#leather jacket review | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 8 months ago

Text

To Have a Heart

CEO!Max Verstappen x single mother!Reader

Summary: Max is a titan of industry, used to making grown men cry with one glance … then you and your daughter turn his carefully controlled life upside down

Warnings: descriptions of pediatric cancer

Max strides into his corner office, his Italian leather shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline, but he pays it no mind as he makes his way to the large mahogany desk.

His assistant, Clara, follows a few steps behind, her heels clacking nervously. “Sir, Mr. Henderson is waiting in the conference room per your request.”

Max doesn’t bother responding as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat behind the desk. With a flick of his wrist, he motions for Clara to leave. She gives the tiniest of nods and scurries out, closing the double doors behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Max presses the intercom button. “Send him in.”

A moment later, the doors reopen and a balding, paunchy man in an ill-fitting suit enters. Even from across the room, Max can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s forehead.

Good.

He should be nervous.

“Mr. Henderson.” Max says, his tone clipped. “Do you know why I called you here?”

The man — Henderson — fidgets with his tie. “Y-Yes, sir. The, uh, the Brighton acquisition ...”

“The $3.75 billion deal that was supposed to be finalized yesterday.” Max interjects, leaning back in his chair. “A deal that the company has been meticulously negotiating for over six months. A deal that would have been the largest hostile takeover in our firm’s history.”

Henderson gives a somber nod, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Max fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sad display.

“Because of your incompetence, that deal is now in jeopardy.” Max continues, his voice dropping to a menacing register. “Please explain to me how someone with three decades of accounting experience could possibly make the amateur mistake of misplacing a decimal point on the binding purchase agreement?”

“I … I missed it in the final review.” Henderson stammers out, sweat now visibly staining the armpits of his shirt. “The numbers, they all start to blur together after-”

“Do not insult my intelligence with your pitiful excuses.” Max cuts him off, slamming a fist down on the desk. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in the way the man flinches. “Because of your idiocy, we offered $235 million over the agreed purchase price. An overpayment to the tune of $2.5 billion with a ‘B’!”

Henderson seems to shrink into himself with each biting word. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Verstappen. It won’t happen again, I swear-”

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Max growls, rising from his chair so quickly that it goes clattering backwards. He leans across the desk, getting directly in Henderson’s ashen face. “Because you’re fired. Effective immediately.”

The words seem to take a moment to register in Henderson’s mind. When they do, his eyes widen in panic and he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, please! You can’t fire me!” he cries, any veneer of professionalism crumbling. “I-I’ll work double shifts, triple shifts! I’ll volunteer for all the weekend audits, no overtime pay! J-Just don’t fire me, I’m begging you!”

Max recoils slightly at the outburst of blubbering, his lip curling in disgust. How pathetic, to see a grown man so thoroughly debased. He almost feels pity for the wretch … almost.

“This conversation is over.” Max says, his tone resolute as he straightens his tie. “You have one hour to collect your things and get out of my building. After that, security will escort you out.”

“B-But I have three kids!” Henderson sputters, tears streaming down his face now. “A mortgage. Alimony payments! You can’t just-”

In a burst of rage, Max sweeps his arm across the desk, sending papers, files, and office supplies clattering to the floor in a violent clutter.

“I am Max Verstappen!” He bellows, his face flushed crimson. “I do not make empty threats, Mr. Henderson. You are a miserable, costly disappointment. A failure. And I will not allow failures to remain under my employ.”

The words seem to drain what little fight was left in Henderson. His shoulders slump in defeat, and he lets out a pitiful whimper. Max feels his anger deflate, replaced with a tired disdain.

“One hour.” he repeats, falling back into his chair in exhaustion. “Get out of my sight.”

Henderson doesn’t need to be told twice. With trembling hands, he begins collecting the various objects scattered across the floor — pencils, paperclips, manila folders now slightly crumpled. His motions are slow, pained, like those of a man having just received a terminal diagnosis.

Max watches impassively as the sniveling accountant gathers his belongings. Part of him feels a twinge of … not quite guilt, but maybe the faintest pangs of empathy for the broken man before him. He quickly smothers that flicker of sympathy. This is the cost of doing business in the world of high-stakes acquisitions and mergers. There is no room for weakness or mistakes. Only results matter.

Finally, with his meager pile of office supplies clutched to his chest, Henderson straightens up. His face is blotchy and tear-stained, but he seems to have regained some small scrap of dignity. He meets Max’s cold stare for just a moment before turning on his heel and shuffling out of the office.

The double doors close behind him with a hollow thud that hangs in the air. Max lets out a slow exhale, suddenly aware of the tension that had been coiling inside him. He runs a hand over his face, then taps a button on his phone intercom.

“Clara, get me William Evans from legal on the line immediately.” he says, his voice steady once more. “We need to do damage control on the Brighton situation before it becomes irreparable.”

“Right away, sir.” comes the reply, his assistant’s voice tightly professional.

Max leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he stares out at the New York City skyline. This is far from the first firing he has issued, and it certainly won’t be the last. He is a great white shark, always needing to move forward or else he will drown in the depths of his own ambition.

There is a soft rap at the door, pulling Max from his reverie.

“Come in.” he calls out. Clara enters, her face schooled into a mask of polite disinterest. So much the better — he respects discretion.

“I have Mr. Evans on line two for you.” she says crisply.

Max gives a succinct nod. “Thank you, Clara. That will be all.”

As his assistant withdraws, Max takes a fortifying breath. He is Max Verstappen. He is the master of the corporate ocean. And he will not allow one flailing failure to capsize his empire.

Squaring his shoulders, he picks up the phone and begins issuing a stern series of orders and demands. After all, there is little time for rest when one aims to be a modern day titan of industry.

***

You take a deep breath and rap firmly on the door to the HR director’s office. “Come in.” a flat voice calls out.

Steeling yourself, you twist the handle and step inside the dingy, fluorescent-lit room. Janet, the red-haired HR manager, looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, Y/N. What can I do for you today?” She asks in an overly saccharine tone.

You take a seat across from her cluttered desk, your knee bouncing with nervous energy. “I … I need to request some personal leave. Family medical reasons.”

