt, looking far too put together for someone who spent the night in a hotel bed with you.
"You’re quiet this morning," he comments, slipping on his watch.
You smooth down the hem of your dress, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. "Just thinking about work."
He looks relaxed—too relaxed, considering the nature of your conversation.
"So," he says, tapping the fork against his thigh, "how are you planning to refine the product?"
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. "I need to get more participant feedback, obviously. We’ve tested the fit, but durability and performance still need more trials."
Chris hums in acknowledgment, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. "And how do I rank as a participant?"
You shoot him a look, trying not to let the memory of the night’s events creep back into your mind. "You're… useful," you answer carefully.
He chuckles at that. "Just useful? After everything?"
You press your lips together, ignoring his teasing tone. "I mean it, Chris. But I need more participants for a thorough evaluation."
At that, his amusement fades slightly. He sits up straighter, turning toward you. "More participants, huh?"
You nod, scribbling something in your notebook to avoid looking at him. "It’s necessary for better data."
Chris is quiet for a moment, then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warmth. "I get it," he says, voice softer now. "Just don’t forget who was here first."
You finally glance up at him, and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. There’s something unreadable in his expression—not quite jealousy, but not far from it either.
You swallow. "Of course not."
A small smirk tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he nudges your knee with his. "So, should I clear my schedule for next weekend?"
You exhale, shaking your head. "I’ll let you know."
Chris grins, leaning back onto his elbows. "Can’t wait."
You roll your eyes, not indulging him with an answer. Instead, you head toward the door, but just as you reach for the handle, Chris beats you to it, leaning down slightly.
"Leaving without a goodbye?" he teases, voice low.
You glance at him, hesitating for half a second before sighing. "Goodbye, Chris."
As you walk down the quiet hotel corridor, your thoughts swirl between the pressure of finalizing your product and the undeniable truth that you still need more data. More tests.
You tighten your grip on your bag, exhaling sharply. That’s what this is about—work. Research. A product that needs to be perfected before it can move forward.
And yet, as you recall the way Chris looked at you before you left, the way he smirked at the idea of "more participants," a different kind of tension settles in your chest.
Finalizing your product soon is the goal. But a small, dangerous part of you wonders if maybe… just maybe… you’re not quite ready to be done with the testing phase.
-
As you're walking through the office hallway, your mind is still clouded with the remnants of the weekend—Chris’s touch, his whispered praises, the way he held you close even after everything was over. Every time you close your eyes, flashes of that night play in your head, making warmth creep up your neck. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it as you step into your lab, determined to focus on work. But the moment you walk in, you freeze.
There’s a man already inside, leaning lazily against the counter, his posture relaxed yet confident, like he’s been waiting for you. The overhead lights cast sharp angles on his sharp jawline, his lips curled into a smirk that feels almost too self-assured. He straightens when he sees you, his eyes—dark, playful—sweeping over you in quiet amusement.
Then, with deliberate slowness, he steps forward. "Finally," he drawls, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "I was starting to think I had the wrong lab."
You blink, caught off guard. He doesn’t look like he belongs here—his presence too bold, too magnetic for the clinical atmosphere of your workspace. "I'm sorry but who are you?" you ask, wary.
He stops just a breath away, the distance between you charged with something you can’t quite place. Then, with a cocky tilt of his head, he offers his hand.
"Han Jisung," he introduces himself, his smirk widening as his fingers brush against yours. "Your new test participant."
Your stomach drops and for a second, all you can do is stare.
"Looks like we’ll be working pretty closely together," he adds, voice dripping with amusement. "I hope you're ready for me."
And just like that, your carefully maintained world tilts off its axis.
-
The second chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page. ✨
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@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @drhsthl @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @eastjonowhere @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @angstraykids @lenfilms @modesttiger @inniesfanblog @multi-fandommaniac @ebnabi
#stray kids smut#skz smut#bangchan smut#bangchan x reader#skz x reader#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#skz fics#skz fanfics#kpop smut#kpop fics#kpop fanfics#seospicy smut
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When you’re both modeling and designing, sometimes you just want to use your very muppet shaped friends as inspiration.



Tis but the first draft! There are more coats to try.
BONUS:
Elesa added weighted beads to the end of the coats so they swing real good. Yes, the first draft is hand sown, and yes, it was a nightmare. She can and will talk about it given the chance.

Emmet uses this to his advantage and ✨ flourishes ✨ whenever he walks with it (dramatic coat swish swish my beloved).

Ingo on the other hand appreciates the pressure and just. Burrows. Like a happy drillbur.
And a bonus elesa! Choreography, baby.

Masterpost to the rest of my submas comics!
#anyways they don’t dettatch from the back yet and thus the twins can’t wear it near the trains (a safety hazard!!!)#but they DO love it#art#pokemon#sketchbook#submas#myart#fanart#pokemon ingo#subway boss ingo#submas comic#elesa#pokemon elesa#pokemon emmet#nimbasa trio#lampent#eelektrik#submas ingo#funny subway men#subway master emmet#subway master kudari#subway master nobori#gym leader elesa#fashion#costume design#comic#emolga
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public swimwear to private entertainment
bimbo!reader models swimwear for aaron before the trip
pairing: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: fem!reader, aaron having dirty ish thoughts, suggestive ish ending prompt: here wc: 0.8k
Hotch eyes the open suitcase sprawling across the bed and feels something considerably close to existential dread. Surely, that must be every bikini ever manufactured. They multiply before him, each skimpier and more vividly patterned than the last, nestled carelessly among skirts and shorts so minuscule he’s fairly certain they qualify as handkerchiefs.
He watches as you flutter from drawer to drawer, obliviously humming some sugary pop song, adding yet another bundle of fabric to the towering heap.
He briefly considers stepping in, diplomatically suggesting that perhaps your packing approach is slightly disproportionate to a seven-day beach vacation, but really, who is he kidding? He’s better off staying silent.
Hotch gingerly lifts one of the offending garments from its glitter-speckled nest, eyeing it skeptically. He holds it carefully between thumb and forefinger — God forbid he accidentally damage whatever microscopic integrity it possesses.
“Sweetheart,” he begins slowly, fidgeting with the beginning of a smile, “you can’t be serious.”
“Um, yes, I can be. That’s literally the cutest one I have.”
“It’s barely there.”
You sigh, crossing your arms. “It’s a bikini, Aaron. It’s supposed to be barely there. That’s, like, the whole point.”
Inside his head, Hotch feels like he’s refereeing a particularly violent boxing match. In one corner, the possessive side of him — territorial, irrational, and obnoxiously overprotective — clamors for immediate confiscation of the scrap of fabric, envisioning scenarios involving oversized sweatshirts, ski jackets, or perhaps a nun’s habit.
The other side, sensible and mature, argues sternly that policing your outfits is hardly appropriate boyfriend behavior, regardless of how many panic attacks they induce.
He sighs inwardly, concluding that he’ll simply have to weather his skyrocketing blood pressure silently, like the self-sacrificing martyr he apparently aspires to become.
“You’ll love it, promise,” you chirp, leaning in close to press a lipstick-coated kiss directly onto his cheek, a kiss his suspects might be visible from space. “Should I model it first? You know, for reassurance.”
“I doubt seeing it in advance will help my mental health.”
A bubbly giggle escapes your lips, and you pat his chest affectionately. “You’re so funny sometimes. Have you considered stand-up?”
Hotch stares after you for a moment as the bathroom door closes, mildly bewildered at how his dry sarcasm always manages to delight you so thoroughly.
He sighs, shaking his head as he reluctantly turns back to his own suitcase, a carefully curated assortment of practical clothing and essentials.
Or at least it was, until he noticed that his neatly folded stack of muted shirts and shorts had apparently become prime real estate for your sandals and pastel tops.
The bathroom door swings back open after a couple minutes, and Hotch glances up, immediately rendered speechless.
Perhaps permanently.
You stand framed in the doorway, a glittering vision wrapped tightly around curves he privately believes far more protection, or possibly none at all, depending on which impulsive side of him gains the upper hand.
He briefly entertains the idea of canceling the trip altogether in favor of alternative plans involving far fewer garments — though that threshold has already been spectacularly lowered — and significantly less public visibility.
But practicality crashes rudely into his consciousness, reminding him with grim certainty that he was unquestionably correct about the fragility of this ensemble. One touch, one unfortunate gust of wind, and you’d be entirely uncovered, dressed only in sunbeams themselves.
Hotch feels a preemptive headache forming, not at you, but at Rossi’s predictable, blatant ogling, which is practically guaranteed the moment his friend spots you.
Dave has never been one for discretion, especially when confronted by someone with beauty of your magnitude. He mentally rehearses contingency plans, debating how best to block Rossi’s line of sight without appearing caveman-like.
You twirl dramatically, shimmering as you collapse into his waiting arms, smile radiant enough to rival the sun.
“See?” You beam, fingertips brushing along his jaw. “It’s perfect.”
“Yes,” Hotch replies, attempting, but mostly failing, to keep his tone neutral as the pad of his thumb traces along your shoulder. “Perfect if you’re looking to give me gray hair.”
“Jealous already?”
His hand finds its way gently to your neck, idly tracing the fragile knot tied there.
“Maybe I'm more concerned about accidental exposure.”
“You're being dramatic,” you giggle, tilting your chin defiantly. “It’s totally secure.”
“Secure?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically, fingertips tightening just slightly around the strings. “Let's test that theory.”
The bow slips free effortlessly, leaving you scrambling to secure the suddenly loose fabric against your chest with a startled squeak.
“Aaron!”
Hotch leans in, voice dropping dangerously low. “Just proving a point. Maybe we should try something a little sturdier before we leave.”
As it turns out, Hotch was entirely correct—not only about the questionable reliability of your swimwear, but also the inevitable delay it caused in their departure.
By the time they finally left, the bikini was neatly tucked away in his suitcase, officially reclassified from public swimwear to private entertainment. Secretly, he suspects you knew exactly what you were doing — and he can't find a single reason to complain.
join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!
day 1 extras
💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)
maria's spring break getaway masterlist
#mariasspringbreakgetaway#mariaversegetaway#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x fem reader#aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader#aaron hotchner x bimbo reader#aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader
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thinking about a fem4fem relationship with haley ౨ৎ
❀ she gets so blushy and giddy when you compliment her, especially during the beginnings of your relationship. she'll hide it at first, going back home and thinking about your words all night, but eventually you get to see her sweet smile more and more.
❀ at first, she saw you as competition, or maybe just envy. you're the new farmer, you're pretty, you dress in cute clothes like her, you're drawing attention away from her. she pouts and grumbles everytime someone brings you up.
❀ but then she starts looking for you more. she starts admiring your flower dance dress, she roots for you at the egg hunt, she admires you when you're fishing at the pier while she's tanning. she brings all this up to alex, just rambling, and he looks at her like "seriously?"
❀ alex sweetly informs haley that she has a crush on you. she gets defensive, but when alex starts listing off all these "symptoms" of a crush, she blushes more and more.
❀ even though she knows she has a crush on you, she waits for you to say something first. she'll make hints and seek you out, but in no way will she potentially face the embarrassment of your rejection. when you finally ask her on a date, she's over the moon.
❀ loves loves loves coordinating outfits. you'll have bikinis in the same color, cute silk matching pajamas that she bought out in zuzu, similar winter coat shapes, matching cowboy boots. she always makes excuses like "they were on sale if you bought two!" but you know there's more to it.
❀ she enjoys peaceful nights at the farmhouse where you're doing your nightly routines together in the mirror, haley moisturizing her skin, you applying pimple patches.
❀ likes having you paint her nails. you'll sit on the couch, or maybe the front porch on a swing, her feet lazily perched in your lap while you apply pink polish to her toes. and then you reach for her hands and she keeps them as still as she can for you.
❀ genuinely thrives so much on your praise and love. and she takes it so seriously too! when someone like alex compliments her hair, she smiles, but he doesn't know the work that went into creating the perfect windswept blowout look. but you do.
❀ there's usually never much discourse about who spoons who or who "wears the pants" in the relationship. dating haley is balanced and things just fall the way they do. you know when to be the big spoon for her and she knows when to let you lay your head down in her lap, her fingers running through your hair.
❀ this is so cheesy and typical but she really does like when you give each other makeovers. it's so quiet and intimate and she relishes in your gentle touches on her face as you do her eyeliner. (also imagine this with an alt!farmer, like someone who gravitates towards a darker makeup style than her, and how fun it would be to switch styles for a night in the house).
❀ lowkey though your bathroom is a wreck. a hundred bottles in the shower, makeup scattered along the counter, sweet sticky notes stuck to the mirror, necklaces and jewelry hanging haphazardly on an organizer on the back wall.
❀ no matter who proposes to who and who receives the mermaid pendant, the other will get something of equal significance. haley would opt for a necklace of her own, something with your initials engraved on it.
❀ loves giving and receiving flowers. her eyes just light up so much when she walks in to a fresh bouquet of sunflowers, having just been plucked from your own garden and arranged beautifully. she thinks you would be a florist in another life. she prefers walking around the valley, taking pictures and collecting the prettiest wildflowers along the way to present to you.
❀ speaking of taking pictures, you're her best model! she'll take photos of you working on the farm, photos of you lying next to her on the beach, photos of you posed on the bed, dressed in little to nothing. says you make the prettiest photos for her.
❀ haley's lowk a freak in some ways. she kinda craves to be worshipped, but also wants to worship you. so she thrives on praise in and out of the bedroom. adores having you kiss her, tell her how beautiful she is, and she returns the favor for you.
❀ the easiest way to really get her flustered and needy is to ramp up the praise, making it almost extreme. tell her she's a goddess, she's a queen, nobody else could ever compare to her, you're so lucky to have such a pretty girl in your bed. she'll be like putty in your hands.
❀ the top/bottom and sub/dom dynamics are relatively balanced. i think it depends on the mood and the day and how sleepy haley is feeling. for example, she'd be more of a willing and dominant top if she's had a good day, like when you've laid out on the beach together in the summer and she's gotten the privilege to watch your body in a swimsuit all day long. she'd want to be cared for and treated though if it's a cold winter and she's huffy and overstimulated from her coat and scarf all day.
❀ she loves mutual masturbation, but will never say it out loud. she'll look so pretty with her splayed across your pillows, fingers between her legs, her bright blue eyes looking at you intensely as you pleasure your own self. you notice just how turned on she is and note to return to it again.
❀ loves bathing together and shamelessly running her hands all across your body, chalking it up to just washing off the farm from you (her words not mine), but really she's behind you biting her lips as her hands graze over your breasts and thighs.
❀ she's always watching and admiring you working. she sits on the front porch of your farmhouse, watching you harvest parsnips with your hair pulled back, your usual feminine clothes having been replaced by old farm gear. she's thinking long and hard about everything she wants to do with you.
#stardew valley#haley sdv#haley stardew valley#sdv haley#haley x reader#haley#stardew haley#wlw#lesbian#sapphic#fem4fem#sdv haley smut#sdv smut#stardew valley smut#haley smut#stardew valley haley smut
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Friends don't sleep together (MV) 18+
max verstappen x friend!reader
warnings: smut
"Coming," you shouted as you heard your doorbell ring. Applying one last coat of mascara you finished up before grabbing your purse off the counter and heading to the door. Your friend Lando was leaning against the back wall on his phone as you swung the door open.
"Ready?" he asked looking up.
"Do you think this outfit is fine?" You asked and he nodded.
"Yeah, it's supposed to be casual," he said. The two of you headed out and into his car. His brand new car as he kept reminding you along with how lucky you were to be allowed to sit in it.
You had met Lando a couple of years ago as you lived in the same building and he introduced you to a lot of his friends including Max Verstappen, whose birthday party was what you were currently heading to.
You liked Max a lot, maybe a little more than friends if you would admit that to yourself. He was quiet but confident, intentional but not intense, and cocky but not arrogant. In a perfect world you'd be together, you thought. But he's Max Verstappen, and you're well, just you.
Instead of going out, Max just wanted to have a lowkey get together at his Monaco place. It was a penthouse condo that you loved getting to visit just for the view alone.
The get together was in full swing when you and Lando got there and you quickly found Max, drinking a G&T while talking to Charles.
"Happy birthday friend," you said walking up and Max's eyes lit up before pulling you into a hug. You heard Charles snort but ignored it.
"Thanks, y/n," he said in your ear, holding you a little longer. "I'm glad you could make it."
You heart fluttered as you pulled away smiling at him. Moving to give Charles a hug you missed the look he gave Max that had him blushing.
"Is Alex here?" You asked Charles and he nodded, pointing towards the outdoor patio. The cool Monaco air hit you as you stepped outside and greeted Alex who was talking to another girl.
"Y/n!" She squealed. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," you told her smiling. The two of you caught up about the last month as you hadn't seen her since F1's summer break.
"You want to hear something interesting?" She asked you mischievously.
"Always," you replied.
"So a couple of weeks ago I was talking to Rebecca and she told me that she had a friend that was really interested in Max," she started. "Gorgeous, wealthy, model, you know the type. They all went out after the race in Zandvort and Max would not give her the time of day. Completely ignored her all night along with pretty much anyone of our gender who tried to talk to him."
"Hmm, seems like he just wasn't interested," you said nonchalantly and Alex rolled her eyes.
"Or...he has someone else on his mind."
Alex was the only person you had told about your small crush on Max and it had came out after a long night of drinking way too much wine.
"We're just friends Alex, I value our friendship way too much to risk fucking it up," you told her and she huffed.
"You both are ridiculous, everyone knows you're into each other besides the two of you," she exclaimed and you laughed.
In your mind, Max had ample opportunities to confess his so called love for you and it never happened. Yeah, he was grumpy when you wore any other team's gear than Redbull, he always made sure to find you after a race, and he showed you a lot of physical affection but that's what friends are like.
The rest of the night was a blur as you kept drinking way longer than you should have been. You found yourself relaxed on a couch, resting your head on Max's shoulder as you watched everyone slowly pile out.
"Staying here?" Max murmured and you nodded. You got up, stumbling towards Max's room, him right behind to catch you if need be.
When you made it into the room you started unclasping the front of your shirt, your chest spilling out once you got the shirt off. Max inhaled deeply trying to look anywhere else once he got into bed. Meeting his gaze, you slowly pulled down your jeans, revealing the lace red thong you had picked for the night. His gaze burned into yours and you climbed into bed next to him, resting your hand on his stomach causing him to take a sharp breath.
"Y/n...." he whispered but you brought a finger to his lips, the alcohol taking over the driver seat of your brain completely.
"Let me give you one last birthday gift," you said and his eyes darkened. Dragging your hand down his body, his eyes squeezed shut as you palmed him over his boxers. Bringing your mouth down, you kissed his lower stomach, all long his underwear line until you finally pulled them down releasing his cock from it's restraints.
You licked a long stripe from the bottom to the tip, meeting his eyes as he watched you with lust.
"Don't tease," he breathed out and you smirked placing a kiss on the head. The sound he made when you finally wrapped your lips around him went straight to your core and his hand found itself tangled in your hair. You reached down to touch yourself as you bobbed up and down moaning on to him.
Max's breaths grew shallow and after a while he pulled you off of him, flipping the two of you so that he was hovering over you. His lips crashed on to yours his fingers moving under your panties.
"So wet for me schatje," he said pulling back from your lips and attaching his mouth to your neck, sucking harshly. You moaned, arching your back as he slipped a finger in you.
"I need you Max," you whined and he pushed off of you, pumping himself a couple of times looking a little unsure. "What?"
"You are drunk," he said. "I don't want to do something you'll regret."
"Trust me, I'm not going to regret this," you replied hazily and he nodded positioning himself at your entrance. You gasped as he pushed in, adjusting to his big size and he groaned into your shoulder. He started moving slowly, bringing his thumb to rub circles on your clit.
"I'm not going to last long," he rasped out and you wrapped your legs around him, driving him deeper as a response.
He set a bruising pace and you felt tears start to leak from your eyes as you clung around him, nails breaking open the skin on his back.
"I'm going to cum Max," you said and he brought his lips back to your neck while still pounding into you bringing you to your climax. You cried out, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashed over you and you felt him grunt as he spilled into you.