Janet’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rise in bland surprise. “I see. And how much time were you hoping to take?”

Your throat tightens as you force out the words. “At least a month. Maybe more, depending on … on how things progress.”

The HR manager clucks her tongue as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We’re in our busiest quarter and you know the company policy — no extended leave during crunch periods unless it’s a valid health emergency.”

You feel panic fluttering in your chest. This has to be a valid emergency! “But it is an emergency! My daughter, she’s ...” Your voice cracks and you swallow hard, desperate to maintain your composure. “She’s very sick, potentially terminal. I need to be with her right now.”

Janet’s face remains stubbornly impassive. “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. Truly, I am. But unless you can provide official documentation from a medical professional, my hands are tied.”

The words hit you like a slap across the face. Of course they would require documentation to approve leave — it’s standard corporate policy. But how can mentally collect yourself to get paperwork in order when you’ve been spending every waking moment by your little girl’s hospital bedside?

Unbidden, your mind flashes back to two nights ago, watching in helpless terror as your daughter’s tiny body was racked with another severe seizure. You had screamed yourself hoarse calling for the nurses as the meds they pumped into her did little to stop the violent convulsions ...

You’re vaguely aware of Janet still speaking across from you, something about company guidelines and productivity expectations. But the words sound muffled and far away, as if you’re underwater.

How naive you were to think they might bend the rules, just this once. To think the faceless corporation you pour your life into might actually show a shred of human compassion during your hour of desperate need.

No. That’s not how companies like this operate.

They don’t care about you or your daughter’s life. All they care about is the bottom line, and you’re just an expendable number in their organizational flowchart.

You’re jolted back to reality as Janet raps her lacquered nails impatiently on the desk. “Well? Is there anything else or can I get back to work?”

Is there anything else? Oh, there’s so much more you want to scream at this unfeeling paper-pusher. You want to cry and rage and beg her to just show an ounce of basic human decency.

But you know it would be pointless. Janet is just a cog, same as you. There’s only one person here with the power and influence to authorize what you need.

Only one person who strikes abject terror into the heart of every employee with his infamous volcanic temper and uncompromising expectations.

The thought makes your stomach twist into knots, but you know what you have to do. For your little girl’s sake, you have to try.

So you rise from the chair, willing your legs not to shake. “Thank you for your time.” you mutter tightly, already turning on your heel and storming out of the office.

You don’t look back as Janet calls out something about proper procedure. You just keep moving, your footsteps fueled by a mother’s desperation.

The elevator seems to take an eternity, each second feeling like a little bit more of your daughter’s life trickling away. By the time the doors finally open with a mocking ding, you’re practically vibrating with pent-up nervous energy.

As the mirrored box ascends, your heart feels like it’s trying to batter its way out of your chest. You can hardly breathe past the constriction in your lungs. What if the infamous Max Verstappen laughs in your face? Or has you fired on the spot for daring to interrupt his billion-dollar dealings?

No, you can’t afford to think like that. This may be your only chance to get the time off you so desperately need. For your daughter’s sake, you have to be brave.

The elevator seems to crawl upward at a glacial pace. By the time the doors finally part with a soft chime, you feel like you’re going to be sick from anxiety. This is it, the executive floor — the lair of the terrifying Max Verstappen himself.

You step out into the plush, mahogany-accented lobby with shaking legs. Behind a curved desk, Max’s assistant Clara looks up, her expression instantly hardening when she recognizes you as some inconsequential employee.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Verstappen is not accepting any visitors at the moment.” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’d like to schedule an appointment for next week ...”

“Please.” you blurt out, hating how your voice trembles. “It’s an emergency. I … I need to see him. Just for five minutes.”

Clara’s manicured eyebrow arches skeptically. “I extremely doubt Mr. Verstappen would consider your issue important enough to warrant an unscheduled meeting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a million things to-”

“It’s about my sick daughter!” The words burst from your lips before you can stop them. Immediately, you regret being so unprofessional, but desperation has eroded your self-control.

For a split second, Clara’s expression flickers with something that might be pity. But it’s quickly subsumed by her usual cool mask of professionalism as she shakes her head.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter’s illness. But those are still not grounds for me to disturb Mr. Verstappen while he’s-”

“Please!” You plead, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I’m begging you. This could be my last chance! If he says no, I’ll leave, I promise. But I have to try!”

Clara regards you appraisingly for a long moment. Then, letting out a weary sigh, she presses the intercom button. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

The line crackles with static for several tense seconds. You hold your breath, praying beyond hope that the infamous Max has a rare charitable impulse today.

Then, his unmistakable baritone growls through the small speaker. “This had better be good. Send them in.”

Clara winces almost imperceptibly before gesturing towards the double oak doors to Max’s corner office. “Good luck.” she murmurs.

You don’t need any further prompting. Drawing a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and make your way to the doors. You pause just briefly, hands trembling, before rapping your knuckles firmly against the lacquered wood.

There’s no going back now. Either Max Verstappen is about to grant you a miracle … or utterly crush your last, fragile hope.

***

Max scowls as the intercom crackles to life, Clara’s hesitant voice filtering through the speaker. “Sir? There’s someone here requesting an urgent meeting with you. A … personal matter.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Surely whatever this is can wait until tomorrow. Max is elbow-deep in paperwork and holding patterns, trying to do damage control on the Brighton acquisition fumble. He has no time for frivolous “personal” disruptions.

“This had better be good.” he growls into the intercom. “Send them in.”

With an irritated huff, Max leans back in his buttery leather chair as the doors to his office swing open. He’s already opening his mouth to berate whoever dares disturb him over something as trivial as a “personal matter.”

Then you tentatively step into the room and Max’s words die in his throat.

Even with your shoulders hunched inward and your makeup smudged from crying, you are utterly breathtaking. A fragile beauty drowning in an oversized blazer, your wide eyes darting around his opulent office with obvious intimidation.

An unwelcome jolt of attraction lances through Max’s chest and he quickly squashes it down. He cannot afford such distractions, especially from a lowly employee like yourself who should know better than to interrupt him during work hours.