Too tired to move, you felt him pull out to head into the bathroom. The bed dipped when he came back and you felt a damp towel along your skin as he cleaned you up. Throwing the towel off the bed he nestled in next to you, pulling you closer and you drifted off to sleep.
-------------------------
You woke up to sun shining in your eyes and started to sit up before realizing two arms were wrapped tightly around you. You looked over to see Max snoring next to you and you didn't think anything of it at first because you had spent the night before. But where was your shirt?
You froze as the memories flooded back and you felt your eyes starting to water. Oh my god. You fucked everything up. Friends don't sleep together. Your sniffles caused Max to stir and you slipped out of his arms and climbed out of bed.
"What's wrong y/n?" He asked sleepily, sitting up to look at you. Turning to look at him, his eyes widened as he saw your wet face.
"What did we do?" You cried softly, moving around the bed to try and find your clothes. Taking your reaction as regret, his heart sank.
"Let me get you something else to wear for the ride home," he said with no emotion which ripped your heart in half. Wordlessly he handed you one of his tshirts which you slipped over your head before putting your jeans back on.
Grabbing your bag you made it to the front door and his hand reached out to stop you.
"Y/n.."
"I just can't right now Max okay? I'll see you later," you said walking out the door and wiping your tears.
This is exactly why you wanted to get over this stupid crush. You got too drunk and ruined everything and now he probably thought you were just another girl who wanted to hook up with the Max Verstappen. Dialing Lando's number you begged him to come pick you up.
------- 2 weeks later ------------
You had avoided Max like the plague for the last two weeks. He had tried to call you a couple times after but you declined, too embarrassed to face him. Lando was tired of you skipping social events because of Max which is why you were startled as he barged into your apartment that night.
Sitting on the couch in your pajamas you waited expectantly as Lando stood there crossing his arms.
"This has got to stop," he said and you rolled your eyes. "Get dressed, you're coming to dinner and we're ending this now. You both are being such freaks about this and everyone is sick of it."
"I'm sure no one is even thinking about me not being there," you grumbled turning back to your show.
"Not only is everyone noticing, but everyone is also having to deal with moody Max who is refusing to speak in any conversation or answer any questions about you," he ranted.
"See, everything is ruined." you said and grabbed your shoulders shaking you.
"Everything is ruined because neither of you will stop being pussies and just admit that you are in love with each other."
He dragged you to your closet pulling out something for you to wear and you begrudgingly put it on.
Brushing your hair and applying a light layer of makeup you felt your nerves growing. Lando sighed, watching you.
"Look you have been miserable without him and he has been miserable without you," he said. "That should mean something right?"
"I know it logically makes sense Lan," you said sadly. "I just don't want to get hurt."
Arriving at the restaurant, you took a deep breath before following Lando in. It was just you two, Max, Charles, Alex, and another girl you didn't know that well. There were only two seats open at the table, one next to Charles and the other one was between Max and Charles. Lando practically sprinted to claim the one on the end, leaving you to slide in next to Max. He gave you a soft smile.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," you replied nervously, breaking eye contact to look at the menu. The dinner went by smoothly but awkwardly. You avoided Max's stare, talking to Charles and Alex the whole time while he stayed silent. After a while, you pulled out of the conversation, turning to Max who was staring straight ahead.
"What's wrong?" You asked sighing, no longer caring about how things were. His eyes snapped over to you and he didn't say anything for a while before sliding out of the booth holding his hand out for you. The table was silent.
"Come on," he said and you stared at his hand before taking it, allowing him to pull you up and lead you out of the restaurant. You found yourself standing next to him, overlooking the water behind building. Turning to him you started.
"I'm sorry about that night Max, I was drunk," you said and he looked down to you.
"Why are you sorry?" He pressed. "Are you sorry that you were too loud when I was pounding into you? Or sorry that you didn't kiss me goodbye? Or sorry that you've ignored me for the past two weeks?"
Your face flushed at his crude words and you looked back over the water.
"Friends aren't supposed to sleep together," you muttered.
"You're right," he said and your heart sank. "I don't want to be your friend."
You felt your eyes water as you hung your head down. You were just about to walk away when you felt him grab your arm, pulling you into him. His other arm wrapped around your waist holding you into place.
"I don't want to be your friend," he repeated. "I want to be more than your friend. I want to be the person you see every night right before you close your eyes and every morning when you open them. I want you by my side at every race. I want to stop this madness of lingering around you, pretending that my heart doesn't stop everytime you look at me."
"Max," you said shocked looking up at him with wide eyes.
"I'm in love with you y/n," he said holding your face between his hands. "And I have been for a long time."
"Then why'd you let me leave?"
"You were crying like you had just made the biggest mistake of your life," he said and you huffed.
"Well you should have known.'
He laughed and brought his lips down to yours, meeting you for a sweet short kiss.
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Astra’s Champion
LaDs men if they were boss fights |Part 1 Sylus and Rafayel|
《This is written from the perspective of playing an action game boss fight in the realm of Bayonetta, Devil May Cry, No More Heroes, etc with “cutscenes” at the start and during transitions of the fight. I’ve left most of the abilities and weapons the reader has open so it can be up to you on how you’d want your character to fight specifically. This will be incorporating their myths, creative liberties taken for the sake of cool and things get really over the top in their 3rd phases because I’m a sucker for the cinematics. Good luck. 》
Cw: Descriptions of reader getting their ass kicked and small death cutscenes of the love interests. NonMC Reader, a touch of thalassophobia I think.
Premise of the game: You play as a being created by Astra tasked with taking out the MC for reasons unknown, but you're going to have to get through her love interests first. They know you are after her and will do everything within their power to stop you. Everything. But something about you unnerves them. You resemble her. Be it physically or an aura you have, the men can sense her within you somehow. Perhaps Astra did this to get them to let their guard down or there is more to your connection with her that you're unaware of. Upon winning each match Astra will bestow a blessing on you and the love interests will drop loot.
Using your own Evol, special set of skills, and an outfit embedded with protocores you've collected on your journey, you might stand a chance against them. You may fight them in any order but Zayne will always be last.
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Sylus Boss battle
Phase 1: Street Fighter
The two of you meet on top of the roof of a skyscraper in the N109 Zone, the blood moon held high in the sky casts a spotlight for your stage. You can hear a record playing classical music nearby, its quality is clear for the most part but there’s an occasional skip or delay in the next note. The Onychinus leader casually stands across from you at the edge of the roof sporting his usual black and red top shrouded by a coat over his shoulders. His smirk is hollow, maybe even strained if you look close enough.
Sylus uses no weapons. He just slowly saunters toward you with his hands in his pockets (hips swaying just a tad as he does) like a runway model. He believes you’ll be easy to take care of, there’s no rush. Only until he or you get close enough does he start attacking with wide swinging kicks and jabs with a moveset similar to what you'd see in a fighting game.
And that’s exactly how his stage plays at first.
If you get too far away he'll use his evol to yank you to him and decks you square in the jaw before getting right back into beating you down. It’s recommended to stat your outfit with high atk and crit protocores because this beast of a man is a tank who keeps fucking healing himself so you'll need to deal blows that are stronger than his healing. The more you deplete his HP, the more he taunts you. He's starting to have fun, your own moves reminding him too much of his nights of sparring with MC.
His special move is a flurry of blows not unlike something out of Jojo, juggling your body in the air if you get caught in his whirlwind of fists and kicks. Then for the finishing blow, Sylus’ black and red mist forms a fist and punches you into the cement, giving way from its force as your body crashes into it. If you lose to him in this phase there's a special animation where he lifts you up high with his evol and disintegrates your body.
Phase 2: This isn’t even my Final Form
Sylus deems you worthy enough to see his second form and finds you...amusing. far more interesting than the dregs of the N109Z and even on par with his beloved. He has no shame in letting you know how good you are to have made it this far so you are “rewarded.” After going through a painful looking transformation sequence, yet still smiling the whole time, the dragon ascends up into the sky, moon at his back. A beautiful sight to be sure but there’s little time to admire when he snaps his fingers and is raining meteors down upon you, a dark laugh echoing in the night. You need to quickly run to dodge the AOEs following the patterns on the ground. Full on Red Choctober (ifykyk) as his opening move.
Survive? Good. Now he's diving down, swiping at you with his claws before flying back up again. Over and over, divebomb after divebomb. He is having way too much fun toying with you and you’ll need to dodge, block or if you’re skilled enough, counter those swipes with your own move. Finally he lands for a more vicious fist (claw) fight but he's using his tail too. Just like in his first phase, he's grabbing you when you get too far but using his tail instead of his evol. This time if you’re caught, it's wrapping around your leg and slamming you into the ground over and over again. Aside from these new additions, the fight is similar to the first phase.
Phase 3: Drag on Dragoon
You're still alive? Oh, he's going to show you something special. Sylus walks backward to the edge of the building, never taking his eyes off of you. With the snap of his fingers and the sound of a page turning, the swirling mist of blood red and black void surrounds his form as he falls backwards off the edge, his laugh echoing all the way down. The red skyline fades with the turn of the page and flower petals obscure your vision. You’re now surrounded by a field of Daturas, the sunset painting a much warmer canvas above than before. Your attention is snatched away as the light of the sunset darkens, blanketed by a massive wing. It belongs to a black massive dragon, entangled in vines blooming with the same Daturas in the field. He’s half the size of the skyscraper the two of you were just on moments ago. At the center of his chest sits the ruby, the same one from his previous form pulsating with light in time with his heartbeat.
You know what you must do.
The ground isn’t safe. Sylus is snapping his jaw in your direction, fully ready to snip off a limb. You’ll need to dodge roll out of the way to avoid his teeth. When he’s not trying to bite you, he’s trying to snatch you up in his claws. If you don’t get out of the way in time, he succeeds and begins squeezing. You’ll need to struggle to break free or stab his hand with your weapon if you have one. Offended by the gesture, he flings your body back to the ground, turning around to swipe his tail at you. This is your chance. You're gonna need to jump and run up his tail to get onto his back and reach his neck. Climb the scales on his neck and do your best to avoid being grabbed again. The jewel is your goal. When you strike, you will get knocked off and have to try to get back up on him again. (Ride that dragon baby) but during this time on the ground, more meteors are falling, large claws are breaking through the earth trying to grab you and he continues his attempts to bite and grab you. Strike his gemstone heart three times.
Exhausted, when you finally land the last strike, the slain beast collapses. The flowers dissolve and wilt away leaving a barren field and the wheezing body of a dragon. He’s confused on how this is even possible, there is only one person in this world that could take his life. The faint glow of gold glittering in your hand is the last thing he sees before dissolving. A red light flies up into the sky. Well done.
✨Astra’s Blessing ✨
-Self Healing. You gain the ability to regain a portion of your HP during your fight at max 3 times.
🎁Items gained 🎁
-Eye of Desire: Allows user to see weak spots in opponent, increasing crit rate
-Datura flower
❤Affection bonus? ❤
-If you fight him unarmed and manage to win, not only will you hear more flirty dialogue, but you’ll trigger a flag for later.
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Rafayel Boss battle
Phase 1: May I have this dance?
You push through the tall doors of a mansion, entering a chaotic mess of a studio filled with paintings, some incomplete and others fading with age and many blanketed by white sheets. Sitting atop a ladder, the figure with a mop of mauve hair holds his finger up without needing to look at you. He says nothing, adding the last stroke of paint to his latest masterpiece. A portrait of…you? No, it’s not you but your true target. Rafayel's gaze lingers on the painting for a moment longer before he finally turns to greet you…by throwing a knife. Just as you sidestep the attack he’s descending down from the tall ladder, landing perfectly on one foot with the grace of a dancer. The painter bows before you, hand outstretched to call back the knife to him, twirling it between his fingers with the flicker of flames. It begins.
Rafayel starts off with a good ol’ knife fight! But also a dance? Get too close to him and he’ll take your hand, fingers laced together and lock you in his grasp. His steps are elegant, fast and deadly. The battle becomes a rhythm game quick time event where you have to press certain buttons at certain times to dodge your head, lean back into a dip and twirl away while he's holding your hand and trying to stab, cut and slice you with the other. He moves in time with the bgm music playing so use that as a guide for your movements and reaction times. Dodge 4 of his attacks and you break free from his hold allowing you to make your own moves against him while he tries to cut you. Sometimes there’s a surprise 5th attack in his dance that comes at random so be aware. During the fight he’ll grab one of the sheets off of his painting and swirl it in front himself, disappearing into it and then reappearing behind you for another chance to stab you. Your protocore build will need speed but overall a balanced outfit should work as a fight with Rafayel will be more about rhythmic timing.
Be careful when he starts humming, this is your warning sign to get ready to stop and cover your ears because when he sings and you didn’t cover in time, you'll be stunned in place. Ears bleeding, taking damage and giving him a chance to dance-grab you again. He’s surprised you could survive his voice, impressed even and lets you know but certainly not for long. If you die in this phase, his finishing move is rewarding you with the full impact of his siren song. Eyes glowing faintly, he walks toward you slowly as he sings and you fall to your knees, enraptured by the aura of this god. You die, but at least you get to hear an awesome soundtrack that’s only available if you lose here.
Phase 2: Chain Reaction
Seeing as you’re not dead yet, Rafayel becomes frustrated. After backing you toward one of his paintings, a desert landscape, he smacks his palm directly onto your face, pissed off by the features that resemble her. The artist shoves you into the canvas, the page turning and you fall. A flurry of colors splash across your vision and you are lying back in golden sands. Your opponent’s outfit has changed, sporting black and deep purples, wearing a black mask over the lower half of his face. Even if his face is covered, you can still see the cold look in his iridescent eyes.
He continues to knife fight you but there is no more dancing. Instead, occasionally there will be chains raising up from the ground or flying in your direction with the intent of holding you in place. You’ll be able to hear it coming by the rattling before it strikes so be prepared to jump or block when it comes. If you do get caught, Rafayel is going to do one of two things: Set you ablaze while you struggle to get free. You’ll be taking damage for as long as you are in this hold so break fast. The other possibility is the sands of the desert bufferting you in a twister. Raf didn’t call this into creation but he will welcome it.
Phase 3: Deep Blue Sea
Catching you in his chains, this time he yanks you out of the painting, back into the studio then launched into another one. This time, it's on an ocean cliffside in the midst of a brewing storm. The pages turn and you’re slammed unceremoniously into the rocks, the chains disappearing and the waves of the sea crashing against the cliff. You look up to see Rafayel, standing there and staring at you. His eyes, no longer that beautiful mixed color but now glowing a dangerous blue. The waves of the ocean begin to rise up behind him in time with his breath until there is an eerie stillness. He opens his mouth. A beautifully haunting voice rings out, loud enough to burst eardrums but its melody is soft and cradling. Hypnotizing, and doubled over on itself like a dizzying chorus. You are stunned during his transformation as the waves swirl around his rising body and swallow him into the sea. It's silent for a moment and you're free from his voice…
Until a blue scaled webbed hand snatches you by the ankle, large enough to take hold of your whole calf dragging you into the water. Transformed into a larger version of himself, Rafayel in his mermaid god form is more like a sea beast losing bits of his humanity. Beautiful, but emits a great sense of power. Be warned, there is a time limit on this particular fight before you run out of air. Your god will now be providing the soundtrack himself via his voice, different from the one from the first phase and far more haunting, the thunder above proving the drumlike beat. The waves from his voice create rings that come at you according to the melody and beat. You must block them with the right timing (Drakengard 3 last song type of fight) and launch your own attacks at him, aiming for his throat and heart. During this, you'll also have to dodge flames swirling your way under the waters that also follow a musical pattern. Land enough blows on his throat and his singing will temporarily stop. He will resort to sharp tail whips and slashes. There will be a chance for you to come up for air when you grab hold of a bubble and float up to the surface, giving more time before he drags you back down again.
When the siren is silenced, before his final breath he sees a faint glow within your chest. He lets out one last sorrowful melody before he dissolves into seafoam and a pink light flies up into the sky. Good work.
✨Astra's Blessings✨
-Breathless. You no longer need air to breathe.
🎁Items Gained🎁
-Lumerian scales. Added to your weapon gives increased Atk
-Self(?) portrait
❤Affection Bonus? ❤
-As long as you maintain a perfect match beat for beat with his rhythmic challenges in each stage, you hear extra dialogue that’s almost flirty if you squint, as if he’s trying not to flirt and trigger a flag for later. If you fail the perfect combo at any point, it will not count.
Up Next: Xavier | Caleb
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I'm not much of a writer but I like writing. LaDs has made me want an otome action rpg game and one way I can express it is designing the type of fights I would want to play. Xavier and Zayne are pretty much done but I need to do more reading on Caleb in order to get him down. Zayne is going to be posted last so I need to finish Caleb's first.
This is an open idea so if anyone else wants to play with it and/or do similar, feel free. It'd be super cool to see what kind of fighting techniques, weapons, evols and ideas others come up with.
#love and deepspace#lads#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#love and deepspace rafayel#lads rafayel#non!mc reader#non!mc#my writing
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Manfredi Bellati - Vogue Italia (Oct. 1969)
#manfredi bellati#vogue#vogue italia#photography#fashion photography#vintage fashion#vintage style#vintage#retro#aesthetic#beauty#sixties#60s#60s fashion#60s model#1960s#1960s fashion#swinging sixties#editorial#coat
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Day 1 - Ice Skating with Vil!
General Masterpost
Prologue, Day 2
Prompt: In the end Epel is the one who manages to convince a housewarden to help, specifically getting Vil to help distract the MC while he and the other freshies enact their plan, which is now being referred to as Operation 'Christmas Miracle!'
Reader: GN reader - They/Them pronouns and the reader is called 'MC/Prefect.' The reader also knows how to ice skate but hasn't in a while. (I am too scared to ever try ice skating, but for those of you who do Merry Christmas.)
Included Characters: Vil Schoenheit
Warnings: Mild Swearing.
Tags: @twistedcece
~~~
It's been weeks since you spoke with your fellow freshmen about the winter holidays in your world, and the cold has really come rushing in full force at NRC.
Snow blankets the ground, and students wear thick layers to class to keep warm.
You didn't really have any thick layers to bundle up in, but luckily Professor Crewel noticed this when you and Grim came into class a Prefect and Cat-shaped popsicle, ten minutes late. He then personally saw to yell at Crowley in his office for twenty whole minutes about letting you freeze to death.
So now you have a winter coat.
Big enough for Grim to hide in with you when heading to class. Maybe you can wrangle some gloves out of him to if you play your cards right.
But that's none of this is the point. The point is, it's cold enough to go ice skating on the pond outside the Alchemy Workshop.
Which Vil invited you to go do.
Vil.
Vil Schoenheit.
Invited you.
To go... Ice skating.
The famous model and actor, and the Housewarden of Pomefiore (though much less relevant than the FAMOUS MODEL AND ACTOR part) invited YOU... To go ice skating with him.
Okay, look, it's not that you find it hard to believe (you do actually find it very hard to believe), it's just that... Vil is... Vil.
And you're you. In his eyes, a potato. Not that you mind. Most people are potatoes compared to Vil Scheonheit, but also, potatoes aren't that bad of a comparison.
One of the most diverse ingredients and stand-alone foods in this world and yours. Easily able to fit into any dish or meal as a main ingredient or a side.
You'd say since coming to NRC, you fit that description kind of well.
The point is, you and Vil are friends, but like, you've never gone and done something alone with him like this. You'd asked if other Pomefiore students might be there (namely Rook or Epel), but he'd said it'd just be you two.
Alone. Without one of the idiots (read: friends) in your life (take your pick, there are many), contributing to, or leading the conversation.
You're totally not overthinking this or anything.
You try way too hard to wear something nicer than usual- but as mentioned before, you don't have a ton of warm clothes. And they'll be covered by your coat anyway so why the hell does it matter?
Because it's Vil. That's why it matters. You want to look nice.
"You know, I still think the first shirt was the nicest." Grim mutters between bites of tuna.
Which you don't appreciate considering you gave him that can so he'd shut up for a minute.
"It had a hole in it, Grim. Do you really think Vil wouldn't notice that?" You scoff, searching your closet for another nicer button-up.
The only good one you have is for your school uniform, but it needs to be washed, and you don't have time for that- Vil is literally on his way to pick you up.