“Well?” He finally finds his voice, aiming for a brusque tone to remind you both of your respective places. “You’re hardly someone important enough to be granted an audience. This had better be worth my time.”

The harshness of his words seems to make you flinch. You worry your lip between your teeth, shrinking back slightly.

“I … I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Verstappen.” you begin haltingly. Already Max can feel his patience waning. He hates fumbling fragility and wants only confident decisiveness.

But then your next words come tumbling out in a desperate rush. “It’s about my daughter, sir. My little girl … she’s in the hospital. She has a brain tumor and her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I asked Janet in HR for some personal leave to be with her, but she denied my request and said I need official medical documentation which could take days I don’t have!”

Tears are welling in your eyes now, your voice rising to nearly hysterical levels. “Please, Mr. Verstappen! She’s only three years old and I’m a single mom. I’m all she has right now! I’m begging you … please just give me some time to be with her before … before ...”

You seem unable to voice whatever terrifying possibility lurks in the back of your mind. Instead, you dissolve into shoulder-shaking sobs, burying your face in your hands as you break down completely.

Max feels his earlier irritation softening in spite of himself. He’s seen grown men thrice your age become blubbering messes under his withering glare. But there’s something distinctly vulnerable and gut-wrenching about your anguished tears.

Part of him recognizes this as a prime opportunity to regain control, to berate you for such an unseemly display of emotion. His reputation as a merciless taskmaster practically demands he put you in your place.

But another part of Max … a part he barely recognizes … feels a rare pang of empathy pierce through his calloused exterior.

Perhaps it’s the thought of a scared little girl lying crippled in a hospital bed, scared and missing her mother. Or perhaps it’s the way you wear your devastation so plainly, managing to humanize yourself in a way most people never achieve in his eyes.

Whatever the reason, when Max finally speaks, his tone has lost its earlier bite.

“I did not realize the full severity of the situation.” he says, slowly rising from his chair. He moves around the desk, not missing the way you tense as he approaches.

Up close, he can see the puffy redness rimming your eyes, the despair etched into every line of your face. It stirs something inside him … an ancient ghost of an emotion he can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry you were dismissed so carelessly by HR.” Max continues, struggling to keep his voice even. “Perhaps if you had led with mentioning your daughter’s condition, instead of being so oblique ...”

He trails off as you sniff loudly, dragging the sleeve of your blazer across your nose. The motion is equal parts endearing and mortifying for him to witness.

“Here.” he says impulsively, plucking a crisp linen handkerchief from his suit pocket. He presses it into your hand, watching as you blink owlishly at the unexpected gesture. “Allow me to make things right.”

Without waiting for a response, Max turns and strides over to his desk. He snatches up the phone and rapidly punches in a extension code, holding the receiver to his ear as it begins to ring.

“Janet? Yes, it’s Max Verstappen.” he says crisply when the line picks up. “I’ve just been informed about an ... employee situation that requires your immediate attention.”

He pauses, glancing over at where you’re clutching his handkerchief like a lifeline. Your eyes are still glistening with tears, but you’ve gone utterly still — hanging on his every word.

“One of our marketing staff came to me in quite a state about needing extended leave to be with their hospitalized child.” Max continues, his voice hardening slightly. “A matter you seemed to dismiss without proper consideration for the … nuances of the circumstances.”

There’s a sputtering on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Janet trying to make excuses. Max doesn’t give her the chance.

“The decision has been made to grant the employee’s leave request, effective immediately.” he cuts her off. “They will be excused for … two months, with full pay and benefits.”

His announcement seems to render you momentarily stunned. You simply stare at him, eyes wide and unblinking, like you can’t quite process what you’re hearing.

Max clears his throat self-consciously, refocusing on Janet’s flustered response filtering through the receiver. “B-But sir, we have very strict policies about-”

“Which is precisely why I’m instructing you to make an exception.” Max interjects, his voice brokering no arguments. “This leave is to be coded as paid health and wellness time. I expect no push-back or foot-dragging on this, understood?”

There’s a meek murmur of assent from Janet’s end. Max can’t resist a tight smile of satisfaction.

“Good. I’ll leave the paperwork in your capable hands then. That will be all.” He punctuates the statement by firmly hanging up the phone.

As the clatter of the receiver breaks the tense silence, Max turns to find you staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression. For a long moment, neither of you speak or move. He finds himself paralyzed under the weight of your intense, unblinking gaze.

Then, with a strangled cry, you suddenly surge forward and throw your arms around him. Max goes ramrod stiff as your slight frame collides with his, your tears dampening the front of his crisp dress shirt.

“Thank you!” You’re whispering over and over like a prayer, clinging to him with a desperation that should be uncomfortable. And yet ... “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Max feels utterly transfixed, like a statue too stunned to react. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to encroach so boldly on his personal space, much less make actual physical contact. He’s not accustomed to such … warmth.

But before the unfamiliar embrace can start to grate on him, you suddenly pull back. Swiping at your eyes, you manage a watery smile up at him.

“You have no idea how much this means, sir. I … I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and understanding.”

He wants to scoff at the notion, to remind you that he is Max Verstappen — merciless and uncompromising in his corporate dealings. That this was merely an isolated instance of pragmatism to avoid a PR incident or workplace lawsuit, nothing more.

But something in your earnest gaze stops the curt rebuttal in his throat. For once, the infamously brusque Max Verstappen finds himself momentarily at a loss for words.

So instead, he gives a terse nod of acknowledgment. Already, his mind is starting to analyze how best to re-allocate your responsibilities for the next two months, which temporary hires to bring in for supplemental coverage.

But one stray thought continues to nag at the back of his mind, an errant curveball amongst the dizzying calculations.

For the first time in years — perhaps his entire adult life — Max feels almost … human.

It’s a strange and deeply unsettling realization, but luckily one he doesn’t have to dwell on.

Because in the next breath, you’re sweeping out of his office, a renewed vigor in your step and a brilliant smile lighting up your features. Max watches you go, an odd tightness settling into his chest.

He doesn’t have words — or perhaps doesn’t want to admit to any words to describe what he’s feeling in this moment. But one thing is for certain, for better or worse, you’ve well and truly upended Max Verstappen’s world.

***

Max remains rooted in place long after you’ve departed, his office now eerily silent in your absence. He should feel relieved to have some peace and quiet again after that … emotional encounter.

Yet instead of settling back into his usual all-consuming work flow, he finds his mind stubbornly replaying the scene on an endless, maddening loop.

The desperation etched onto your delicate features. The way your frame practically vibrated with barely-constrained anguish. The broken, pleading sound of your voice as you begged for his mercy ...

Despite his best efforts to dismiss it, the memory of your raw vulnerability has burrowed its way under Max’s skin, taking up an unwelcome residence. It picks and nags at the edges of his consciousness no matter how much he wills it away.

He has witnessed similar breakdowns from countless employees over the years — grown men and women brought to sniveling tatters by his uncompromising demands. But none of them elicited the same … response within him.

None of them made something twist so peculiarly in Max’s chest, unleashing that brief yet startling flicker of empathy from whatever dark crevice it lurks.

Gritting his teeth, Max paces behind his desk in tight, agitated circles. He prides himself on being a merciless pragmatist, unmoved by emotional pleas or babelling outbursts. Whatever decisions he makes are calculated toward the maximum profit potential and bottom line, end of story.

So why does this one case, this one instance of showing a bare modicum of human compassion, insist on gnawing at him so persistently? It makes no logical sense, no matter how he tries to mentally contort it.

Perhaps that’s the core issue — that for once in his life, Max’s motivations weren’t born strictly of logic or financial incentive. Something else had escaped from beneath, something primal and indefinable, when you broke down so nakedly in front of him.

The realization causes Max’s steps to stutter to a halt. His jaw works tensely as he runs a frustrated hand through his brown hair, disheveling the meticulously groomed coif.

He can admit to himself that some base part of his brain had been … affected by the rawness of your emotion. The way you had stripped away all artifice and propriety to plead so urgently and authentically.

Not many people manage to disarm Max Verstappen’s carefully curated expectation filters. But you had blown straight through them without even realizing it, battering down the reinforced walls he builds around his life. Just by being horrifically, unguardedly human.

It’s both impressive and deeply unsettling in equal measure.

Before Max can spiral any further down this rabbit hole of self-reflection, a sharp rap of knuckles against the door jolts him back to awareness. He straightens and clears his throat roughly.

“Come in.” he calls out, already retaking his seat and trying to project an aura of resolute control.

Clara slips into the office, her usual unflappable poise slightly ruffled as she catches the tense atmosphere. “You asked to see me right away, sir?”

“Yes.” Max says brusquely, watching her over steepled fingers. “I need you to do some … discreet digging for me into a personal matter.”

Clara’s perfectly groomed eyebrow arches inquisitively. But to her credit, she doesn’t comment on his evasive phrasing.

“And what exactly am I looking into?”

“The employee who was just in my office seeking leave.” he explains curtly. “The one with the hospitalized child. I need you to find out everything you can — where the child is being treated, their condition, prognosis, all of it.”

Clara’s perfectly glossed lips purse ever so slightly. “You’re aware I can’t exactly go through official medical channels without violating all sorts of privacy laws ...”

“I’m fully aware.” Max interjects with a curt wave of his hand. “Which is why you’ll have to take a more … unconventional approach. I don’t particularly care what methods you have to employ, just get me those details by the end of the day.”

His assistant regards him silently for a long beat, as if trying to suss out his motivations. Max meets her contemplative look with an unwavering stare of his own.

Finally, Clara gives a tight nod of understanding. “Consider it done, sir.”

With that, she pivots on the towering heel of her Louboutin and sees herself out of the office, the click of her footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall.

Max lets out a slow exhale, alone with his thoughts once more.

What is he doing? This bizarre crusade is so wildly outside of his typical conduct and practices. The lengths he’s going to, all for the sake of some random underling’s personal crisis ...

A smart, calculated part of his brain recognizes this entire situation as a fool’s errand, a waste of time and resources. He should be devoting every ounce of his focus toward extricating the Chinese investment group from the Brighton deal before their next earnings call.

And yet, he can’t seem to fully let this go. Your haunted, hopeless expression keeps flickering through his mind’s eye. The memory of your tears soaking into his suit lapel as you clung to him with a desperation that shook something deep within him.

It’s almost as if his body is acting of its own accord, driven by some urge he can’t fully parse or control. Like a murmured voice insistently compelling him to … to what? Help you? Offer some vague sense of solace or security?

The thought is patently ludicrous, and Max scoffs audibly at his own melodrama. Get a grip, he chides himself sternly. Since when do you care about coddling your peons?

He forcefully shakes off the uncharacteristic reverie and turns back to the stacks of paperwork and documents splayed across his desk. Focusing intently on running new financial projections for Q3, he manages to bury himself in the work for a solid two hours.

He’s in the midst of furiously scribbling margin and revenue notes when the trill of the phone line cuts through his concentration. A glance at the caller ID has him resisting the urge to sigh.

“Clara.” he answers crisply, leaning back in his leather chair. “I trust you’ve made progress?”

“Indeed.” comes the smooth reply, devoid of inflection as always. “Though I should warn you, some of these details are … concerning.”

Something tightens in Max’s chest, but he quickly tamps it down. “Just lay it all out for me. No need to editorialize.”

“Very well.” Clara acquiesces. “So the child, a three-year-old daughter, is currently a patient at Lennox Hill Hospital here in the city. According to my sources, she was admitted five weeks ago after experiencing severe seizures and hallucinations. An MRI revealed she has a large mass-”

“Let me stop you right there.” Max interjects, his brows furrowing. Even he can recognize those are less than encouraging signs. “What’s the official diagnosis then?”

“Grade IV glioblastoma.” Clara replies flatly. “One of the most aggressive malignant brain tumors, especially in children her age.”

A terse silence falls between them as the weight of that diagnosis sinks in. Grade IV … practically a death sentence wrapped up in clinical terminology. Max finds his hand unconsciously clenching the arm of his chair.