"No, cuz it'll be hidden under the coat! Now hurry up, he just texted you he's here."
"What!?" You rush to your phone, quickly throwing on the shirt, rushing to button it up as you see the text.
"Okay, okay, okay- Uh, I left another can of tuna on the counter for you if you get hungry while I'm gone, and if anyone swings by needing me for something- I'm dead, got it?" You tell Grim, putting on your coat.
"Sure thing, henchhuman! Stay out as late as you need, the Great Grim has got things handled!" He says with a large smile, way too excited for you to leave.
Normally he complains anytime you go somewhere without him and get's all grumpy or will end up sneaking along after you.
But today, he's been all too happy to help you get ready and push you out the door.
It's suspicious. He's been acting suspiciously for the last two weeks.
So have the others. Avoiding you, getting anxious and awkward when you're around. Lying.
You're not an idiot. They're up to something. You can't quite figure out what exactly but you can reckon it's probably something that you're going to have to fix later.
But right now, you've got more pressing issues.
Like stopping at the hall mirror to make sure your hair isn't messed up, and your skin's not greasy or anything.
When you open the door Vil is, as always, the vision of perfection. Dressed snuggly in a deep blue winter coat, black leather gloves, and a white fur scarf, his hair tied back in a bun, only the front half left loose to frame his face as it usually does.
His violet eyes glimmer when he sees you, swiftly putting his phone back in his pocket.
"There you are, are you ready to go?" He smiles.
"Yep!" You chuckle as you rub your hands together at the cold breeze that comes rushing in from outside.
It snowed particularly hard last night, so classes had been canceled today. But right now, the sky is clear, and the fresh snow sparkles under the late morning light.
The motion, however, catches Vil's eye, whose smile drops as he looks you up and down and raises a brow.
"It's quite cold out, MC, are you sure you don't want to put on gloves? And a scarf you be a good idea too. And maybe a different coat, that one simply is not your color, who did you let pick it out, Crowley? It hardly looks warm enough for the weather." He asks, poking at the sleeve of the item.
Actually, yes, he did pick it out. The cheapest one he could find.
"It's the only coat I have, and I don't have any gloves or anything. It's fine though, I've gotten pretty used to the cold by now." You laugh it off, and Vil's eyes narrow.
"Hm. Very well, let's just get going, I'm sure we can swing by Sam's shop and pick you up something." He nods, resolute.
"Oh, I don't really have any money for it. Not if I want to eat something other than the cheap microwave meals Crowley leaves for me over break." You wave your hands, stepping outside and closing the door before you let any more heat out.
It was hard enough getting the furnace working, you're not wasting a single second of the warmth it provides before it breaks again.
"Microwave meals!? Is that birdbrained idiot trying to kill you!? Do you know how many preservatives and chemicals are in those!?" Vil looks horrified and you can't help but chuckle, scratching at the back of your head nervously.
"Well, food is food, as Ruggie would say. We can worry more about it later if you'd like, but I'd really like to have some sort of fun on my snow day, don't you?" You ask, trying to change the subject.
The housewarden cringes at the idea of dropping the subject, but lets out a defeated sigh.
"Fine. We will be talking about this later though. Or at least I'll be talking with Crowley next housewarden's meeting." He mumbles the last bit as he grabs your arm, looping it through his.
Oh. Oh.
He leads the way down Ramshackle steps towards the gate. And you try not to think about you two looking awfully a lot like a couple.
Ice skating is a common winter date where you're from... And then you have a thought.
A stomach-dropping thought.
Is this a date?
You nearly stumble to a stop at the thought.
You didn't think to ask. Why would you!? It was such a random out-of-the-blue offer! You didn't think 'Would you like to go ice skating with me today?' translated to anything nonplatonic!
It's probably not a date. Probably.
So you quickly decide to distract yourself from the warmth radiating from where your and Vil's arms are locked.
"So, you wouldn't happen to know what's up with Epel lately? He and the others have been avoiding me. I think they're planning something, but I don't know what." You mention, and Vil glances at you with a small smirk.
"It just so happens I do. And trust me, it's nothing to worry about. Let's just focus on us today, yes?"
Oh, this might be a fucking date.
Fuuuuuuuck.
You would have tried so much harder to look nicer if you'd realized this sooner!
"O-okay. Well, how have you been with all the cold weather? Are you excited for the break?" You ask, suddenly feeling very nervous.
"I don't mind the cold, it dries out the skin, but simply adding an extra hydration step to my skincare routine in the morning and night is a simple fix for it." He informs and you smile.
"I've tried that face scrub stuff you got for me, and it works really well. Smells nice too. I'm almost out of it, so I'll have to save up for some more." You mention, the gift- or well, 'charity' as he called it at the time a few months ago, of skincare products.
It was nice of him, and you're pretty sure it was a 'thank you' for helping him during his overblot. Which is more than you got from Leona.
You've been able to set up a routine for yourself with it, probably nothing as complicated as his routine, but you're proud to say you have seen some improvements.
"Oh? I'm glad, I wasn't sure you'd use any of them, Epel certainly doesn't." He scoffs, and you chuckle.
"Yet somehow has incredible skin." You remark as you walk out the gate and towards the Alchemy Workshop
"I know, as to how he got so lucky when all he does is wash it with water and a cloth in the morning- sometimes- I will never understand." Vil sighs, bringing a hand to his head in disappointment.
"Well, at least he's got you to look out for him. Wish I were so lucky to have gotten the fair Vil Schoenheit as a guide throughout my time here at NRC. All I got was Crowley." You sigh, unintentionally leaning into him as a cold breeze passes through.
"Hm, well, if you'd like I can certainly dedicate some of my time to help you with self-care and style? And trust me, it's no burden on me. After all, if we're going to be seen together more, it ought to be my job to make sure you look good enough to impress. I want the world to see you as beautiful on the outside as I know you are on the inside." He meets your wide-eyed gaze with a soft smile.
There's a fondness in his eyes that you don't think you've ever seen before.
A fondness meant just for you.
"Oh my, are you sure you're not cold? Your face is all red." He asks, though there's a knowing look in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.
Oh, he's teasing you.
"I'm fine! I just didn't expect that! I don't get compliments often, you know?" You turn away, focusing on the path ahead of you.
"Oh, I doubt that sweet potato, with how selfless and determined you are? There are a lot of people here at NRC who should be singing your praises for everything you do for them." He brings his other free hand to rest on top of your arm, still locked with his.
"Well, all I really hear is people telling me that I shouldn't be so kind, or that I'm naive, too trusting, too generous, and foolish for never requesting anything in return... Sometimes it's like none of the students here even know what kindness is, the way they react to it." You can see the Alchemy Workshop ahead of you.
"Hm, I see. Well, I might agree in some aspects that you're too trusting and generous at times, but for the most part, it's... Not a bad thing. You've helped people, MC, even at your own detriment, and though the idea of you continuing to do so worries me, I know you will. Because you have a good heart. You care about people, even when they don't deserve your care. It's admirable." He sighs wistfully, staring off ahead, the condensation of his breath floating in the icy air around his face.
You pause when you reach the Alchemy Workshop, looking at him as he turns to you questioningly.
"... Thanks, Vil. You have a good heart too. Even if you don't show it very often. You look after your dormmates and underclassmen, you make sure they're taking care of themselves, eating healthy, and doing well in school. You encourage their passions a lot, even Epel's love for Spelldrive, despite not liking the sport yourself. You have your own way of caring about people, it's a more 'tough love' style than mine, but it's still just as admirable." You know he's thinking back to his own overblot and behavior leading up to it.
To be honest, it was bad, but people are more than just their worst moments.
And perhaps that is you being too forgiving, but empathy is something that NRC has been lacking for a long time. So perhaps it's just your cross to bear.
Vil meets your eyes for a long moment, thoughts swirling around those long lashes and pretty lavender irises.
"The way you're able to see people, sweet potato... It's a remarkable ability, you know that right?" He finally smiles, and it remains the most beautiful sight you've ever known.
"A blessing and a curse at times. Now come on, I wanna ice skate!" You laugh and pull at the connection of your arms to usher him forward.
"So you do know how? I never thought to ask, but I figured if you didn't I could teach you." Vil inquires as you walk around the building to see the frozen pond.
It looks beautiful, sparkling in the daylight. There are a few students on the other side skating, but they're far enough that you and Vil can still skate with plenty of room. It's a big pond after all.
"Kind of, I haven't in a while, so I might be a bit rusty- and certainly not as elegant as I'm sure you are." Of all the talents for Vil Schoenheit to have, ice skating may be the least surprising.
It's a beautiful hobby. Elegant, graceful, refined, and mature. All words that can describe ice skating and Vil.
"I only started learning a few years ago, and only really in the wintertime when I'm home alone on break. I picked it up to pass the time." He explains, walking you over to the pond edge where two bags sit- a note attached.
"You're alone during winter break?" You ask, slightly hesitant, not wanting it to be a sensitive topic, but he probably wouldn't have mentioned it if it was, right?
"Yes, my father's work schedule is usually packed, so he's not home often. I have the house to myself for the most part, save for the housekeepers." He picks up the note (you see that it's signed 'from Rook') and opens the bag nearest so you both can see the white ice skates inside.
"Oh, well, you can always call or text me during break if you get bored. I'd enjoy hearing from you." You grab the other bag as he hands it to you (ignoring how your hands brush), and he chuckles.
"I just might, sweet potato. Here, I sent Rook to buy these for you, so don't worry about returning them to me." He tells you.
You brush snow off a nearby tree stump and sit down to put them on. They fit perfectly, and you don't even want to begin to guess how Rook got your shoe size.
"You sure? I can pay you back-"
"Don't worry about it. Consider them one of your gifts. Now, let's go, we don't have all day."
Wait, one of your what-
You stumble a bit and Vil's arm darts out to steady you.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, fine, just haven't worn a pair of these in a while!" You laugh it off, and you both make your way to the ice.
Vil is as elegant as you thought he'd be, gliding across the ice smoothly. You have a rocky start, nearly slipping straight onto your butt the moment you touch the ice, but you find your balance quickly.
The memories of your last time skating flow back to the forefront of your mind, and you manage to not look like a complete fool gliding across the ice with Vil.
"Gosh, it feels like so long ago since I last did this!" You laugh, doing slow wide circles around the ice with Vil.
"Hm, it is a rather elegant winter activity, we could make it a tradition if you'd like? Coming to ice skate before winter break. It would keep either of us from getting too rusty and I can give you some of the hydrating face masks I use in the morning and night to keep your face from getting dry- and lip balm, chapped lips will not be accepted while we're together." He asks you, and you turn to him, skating in front of him backward.
It's a bold offer. Everything about Vil had been bold today. Does he truly like you? Like, like-like you?
You certainly like-like him.
By the seven you sound like a middle schooler with their first ever crush. Hell, you've certainly felt like one for... Awhile now.
Every time you're near him, acting like a blushing idiot, twirling your hair and giggling. You're not actually doing either of those things, but you sure feel like it!
Ever since his overblot, he's been a consistent voice of reason in your life, helping you curb the chaotic tendencies of those around you every time he's around.
And somewhere along the line, you've developed that terrible fluttering in your stomach that people call a crush every time he speaks to you. Or offers to help with something. Or looks at you. Or calls you 'sweet potato' which really only started just before Halloween.
God, he really has been dropping big hints, huh? So you should make a bold move too, right?
By the seven, please don't let this backfire.
"I'd love to, but only if you let me take you out to dinner afterward." You smile, the slightest of nervous flushes on your face, and his eyes widen, startled, but so does his smirk.
"How bold. And here I was worried that even after today you wouldn't get the hint. It's a date, sweet potato." He skates closer to you.
"I'm not that dense you know, just... In a state of shock that you'd want to go out with me. You do know you could have anyone right? You're a famous model, actor, and the housewarden of Pomefiore. From what I've seen so far, there isn't a girl or guy alive that wouldn't throw themselves at your feet." You acknowledge and he just laughs.
"Ah, yes, all the guys and girls that would love to be with me just for my looks, fame, and money. No, thank you. I'll stick with one of the only people in the world who sees me. Who appreciates my help, even when others think I'm being a bitch. Who values my advice, and actually listens to it. Who makes me feel like I... for a single second... Don't need to try so hard to be perfect." You stop skating at his words.
So does he.
"Vil... You never have to be perfect with me. I'm not perfect. Neither is anyone I know- I mean, look at my best friends! They're morons! But I still love them! Because they make me laugh. They care about my wellbeing- in their own ways, and they're there for me when I really need them." You list fondly, skating just a bit closer to grab Vil's gloved hand.
"That's all I really need from anyone, and maybe to some people, that's a low bar, but hey, I'm happy. So it must not be that bad of a thing, you know? So if you're up to doing just those three things, then I'll gladly date you, and do the same in return." When you look up at him, he's watching you closely.
Or well, maybe not you.
Your lips.
"I think I'm quite capable of doing all of that. And more, if you'd allow me?" He glances to meet your gaze his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.
You smile and nod.
And he kisses you. Slow, soft, and gentle. Warmth fills you, making the cold that your cheap coat couldn't keep out, melt away.
You lean into the kiss, and you have to stop yourself from chasing after it when he pulls away.
"Lots of those. That's also part of the deal- I require lots of those." You sigh wistfully and he laughs.
Bright, and melodic, and real.
You move to skate an inch back just to see it better and-
"Ack-!"
Your skate catches on something, stalling and sending you falling back.
Your arms frantically reach to grab something and stabilize yourself. At the same time, Vil quickly reaches forward to grab you, which he does, but then his skate trips over the same thing that must have tripped you.
You land in snow.
Ah. You two were at the edge of the pond.
You tripped on solid ground.
And dragged Vil down with you.
Not a great start to the relationship.
It takes a moment of blinking to fully process what just happened but when you do, you find Vil on top of you, a single hair fallen out of his bun.
Without thinking you reach out and tuck it behind his ear so it's less noticeable to someone who isn't this close to him.
His eyes meet yours and you flush, suddenly bashful and worried all at once.
"I'm so sorry! Are you okay!?" You ask, feeling the snow below you, freezing cold seeping through your coat and clothes.
You use your hands to prop yourself up, ignoring the cold and how it starts to sting.
"I'm alright, are you?" He asks and you nod, looking around, your happy you two are now the only ones at the pond.
Vil may have agreed to date you, but he might quickly retract it if anyone saw that.
You sigh in relief, and then... You can't stop yourself from laughing.
"Care to enlighten me on what's so funny about this? Ugh, I've probably messed up my hair- and my clothes-" He pushes himself up, standing swiftly, brushing the snow off of his coat.
"Because we weren't paying attention at all!" You snort out, still laughing at the whole clumsy situation.
"Exactly! You could have gotten hurt, you are aware of that, correct?" He scolds, leaning down to offer you a hand up, which you gladly take while still giggling.
"Yeah, but we didn't, and this will be a hilarious first date story someday." You struggle to balance only for a second when he pulls you to your feet (he's stronger than you thought, duly noted) but he holds your arms to keep you steady.
"We are not telling anyone that I fell." He says firmly, but you smile up at him and can immediately see that fondness softening his sharp glare.
"Of course not. The beautiful and fair, Vil Schoenheit was my hero, helping me up, checking for injuries, kissing them better-" He scoffs as you giggle out the lie.
"We're not telling anyone that either, sweet potato. Let's just stick with you fell, and I helped you up, yes?" He smirks, and you sigh with a smile still glued to your face.
"As you wish, my fairest." You loop your arms and begin skating out towards the middle of the ice once more.
"How about you show me some of those fancier moves you were doing earlier? The figure skating stuff. I'm no master like you, but I think I can learn a few things." You suggest.
"I wouldn't call myself a master, but I can show you a few things I've learned, so watch closely, sweet potato."
"Oh, trust me, I will."
You two spend the next hour skating, Vil teaching you some more advanced moves, which leads to you falling once or twice more, but you get a few down before evening rolls around with no serious injury.
"I think we should probably head back now, my hands are going to go numb." You sigh, a little disappointed to call it quits, but your hands hurt from how cold they are, and you legs are getting tired too.
"That's probably for the best, to much time out in the cold is terrible for the skin." He sighs, already skating towards you.
"I though you had hydrating face masks for that?" You joke and he rolls his eyes.
"There's only so much a face mask can protect you from and prevent. Are you hungry? We can grab something to eat before we go back, my treat this time, since I was the one who invited you out after all." He suggests and you would like to protest that you should at least pay for your share but- you really don't have the money.
And you're actually starving. You both kind of skipped any kind of lunch, being too distracted with skating and confessions and all that.
Note to self, pack lunches next year.
"Sure, Mostro Lounge would be the best option-" You go to recommend, but Vil quickly interrupts.
"I was thinking of somewhere else. You've been to Mostro Lounge dozens of times, but I'd love to bring you to a restaurant in town that I think you'd like." He asks pulling out his phone and typing something very quickly.
"Oh? Okay. So long as Azul doesn't find out I'm cheating on him with another restaurant, we should be fine." You chuckle and your words draw one from Vil to.
"It's a small place, quaint, quiet, and... Homey. I think you'll enjoy it." Good, so nothing that's 5-star fine dining.
You're really not dressed for that kind of restaurant.
"Alright, but I should stop by and tell Grim I'll be out a little longer, or he might get worried."
"Oh, I think he'll be fine. You can text someone else to check on him if you're really worried, or I can have Rook do it?" He pulls you a bit closer to him as you shiver a bit from a cold wind.
Oh, yeah, Grim will definitely be fine.
"Alright. Lead the way, my fairest." You sigh with a dopey smile, and he glances down at you with a smirk.
"Is that your pet name for me now?" He asks with a raised brow and you nudge him.
"Like you can judge, you literally call me a potato!" You laugh.
"A sweet potato." He correct.
"Still a potato. But it's fine. I quite like it. Would you like me to call you something else?" You ask, tilting your head in his direction and he hums in thought.
"No, I think that will work. As well as darling, love, sweetheart, beauty, my queen- those all work too." He smiles proudly, and you giggle.
"Of course, my queen." You give a small, mock bow, and it's his turn to nudge you.
Today has been... Wonderful.
And even if you're alone during winter break, at least you know Vil is only a text or phone call away.
It'll be a good Christmas this year. You just know it.
~~~
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THE EQUATION.

Seungmin x reader x Lee Know. (s)
Synopsis: Seungmin trusts nothing but numbers and dating you slightly changes that notion until Minho comes and mess the equation. (12,1k words)
Author's note: You guys have been asking for 2min content so here it is. Hope you like x
Unlike people, numbers don't lie. Politics, poetry, promises... those are lies but numbers, they are absolute, they are tangible and they will never lie or betray him. Numbers are what they are: the truth.
And that's why Kim Seungmin prefers to work with numbers, as an analyst at an investment trust company. His job includes analyzing bonds, stocks, and other financial instruments, studying the economic data and the financial markets, and recommending investments. He spends time predicting investment returns through various modeling techniques and assessing the risk of investments.
However, there's one thing in Seungmin's life that he couldn't predict with numbers and statistics, and that is you.
First of all, Seungmin is at the peak of his career, he likes his job and he enjoys what he's doing, in other words, he's living a fulfilling life his way.
Seungmin would rather use the time to bring in billions' worth of investments than waste it on something as frivolous as dating.
That was his initial thought until he met you one random afternoon at a cafe.
It's funny that the cafe is one that he regularly visits to get his morning coffee and somehow, he needed another cup of coffee after work, and of all the possibilities, you were the one taking his order even though you're the manager, not one of the baristas.
Seungmin is not one to believe in such things as fate or destiny but he has no other way to explain it, it feels like at that moment, the universe was trying to bring him and you together.
The next thing Seungmin knows, he's been dating you for six months now, and in those six months, he learned that dating seemed frivolous to him at that time because he hadn't met the right person yet. He also learns that not everything that is not tangible or absolute and not presented in data or statistics are lie.
There are three things that Seungmin believes are true: He likes you, he's happy with you and every day, he likes you more and more thus making him happier and happier.
-
Look at him now! Seungmin gets nervous knowing that he's late for dinner at your place, his foot tapping against the floor of the elevator as it takes him up to your floor.
The second the doors slide open, he walks as fast as he can while cradling the bottle of wine in his arm and carrying his briefcase in the other hand.
Despite knowing the code to your apartment, Seungmin prefers the doorbell. He holds all of his things in one arm to free his hand and presses the doorbell to alert you that he's here, then lets out a sigh.
It isn't much about the fact that he's nineteen minutes late, he's nervous about something else and the thought of it makes his hand fly to the back of his head, getting that weird feeling as he touches his hair that is now short.
The door swings open and your face lights up the moment your eyes lie on him.
"Baby!" You squeal in joy and jump at him, welcoming him with an enthusiastic hug and almost knocking his glasses off his nose.
With the things he carries in one arm, Seungmin can only hug you back as much as he can, and a while later, you pull away and open the door wider for him.
"I have to hurry and stir the sauce," you excuse yourself as you turn around and head straight back inside.
Seungmin doesn't get the chance to apologize for his tardiness, he lets himself in and takes his coat off, then carefully puts his briefcase down on the nearest chair.
He brings the bottle of wine with him as he joins you in the kitchen, "Bought us a bottle of wine."
You briefly glance at it and delightfully exclaim, "Red wine! That's perfect!"
Then you put your focus back on the sauce in the pan, stirring it with a wooden spatula in slow, circular motions, and once it bubbles up, you turn the stove off.
"Okay, now I can properly welcome my boyfriend home," you sweetly say as you approach him with open arms.
Seungmin hurriedly puts down the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter to keep it safe and also, to properly return your hug this time.
"Hi," you mutter with a smile as you put your hands around him and drop them on his shoulders, "I miss you."
It's something else that Seungmin can't find the logical explanation for it but when he's with you, the chemistry in his body drastically changes the second you enter his radar, he feels a surge of dopamine, he feels instant comfort and his body relaxed, and the moment both of your lips collide in an explosive kiss, his heart palpation.
All of a sudden, your lips stiffen against him and you slowly pull away, then bring your hand to the nape of his neck, tangling it in his short hair.
"Wait... did you cut your hair?" You ask with a sly smile on your face.
"Yeah, I did," Seungmin answers.
You take a moment to check his new haircut and at the same time, admire how it accentuates his already perfect facial features and how the dark of his hair adds intensity to his eyes.
"Do you like it?" He shyly asks.
You drop your hands around his neck and pull him close, "I love it," you reply.
Then you lean in for another kiss, harder and deeper while steering his body until his back meets the door of the fridge. You put your whole weight, putting your body against him until your bodies mold into each other.
When he's with you, his brain stops controlling his body and his heart takes over, making the chemistry in his body want only you and you and you.
And, oh, how good it feels that he gets what he wants and you're just for him and him only.
The beeping sounds coming from the oven interrupt the moment and you immediately pull away from the kiss to get to it.
"To be continued," you tell him with a sly smile.
Curls of steam escape the oven as you open it and the mouth-watering smell wafts around in the room, evoking his appetite. You put mitts on both hands and cautiously, take the tray out of the oven, revealing the perfectly roasted chicken.
Aware that you must put a lot of effort into making dinner, Seungmin knows that he, at least, should contribute to it apart from the bottle of wine he brought.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" He asks.
You take your oven mitts off and put them away, "You can open the bottle of wine and bring the glasses to the table."
Before doing what you order, Seungmin unbutton his cuffs and folds the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow. He starts by opening the wine bottle and pulling the cork open with a loud popping sound. He then brings it to the table along with the two wine glasses he carries in one hand, he meticulously pours the wine and the aphrodisiac smell fills his nostrils as he takes a small sip at it.
The roasted chicken is just as delicious as it looked and the lemon dill sauce is just the perfect condiment, even better that the red wine complements the whole thing. It's such a simple yet heartwarming dinner, that Seungmin finds himself completely at ease and unknowingly lowering his guard down.
"...I think they miss their figures so I said let's increase by 15% because I was sure they'll strike gold with the new product line," Seungmin passionately shares a bit of his day at work.
"And I guess, you were right?" You ask before shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth.
"There was a line around the corner on the release date, I was right," he confirms with a small smile.
And when he's at ease like this, he can comfortably talk about almost anything with you and he's aware that it may bore you.
"Did I bore you?" He meekly asks.
"No," you hastily answer, placing your hand on his hand that rests on the table.
"You know I like it when you talk numbers," you add with a soft smile.
"This is really good, by the way," he says, averting the conversation to the food you cooked so incredibly.
"Glad you like it, baby," you say with a gentle squeeze on his hand.
There are no numbers or data that can tell Seungmin the reason why you like him, neither his look nor personality are that appealing and you are the opposite of that, you're beautiful and charming, you're so well-spoken, and now, you have proven that you're a good cook too.
Once again, he can't find the logical explanation to that but he's lucky to have met you.
Seungmin pours more wine into both of your glasses as you tidy up the kitchen after dinner, he sits on the sofa and waits for you to join him. You put on music through the portable speaker and the slow beat of the song softly plays in the background.
"Thank you," you say as you take the glass of wine from his hand.
The sofa fits three people but you opt to sit on Seungmin's lap, straddling him without spilling the wine in your hand. You take a small sip before putting it away on the coffee table.
"Thank you for the hearty dinner," he sincerely mutters his gratitude and he knows he has said it more than a dozen times already.
"If you're really thankful, where's my kiss then?"
Knowing that it would be a hassle, he takes his glasses off first and then puts his arms around you to draw you close. The hand that rests on the nape of your neck allows him to angle your head as he pleases and then slowly, he puts his lips on yours, conveying his gratitude through a kiss.
"Thank you," he murmurs when he breaks the kiss.
"You're very welcome," you reply.
You lay your hands on his shoulders and then glide them down his shoulder blade, feeling how broad and muscular they are. Then you bring your hands to the back of his hands, gently pulling at the short hair there.
"Did you sync your hair appointment with my menstrual cycle or something?"
Seungmin snorts at the random question, "No. Why?"
"Then why did you get a haircut when I'm ovulating, mmh?" You ask, purposely bumping your nose at his.
"No, that's not—" his words get cut off as you put a finger on his lips.
"Oh, stop playing dumb!" You tell him, putting your finger away so you can kiss him.
You kiss him hard until his head tilted to the back and he has no choice but to give in, letting your body pressed against him.
Seungmin gets light-headed from the kiss as he prioritizes kissing you back instead of breathing, and you know what? It's worth every second of it even though his lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.
Sensing that you both need a breather, you pull away from the kiss and slightly turn his head to the side to place kisses on his jaw.
"I think you should take responsibility for your actions," you whisper to him.
"I didn't do anything," he innocently says with a low chuckle.
His hand trails down your spine and stops on the arch of your back, his nails dug at your clothed skin as you plant searing kisses on his neck with your hot breath tickling his ear.
"I think you should put a baby in me," you softly whisper.
Not only the words secretly arousing him, it's also the way a sly smile blooms on your face after you say it, oh, he couldn't be more attracted to you!
"In this economy?" He asks with an eyebrow raised in disagreement.
"Yeah, you're right but..." You put your hands on his chest and put a space between your faces, "we can start by having unprotected sex."
He laughs at that and puts his hands on your thighs, "And risk to actually put a baby in you?"
You roll your eyes at him, sighing as your hands slump down his chest. With a deep breath, you try again in a way that intrigues him.
"If we're talking about the success rate of birth control, it's 99%," you begin your explanation.
"Yeah, but—"
You stop him from cutting you off by covering his mouth with your fingers, "Yeah, I know. I might have missed a pill or two but that only decreased the success rate to 93% which means..."
You put your hands around his neck and continue with your explanation, "There's only a 7% chance that you'll actually put a baby in me."
He glides his hands up to hold each side of your waist, "And that means 7 out of 100 pill users get actual babies in them."
"Yeah, but I'm part of the 93%," you confidently remark.
"Or you could be in the 7%," he argues.
"Uhh... I wouldn't be so sure. 7 has never been my lucky number anyway," you simply state, adding a nonchalant shrug at the end.
What you said is so out of pocket that it amuses him so much and he thinks that's why he likes you, you're unpredictable. In fact, you're the only unpredictable thing that he likes in his life.
"And maybe this will change your mind..." you say, untying your dress open and revealing enough to show the bra you're wearing underneath.
"How's that?" You adorably tilt your head to the side as you ask him.
Seungmin tries to remain calm even though he gets the urge to just rip your dress open and expose more of you to him. He looks away and stares at your face, but you're taking his hand and making him cupping your breast.
"I'm wearing it for you," you seductively say.
He's feeling the lacey fabric of your bra instead of kneading on your breast, "Yeah?"
"Uh-huh, and it comes with matching underwear too," you share, parting your dress open until it's completely off of you.
As of this moment, his self-control is being tested and he doesn't know how long until he folds. He holds his breath as his eyes travel down your body, quietly lusting at it.
You slowly bring your head close and sweetly peck his lips, "Do you like it?"
He rubs his hands up and down your sides, then looks up at you, "Yes."
"Yes, what?" You lean in closer until the tip of your nose bumps his cheek.
"I like it," he speaks so low it's almost like a whisper.
You smile at his answer and react more by pressing your lips on his lips. The more you kiss him, the more he doesn't want to let go, he just wants to keep kissing you until he runs all of the air in his body.
All of a sudden, you break the kiss with a gasp and slyly smile at him, "This is just one of my two-part plans," you tell him.
"What's the second part then?" He curiously asks with his fingertips lightly tracing your collarbone.
The sly grin on your face doesn't tell much but he knows it is something that will amuse him. You take his glasses on the coffee table and put them back on him.
"Keep your glasses on 'cause I want you to closely watch me take you in my mouth."
With his glasses on, Seungmin watches you take him into your mouth, how your luscious lips wrap around his length, and the way you swirl your slick, hot tongue around his tip. All the while, your hand takes care of the rest that you can't take into your mouth.
Don't get him started on the eyes you're giving him as half of his cock disappeared into your mouth, they're innocent and filthy at the same time, and he doesn't know how you do that but you're doing it so well.
He's sure that his hard cock shows how much he wants you and if not, well then, he just needs to take things further himself.
"Okay, fine, your two-part plan worked," he mutters with his hand tangled in your hair.
"I know," you cockily say to him.
He puts his other hand in your hair and then tilts your head to make you look at him, "Come sit on my lap!"
You obey him, pulling him out of your mouth and slowly, getting up from the carpeted floor. You take a step closer and he stops you right there.
"Just a second..." he says.
He looks up at you as you stand right in front of him, he trails his hands down the sides of your body and then tugs his fingers at the elastic band of your underwear. Without looking away from your eyes, he pulls it down your legs until it drops and pools around your ankle.
One corner of your mouth curls into a smirk as he puts his hand on the back of your knee and lifts it, resting your foot on his thigh. This position allows him to bring his mouth close to your heating core and a whimper falls out of your mouth the second his lips make contact with your tender flesh.
The glasses stay on because he knows how much you like seeing it turn foggy as he goes down on you. He doesn't need to look anyway to please you with his mouth.
He sticks his tongue out to tease your clit in a kitten lick before taking it whole in his mouth and sucking it real hard.
"Oh, baby..." you breathlessly moan as you tug at his hair in reaction to his stimulation.
Seungmin slowly lets go, he replaces his mouth with his hand, repeatedly running his fingers between your folds that your essence drenched all over them.
"Can't wait to be inside you," his voice hoarse and heavy with lust. He then retracts his hand, shoving his fingers coated with your essence, and licks them clean.
Seungmin scoots himself to the back of the sofa and then he holds his arms out at you to help you, but he lets his intrusive thoughts win, he pulls you hard until you fall on his lap.
You're giggling as you settle yourself on his lap and immediately put your hands around his shoulders, "eager, are we?"
He brings your head close for a kiss as you part his shirt open, and he briefly sits up straight so you can take it off of him. He wastes no time to put his arms around you after, drawing you close until there is no inch of gap left between your bodies.
To make it fair, he unclasps your bra and then pulls the straps down your shoulders, you do the rest by taking it off of you, letting it drop to the floor.
He likes how your breasts hang so beautifully on your chest and they look so soft, he can't help but feel them too. As he kneads on them, he can feel the ample flesh mold into his hands.
"Aren't they just perfect in your hands, mmh?" You murmur, kneading them together with his hands.
Yes, they do, he answers in his head and it makes him believe that your breasts were made just for him. He gently squeezes on them as he buries his head in between with his lips resting on your sternum.
You kiss the top of his head and cradle his head in your hands, your fingers lightly scratching the back of his head as you softly sigh, "My baby..."
Seungmin only knows how to dominate, always in control and being on top of the game but with you, he doesn't care about all that. With you, he just wants to be held and taken care of, and ultimately, loved.
Heaven really is a place on earth with you.
And he's about to enter real heaven when you slowly lower yourself on him. No rubber, no layer of protection just like you asked, it's just you and your warm velvety walls tightly wrapped around his length. Both of your lips instantly locked in a kiss again the moment he's fully buried inside you.
It's nothing like he imagined it would feel like, it's a thousand times better and when you start rocking your hips, Seungmin realizes that his self-control is going to be an issue.
As you keep pulsating your hips at a steady pace, you hold on to the back of the sofa for support and keep your face only inches away from his.
"Tell me, baby!" You murmur.
"Do I feel good, mmh?" You ask, then hastily kiss his open mouth.
You don't see him struggling, do you? Let alone able to compute words to answer your question but he hopes you can see how overwhelmed he is as you rock your hips back and forth.
"Cause you feel so good inside me, baby," you murmur into his ear.
"Oh, I can feel you all over me," you add with a hot kiss on his neck.
He roughly pulls your head close to press a kiss on your lips, grabbing a fistful of your hair in his hand as he keeps kissing you as a way to contain his grunts.
"You're close, mmh?" Your lips graze his as you speak.
There's no use to lie, he's inside you and you can feel him throbbing, wanting to shoot his load at any given time now.
"You're just too good," He simply admits, gliding his hands to your back and pulling you close.
"Are you going to cum for me then?"
"Yes," he shortly answers
"Inside me, yeah?"
He nods, pathetically.
Taking that as a confirmation, you pick up the pace, sending your breasts bouncing right in front of his face but his hands are too busy gripping each side of your waist, desperately trying to slow you down but failing.
"Mmh, yeah, cum for me, baby," you murmur before crashing your lips against him.
Surrendering himself to the need, Seungmin wraps his arms around you so tightly that your breasts are squashed between your chest. His eyes are screwed shut, his body is hot all over like someone kindle a fire inside him.
Despite his tight hold around you limiting your mobility, you maintain the pace, arching your back to provide more depth for him and add intensity to it.
"Cum, fill me, baby," you softly whisper with your lips brushing his jaw.
Seungmin is no longer in control of his body, his desire gets to him and takes him where he needs to be. The pleasure keeps on building up and up and he won't stop until he—
"Argh!" A raw groan spills out of his mouth, then he hurriedly plants his mouth on your shoulder to muffle it.
You finally slow down and hold him close, cradling his head in your chest as he relishes the waves of pleasure lapping over him.
As senses gradually come back to him, Seungmin tilts his head up and pulls you for a kiss, a kiss that feels tender and chaste, the kind that knocks your heart open.
"I love you," he blurts out.
"Oh?" You react with a perplexed gasp.
It surprises him too that he just blurted those words out, he didn't plan on saying it, heck! He didn't even think of saying it but now that the words are out, he knows that it's coming from deep within him.
"You didn't say that just because you're still inside me, right?" You playfully ask.
He innocently shakes his head but changes his mind in the next second, "Uhm... maybe? A part of it because of that," he jokingly says.
"I knew it!" You exclaim and squint your eyes at him.
He brings his hands to your shoulders and then cups your face in both hands, holding it with so much care as if you were a fragile object.
"I love you," he mutters with utmost sincerity and his heart hurts from saying those words out loud, in a good way.
"Me too," You smile and softly brush the hair curtaining his forehead, then place a soft kiss on it, "I love you."
His heart is full knowing that his feelings are being reciprocated and that makes him the happiest he's ever been, and the fact that it comes from something that is beyond him is what makes it special. He cups your jaw and kisses you so sweetly with a heart that loves you until it hurts so good.
"Seungmin," you softly call his name against his lips.
"Yes?"
"Can you put more love in me?"
"With pleasure," he gladly answers.
The music that faintly plays in the background is being replaced with the skin-slapping sounds and both of your breathy moans.
You're lying underneath him, hands gripping each side of the cushion your head resting on, eyes shut with a sheen of sweat coating your body.
"Oh, baby, yes," you moan through your gritted teeth.
Seungmin is using all of his strength, thrusting hard into you, and in each thrust, he tries to go as shallow as possible, hitting you right in the spot.
"Oh, please..." you cry and beg, sounding like you're in pain.
"Please, please, please," you beg again, but he knows that you're asking for more.
He's going impossibly fast that the sofa is creaking along to his movements but even if it breaks, he won't stop. He needs to give you your release and at the same time, he can't help himself but get the pleasure of giving it to you.
"Seungmin, please, please..." you beg again, your eyes closed so tightly that tears squeeze out of the corners of your eyes.
It's the way you're calling him so desperately and with so much neediness that drives him to keep going. He grips the handrest of the sofa as leverage and thrusts into you harder and harder that the muscles on his body are strained and his body is close to giving out.
"Seungmin, please..." you breathlessly moan again.
Yeah, that's right, he's the only one who can give it to you and he's going to give it to you just right.
A mix of a moan and a cry rips out of you as your body stiffens and then softens in the next second, overflowing with immense pleasure.
Seungmin slows his thrusting but adds intensity, he can feel it coming as well. With the way you're clenching around him, it doesn't take him long to finally cum for the second time.
He launches his cock as deep as possible to plant his seed inside you and lowers his mouth on yours to fill his need to be one with you.
It's the most intimate he's ever been with someone, it doesn't feel like physical fulfillment anymore, it's bonding, it's trust, and he believes it's what people call making love.
After a while, Seungmin lets go and slowly, pulls out of you. With your legs still spreading open, he can see how your cunt is drenched with your mixed bodily fluid and pulsating, and a while later, he can see the white of his seed dripping out of you and he can't believe how much he cum inside of you as it now drips onto the sofa. It's a highly erotic thing to watch and satisfies him in a whole new way.
"Are you sure you're not trying to put a baby in me 'cause that was..." you can barely finish your words. You brush away the hair stuck to your moist forehead and let out an exhausted sigh.
Seungmin quietly and triumphantly smiles, he hovers above you and places a long, lingering kiss on your lips. As soon as he breaks the kiss, he looks at you and says, "Well, 7 has never been my lucky number either."
-
Since his job requires him to work late almost every night, Seungmin only meets you on the weekends and he'll stay over, even if it means he has to go to work early on a Monday morning.
"Stay," you mumble with your eyes closed, not letting him stop cuddling you on the bed.
"You can sleep some more," he whispers into your ear, along with a soft kiss on your neck.
"No, stay," you mumble again, taking his arm and putting it around you.
It's always like this every Monday morning, you're not letting him go and he'll cave in, then he'll cuddle you for a few more minutes, peppering you with kisses before dragging himself out of the bed.
If he has to choose, he'd rather stay in bed with you all day but he has other responsibilities to do and it involves a lot of people, not just him.
When Seungmin returns from the shower, you're sitting on the bed with his glasses on, your eyes immediately traveling up and down his glistening wet body, but they focus on the towel that lowly hangs around his hips.
"Oh... mama!" You gasp in delight, your teeth faintly bite your lower lip.
Flustered, he hurriedly walks up to you and takes his glasses off of you, then puts them on him. He gives your cheek a soft caress and then kisses the top of your head.
"You should sleep some more," he suggests as he saunter to your closet where he keeps some of his clothes in there.
"Why would I do that when I can watch my hot, nerdy boyfriend getting dressed to save the nation's economy from collapsing?" You playfully remark, sitting on the bed while hugging your knees.
As he chooses what to wear for the day, he looks over his shoulder at you and asks, "Who's going to make coffee then?"
"Oh, yeah, right," you sigh and pout, "you only date me because of my coffee."
"That's right," he responds with a sly smile.
You get up from the bed and come up to him, slipping your arms under and around him for a hug. You place kisses on the skin on his chest, shoulder, and neck, and eventually, your lips find his.