“And her prospects?” He finally prompts gruffly. “What’s the … prognosis for her case?”

Clara doesn’t answer right away. Over the line, he can hear her exhale slowly, a rare tell of emotional discomfort from his typically unflappable assistant.

“From what my contact at Lennox Hill said … if we’re talking full disclosure?” Her customary professionalism wavers slightly as her voice grows hushed. “They’ve given her three months at most, sir. Maybe less, if another seizure or bleed occurs before then.”

The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade against Max’s neck. Suddenly, all those intrusive mental flashes of your inconsolable despair take on a sharper, even more heartrending clarity.

Of course you were devastated, he realizes with startling empathy. How could any mother face their child’s death sentence with any measure of composure?

An unexpected swell of emotion rises in Max’s throat and he has to blink rapidly to keep it at bay. Now isn’t the time for such indulgences.

“Thank you, Clara.” he manages in a rough baritone. “That will be all for now.”

He ends the call without waiting for a response, abruptly severing the connection.

Alone once more, Max slumps back against the leather upholstery, an uncharacteristic weariness settling into his bones. He reaches up to loosen his already disheveled tie, suddenly feeling stifled within the confines of his suit.

Three months. Three paltry months for a precious young life to be snatched away before it ever really began. His jaw clenches hard.

That’s unacceptable. Not just unfair, but a complete and total injustice to all that is right and good in this world.

No child should have to suffer like that … and certainly no mother should have to face a future of unimaginable grief and emptiness once her only family is gone. Not if there was anything to be done about it.

And, at the end of the day, Max Verstappen has the means to quite literally move mountains with his wealth and influence.

An idea begins to blossom in his mind — one that feels daring and reckless and so utterly unlike his usual business-oriented self. But he finds himself drawn to it with a singleminded resolve he can’t quite explain.

Jaw set, Max snatches up his phone and punches in a number he never thought he’d use outside of donor galas.

“Roland? Max Verstappen here.” he says gruffly when the line picks up. “I need you to connect me directly with someone in Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology department ...”

Half an hour and multiple calls later, Max is finally patched through to one of the top clinical researchers in the field: Dr. Spencer Paulson.

“Dr. Paulson, thank you for making time on such short notice.” Max says, his tone polished yet clipped. “To cut right to it, I was recently made aware of a … sensitive case involving a terminal pediatric patient and some rather bleak estimated survival rates.”

Without preamble, he lays out what little he knows about your daughter — the diagnosis, the staging, the Lennox Hill prognosis that has already written her off for dead. All throughout, the doctor on the other end of the line remains grimly silent.

“So in your expert opinion.” Max finishes, realizing his hand has unconsciously tightened into a white-knuckled fist. “What would you say her realistic prospects for meaningful treatment or survival are?”

There’s a pregnant pause, then a grim sigh filters through the tinny line. “Based on what you’ve told me … I’m afraid the prognosis does indeed sound dire. Grade IV glioblastomas in children under five have approximately a 5% survival rate past twelve months with conventional treatment regimens.”

Max clenches his teeth, brutally unsurprised yet still floored by the frank assessment. Moments ago, he had still been clinging to a fool’s hope.

“However.” Dr. Paulson continues, his tone brightening slightly. “We do currently have an … experimental trial ongoing that might be an outside option to explore.”

Something akin to hope flutters in Max’s chest. “I’m listening.”

“Well, to put it simply, we’ve had some promising early results adapting viral gene therapies to target and destroy these aggressive brain tumor cells in young patients.” the doctor explains, shifting into a more clinical, lecture-style delivery.

“By modifying and re-engineering certain viruses to bind only to the specific mutated RNA and protein markers found in diseases like glioblastomas, we can theoretically use those same viruses as a delivery vector. One that can slip past the blood-brain barrier and directly infect the cancerous cells with a sort of … controlled payload, if you will.”

Max nods along, his mind working furiously to keep up with the technical jargon. “Some kind of treatment regimen then? Drugs or radiation therapy delivered directly to the tumor site?”

“Precisely.” Dr. Paulson confirms approvingly. “Only we’ve expanded past just chemo and gamma rays as the options. Thanks to the pioneering work of doctors like Bert Jacobs, we’ve now created an entirely new frontier of cancer treatments centered around gene therapy and mRNA editing.”

He rattles off a dizzying litany of polysyllabic scientific terminology that sails completely over Max’s head. Not that it matters — his focus is fully captured by the notes of guarded optimism finally creeping into Paulson’s voice.

“Of course, this is all still highly experimental. We’ve only managed to achieve remission in a handful of trial cases thus far.” the doctor cautions. “And we have no idea if the viral vector we’ve engineered will be equally effective against every variation of cancerous mutation out there.”

Max nods impatiently, waving a hand as if to physically shoo away the vague caveats. “I appreciate the need for clinical hedging, doctor. But let’s cut right to the heart of the matter.”

He draws in a fortifying breath. “If you were to take on this little girl as a patient, deploy these … gene therapy regimens of yours … would you give her a legitimate chance? At treatment, remission, survival?”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Dr. Paulson is carefully considering the ethical ramifications of his answer. Then, “If she meets the selection criteria and baseline health conditions … and we get a bit of luck on our side ...” Another sigh, heavy with the weight of his responsibilities. “Then I’d say we would have a fighting chance, yes.”

Those five simple words crash over Max with the force of a tidal wave, hitting him squarely in the chest.

A chance. At life. At making it past those grim, dire prognoses.

After several moments of stunned silence, Max finally finds his voice.

“Say no more, doctor. Whatever it costs — money, time, logistics — none of it matters. I want this treatment option fully activated and prioritized immediately. Spare no expense, I’ll take care of the bill.” He utters the words with the same decisive confidence he handles his billion-dollar business dealings.

Because in this moment, it doesn’t feel like just some impulsive, emotionally-driven whim. Helping your innocent child — ensuring she gets the fighting chance she deserves?

It feels like the only choice he can possibly make.

***

You sit hunched in the hard, plastic visitor’s chair, your body angled protectively towards the small hospital bed. Despite the tubes and wires snaking from her fragile limbs, your daughter appears almost peaceful in her restless slumber.

She always was such a sound sleeper as a baby, you reminisce wistfully. Remembering how you’d regularly creep into the nursery just to watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, assuring yourself she was still breathing.

Even back then, the ever-present fear of something going horribly wrong never truly left you. The world is far too cruel a place to let a mother relax, no matter how deeply you wish you could.

One slender hand rests atop the thin bedsheet covering your little girl, your thumb tracing soothing circles along her tiny knuckles. A silent, simple gesture of tenderness you hope she can feel even in sleep. If only you could so easily soothe away her pain and suffering as you could your own.

The quiet flutter of the heart rate monitor keeps beat, each mechanical beep another hammer striking your already shattered soul. You want to feel relieved, blessed even, that it continues that steady cadence. Instead, you only feel exhausted hollowness.

Because this morning, the doctors came to “discuss options.” As if their clinical detachment could soften the blow of learning your child is well and truly out of miracles.

“We’ve run every available scan and lab test.” Dr. Rhodes had said, failing to meet your desperate gaze. “I’m so very sorry, but the tumor isn’t responding to any of our treatments. At this point, we have to start considering ...”

You hadn’t let him finish, couldn’t let those hateful, unthinkable words pass his lips. Palliative care. Hospice. Just give up and let nature take its inevitable, brutal course while they pumped her full of numbing opiates so she could “comfortably” slip away.

The rage and anguish had bubbled up from some primal pit within your guts, hot and viscous like magma erupting from deep beneath the earth’s crust. You’d screamed incoherent denials until your voice was hoarse, begging and pleading through sobs for them not to take away your only hope.

In the end, they’d sedated your daughter fully so you could “calm down” and “process things rationally.” You know they meant well, trying to spare her from your outburst. But it only compounded your devastation, feeling like they were already treating her as a lost cause no longer worth fighting for.

So here you sit, after untold hours of cycling through various stages of grief, left only with bone-deep weariness cloaked by a fragile veneer of numb acceptance. You dimly wonder if you’ll ever truly feel anything else ever again.

Through the blur of tears constantly stinging your eyes, you keep a silent vigil over your daughter’s bedside. You memorize every delicate sweep of her sooty lashes, the tiny smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Desperate to commit every last precious detail of her existence to memory before … before ...

A choked sob bubbles up from your chest at the thought, hot and acidic at the back of your throat. You quickly muffle it with the crook of your elbow, determined not to disturb your resting girl with the outward manifestations of your agony.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. An old meditative mantra you try to focus on, struggling to regain control of your tenuous grip on composure. You know your tears and hiccupping gasps for air are only harming yourself at this point. Better to conserve what little physical and mental strength you have left to simply be with your daughter while you still can.

The grief is an ever-churning sea just waiting to drag you under its dark, icy depths. But still you stubbornly tread water, unwilling to fully surrender just yet. Not as long as you can still feel the reassuring thrum of her pulse against your fingertips, a solitary lifeline keeping you tethered to the present.

You aren’t sure how much time stretches in that manner — minutes or hours, you cannot say. The days have all started blurring into one long, endless haze of sleeplessness and overwhelming sorrow.

So when the door to the hospital room suddenly clicks open, the sound manages to penetrate the cotton-muffled fog shrouding your senses.Instantly, you stiffen and blink rapidly, as if only just now awakening to your surroundings.

A stranger stands in the doorway — a tall, slender man in an impeccably tailored suit that looks distinctly out of place amongst the bland, sterile patient rooms. His face is sharp and angular, almost harsh in its sternness if not for the way his brow is furrowed with evident concern.

You open your mouth to ask who he is and what he wants, but he raises a placating hand before you can find your voice.

“Please, don’t be alarmed.” he says, words clipped yet softened slightly. “I know this is a terrible situation, and the absolute last setting you’d want an uninvited visitor.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see behind his obvious affluence lurks a cultured, aloof sort of demeanor. There’s no outward malice or disrespect in his manner, but he carries himself like someone long accustomed to privileges and deference. The sight of him sets you even more on edge amid your emotional rawness.

“My name is Spencer Paulson.” the man presses on, taking a few measured steps further into the room. “I’m actually a doctor, Ms ...”

“Y/N.” you automatically supply, dredging up the remnants of social graces. “Y/N L/N. And this is … this is my daughter, Olivia.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly on her name, heated moisture already welling behind your eyes once more. You quickly dab at their corners with the sleeve of your worn cardigan, determined not to dissolve into fresh hysterics in front of this absolute stranger.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N.” the man — Dr. Paulson — says, tone measured. “I realize I’m intruding on a highly stressful situation for you and your family right now. And for that, I truly am sorry.”

His apology seems sincere enough. But wariness still prickles along your nape as your overtired, over-protective instincts flare up. You clutch your daughter’s limp hand in yours a fraction tighter.

“Then if you don’t mind my asking.” you begin in a calculated tone, scrutinizing Paulson carefully. “Why are you here? And what business could possibly bring you to Olivia’s bedside unannounced?”

He regards you silently for a long moment, something inscrutable flickering across his features. When he speaks again, his words are deliberately precise, weighted down by their momentous gravity.

“I was recently contacted by … an interested third party about your daughter’s case.” Paulson explains, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was filled in on the specifics of her diagnosis — glioblastoma, grade four, extremely aggressive and largely unresponsive to standard treatment. Am I correct so far?”

You can only numbly nod, a chill prickling across your flesh. The man’s crisp, clinical recitation of your worst nightmare forces a painful convulsion of renewed heartache.

Paulson seems to catch your distress and quickly presses on. “Right, well, I’m actually here in an official capacity as the Chief of Pediatric Oncology over at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.”

The words hit you with all the force of a defibrillator charge, jolting your entire frame upright in the hard plastic chair. Your jaw drops open, already fumbling for a desperate reply that will somehow make this all make sense.

But Paulson continues before you can vocalize any of the hundreds of jumbled questions flooding your mind.