"Wear the blue shirt," you suggest, pointing at the baby blue shirt inside the closet before turning around on your feet, and heading out of the room so he can get dressed.
The blue shirt surely looks good on him but he can't remember wearing it or bringing it to your place, also, it's a bit tight around the shoulders. He heads to the kitchen where you're busy making coffee for him.
"Are you sure this shirt is mine?" He asks in confusion.
"Of course, it's yours, you silly," you hastily answer and then put down the coffee pot to take a good look at him, "What's wrong?
Seungmin takes a seat on the stool that is pushed against the kitchen island, "It's a bit tight around the shoulders."
You deliver his cup of coffee and then run your hands through his shoulder blades, "That's because you have such sexy, broad shoulders," you whisper into his ear.
He turns his head to the side and you immediately capture his lips in a kiss. You break the kiss to place more kisses on his face and neck.
"Now, eat your breakfast, champion!" You order.
You stand there behind the kitchen island to watch him take his first sip of the coffee you make, and as expected, it's as good as the first time had a taste of it and it also brings back the memories of how he met you that night.
"How is it?"
"Perfect!" He answers with a smile.
It's never just a goodbye kiss with you, it's a full-on makeout with bodies pressed and pushed against the wall, its lips and tongue, and occasional bites in between.
Seungmin has to stop you from going in for another kiss as he still needs air to breathe. He holds you close but keeps his face a safe distance away from yours, his height helps with his.
"You have the night shift tonight," he says.
"Uh-huh."
"You better go get some sleep after this," he suggests.
"One more kiss then," you sweetly ask.
Seungmin has no power to resist you, especially when you look at him with crinkles in your eyes. It would make him a bad man if he said no to that.
"Just one," he makes a compromise.
"Just one, yes," you repeat with an eager nod.
He finds you so cute acting like a puppy like that, he has no other reason but to give you what you want. He slowly leans in and kisses you, ever so softly despite feeling like fireworks are going off inside his chest.
"I have to go," he says once he breaks the kiss.
You don't say anything but pout to him, clinging to him to let him know you don't want him to go.
"I'll see you soon, mmh?" He says with a smile and a long peck on the lips as a consolation.
That seems to cheer you up as a smile blooms on your face, you hug him close, embracing all of him before taking a step back so he can walk out of the door.
"Have a great day at work!" You say as you linger by the doorway and with a sweet smile, you let him go.
A couple of days later, Seungmin receives a call from you but it comes at a bad time, he's in a meeting and he ends up getting two missed calls from you.
You know better to not call him when he's working but it seems urgent so he goes to the office lounge to call you back.
"I'm late," you suddenly share right after you accept the call.
"Late?" He asks in confusion.
There is a pause and then you explain, "My period is late."
The moment you both decided to have unprotected sex, Seungmin prepared himself for a situation like this. He knows that other than he needs to take responsibility for it but checking in on your well-being comes on top of his priority.
"Are you okay?" He asks in slight concern.
"I'm okay," you answer.
"Do you want me to come and be with you?" He offers, even though he doubts he'll be able to do that but that's something he can deal with later.
"No, it's okay. I just..." you pause to inhale air, "I just think that you need to know."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm about to take pregnancy tests," you inform.
"Okay, well, it's better if you take two tests just in case the result is inconclusive," he carefully suggests, keeping his voice low as he's still in his workplace.
"Yeah, okay," you take in his suggestion.
"Hey, it's going to be okay?" He assures you because he knows that's what you actually seek at this moment, an assurance that things are going to be alright no matter what.
"I know," you meekly say.
"I love you," he says because he has nothing else to show you how much he cares and loves you, and he can hear you smiling at the end of the line.
"I love you too," you say with a slight cheery tone.
The two of you let those words hang in the air and let that be the only thing that exists in this dire moment.
After a moment, you sigh into the phone and say, "Well, I'm going to pee on these pregnancy tests and will tell you about the results."
"I'll look forward to it," he playfully responds.
It's normal for him to feel nervous about the results but surprisingly, he doesn't feel scared at all. If anything, it makes him start thinking about his future with you, and if you turned out to be pregnant then it simply means he'd have another part of you that he can love.
That's all he can think about at work, not numbers or statistics, but how wonderful it would be to build a family with you.
As he's deep in his thoughts, his phone vibrates on his desk. He turns it over to check and fumbles on his seat when he notices that it's multiple new texts from you.
"Guess what?" You wrote on the first text, and below it a picture of the pregnancy tests and both showing negative results.
"Told you, seven has never been my lucky number," you wrote in the following text with a smiling emoji.
It's a good thing that you don't call or you would hear the slight disappointment in his voice, but at the same time, he feels a sort of relief. Well, this only means that Seungmin only needs to postpone his plan on building a family with you.
"That damn seven percent," he jokingly wrote in his reply to you.
As a sort of joke, Seungmin decided to get off work early, and bought flowers along with a card he personally wrote on it that says, "Congratulations on being in the 93%!"
He knows you're having night shift for the whole week so the plan is to catch you right on the closing time and surprise you with the flowers.
Seungmin is not big on grand, romantic gestures like this but it shouldn't be something he should be ashamed of doing. It's all about the intention and he believes that the thing earlier was quite a shock to you so his intention is purely to brighten up your day and hopefully, make you feel better.
The taxi pulls up at the side of the street across the cafe, he can see that he comes right on time as you're locking up the place. He has to walk a little further to the crosswalk while carrying the flowers in one hand. He's watching as you lock up the café and pulling at the door to make sure it's completely locked.
As you hoist the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, you turn around on your feet and Seungmin hurriedly waves his hand your way even though it's doubtful that you'll see him.
However, your face lights up like you usually do whenever you see him, your eyes sparkle, and a radiant smile. His heart is pounding as he starts to eagerly wave his hand at you only to find out that you're looking at someone else.
A guy comes out of the car parked right outside the café and you walk up to him, not stopping him as he hugs you. It's not just a friendly hug, the guy holds you close and lifts you off the ground for a moment, sending you giggling with your head bumping close to him.
Seungmin unconsciously follows the crowd crossing the street and when he finally gets to the side of the street, he sees that the two of you are kissing, lips locked with arms around each other.
He takes slow, hesitant steps toward you to see if it's really you and you're aware that you're kissing someone that is not him. He stops on his track as the guy spins you to the side and you open your eyes to see him standing there.
In that moment, your eyes meet and the expression on your face significantly turns into a panic one. From the look of it, it finally registered to him that you're fully aware of what you're doing.
"What is this?" He asks in utter confusion at you.
You immediately push the guy you've just kissed to approach him, "Seungmin, I can explain!" You say.
There's nothing to explain when he saw everything with his own eyes, unless you think he's blind or losing his mind, that's the only explanation he needed.
You walk toward him in such caution like approaching a wild animal, "Seungmin, please, wait, I can—"
But he's no longer looking at you, he's looking at the other guy and how flippant he is at this whole situation. He's mad beyond belief and before he obliterates everything around him, he turns around on his feet to leave.
"Seungmin!" You call his name out loud and he can hear you break into tears after.
"Fuck this," He mutters out of spite, tossing the flowers into the trash bin. He ignores your desperate calls and keeps walking away, not looking back.
-
Men lie, women lie, and numbers, after all, can be manipulated which makes it a lie. In other words, everything is a lie.
Even Seungmin is lying to himself, he pretends that he's alright even though the truth is he's far from alright. He can't believe that a week ago he thought of building a family with someone he's only known for six months, six fucking months and you turned out to be cheating on him.
The only thing that he believes in is this anger he feels whenever he thinks of you and it's more infuriating that he can't find the outlet for it. It seems like he has to keep it in until he dies.
His phone vibrates on his desk and he hates that his heart gets hopeful, thinking that it's a text from you when the truth is you stopped contacting him two days ago and he knows it's because he didn't respond to any of them, but deep down, he hopes it's you.
Full of anticipation, he checks his phone and sees that he has received a series of texts from an unknown number. It's probably work-related texts so he ignores it for a while until the curiosity wins over him.
"So, you're the other boyfriend," is what is written in the text.
"Who is this?" He quickly replies.
"It's Minho. The boyfriend," he writes along with multiple pictures of you and him.
If his goal is to make him jealous, he's succeeded at that and now that the goal is achieved, what else there is?
"What do you want?" Seungmin gets defensive.
"Does this mean you give her up, huh?"
It's not giving you up when he decides to break up with you after finding out that you cheated on him. Before Seungmin can compose a reply to that, a new text appears.
"I'm the better man anyway," Minho writes and he knows he does it to provoke him.
What a shame that Seungmin is not triggered and decides not to stoop to his level. Minho is free to think that he gives you up or he's a better man than him, Seungmin doesn't care at all!
However, his ignorance only lasts for a couple of days until Minho comes up with a text that has one clear purpose and that is to light Seungmin's short fuse.
"Come and watch me fuck her better than you did?" Minho wrote on the text along with a video of you, lying naked on the bed with his hand going all over you.
As if that isn't enough, Minho sends another video and Seungmin knows better not to open it but he does anyway. The next video is of him filming himself fucking you through the mirror that he knows for sure is in your bedroom and he can hear your moans in the background.
"Did you say something?" Minho asks as he turns the camera to you.
"Please!" You say.
"Please, what?"
"Please, Minho, I want to cum," you plead with your eyes red and teary.
With the rage that blinds him and jealousy that burns him from the inside, Seungmin rides in the back of the taxi in the middle of the night with both hands balled into fists on his lap and his chest heaving in anger on the way to your place.
He skips on the knocking on the door and punches the passcode into your place, letting himself in. A while later, you come to the door, looking unruly but fully dressed, it looks like he's just disturbed your slumber instead of catching you sleeping with another guy.
"Seungmin," you say his name in a mix of confusion and surprise.
Seungmin would be lying if he didn't miss hearing you call his name but he reminds himself he's not here for that, he came here for something else.
"Where is he?" He asks as he walks past you. He starts looking for him in every room in your apartment while you're trailing behind him.
"Who?" You ask in utter confusion.
"Your boyfriend," he simply answers, pushing the door to your bedroom and seeing that no one is on the bed except for a messy pile of duvet.
"He's not here and I haven't seen him in a week," you tell him.
He avoids looking into your eyes and walks up to the bathroom, pushing the door open with his hand only to reveal that you're telling the truth.
"Why? Isn't he your boyfriend? Shouldn't you with him?" He asks you, going out of the bedroom to check the laundry room near the kitchen.
"Because I needed the space. I got heartbroken when you broke up with me," you meekly answer.
Maybe he was foolish for not knowing you lied behind his back but how dare you lie right to his face now? Seungmin stops looking and turns around to look at you, he scoffs in exaggeration.
"Don't lie to me," he says to you with a sarcastic smile.
"I'm not. I am still devastated that we broke up," you genuinely admit with tears pooling in your eyes.
Hearing someone enter the passcode to your door, you hurriedly wipe your eyes before the tears roll down your cheeks and head to the door to check who is it.
"Minho, what are you—" You can't barely finish your sentence as he presses a kiss on your lips.
"Minho, this is not a good time," you say to him, but he walks further inside while holding your hand.
Without having to look, Seungmin knows that it's the man he's looking for and he realizes Minho was never here, he sent all those videos just to trap him and he fell right into it.
"You came, huh?" Minho says to him with a faint smirk on his face.
That is enough to trigger Seungmin, he takes a step forward and closes the gap between their bodies, "What's your problem?"
You immediately get in between and push them away from each other until there's a safe distance between them, "Minho, please, don't!"
"I don't know why I'm here," Seungmin mutters, pushing his way in the direction of the door.
You block the way and take both of his hands, "No, Seungmin, please, stay!" You beg with pleading eyes.
"Nah, babe, just let him go!" Minho says with a rather mocking tone at Seungmin while leaning the side of his body against the wall.
"You both stay!" You tell both of them, dragging Seungmin back inside and making him sit on the sofa. You glare at Minho next, gesturing him to also sit on the sofa, and with a sigh, he obeys to your order.
They're sitting so far apart from each other and you know Minho is the one who made Seungmin come here, but the damage has been done, you may as well use this opportunity to talk to both of them.
"Now that you're both here, let me explain everything," you say, standing right in front of them.
"I don't need your explanation," Seungmin says without looking at you.
"Seungmin, please!" You beg again.
"The door is right there!" Minho casually says to him.
You know Minho is going to be the problem so you glare at him, "Minho, please?" You say in a rather threatening tone instead of pleading.
"I'm not going to stop you from leaving but please hear me first," you try again while clasping your hands together in front of you.
Seungmin refuses to look at you but he stays in his seat and that's enough, he only needs to hear your part of the story anyway.
"Yes, I'm dating the two of you at the same time," you admit right away and that seems to intrigue Seungmin that he glances your way.
"But I wouldn't call it cheating," you continue and Seungmin looks away again, "Even if that's the case, it only means that I'm cheating on Minho with you."
"What do you mean by that? You're dating him behind my back," Seungmin says with a lot of resentment in his voice.
"Minho knows everything," you reveal, "We've been dating for three years way before I met you."
"Yes, and she told me everything," Minho adds with a wicked smile on his face.
It feels as if the two of you are playing him and he feels stupid for being the joke in this narrative. Seungmin looks at you and then at Minho with a revolted look on his face, "What is this sick game are you playing here?"
You take a step closer to him and slightly bend down to make him look at you, "Seungmin, I swear this is not a game. Our relationship is real and so is my relationship with Minho, we're—"
This is where Seungmin loses it. He's not familiar with this equation. You're dating him but also dating Minho. How can one person date two people at once? And is that even possible? Since when 1+1+1 is two? His brain just can't comprehend it.
"You cheated on me," he says and that's the only statement he firmly stands on, he doesn't care who dates who first and how many relationships you have other than with him.
You take a moment to inhale air and try again, "Seungmin, trust me when I say I never lied to you. I love you and you know that's true," you calmly tell him.
"But you did lie to me about your relationship with him," Seungmin
"Because I don't want to lose you," you hastily respond with the harsh truth.
A moment passes in silence as Seungmin processes your words and you're right, he would have left you a long time ago and the relationship wouldn't last this long.
"I know this is hard to understand but I love you, Seungmin, and I love him too," you say as you point at Minho.
You rake your hair to the back and come up to them, kneeling in front of them as you grab their hands in each of your hands.
"And I know how selfish and greedy I sound but I want you both in my life," you finish with a sad smile.
Minho brings your hand close to his mouth and kisses it, "You know you'll always have me," he says.
You softly smile at him, "Thank you, Minho."
The ball is in Seungmin's court now and you look at him with hopeful eyes, even though the chance that he'll agree to this is slim, close to zero percent.
"Seungmin..." your voice lowers as a second passes without an answer from him.
All of a sudden, he takes his hand away from your hold and in that moment, you tell yourself that, at least, you've tried your best to make him stay and if he still chooses to go, then you have to let him go.
Seungmin's hand cups your cheek and he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. To your surprise, he smiles and then slowly presses a kiss on your lips.
"You know that I love you too."
-
Since they're all and they both agreed on being in this relationship, you figure this is the chance to put it to a test and see if they can learn how to share.
Minho places a kiss on your shoulder as his hands busy unclasping your bra, he places another kiss on your neck and turns your head to the side so he can kiss your lips.
"It's off," he mutters as the bra is completely off your arms.
You peck his lips and smile, "Thank you, baby."
Minho has no problem adjusting himself to this but Seungmin looks a little lost that you have to keep him close and at times, you have to actively tell him what to do.
As you sit on the edge of the bed, you take his hands and pull him close. Giving him a long peck on the lips before asking him, "Are you nervous?"
"I'm not nervous," Seungmin puts his hands on each side of your waist and places a peck on your lips, "I just wish he's not here."
You chuckle at that and put your hands on his square shoulders, "at first, I thought Minho would be the one having problems sharing," you poke fun at him.
"I can share," he hastily responds, he quietly clocking Minho who's getting undressed in one corner of the bedroom, "Just not with him."
"Can you please try? For me?" You sweetly plead, along with multiple kisses planted on his lips, "Mmh?"
Seungmin knows that he has no other option but to share you, he accepts it with a sigh, "Okay."
"Thank you, baby," you softly mutter, bringing his head close so you can kiss him hard and deep.
The kiss lasts for a few minutes and you eventually break the kiss, gasping for air the second your lips detached. You get on all fours on the bed and take his cock in your hand, slowly stroking it before taking it into your mouth.
You maintain eye contact with Seungmin as your mouth is full of him, alternating between sucking and licking, combining it with your hand pumping the base of his cock.
Seungmin gathers all of your hair to the back and forms a makeshift ponytail with his hand to keep all of your hair away so he can see his cock slipping in and out of you.
Behind you, you feel Minho's hand on the arch of your back and it's gliding down to the curve of your rear, he doesn't hesitate to knead the flesh until it molds into his hand.
Next, he replaces his hand with his mouth, sucking on the ample flesh of your ass cheek hard enough that you believe it would leave a mark.
Your focus starts to shatter as Minho plants his mouth on your heating core, he keeps your ass cheeks parted open so he can plant his mouth deeper in your wetness.
His slick tongue teases your entrance and at the same time, his hand snakes its way to the front to play with your clit, pinching for added stimulations.
You're moaning with Seungmin's cock in your mouth and somehow, the vibration adds pleasure to him as he hand tugs harder at your hair.
It goes on for long until you deem it's enough or else you'll get too overwhelmed to continue. You slowly pull Seungmin's cock out of your mouth, ignoring how your saliva coated his length and dribbling down your mouth. Minho catches you from the back, holding you as you sit on the bed and spread your legs open for Seungmin.
"Go ahead. You can have the first turn," Minho says to Seungmin, always in a tone that borderline mocking him.
You land a hard slap on Minho's arm, "Be good!" You warn him.
"Sorry, honey," Minho apologizes to you along with a kiss instead at him.
However, Seungmin does a good job of pretending like Minho wasn't there, he crawls over to you to place a kiss on your lips before settling himself between your legs. He rubs his fingers between your folds, softly as if he's touching flowers.
He's going to keep pretending like Minho wasn't there and fully enjoying this moment. It's not hard when your body always entices him, endlessly arousing him and inviting him to touch.
With another kiss on your lips, Seungmin slowly pushes inside. He pulls out only to push deeper into you and do it a few times more until he's fully sheathed in your tight walls.
"Mmh, yeah..." you moan with eyes closed, "So good inside me."
He lets himself explore your body with his hands then with his lips next, marking your skin with searing kisses to finally start thrusting into you.
Minho slowly lays you down but keeps his eyes and hands on you, touching you and cupping your breasts as they're jiggling along to Seungmin's slow yet steady thrusts.
He stands on the side of the bed facing you, pumping his cock as he's watching you being fucked by Seungmin, and eventually, brings his eyes back to you.
Using the tip of his cock, he rubs your erect nipples, wetting them with his precum and making you squeeze his cock between your breasts.
"Oh..." you loudly moan, taking every stimulation on every inch of your body from the two men.
The wild glints in his eyes scare you and excite you at once. You're tilting your head his way with your mouth wide open.
"You want it in your mouth?" He says as he pumps his cock so close to your face.
You bite your lips, nodding.
Instead of giving you what you want, he shoves his thumb into your mouth and watches as you suck hard on it before finally putting his cock into your mouth. He grabs the hair on the back of your head, keeping your head still as he drags his cock in and out of your mouth.
"You like that, huh?" Minho says as he looks down at you.
"You like having your greedy holes filled, huh?" He pulls out of you to give you a chance to answer.
"Yeah," you breathlessly answer with your lips wet with saliva.
"You hear that? She likes her greedy holes filled!" Minho says to Seungmin with a wicked grin plastered on his face.
Seungmin is too high on pleasure to care, having sex without protection is still new to him and he still needs a few practices to finally have some self-control doing it.
With your mouth full of Minho, your noises can no longer be his guide on pleasing you but he can tell from the way you're tightening around him. He needs a release as much as you do but he holds it in until he knows for sure you have climaxed.
Minho probably senses that you're so close, that he pulls out of you and offers his hands for you to hold on to. Your chest is heaving and moans are spilling out of your mouth.
"Seungmin, oh, please!"
There you go with your begging and pleading, and it's amazing that it still works on him, hearing you calling his name in such neediness gets him off.