“I’ll keep this relatively simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, holding up a forestalling hand. “My team at Sloan Kettering recently received permission to transfer your daughter over to our care as soon as logistically possible. You see, we’ve been working on an experimental new treatment protocol — a form of gene therapy designed to treat even the most aggressive, mutation-riddled forms of cancers like Olivia’s brain tumor.”

You blink owlishly, unable to fully process the onslaught of technical jargon being leveled at you. All you can do is continue sitting there, stunned into silence as the doctor launches into an almost dizzying explanation of re-engineered viruses, targeted gene editing, and “controlled payloads” being essentially the extent of modern medicine.

“... And while the trial is still in its early stages, we’ve actually already achieved partial and even full remission in a few key pediatric cases remarkably similar to that of your daughter.” Paulson continues, his tone growing faintly tinged with optimism and something akin to pride. “Which is why we’re reasonably confident Olivia could be an excellent candidate for our experimental therapies, if you allow it.”

He lets the weight of that statement hang in the air between you, watching you carefully for any visible reaction. But you’re frozen, fighting between warring tides of soul-rending hope and knee-jerk cynicism.

After all, you’ve come to reflexively distrust when desperation-stoking scenarios sound too good to be true over the past several torturous weeks. A small, rational voice in the back of your mind pipes up to remind you that you can’t afford to get your hopes up, only to be gutted yet again by the crushing inevitability of disappointment.

But another part of your wearied brain — the part that’s grown so fatigued by the oppressive feeling of hopelessness — recoils at dismissing any potential reprieve from the nightmare, no matter how fanciful or far-fetched.

So instead you hear yourself croaking out a single, wobbling syllable.

“How ...”

Paulson tilts his head inquisitively. “I’m sorry?”

You clear your throat, igniting the spark of desperate yearning flickering to life inside your chest. “How much would … would a treatment like this cost?”

For the first time since barging his way into your fragile world, Paulson’s aristocratic features twist into an unmistakable grimace. He lets out a tight sigh, clearly recognizing the gravity behind your simple question.

“Unfortunately, due to the experimental and intensive nature of this therapy … the baseline costs do run relatively high.” he explains in a precise tone, as if trying to distance himself from the crass logistical realities. “If approved for the trial and full treatment regimen, we’re looking at around $1.4 million in projected costs over the first six months alone.”

The astronomical number hits you squarely between the eyes, setting your head swimming with disbelief. One point four … million? The amount is so ludicrously exorbitant that it almost doesn’t seem real.

You open your mouth, fully intending to spit out the derisive scoff that such an impossible ask deserves. No amount of desperate wishing could ever make that attainable for a single, working-class parent already drowning in tens of thousands of medical debt.

But Paulson clearly recognizes the crestfallen defeat settling over your features. Because he quickly rushes ahead with his next words, effectively cutting off any vocal dismissal on your end.

“However, as I mentioned earlier, we did get some … special circumstances greenlighted regarding your daughter’s case.” he says, tone brightening with carefully cultivated hopefulness. “You see, there’s an anonymous benefactor who’s agreed to cover the full cost of treatment on a … philanthropic basis, let’s call it.”

The words punch you directly in the gut, momentarily robbing your lungs of oxygen like a cruel sucker-punch. You blink dazedly up at Paulson, struggling to make sense of what he’s saying through the roaring static in your ears.

“I … I don’t understand.” you manage to stammer out. “Someone wants to … pay for my daughter? All of it? But why? How could they possibly-”

“Hey now, none of that.” Paulson cuts you off, his voice softening with what might be the first hints of empathy and warmth creeping in. “The why doesn’t matter right now — only that it’s been arranged at no cost to you or your family.”

He moves closer then, resting one hand on your shoulder in an unexpected gesture of kindness that makes you flinch despite yourself. Up close, you can see the sincerity shining in his hazel eyes, pleading for you to simply accept this incredible parting of the dark clouds that have shrouded your existence.

“I know this is … well, frankly astounding news on top of everything else you’re already dealing with.” Paulson continues, giving your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “And please, believe me, we want to avoid overwhelming you with undue complications. For now, I think it’s enough to simply feel that spark of hope again, yes?”

Despite your best efforts to tamp down the desperate yearning swelling in your chest, you find yourself nodding mutely in agreement. Because in this moment, you understand exactly the miraculous implications of his words.

After so many agonizing weeks of feeling utterly powerless, of watching your baby girl’s life slowly ebb away before your very eyes … there is a chance. An opportunity, a fighting possibility that everything won’t end in crushing grief and irredeemable sorrow.

And even just that single glowing ember of hope, no matter how faint, is enough to shatter the dam holding back your turbulent sea of pent-up emotion. Paulson watches in quiet acceptance as you finally break down in great, shuddering sobs — only this time, they’re threaded with the catharsis of relief.

Happy tears stream down your blotchy cheeks, unchecked and convulsive. You press your face into the cool, starchy sheets of Olivia’s bed, body wracked with a release of tension weeks in the making. It feels as though you’re being simultaneously unmade and reborn in this singular, messy instance.

Through the storm of your breakdown, you’re dimly aware of Paulson stepping away to give you privacy. And then, just before he slips from the room entirely, his composed baritone rings out one last time.

“We’ll make all the arrangements to transport Olivia to Sloan Kettering as soon as possible. Get her started on this treatment regimen right away, alright?”

You can’t even summon the words to respond, only nodding rapidly between hiccuping bursts of gasping and sobbing. But just before he exits, shutting the door silently behind him, you catch Paulson’s murmur.

“There’s a fighting chance now. That’s all any of us can really ask for ...”

***

Max rakes a hand through his meticulously styled hair as he strides down the sterile hallway of Sloan Kettering’s pediatric oncology ward. His eyes scan the room numbers tacked to each door, searching for the one he was provided.

456 … 458… ah, there — 460. Max pauses outside the closed entry, squaring his shoulders as he tries to tamp down the uncharacteristic fluttering of nerves in his stomach. Taking a fortifying breath, he gives the door a perfunctory series of raps with his knuckles.

Almost immediately, a muffled voice filters through from inside — your voice, he recognizes with a start. “Come in!”