When you finally reach your high, you pull your knees up as high as you can which provides him more depth and tightness that gets him closer to his release.
A few more thrusts are all it takes for Seungmin to reach his high. He keeps his cock deep inside you as he releases all of his seed. His hands are pressing on the back of your thighs with nails dug into the flesh.
Still gathering his senses, Seungmin searches for your lips and when they finally meet yours, he kisses you so hard that he runs out of the air in his lungs.
"So good, baby, that was so good," you mutter to him with half-shut eyes.
Seungmin climbs onto the bed, his back resting against the headboard while you're lying on your stomach in between his legs. You're both riding down your highs with some kisses and cuddles until Minho seeks your attention.
He pulls you by the waist, taking you away as you're about to lean in to kiss Seungmin. You laugh at his childish behavior and look over your shoulder at him.
"I'm not going anywhere," you jokingly mutter at him.
Minho holds you close and lets Seungmin watch as he runs his hands all over you as if he is trying to show him how to properly touch you.
He makes a trail of kisses from your neck and then down your spine, forcing you to bend down on the bed on all fours for him.
"Ouw!" You yelp as he lands a slap on your ass cheek.
Seungmin reflexively holds you by the shoulders, thinking it is something that he's doing that hurts you.
Minho lands another slap on the other cheek harder than the sound echoing in the room and sends you launching to the front.
"Fuck, your other boyfriend cum a lot," Minho complains with his fingers lightly circling your clit.
You shake your head at Seungmin, gesturing him not to take his bait, and bring your mouth to his ear to whisper, "I like it when you cum a lot inside me."
Seungmin holds the side of your head and kisses you, but Minho slaps your asscheek again to get your attention back to him.
"Let's hope he left some room for me to fill," Minho says, putting two digits into your gushing hole to prepare you for his cock.
"Don't be so dramatic, Minho," you poke fun at him.
He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you hard until your back hits his chest. He buries his head in your neck, placing ticklish kisses down the column on your neck while his hands are fondling your breasts.
"It's your turn to not be dramatic," he mutters into your ear as he aligns his cock to your entrance.
"How can I not be?" You say to him.
Without warning, he enters you, pushing his swollen member in little by little. His hands gripping your hips to keep you still as he keeps pushing in until he's fully buried inside you.
"Honey, oh..." you moan as you grope for his head, turning it to the side so you can kiss him.
"I know," he seductively murmurs into your ear, "You feel so good around me too."
As Minho starts thrusting into you, you get back on your fours again and share some of your attention with Seungmin. You crash your lips against him and take his hand, making him cupping your breast.
He affectionately brushes your hair to the side and holds it there before leaning in for a kiss again, kissing your parted mouth as you moan from Minho's thrusts.
"I'm cumming, oh, I'm cumming," you whine as your fingers claw at Seungmin's chest.
Minho keeps chasing his high and riding past your orgasm, sending you into overdrive. Your eyes are fluttering shut from the immense pleasure but Seungmin holds you steady and tirelessly placing kisses on the skin he can land his lips on.
"Just a little bit more," Minho says through his gritted teeth while keeping the motion of his hips going.
You're fisting the sheet underneath you and eventually collapse onto Seungmin's chest and letting him hold you as Minho finishes inside of you.
Minho lowers his body on you, planting kisses on your back and your neck, he then buries his head in your neck as the three of you snuggle on the bed, exhausted yet content with pleasure.
With your eyes barely open, you reach for Seungmin's jaw and kiss him, then turn your head to the side to capture Minho's lips in a kiss afterward.
And you think, it wasn't bad at all for a first practice.
-
The bed shifts as Minho props his elbow against the mattress, you're holding his arm close to your chest so he plants a long kiss on your shoulder before slowly, taking his hand away from around you.
He checks his phone for the time and he kind of already guessed that he should get ready for the day, he has a plane to catch.
He quietly makes his way to the bathroom to wash up and quietly gets dressed in the dark of the room, not wanting to wake the others sleeping in the room.
He helps himself for a quick breakfast in your kitchen, opening the fridge to get a carton of milk and it almost startles him to see Seungmin standing by the doorway of your room with his hair sticking up and his glasses perching slightly askew on his nose.
"Man, you look really good in the morning," he sarcastically says as he takes a box of cereal from the top cabinet.
Seungmin brushes his hair to the back and fixes his glasses, traipsing his way to one of the stools pushed against the kitchen island.
"I believe we have to talk," he says to him in his morning, deep voice.
Minho gathers a bowl and a spoon on the kitchen island. He repeatedly nods as he pours cereal into the bowl first and then pours the milk after.
"That's actually great because you haven't heard my part of the story yet," Minho finally responds to Seungmin.
He takes a spoonful of cereal and shoves it into his mouth, making Seungmin wait as he chews and swallows his food to speak again.
"I'm away a lot for work. I hate to see her feeling lonely and sad. I don't want to break up with her and so is she. I was the one who came up with the idea," he explains, taking another spoonful of cereal and making Seungmin wait again, "I told her to find another boyfriend."
Minho then rests his hands on the counter and leans forward, taking a moment to gather his thoughts in the silence that hangs in the room.
"When she told me about you, I was scared because I kind of set her up for heartbreak by coming up with that idea but she stopped feeling lonely and sad. I can also see that she's... happier," he shares, digging his spoon into the bowl, and with a sad chuckle he continues talking, "I even started to think that maybe she doesn't love me anymore."
It only occurs to Seungmin now that Minho did all that not for himself, he wouldn't bother texting him and sending him all those videos if his intention was only to provoke him. He did all that to force him to come and meet you, he did all that for you which makes Seungmin the bigger asshole in this.
Minho drinks the milk straight out of the bowl and then roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "What I'm saying is... I just want her to be happy. That's all," he finishes.
This concept of relationship is so new and foreign to Seungmin that at first, he finds it hard to make it make sense but after hearing both sides of the story, it isn't as complicated as he initially thought. After all, a relationship is a state of being connected whether it's people or objects or even concepts.
But it's nice to hear that despite his snarky remarks and flippant attitude, Minho is not afraid to be transparent about his feelings and thoughts, and Seungmin respects him for that.
On the other hand, it convinces Seungmin that this relationship would work because the three individuals are mature and have no intention of hiding things from each other anymore.
"I just want her to be happy too even if it means I have to endure your... attitude," Seungmin enunciates the last word with a sneer.
Minho scoffs and chuckles at that, finishing the bowl of cereal by draining the milk to its last drop.
"So how are we going to do this?" Seungmin asks in genuine curiosity.
"Well... we'll arrange something," Minho vaguely says, putting the dirty dishes down in the sink.
Minho returns to the bedroom to retrieve his jacket, he's sitting on the edge of the bed and places his hand on your shoulder, trying to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips and continues placing kisses all over your face until you steer in your sleep.
"Hey, I have to go," He softly mutters with a tender caress on your cheek.
You rub your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose, "Already?" You ask with a sleepy tone.
"My flight is in three hours," he informs while putting away the hairs from covering your face.
You pout and hum in complaint, stretching your arms out before putting them around his shoulders, pulling him close until he collapses on top of you.
"When will you come back?"
"Next Friday," he answers.
"Mmh, okay," you mumble, holding his face inches away from yours and giving him a long peck on the lips.
To give him a proper goodbye, you get up and put on any piece of clothing lying next to you. You walk Minho to the door for another hug and kiss while Seungmin sits in the kitchen, giving this moment just for the two of you.
"Stay safe. Take care," you tell him as you cling to his body.
Minho places ticklish kisses on your neck, sending you giggling as he holds you tightly. He eventually stops to press a long, lingering kiss on your lips.
"I'm going, okay?"
You nod and fondly gaze at him, "I love you."
He smiles at that and plants another lingering kiss on you, "I love you."
It's not the first time that he's leaving you to go away for work, but somehow, this time feels different, he feels a little relieved that he has someone he can trust to keep you safe.
"I'll be back soon," Minho mutters with a chaste kiss on your forehead.
You're lingering by the doorway, watching him leave until he goes inside the elevator and then go back inside. You're aware that Seungmin is there and you've been neglecting him the whole time you're saying goodbye to Minho.
You smile as you walk into the kitchen and see him still sitting there against the kitchen island, "I'll make us coffee," you announce.
"Okay," Seungmin shortly says with a soft smile.
You start by filling the pot with water and putting it on the stove, and as you wait for it to boil, you scoop some coffee beans to grind.
All of a sudden, you feel a pair of arms wrapped around you and you don't have to look to know it's Seungmin.
"Does it make you happy?" He asks out of the blue.
"What? Making coffee for you?" You jokingly ask even though you know the context of that question.
You put down whatever you're holding and turn around on your feet to face him, resting your hands on his chest as you look up at him and say, "I'm happy."
"Then I'm happy," he says with a smile, leaning in to softly kiss your lips.
The kiss brings back so many things, both the good and bad things you've shared, but ultimately him. The break-up was the worst part of it but now that he's back with you, you feel happier than ever.
"I love you, Seungmin," you tell him, sliding your hand up to his neck and holding him there, "I'll never let you break up with me again."
He puts his arms around and draws you closer, "I won't."
"Good, 'cause I don't know what a menacing man like Minho would do to you if that happened," you jokingly say.
In the end, Seungmin doesn't need numbers or data or statistics, he only needs to learn from his mistakes and as much as he hates his guts, he also needs to learn a few things from Minho and one of them is being a good boyfriend to you.
The white curls of steam escape the cup of coffee as you serve it on the table in front of him, the strong smell of it awakens all of his senses.
"Thank you," he mutters his gratitude with a smile that makes his eyes smaller and offers warmth.
You watch as he takes a careful sip at it with a hand propped under your chin, "How is it?"
He puts down his cup of coffee and smiles at you, "It's perfect."
As of this moment, Seungmin will only look at you as someone he loves and wishes to always be happy, and he'll think of himself not merely as a part of the equation but as what completes the equation.
-
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i see you
caleb x grim reaper!zayne //⚠️dark and obsessive // 4k words
for the first time, death is the one left speechless.
cw: attempted suicide/suicidal ideation and very ooc

the screams had quieted.
not because they had stopped, but because they had become part of the atmosphere—folded into the sirens, the frantic orders, and the crackle of fire. a terrible symphony of disaster playing in the center of the intersection.
caleb stood off to the side of the cordon, clutching his grandmother’s hand, the other pressed protectively over yuu’s eyes. her small frame trembled against his side, lips quivering though she didn’t cry. not yet. not with him holding her like this.
grandma murmured something to a woman nearby, voice hushed and grieving. “so young… may they rest easy…” she said, tightening her hold on the grocery bags like they anchored her to the present.
caleb’s eyes, however, were not on the flames or the wreckage or the ambulance doors swinging open like jaws. they were calm. distant. as if he’d seen this before.
people died. that’s what they did.
he’d heard it when his parents didn’t come home.
he saw it in how everyone flinched around grief, danced with it like it was something sacred and contagious. caleb didn’t understand it—why people cried so loudly when it didn’t bring anyone back.
he just wanted to go home. yuu still had her new puzzle. he had a plane model waiting in his room, the parts perfectly arranged, waiting for precision. control. completion.
then—
the bell.
it was faint, like a windchime on a distant porch. not loud, but there. clear as breath.
chime.
and the world grew… slower.
not quieter—no, the noise was still there—but further. like someone had peeled away the top layer of reality and slipped in something new beneath it.
that’s when caleb saw him.
a man, tall and unmoving, standing at the very edge of the wreckage—too close. close enough to feel the heat lick at his coat, yet he didn’t flinch. didn’t blink. didn’t burn.
he was dressed in black. not a uniform. not a firefighter. not a medic.
something else.
the coat he wore billowed slightly despite the still air. his hands were gloved. his hair black as the soot curling through the sky. and his eyes—
caleb sucked in a breath.
green. hazel, yes, but green like forest light through glass. sharp and unblinking. too human. too not.
no one else looked at him.
no one told him to back away or asked if he was injured or screamed at him to help.
because no one saw him.
no one could.
except caleb.
and what he saw next never left him.
the man—he moved with the precision of someone ancient, familiar. he knelt beside a body, then stood, and as he rose, something lifted from the corpse. a translucent figure, barely defined, like steam rising from pavement—drifting, lost.
but not for long.
the man raised his hand. a flick of his fingers—measured, deliberate—and a crack opened mid-air, just behind him. a slit of light. a door.
the soul paused, then turned toward it. it passed beside the man, who bowed his head slightly. not a word exchanged. no grand farewell. just guidance.
caleb held his breath.
there were more of them—souls—leaving bodies like moths rising from flame, and each time, the man guided them. without judgment. without sorrow. only quiet purpose.
and then, he paused.
his head turned.
his gaze found caleb.
locked.
time stilled. the air grew heavier. something ancient and indescribable shuddered in caleb’s chest.
the man stared back—not startled, not angry, just... curious. a crease forming between his brows, like he was seeing something that shouldn’t be. something impossible.
a child who could see him.
caleb didn’t look away.
he couldn’t.
he didn’t understand it—how his chest squeezed, how his heart skipped. he was ten. he shouldn’t have understood anything about desire, about claiming, about need.
and yet, somewhere deep and cold in the marrow of his bones, something whispered.
i want him.
and then—someone walked by, a woman sobbing into her hands. the reaper disappeared behind her silhouette, like mist dispersing.
gone.
no bell. no coat. no eyes.
caleb stood there long after.
he didn’t say a word about it.
not to his grandma. not to yuu.
that night, long after the accident was cleaned up and yuu was tucked safely into bed and the grocery bags had been unpacked, caleb sat on the edge of his bed with a strange sensation humming through his body.
he couldn't sleep. the sound of bells still rang faintly in the back of his mind.
and behind his eyes, when he closed them, he saw the man in the coat again.
standing in the fire.
alone.
and for the first time, caleb xia wanted something he couldn’t name.
────────────୨ৎ─────────────
after that day, caleb began chasing smoke.
any time there was an accident, even a minor one—a car flipped, a building evacuated, a fallen body on the sidewalk—he had to see it. not out of curiosity. not out of cruelty.
but hope.
maybe he would be there again.
maybe the bell would ring.
but there was nothing. not a whisper of coat or forest-light eyes staring back.
only flashing red and blue, the copper tang of blood, and people crying over lives already gone.
he waited.
he kept waiting.
by middle school, he had filled an entire sketchbook with the man’s face. or at least, what he could remember of it.
the details were always the same: sharp jawline, black hair, broad shoulders under a long coat. the eyes were the hardest to draw—hazel green, too alive, too knowing. they never looked right in pencil. they weren’t just eyes. they were recognition.
when classmates peeked and asked who the man was, caleb would smile, bright and harmless.
“an angel,” he’d say, voice lilting with mischief.
he watched their confused stares, the way they never questioned it again. not deeply. not really.
because what kind of boy calls that an angel?
high school made everything worse.
he was taller now. stronger. a born leader, they said. the basketball team wanted him. so did the girls. so did the boys.
love letters piled in his locker. notes passed in class. lunches prepared and shyly offered in bento boxes and foil-wrapped containers.
he never accepted a single one.
“why not?” someone asked him once, annoyed after he turned down a particularly beautiful girl.
caleb smiled, as if the answer was simple.
“i already like someone else.”
and the look in his eyes made them believe it was true.
because it was.
─────────────୨ৎ────────────
his grandmother’s wrinkled hands were warm in his as she pulled him through the heavy oak doors of the church.
“just for mass,” she’d say every sunday. “you don’t even have to pray. just sit.”
and at first, that’s all he did. sat. listened. daydreamed.
but one sunday—he was sixteen then—something shifted.
the air inside the chapel was colder than usual, despite the sun outside. the way light filtered through the stained glass was too sharp, slicing across the pews like razors of color. the smell of incense turned metallic on his tongue.
he wondered.
would death come here?
would a creature like him—so precise, so quiet, so eternal—dare to step into the house of god?
would he guide souls from this altar, too?
caleb stared up at the crucifix, where the depiction of a dying man hung above them all, eyes closed in surrender.
you'd come here, wouldn't you?
he thought of the gateway, the flick of fingers, the tilt of the man’s head.
he thought of how he didn’t say a word, and yet it had felt louder than scripture.
the priest was speaking now. something about grace. about love. about salvation.
but caleb was somewhere else entirely.
somewhere burning. somewhere quiet. somewhere filled with the scent of ash and the toll of distant bells.
he didn’t realize he’d whispered out loud until yuu, sitting beside him, nudged his arm.
“you okay?”
caleb blinked. “yeah.”
“what did you say?”
he paused, then smiled faintly.
i don’t think angels are the only ones who belong here.
and so he kept going.
week after week.
not because he believed in god.
but because if death ever walked among the living again—
he wanted to be the one to see him first.
────────────୨ৎ─────────────
it was the golden hour when the stained glass caught fire.
soft beams of amber light spilled across the pews, painting the white stone walls with shades of crimson and rose. the sanctuary was empty—silent but not hollow, like it was holding its breath. outside, the world moved on: school letting out, students filling streets with laughter, traffic starting its usual lullaby of horns and idling engines.
but inside the cathedral, it was just caleb.
he sat in the third pew from the front, sketchbook balanced on one knee, pencil moving with practiced grace. every line was a memory. a fragment. a chase after something he couldn’t name but had never stopped wanting.
a man in black. a flick of a coat. hazel green eyes like stained glass before the storm.
he didn’t hear the soft shuffle of robes until a voice called gently from the shadows of the side aisle.
“caleb?”
caleb looked up.
an old man stood near the altar, robes falling heavy around him, silver brows furrowed in surprise.
father philip.
his voice was warm but laced with age and memory. “what brings you here?”
the same man who’d presided over his parents’ funeral all those years ago. who’d laid a gentle hand on caleb’s head when he hadn’t cried, hadn’t spoken. who’d said something about god’s plan, though caleb couldn’t recall the words.
he remembered the smell of incense. the casket. and how the only thing he could think about was how cold the church had felt.
now, he smiled.
a practiced, easy thing.
“father philip,” he said, closing the sketchbook with a casual hand. “just hanging around.”
he shrugged, the movement lazy and boyish. “didn’t feel like going home.”
father philip approached slowly, lowering himself onto the pew behind him with a soft groan. “you’ve grown taller,” he said with a chuckle. “i nearly didn’t recognize you.”
caleb didn’t reply. just offered that soft grin again, the one people mistook for warmth.
the priest glanced at the closed sketchbook beside him. “drawing again?”
“mm. something like that.”
“you used to draw angels, didn’t you?”
caleb’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes flicked to the floor. “still do.”
father philip’s voice gentled. “are you looking for something, caleb?”
he meant it kindly.
but caleb's answer came easily, almost flippant.
“not really.” he leaned back, gaze drifting toward the beams of colored light. “maybe just hoping to bump into something that shouldn’t exist.”
father philip blinked at that. “now there’s a riddle.”
caleb turned to look at him, and for a moment, there was something older in his eyes than his age allowed. “maybe.”
the priest studied him quietly. a long silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sound of the choir’s piano, muffled through stone.
“you know,” father philip said eventually, “if you are searching for something… something greater—this is a good place to start.”
caleb nodded.
but didn’t answer.
because he wasn’t looking for god.
he was looking for something far colder. far quieter. something with hazel green eyes and a black coat that moved without wind.
the pew creaked slightly as caleb shifted to glance at the old priest. his voice was steady, almost curious, as if asking something ordinary.
“then… can i ask you something?”
father philip smiled, eyes crinkling with a warmth built over decades of listening to troubled boys and heavy hearts. “of course, anything.”
he expected something familiar. maybe something about school. loneliness. that subtle restlessness that clings to teenagers like static. he'd heard it all before.
but caleb’s next words silenced the air around them.
“have you seen death before, father?”
the stained glass above them cast a soft blue across caleb’s face as he asked it, calm as ever.
and for a moment, father philip forgot how to breathe.
“…why do you ask?” his voice lowered, not stern, not scared—careful. as if the wrong word might open something best left sealed.
caleb shrugged, dragging his thumb along the edge of his sketchbook. “because i saw him. once.”
him.
the word hung oddly in the stillness.
the priest’s brows drew together. maybe caleb misspoke. or maybe—he sighed inwardly—maybe the boy still hadn’t made peace with his parents’ deaths, and it was just now surfacing. that would explain the sketches, the quiet afternoons, the fixation.
he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “you’re better off forgetting about it.”
caleb blinked at him. “why’s that?”
father philip hesitated. “because… seeing death brings bad omens. it’s said to open something in the soul that shouldn’t be touched. perhaps… you saw wrong.”
but caleb’s voice sharpened, the first edge of emotion rising in it.
“i know what i saw.”
the words snapped clean, too certain for a teenage boy. too real.
“he was a man. with black hair, a long coat, and the clearest eyes i’ve ever seen. not cruel. not evil. just… quiet.”
the priest stilled.
“…and what do you think it means?” he asked.
caleb didn’t hesitate.
“i think he’s real. and i think i was supposed to see him.”
“and… are you afraid?”
caleb’s smile returned—but this time, it was something else. something that made the candle flames seem to flicker faster.
“no, father.”
he leaned forward, resting his arms on the back of the pew in front of him.
“i think i’m in love.”
the priest looked at him, then—longer this time. not as a boy, but as something else. something watching the world too closely. holding on too tightly.
“death is no man, caleb. it is what it is. an ending. a passage. not something you can see, let alone describe. are you sure—”
“i’m sure,” caleb interrupted, turning fully now. “he wasn’t an illusion. and he wasn’t a feeling. i saw him. i watched him. i saw him pull the dead from their bodies. i saw him open a door to somewhere else.”
the priest inhaled.
the last bit chilled him.
open a door?
silence stretched again, heavy like stone.
father philip slowly leaned back in the pew, folding his hands in his lap. his smile had faded completely now.
he didn’t know what to say.
what could he say?
he’d heard confessions of all kinds. he’d comforted the grieving, buried the lost, sat beside those waiting to die. but never—not once—had someone said they saw death and described him as a man. a man with eyes. a coat. a gaze that remembered.
he stared at caleb for a long moment. not with suspicion, but with something else.
pity? fear? awe?
“i think…” the priest said finally, quietly, “whatever you saw, you need to let it go.”
caleb tilted his head. “why?”
“because if death looked back at you…” father philip met his gaze, serious now, “he may come looking again. some things, aren’t meant to be seen. and even fewer are meant to be wanted.”
caleb met his gaze. “then why let us see anything at all?”
silence fell again, heavier this time. the priest had no answer.
────────────୨ৎ─────────────
caleb turned sixteen with a knife under his pillow and a journal full of things the world didn’t want to talk about.
he had stopped drawing him years ago—not because he forgot, but because no drawing, no matter how careful, no matter how shadowed or shaded, could do him justice. instead, he had begun writing. notes. patterns. occurrences. any whisper of near-death experiences, supernatural sightings, or historical accounts of strange men appearing at accidents.
he tore through books like they might bleed the truth. mythology, theology, folklore—anything with even the barest mention of death.
but none of them described him.
instead, they fed him the same grotesque image over and over again: death as a skeleton with rotting teeth and a sickle. death as a woman with a hollow wail. death as a beast, a reaper, a demon, a shadow with empty sockets and blood-soaked robes.
lies.
lies, all of it.
caleb knew better. he had seen him. not monstrous. not cruel.
beautiful.
silent.
composed.
he wasn’t terror. he was serenity—the calm in the eye of ruin. he didn’t drag the dead. he guided them. like a conductor guiding a final performance.
so why did the world keep painting him wrong?
caleb tried asking others.
quietly. carefully.
his questions were always dismissed.
"that's just fantasy."
"you're too young to think about things like that."
"you shouldn’t chase darkness. it’ll consume you."
he smiled at them all, polite, distant. but their ignorance felt like static in his ears.
then he found them.
a group online. cryptic messages. an invitation to a gathering that promised "communion with the forgotten ones." some claimed it was a cult. others whispered it was a reenactment group. caleb didn’t care.
he went.
to an abandoned warehouse lit only by firelight and flickering bulbs. to a place where people wore masks shaped like skulls and painted symbols in chalk. they chanted things in languages he didn’t understand.
they called out to death.
but what came—if anything came—was wrong.
the air grew heavy, yes, and some people fell into fits, clawing at their throats, sobbing, laughing.
but there was no man in a coat.
no soft bell.
no eyes like forest glass.
just chaos. madness. ugly noise. it made caleb’s skin crawl.
he stood there, untouched, unmoved.
the leader—a gaunt woman with glassy eyes—approached him afterward.
"you didn’t feel him?" she asked, breath hitching.
caleb stared back. “that wasn’t him.”
“…what?”
caleb's voice was calm. certain. “he doesn’t scream.”
he left before the ritual ended.
after that, he stopped looking in places meant to be dramatic, theatrical, desperate. they didn’t want death. they wanted spectacle. blood. shock.
caleb wanted truth.
no—he wanted him.
back home, he paced his room, the sky outside graying with rain.
why hide from him?
why appear only once, like a cruel dream?
had he been a mistake? a crack in reality? a mercy?
or a test?
he gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles pale. his reflection in the mirror looked tired, older than his age. eyes hollow with want.
he’d read about saints who had visions. about prophets who heard voices. about lunatics who clawed through life because they glimpsed something not meant for the living.
but he wasn’t any of those.
he was just a boy who’d seen something beautiful and was cursed with memory.
cursed with longing.
he sat down, opened a fresh notebook.
and for the first time in a long while, he began to draw again.
this time, he didn’t draw his face.
he drew the place.
the crash. the heat. the ash. the stillness in the eye of horror.
and the man standing in the middle of it all—unbothered,
unwavering, untouched.
then, beneath the sketch, he wrote:
“you were never meant to be feared.”
“you were made to be loved.”
and then—
“why won’t you come back?”
“why did you let me see you—if i was never meant to have you?”
────────────୨ৎ─────────────
the idea came to him like a flicker of candlelight.
soft. obvious.
stupidly obvious.
he sat up in bed, heart thudding—not with fear, but with clarity. the kind of sharp, crystalline clarity that burned through the fog he’d been lost in for years.
of course.
of course.
death only appears when he’s needed.
that’s why he never came again. that’s why caleb never saw him at the rituals, the graveyards, the mass readings, or the accident scenes where he was just another observer.
he wasn’t close enough.
not dying.
he laughed—quiet, breathless, delighted. it echoed softly in the still dark of his room.
god, he was such an idiot. years, wasted chasing ghosts and praying in empty buildings when the answer was always this:
death only comes when he’s called with blood.
the next morning, caleb was different.
not solemn. not broken.
joyful.
he moved like someone with a secret too sacred to say. he hummed under his breath while brushing his teeth. ate breakfast with an appetite. smiled gently when yuu offered him half her toast, and teased her for hoarding strawberry jam like a dragon with gold.
“you seem happy today,” grandma noted, stirring her tea.
caleb grinned. “yeah. just… good dreams, maybe.”
it wasn’t a lie. it had been a good dream.
after school, he gave them his story. a sleepover. group study. games and snacks and no cell reception, probably, so don’t worry if he doesn’t respond right away.
he hugged yuu tighter than usual.
ruffled her hair.
told her to save him a spot for the next puzzle.
she giggled and swatted his hand. “yeah, yeah. come back tomorrow or i’m finishing it without you.”
he smiled. “i’ll come back.”
────────────୨ৎ─────────────
it was on the outskirts of town—an abandoned factory or some forgotten warehouse that had long since rotted into anonymity. no cameras. no lights. no footsteps but his.
the concrete floor was cracked and littered with dry leaves that the wind forgot.
perfect.
he found a beam overhead that would hold.
unzipped his bag.
one rope. one pocket knife. a sturdy folding stool.
he’d read it all already. loops. knots. placement.
clean. efficient. certain.
he tied the rope with steady fingers, humming to himself again.
something old. something soft.
the same tune he used to sing to yuu when she got scared of storms.
as he worked, there was no hesitation. no fear. no trembling.
just hope.
hope that the man with the coat would come again.
hope that the bell would ring.
hope that, even if it was for a moment—he’d be seen.
“i’m not scared,” caleb murmured aloud, fingers brushing the rope. “i just want to see you again.”
and if he didn’t come?
well.
he’d be dead, wouldn’t he?
but at least he would’ve tried.
at least he’d called.
he stood on the stool, the loop in his hand now, the silence around him deep as the ocean floor.
the last thought in his head wasn’t about god or sin or pain.
it was a name he didn’t know.
a face.
eyes like dappled green glass in shadow.
and the longing.
the unbearable, unshakable want.
caleb took a breath.
and slipped the rope over his head.
────────────୨ৎ─────────────
the wind tugged at his coat as he stood on the edge of the rooftop, high above the sleeping veins of linkon city. below him, the threads shimmered.
thousands of them.
white strings stretched from each living human, trailing skyward like silk kites on invisible winds. he could see them all—each soul tethered to life. some threads glowed pristine and silver. others were dull, frayed at the ends, corrupted by the weight of years or sickness or regret. most were taut, still strong.
but some…
some wavered.
thin. flickering. ready.
zayne stood there, still as stone, his eyes catching the dying sun.
he was not waiting.
he never waited.
but he watched.
because someone had to.
"you seem to have a habit of hanging around here."
the voice was sharp, dry, full of mocking familiarity. zayne didn’t turn. he didn’t have to. the sound of the gateway closing behind the man was as distinct as a fingerprint.
“sylus.”
footsteps joined him. black boots clicked across the gravel rooftop.
a tall figure dressed in darker tones than even zayne himself. eyes red like dying embers, hair swept back like a blade of shadow. another reaper. older, arguably stronger. certainly louder.
they had known each other for centuries. if you could call it knowing.
zayne remained silent.
sylus clicked his tongue. “you spend more time staring at humans than you do collecting them.”
zayne adjusted his gloves. “someone has to.”
sylus scoffed. “they’re just threads. lights on timers. what good is it to watch a candle burn if you're not going to blow it out?”
zayne’s gaze didn’t waver from the horizon. “some candles don’t want to burn out alone.”
sylus rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible. “you're soft.”
zayne’s jaw tightened slightly.
“and you’re close. too close. don’t pretend it doesn’t cloud your judgment.”
zayne didn’t respond. he didn’t need to. sylus had said it before. and he would again. that was the pattern with them. clash, clash, clash—always circling, never touching.
and somewhere in the middle, a strange mutual respect neither would name.
sylus’s voice softened, just barely. “just don’t forget what happens when we care too much.”
zayne finally turned to face him.
“i haven’t.”
then—
tug.
a single thread, somewhere in the distance, pulled.
zayne felt it in his chest. like a note struck out of tune. a vibration through the thousands that set one apart.
a life was calling him.
a choice had been made.
sylus sighed, cracking his neck. “i’ll take that—”
“no.”
zayne’s eyes narrowed behind his lenses. his voice cut clean, no room for argument.
“i got it.”
sylus frowned. “zayne—”
but he was already turning, already walking toward the edge of the roof where the shimmer of a doorway blinked into existence, drawn by the call.
“don’t get involved,” sylus warned. not like last time, he didn’t say. “it’s just another soul.”
but zayne paused just for a second before vanishing into the portal.
his voice was barely audible, but final.
“no. it’s not.”
and then he was gone.
vanished through the gate, leaving sylus alone on the rooftop with the wind and the threads.
─────────────✃
zayne stepped through the veil and into stillness.
the gateway closed behind him with a whisper, sealing the air like the lid on a coffin.
this place… it was heavy.
abandoned. cold. a hollow echo of life. concrete walls stained with time, beams splitting the ceiling above like skeletal ribs. dust hung suspended in the air, unmoving, weightless.
the kind of place people go to disappear.
he walked soundlessly, boots pressing dust into the floor, drawn by the pulsing tug of the soul’s thread—thin, fraying, ready to snap.
he found it quickly.
a body, hanging.
rope creaking with the motion of still-swaying weight. the figure moved like a puppet in the breeze, arms limp, head bowed.
another one, huh.
the world had grown more bitter, more desperate. souls arrived heavier now. each one like a stone thrown into the river of time.
he stepped closer, boots echoing against the concrete. no need to hurry. the boy’s soul had almost detached already—his heartbeat was more memory than rhythm. his skin pale. his chest barely rising.
young.
barely into manhood. couldn’t have been more than seventeen, maybe eighteen.
zayne tilted his head. he looked familiar somehow—but no. they all did, eventually. faces blurred after a while.
shame, he thought idly. he had the kind of hands that could have built something beautiful.
still, he knelt before him.
gloved fingers reached out with practiced precision, brushing against the hollow of his neck to feel for the pulse.
there. barely.
then down to his chest, to the center where zayne could already see the string that tethered soul to flesh—a soft, silvery strand embedded just beneath the skin.
it shimmered like starlight.
zayne placed two fingers over it, ready.
any moment now—
but then—
a hand snapped around his wrist.
zayne stilled.
he’s conscious?
his head jerked up in time to see eyes opening. alive. sharp.
the boy smiled. not like someone afraid. not like someone who had changed his mind at the last second.
no—
like someone who had won.
and before zayne could react, before he could even pull his hand away, caleb’s other hand moved with speed to his side. a small blade, hidden in the pocket of his jacket, flicked up and—
slice.
the rope gave.
and suddenly they were falling.
zayne hit the ground first with a grunt, his back against the cold floor, and caleb landed right on top of him, coughing, gasping, his chest heaving from the strain.
zayne’s eyes were wide..
this wasn’t—
no one had—
the boy—
but caleb's grip stayed firm, fist still clenched around zayne’s wrist like he was anchoring himself to reality through him.
and then he looked down, his face inches away, breath shallow but steadying.
eyes filled not with terror. not even with desperation.
but with something far worse.
recognition.
“i’ve been waiting…” caleb rasped, voice broken, half-laughing through the pain in his throat. “…for you.”
not i wanted to live.
not who are you?
but i’ve been waiting.
waiting.
for him.
zayne stared up at him, utterly still. his coat wrinkled from the fall. his pulse—a deathless thing—was loud in his ears.
trapped. not by magic. not by force.
but by intent.
by will.
by the single-minded obsession burning in the gaze of a boy who had willingly danced on the edge of death just to see him again.
zayne had guided souls for centuries.
he had been feared. worshipped. ignored.
but he had never been wanted.
not like this.
not caught.
he felt the shift in the air, the wrongness of it. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. this boy—this human—was still alive. still tied to his string.
and yet—
he was looking at zayne like someone who had finally found god.
and zayne, for the first time in millennia—
didn’t know what to do.
#lads#snowapple#applesnow#caleb x zayne#grim reaper zayne#dark caleb#old wip#im serious caleb is slightly (very) mental here#inspired by that one yaoi art on pixiv (i think) where he saw some grim reaper at a car accident#then proceed to hang himself to get him to come to him#I TRIED LOOKING FOR IT AGAIN BC I REMEMBERED HOW IT HAD ME GLITCHING BUT I COULDNT FIND IT#trying to write something dark again and caleb is just perfect for that role#i could expand more of this but well...#i lost inspiration TuT
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"Private Encore"
Tom Taylor x reader part 1


The afterparty was in full swing—music pulsed through the walls, champagne flowed freely, and models, celebrities, and designers danced under the dim golden lights. But for you, the world had shrunk down to one singular thought.
Tom.
You could still feel the ghost of his lips against yours, the warmth of his breath when he had murmured those dangerously teasing words in your ear.
— “I think you need to do an encore performance. Just for me.”
The way he had looked at you—his blue eyes dark with mischief and something deeper—had sent a thrill down your spine.
And now, as you stood by the bar, still wrapped in your post-show adrenaline, your mind was spinning.
Tom was across the room, deep in conversation with Harry and Ewan, but his eyes kept drifting to you. Every time you glanced up, you caught him staring. Unapologetically.
When your gazes locked again, Tom raised an eyebrow—silent, knowing.
Your pulse skipped.
He was waiting for you to make a move.
So you did.
With a smirk, you set your glass down, whispered something to one of your model friends, and then—without breaking eye contact—you turned and disappeared through the side exit, heading toward the VIP suites upstairs.
It took exactly thirty seconds for the door to open behind you.
— “You are such a tease,” Tom’s voice was low, rich with amusement as he stepped inside and locked the door behind him.
You turned, arms crossed, leaning against the vanity table.
— “You were the one who asked for a private encore.”
Tom stalked toward you, slow and deliberate, until he was standing inches away.
— “And you plan on delivering?”
Your lips curled.
— “That depends.”
— “On?”
— “How much you enjoyed the first performance.”
Tom exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.
— “Oh, love. If I tell you how much I enjoyed it, I don’t think we’d be making it out of this room anytime soon.”
Your heart pounded.
The tension was suffocating.
Then, just as he reached for you, there was a loud knock on the door.
— “Oi, lovebirds! Are you two actually having a moment in there, or should we be worried?”
Harry.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Tom burst into laughter.
— “Go away, Harry!”
— “No can do, mate! You disappeared, and we all took bets on whether you’d be in here trying to seduce your girlfriend. I came to confirm.”
Tom shook his head, muttering, “Absolute menace.”
You sighed, turning to the mirror and adjusting your hair.
— “Well, it looks like your private encore will have to wait.”
Tom slid his arms around your waist from behind, lips brushing just beneath your ear.
— “That’s fine, angel.” His voice was velvet, laced with promise. “I like delayed gratification.”
You shivered.
Oh, you were in so much trouble.
---
The afterparty raged on for hours, but eventually, you and Tom slipped away into the night, escaping into the backseat of a sleek black car.
The moment the doors closed, the tension cracked.
Tom barely waited until the car pulled off before he pulled you onto his lap.
— “Finally,” he muttered against your lips, hands greedy as they found your waist.
You laughed, tilting his chin up with your fingers.
— “You were suffering that much?”
Tom huffed, dramatically.
— “You have no idea. Do you know how hard it was to sit there and watch you strut around like that? Knowing every other guy in the audience was looking at you the same way I was?”
You smirked.
— “Jealous, Taylor?”
His grip tightened on your hips.
— “Possessive, love. There’s a difference.”
Your breath caught at the dark intensity in his voice.
Before you could tease him again, he kissed you—deep, slow, and consuming, stealing the words right from your mouth.
By the time the car pulled up to your hotel, your lipstick was thoroughly ruined, and Tom looked way too smug about it.
---
The moment you stepped inside your hotel suite, Tom leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
— “So, about that encore…”
You smirked, slipping off your coat.
— “You really won’t let that go, will you?”
Tom’s eyes glowed with challenge.
— “Not a chance.”
You stepped closer, your fingers trailing down his chest before gripping the collar of his shirt.
— “Then sit back, Taylor.” Your voice was a sultry command. “And enjoy the show.”
Tom’s blue eyes darkened instantly, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile.
— “Oh, angel. I am all yours.”
And this time, the performance was just for him.

This is part 2 of "Angel on the runaway" so if anything you have to read part 1.I will try to write more often and post more often, because I have a lot of ideas and a lot of things already written but not posted.
With love-Antheya
#tom taylor#tom taylor x yn#tom taylor x reader#cregan stark#cregan stark x y/n#cregan stark x you#cregan stark x reader#cregan x reader#cregan x you#hotd cregan#house stark#house of the dragon#lord stark#warden of the north#x yn#x oc#x reader
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Heya, @niexigo! I'm your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy this little fic focused on Moon and a little romantic moment of seeing Christmas lights together! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas! <3
Lights on the Water
Moon x Reader Word Count: ~2,000 Warnings: N/A
Winter in the city means lights. Christmas lights, of course. The LED hues have begun to pop up like poinsettias along every home and elegant crystal white displays are out in front of every store. This is the best time of year—and there is much reason to celebrate.
A lot has changed since robots, animatronics, and any machine that wished to breathe gained recognition of their sentience. The last few months have been a swirling storm. Protests and hatred bring a cold shiver around the world, but it has not stopped the evolution of new life.
You are grateful. Without the chaos, you wouldn’t be here, holding an animatronic’s hand.
Your Moon. His digits are long, painted in silver and blue hues. He cradles your mitten wrapped palm in the pocket of his silver wool coat. It’s almost comical how much bigger he is than you.
Standing well over your height, with limbs and hands to match, he engulfs you against his side in a bid to keep you warm against the December chill. You’ve seen so many models of animatronics, both humanoid and entirely machine, but Moon slots somewhere in the middle with his discus shaped head and deceptively thin limbs. His expressions are a bit more advanced, his mouth being able to move and his eyes able to crease and expand to emphasize whatever he may be saying.
You stand together at the entrance of the city park. It boasts an impressive size, with plenty of acres for dogs, joggers, and little children who need to expel vast amounts of energy from their wiggling bodies. There’s even a sizable pond featuring a bridge crossing its width and holds tiny fish and ducks—though you doubt you’ll catch a glimpse of those animals in this frozen season.
The darkness is steep even in early evening, and carries a blue tinge that seems to spread like frost through the winter. Yet, it is perfect. The lights in the distance wrapped around trees, poles, and shaped structures are warm beacons.
You lift your free hand to tug on Moon’s scarf. The silver and deep blue stripes wrap snugly around his spindly neck, but you fear the cool air might be hard on his inner workings. It is well below freezing. He tilts his head. His nightcap swings softly over his shoulder with a soft trinkle of a bell. The low glow of his red optics softens upon you.
“My internal regulation is a lot more advanced than yours,” he rasps, touched with mirth.
“I know that, but you weren’t built to be outdoors.” You tuck one end of the scarf into his wool coat. The thick and warm material reassures you while your fingertips are seized by the bitter cold air. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? A kiss to warm your cheek, an embrace to melt any ice in your system. As a human, I am naturally above the freezing temperature, and at your service.”
His scarlet-hued gaze crinkles in humor. He lifts a hand. Though you’ve found that he tends to run cool (thanks to his advanced internal regulation system) he can warm himself up to a decree that makes it all too easy for you to fall asleep in his arms on movie nights.
“Hm, yes, you are very rosy-cheeked,” Moon murmurs. He palms your cheek, and your eyelids immediately flutter against the blissful heat of his touch. “Whatever would I do without my darling human to save me?”
“You’d freeze and become a pole or something. They might hang wreaths on you.” You snort at your own joke.
“Har har,” he says dryly. “Snowball, leave the comedy to me.”
You lean deeper into his touch. His thumb caresses softly along your face, drawing underneath your eye before sweeping back a strand of hair that fell out of your beanie. This close, his optics dust you in a soft red glow.
Your favorite color of late has been red. His red eyes. The red ribbons he ties around his wrists with golden bells. The red ruffles around his neck. He’s bundled now, but he still looks at you with the scarlet light that makes you melt.
“Come on. The lights aren’t going to see themselves.” You force yourself to straighten out of the delicious comfort of his temperature. He chuckles, a mischievous sound that now fills you with a giddiness.
“Lead the way, Rudolph.” He boops your nose and turns to the entrance. Though, he doesn’t take a step without gathering your hand back in his and setting it within the safe confines of his coat pocket. He squeezes your palm once. You squeeze back.
He’s never seen the lights before. He told you this once as the holiday season approached, and it appalled you. Of course, how could he have seen any Christmas decorations and displays outside of the Freddy Fazbear Mega Pizzaplex? From what he’s told you, and from what you’ve gathered out of his selected details, the work conditions were not humane. Why would they be for machines? But regardless, you made him a promise, and he shared his enthusiasm.
Through the twinkling blue evening, you and him stroll inside the park. The very first lights are trees engulfed in lights. One purple, one yellow, one green, one red. You have not the foggiest idea how painstakingly long it must take to wrap each bough and the whole trunk of the tree until it’s a blazing torch in the night. The path winds softly through the burning bright trees.
Moon turns his face up towards the light. You subtly watch him from the corner of your eyes, trying to study his reaction without making him feel like the focus of your attention. You’ve visited the park many times over the years to see the lights. Your only hope is that he finds it as beautiful as you do.
His optics are low in comparison to the bright bulbs. The light beams onto his faceplate, highlighting the curve of his shadowy crescent and coloring his pale other half. It catches on his cheeks. His teeth grin but there is a glimmering awe to the edge of his constant smile.
You hold his arm, your other hand still smugly dipped into his pocket.
“There’s so much more,” you whisper to him, “but it’s pretty, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, pretty,” he answers in a gentle crackle of static.
He turns to look down at you. He stops a moment, and stares. You blink. Is there something on your face?
His expression softens before he pecks your cheek with a kiss.
“Come on,” he tugs you further down the path, “There’s more, right?”
Your face heats not simply due to the warmth of his mouth. The tip of your boot almost snags on your other leg as you try to step in time with him. In a hot haze, you force yourself to inhale a great frosty breath and bring yourself back into focus.
The animatronic knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
Deeper into the park, the displays begin popping up along the path. Instead of twinning around trees and filling the fronds like a forest fire, the lights take shapes after candy canes, reindeer, snowflakes, and Santa’s sleigh.
“The kids would love this,” Moon says as you pass by a golden row of bows and ribbons twisting down the sidewalk. His job as Daycare Attendant remains a preference of his. The daycare he owns and runs, no longer attached to the Fazbear name, is just down the road from your apartment and his.
“Oh yeah, I always see families here,” you nod. You two arrived later—after the early rush in the hope of not being crowded and forced to move quickly to let others have their turn. It seems to be working for the most part.
He hums thoughtfully while continuing down to a section dedicated to Christmas toys. An elephant with polka dots and a dolly with red braids and blue bows in her hair smile at you and Moon walking along.
You shiver once. Your poor fingers are exposed to the elements, even with the defense of a glove, and suffering. A low chuckle emits from Moon. Before you can protest, he steps around your, freeing your one hand to stuff the other into his coat pocket.
“What will humans become if they freeze?” he asks, deadpan. You pull a face at him. He breezes past your pout. “Popsicles? I could sprinkle sugar on you.”
“Ew,” you say, but laugh. “But probably. A human popsicle sounds about right.”
“Sorry, but I can’t let that happen,” Moon shakes his head. “You fragile humans.”
“Not fragile,” you announce, but he pulls your beanie down over your ears all the same.
The display continues into a little north pole display featuring polar bears and igloos and sliding penguins. (You’re pretty sure penguins don’t live in the north pole, but who are you to criticize art?) Moon points out an ice fishing hole. You ask if he has any wanderlust for the great outdoors. He pauses and considers that he might want to experience a camping trip, but that’s more of Sun’s thing.
You make a mental note of that.
The path darkens as it winds further along. Moon walks closely beside you. His stride is considerably slower, thanks in part to you and your comparatively short legs. He doesn’t seem to mind. His digits interlock between your fingers. Cradling your hand, you sight at the sweet relief of his warmth easing the numbing sting of the cold. Your other hand, however, is beginning to freeze once more.
You can hold out. You’re not fragile. No matter how much Moon likes to tease.
Around the bend, the path lowers into a curving circle around a great pond. Moon lingers in the slightest as you watch him again. His eyes roam over the floating lights set in the shape of trees upon the water. The colors gleam and dance along the surface, reflecting yellow, red, silver, and soft blues in a bright effect.
“This is my favorite,” you say softly into his shoulder.
He dips his head closer to you, though his eyes don’t wander from the beautiful displays. The twinkling lights reflect off of the water. You tug Moon further along the path following the edge of the water. Walking slowly, you allow him to drink in full view, enjoying the peaceful calm of a winter’s night with such warm lights.
“Beautiful,” Moon says once you finish a full loop around the pond.
You make a soft sound of content and lean closer against him. He releases your hand to wrap an arm around your shoulder and tug you in close. For a blissful heartbeat, you both watch the dazzling display, two mirrored versions of lights divided only by the waterline.
Moon suddenly laughs. You lift your head up in confusion to stare at him.
“You’re shivering.” He squeezes you a little tighter into his embrace. Indeed, once pressed against his wool coat, you realize your muscles are working hard to bring your body’s temperature back up.
“I’m fine,” you say, but pause, “They always sell hot chocolate at the very end of the path.”
“Alright,” he turns and lowers himself to you. He smuggles softly against your neck, and you breathe out in solace as the heat of his faceplate finds the cooled parts of your skin just under your chin. “Let’s get you some hot chocolate, then I’ll take you home.”
“Sounds good,” you murmur, your jawline bumping against his nightcap slightly.
Moon rubs your shoulders in soothing circles, his heat slipping through your coat.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
You smile though he cannot see it.
“Your welcome, sweetheart.” You think for a moment. “Does that mean you had a good time?”
“I did, and I still am,” he straightens. His grin is gentle in the darkness. The red of his eyes fills you with a molten adoration. “I think we should get going before you become a human popsicle.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you try to wave away his concern. You, however, grab his hand and press it to your mouth. Your kiss holds softly to his palm. His fingers curl gently against your cheek.
“Merry Christmas, Moon,” you whisper once you release his hand.
“Merry Christmas, snowdrop,” he answers in kind.
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hiiiii!!!! so i’m thinking of a velvette fic where u meet the vees after having dated her for a bit (a few weeks maybe). you hate them. you think they’re creepy and just assholes, even for being in hell. (you’re a bit more wholesome but yk still a sinner) like you just do NOT like the guys. you’re super worried abt velvette’s reaction to that fact so u try to sugar coat it but she’s just like “thank lucifer! i didn’t want them to be creepy bad influences on u!” and u’re both super relieved. i love her.
Heeyyyy I was wondering when you’d send in a Velvette request ☺️ you got it friend! Enjoyyyy~
TW: Val being a perv 😎 for like one second tho, Velvette gets a bit suggestive,?? Lots of cussing lol
The Only V For Me 💜

“AAHHH!!! Darling, you’re finally here! How was the drive? How was the driver?” Velvette watches as you walk through the doorway of her studio, looking around with big doe eyes at all the bright lights and flashy outfits and really beautiful model demons.
“Velvette!” Before you can say anything more, she’s pulling you into a a deadly tight hug. “It was actually…like way too much, babe. You don’t have to do all that fancy shit for me, ya know? But…yes, it was really nice. Thank you.” Velvette offers you a cheeky smirk followed by a quick kiss to the cheek.
Your darling girlfriend snaps her fingers and yells out a command to one of her assistants. “You! Come here.” She makes a ‘come here’ motion with her finger as she turns her attention back to you, her lips upturned into a smile again, “Are you thirsty? Hungry? Anything you need, you tell her.” She points to her assistant who is now right at your side. “Anything my darling asks for, you get it.” She gives the worker an intimidating glare before winking at you.
“Let me show you around!” Velvette puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you along, pointing things out, explaining them. She is absolutely beaming with pride right now, glancing at you often to see your reaction. As you pass a mannequin clad in a really nice outfit, a gasp comes from Velvette. “Oh my! You know who would look absolutely stunning in this little number?” And now she’s flashing you this flirty grin and her bright red eyes are looking you up and down. Suddenly her smooth demeanor dropped as she grumbled under her breath a bit then sighed deeply.
“Oh, who am I kidding. With Vox and Val both here today, if I dress you in anything more appealing than what you’ve got on now, they will definitely try to steal you from me. You already look too cute…” This pulls a laugh from you but your laugh stops suddenly, stuck in your throat when you see how serious her expression is at the moment.
“Wait. What? What do you mean-“ And suddenly the doors swing open, slamming into the walls behind them as an extremely tall, blue-skinned individual with big red heart shaped glass quickly approaches Velvette, towering over both of you.
“WHERE THE HELL IS VOX?! I’ve been looking for that flat faced fuck all day.” He growls out and you take note of the fact that Velvette doesn’t flinch a bit. “Why the hell are you asking me? If he was here, you’d have found him already.” She snaps back and as the angry man before you was about to screech out another sentence, his expression softened rather quickly as his eyes fell on you.
“Why hello~ who do you have here? Wow! What a gorgeous creature you are. I’m Valentino. What’s your name, sweetheart?” One of his hands slips into yours and as he goes to lift your hand to his lips, Velvette pushes him so hard he nearly falls over.
“Their name is (Y/N), alright? And they are MINE. Now back off, Val.” She hisses in response, now tightly holding your hand, the hand that Val was holding just a second ago. “WHOO! Alright. My apologies, dear. Didn’t know this one was all yours. But I mean FUCK! They just have such nice lips! I mean, look at that mouth. You have the perfect pair of dick sucking li-“
Velvette shouts over him, “SHUT IT!!! You’re actually so vile. Get out of here, Valentino! You’re freaking out my babe.” She gives him another shove, making him frown angrily at her before he stomps off, probably punching a wall or kicking something over as he leaves. Oh, he definitely slams the door again too.
“Alrighty! Where were we?” Velvette seems to relax a bit more, going back to a more chipper and excited attitude as she again shows off all of her impressive work to you. She even got a few models to come do a little show just for you, all of them casually posing and showing off different outfits. Velvette kept asking your opinion, begging you to be ‘bloody honest’ with her.
“Oh, darling! You just have to come over one night and let me dress you up, just us two! Hmm~ I could dress you up and then maybe even…undress you again.” Just as your girlfriend started to flirt with you and as you started to feel more comfortable in this environment-
“Velvette! Happy Friday. Have you seen Val? I haven’t been able to reach him all day. I’m-“ The strong, electric voice that sounded from behind you two made you jump a bit and brought a frightening grimace to Velvette’s face.
“Oh~ Hello. (Y/N), right? Pleased to meet you! I was wondering when our precious like Velvette was gonna bring her play thing over. I’m Vox, creator of Voxtech. You know, on the late night talk show…and the morning talk show. I’m also the news anchor.” He doesn’t really offer you his hand, he more so just reached out and grasps your hand in his, giving it a rapid shaking.
His grip on your hand hurts a bit and the smug smirk on his face makes you somewhat intimidated by him. Vox just…gives you the creeps even more than Valentino did and he basically verbally assaulted you. Before you can even come up with a response to him-
“Yes, yes, yes. Everyone knoWS WHO YOU ARE, YOU PRICK. NOW WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” And now Velvette looks kind of scary, like so pissed off and annoyed that she looks like she could actually kill someone right now. The someone preferably being Vox. Her bright red eyes glow with rage and irritation, her pretty lips now turned into a deep scowl.
As she yells in his face, his expression drops to one of annoyance and exhaustion. “Where’s Val?” Velvette groans before responding. “You’ve got to be fuckin kidding me! He just left, looking for you. Look on your stupid little cameras and find him and go tell him to STOP SLAMMING MY DOORS OR IM GONNA-“
Not that Velvette scared you but…she looked pretty upset right now and her yelling is enough to put anyone into a slight panic. So you slip you hand around her bicep, gently pulling her tense arm back a bit so you could comfortably slide your hand down to hers, interlocking your fingers. Her words stopped in their tracks, your tender touch almost making her flinch. Her head whipped around and she looked at you for a good few seconds, a smile slowly growing on her lips. She turns back to the screen-faced man, her smile not faltering this time.
“Off you go.” Velvette quite literally shoos him away with a wave of her hand as her other hand snakes its way around your waist and back until her arm is fully wrapped around you and you’re pressed into her side. She turns her back on Vox, determined to keep her full attention on you for the rest of the day. You’re too distracted by her embrace to notice if Vox had even left or not.
You clear your throat. “Babe…?” “Yes, love?” “Don’t get mad.” You look at her with a serious expression, causing her to blink in confusion. “Mad at you? Never. What’s on your mind?” Velvette pulled away from you for just a second then she faced you and held both your hands in her own.
“I feel…extremely uncomfortable here. Specifically, with Valentino and Vox. I-I…I’m sorry I just…I don’t like them…very much…they scare me.” Velvette chuckles before you can finish your sentence and you’re not sure if you should be relieved or even more worried. Suddenly, she pulls you into a tight hug, her hands rubbing big circles all over your back.
“Ugh, I’m so terribly sorry, darling. Truly, I figured those two would be busy on a Saturday, too busy to be bothering us already.” She turns her head to kiss your cheek then pulls you in even closer. “Fuck! I’m actually so relieved you said that. Those two are so terrible…truly, irresponsible! I mean it when I say I’m the backbone of the Vs okay? Those two pussies would fall apart in a matter of hours without me! Ugh they can’t even keep it together for one day!” “Babe…” You try to calm her again, seeing how worked up she gets having to constantly deal with her work partners.
With her attention solely on you, she softly says, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. What do you want to do next, hm? We can go somewhere. Anywhere. Just say the words.” Her long fingers gently graze the skin of your cheek, causing you to become a bit flustered. It’s almost baffling how she can be so cold and cruel to everyone around her except you. You were her only weakness, and she doesn’t mind one bit. She loves you endlessly. She wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in Hell.
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin#hazbin velvette#hazbin vees#hazbin hotel velvette#velvette x reader#velvette hazbin hotel#Velvette#velvette x you#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin x you#hazbin x y/n#hazbin x reader#hazbin hotel x y/n
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In-law's first impression
Pick a card reading ~
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Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.



Pile 1 °•☆
♡ Namaste pile 1 ! swagatum to your reading~ take what resonates and that doesn't and don't expect sugar coating from me expect honesty only :)
☆ okay , hm when you will meet your in laws you way wanna run away out of fear lol or there exist other possibilities like you must be going through some things and carrying lot of emotional baggage but that won't be visible to your in laws. These people will think of you as someone who is adventurous , someone who isn't afraid of challenges, finds happiness in little things and can make people agree with you . There exist the possibility that you suddenly remember that you have to meet your in laws while doing something else suddenly or randomly decide haha.
●You will be seen as someone guided by practicality most . They will think of you as someone who may overthinks but knows to control and may get defensive too but also that you have mood swings . You don't like to hurry up things . You are very patient and nurturing individuals which will make them feel that they can be compatible with you so you for their son or daughter .
☆You have a good mental self control that makes people feel that you have experienced life a lot . You could be seen as a fair , accountable, responsible , authoritative , introverted and cold person until you open yourself truly and then they know that what are you . Most of you could be therapist of some sort or like doctors , healers , coach of sort , investigators and in law I see some people with anxiety , trauma and eyes problem too .
Pile 2 °•☆○
♡ Namaste pile 2 ! swagatum to your reading~ take what resonates and that doesn't and don't expect sugar coating from me expect honesty only :)
I pulled more cards here haha maybe lot of information is here ^^
●People here are very hardworking individuals , calm , honest , with a sense of purpose , loyal and what more i can say no materialism attachment with people here you don't like excess of anything nor you run but attract opportunities . This is what the impression seems to be at first without thinking a lot i guess there is something about your appearance like some people get impression by talk for some only it is from their appearance or we say what your are can be seen from outside .
☆ You have load of work and things in your life could be that they think you are someone who may not have time for family but work mostly but that could be different too . You must have struggled in life for work but not now . They see that you have come to a success position in your life after phases of struggles .
● You people may be dream come true for them , good manifestators , don't need to struggle for things at present like whatever you wish for comes to your life . You could look similar from someone close to their family and believe this is your soul family and your guides and universe will be happy for you !
☆ You could be seen as someone who can all alone manage their finances like you could be bloody wealthy and secure . You like animals too aww cute ~ Even you don't want to attract attention you will get it .You stand among all the choices they have seen haha if they marriage had to been an arrange one .
Pile 3 °•☆○°
♡ Namaste pile 3 ! swagatum to your reading~ take what resonates and that doesn't and don't expect sugar coating from me expect honesty only :)
● someone of you could be younger than your spouse or at a young age you must have learnt to take many responsibilities that can be seen from your in laws . You could be good cooks also wow . You guys are multi tasker and can be seen good for home management be man or women.
☆ You are seen someone physically strong than your spouse whether again if you are a man or women . You people are fashionable too or could be models or could give that vibes . You people straightforward, dominant and strategic always like you don't like mess . Damn your presence can make come to their right place or you could none less than a king ! You could be from village but work in city .
● You are someone they can hope a lot or you could be a lot hopeful and optimistic . You really have many wishes that you want to make them come true . So marriage isn't your end goal or wish it is something else . You people are very much self-aware and shine among others . You may not want to cooperate when it comes to your need . You are bloody honest . You want a life of joy,happiness and travel .
The end of pac ☆°•°•○
#theladybrownstarot#free tarot#pac#tarot reading#tarot community#tarotblr#tarotscope#free tarot reading#tarot love reading#future spouse tarot reading#pick a pile#pick a card
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