Max’s brow furrows momentarily at the warm, chipper lilt to your tone. So unlike the brittle, devastated one he had heard that fateful day in his office. Though he supposes that’s only fitting, given the radically shifted circumstances these past several weeks.

Pushing his hesitation aside, Max takes the invitation and pushes into the hospital room. You’re seated in one of the uncomfortable plastic visitor’s chairs, wearing a soft cardigan and jeans — by all appearances the very portrait of a typical doting mother.

Well, not entirely typical. Because curled up on the bed next to you is a tiny, doe-eyed little girl whose resemblance leaves no question as to her relation to you.

Olivia.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you glance up — and immediately do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. “M-Mr. Verstappen?” You splutter out, frozen halfway out of your chair like a hostess belatedly remembered her manners. “I … I didn’t realize you were-”

Max holds up a hand to stop the tide of nervous rambling, inexplicably touched by your visible shock. The effect is only compounded when Olivia shifts on the bed, eyeing him owlishly from beneath the cuddly weight of a stuffed unicorn nearly as large as she is.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N.” he says, offering you the barest hint of a disarming smile. An expression he finds shockingly easy to produce given the scene before him. “I admit I hadn’t warned you about my visit in advance.”

He pauses there, suddenly realizing the reason for his impromptu trip isn’t entirely certain, even to himself. It had begun as little more than a nagging impulse tugging at him throughout his days, growing more persistent and insistent until he finally gave in and scheduled some time away from the office.

And now that he’s here, standing in this dimly-lit hospital room, Max feels strangely … unmoored. Adrift in a situation his renowned business acumen didn’t even begin to equip him for handling.

But then your daughter is shifting again, curiosity winning out over her bashfulness as she props herself up on her elbows. “Who’re you?” She pipes up in a tiny, raspy voice that somehow bypasses Max’s usually implacable defenses.

Something pangs oddly in his chest at the innocent inquiry. He finds himself crouching into an automatic squat, bringing himself level with the bedside so he can better meet Olivia’s inquisitive gaze.

“You can just call me Max.” he says, injecting a gentle warmth into his tone that he didn’t even realize he was capable of. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

It occurs to him then that he’s been subconsciously clutching the bouquet of flowers still in his off-hand — an overly ornate spray of exotic lilies and birds of paradise blooms that probably cost more than a month’s rent for most families. He had ordered them from the city’s most exclusive florist boutique on pure aesthetic impulse, without pausing to consider the message such an excessive display might send.

This morning, holding the massive arrangement felt appropriate, a reflection of Max’s stature as a dominant business magnate. But now, watching Olivia’s large eyes track the oversized bouquet with open-mouthed awe, he feels suddenly self-conscious.

Hoping to recover some sense of propriety, Max clears his throat and holds the flowers out in front of him.

“These are, ah, for your mother.” he explains gruffly, avoiding your questioning gaze burning against the side of his face. “A small token of … of appreciation, one might say.”

He isn’t quite sure what prompts the carefully worded addition — perhaps an instinctive reflex to avoid showing any overt sentimentality. But either way, you seem to simply accept the generous offering with bemused grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Versta-” You quickly correct yourself at his mild arched brow. “Er, Max. They’re absolutely lovely.”

You bend to inhale the rich floral perfume, eyelids fluttering in evident delight at the fragrance. Max watches the childlike awe play out across your soft features, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction settle in his chest.

Having given you the flowers, he rises to his feet once more with a put-upon sigh of effort. Every bit of spoiled opulence and bravado that usually comes as second-nature to Max.

And yet, none of it lands quite with the affected solemnity he’s accustomed to projecting. Not when Olivia’s sweet-faced attention is still utterly transfixed by his every move and micro-expression.

Your daughter still hasn’t looked away from him even as you arrange the flower vase on her bedside table, entranced in a way only the very young can be. It’s … disarming, to say the least. But not entirely unpleasant, Max finds himself admitting.

“I, ah, got something for you as well, Olivia.” he announces impulsively. From behind his back, he produces a floppy-limbed teddy bear easily half her size.

He’s not even sure what prompted him to purchase such a pedestrian sort of toy. All he knows is that he saw the stuffed creature in the hospital gift shop window on his way in, and some impulse compelled him to acquire it for reasons he still can’t understand.

But any lingering uncertainty fades from his mind like a passing cloud when Olivia lets out an audible gasp of delight. Her little hands instantly shoot out, making desperate grabbing motions at the plush offering.

“Ohmygosh, thank you!” The words tumble out in a breathless, childish rush. Before Max can even react, she leans precariously over the edge of the bed, arms outstretched and grasping imploringly.

On instinct, Max takes a half-step forward, carefully depositing the stuffed bear into Olivia’s waiting embrace to avoid any accidents. She immediately snatches it to her chest, burying her face in the softness of its soft fabric with a contented hum that seems to vibrate in Max’s very soul.

He swallows hard past the unexpected lump that forms in his throat, watching a child delight in something so simple and innocent. How long has it been since he allowed himself to find joy in the pure, unbridled way that Olivia does? Far too long, he’s forced to admit.

Clearing his throat with an awkward rumble, Max tears his gaze away from your daughter’s cuddling. He levels his focus back onto you instead. Only then does he realize you’ve been staring at him throughout the entire interaction, an unreadable look painted across your face.

“I trust the medical team has kept you informed of Olivia’s progress so far.” he prompts in his usual clipped tone, struggling to reassert some sense of distancing professionalism. “I don’t have any special insight into the procedural specifics, but from what I’ve gathered, positive results are steadily accumulating, yes?”

You blink once, almost like shaking yourself out of a reverie, before offering a slow nod in response. “Y-Yes, you could definitely say that.”

Something sparks behind your gaze then — some dawning realization creeping over your delicate features. “In fact, Dr. Paulson himself said Olivia seems to have responded better to the gene therapy than almost any other patient yet. Her tumor reduction trend is so far exceeding their best models that they’re actually considering tweaking the formula for future tria-”

You abruptly cut yourself off, lips pursing into a tight line as you turn your focus back to Max. He holds your stare evenly, waiting for whatever it is you seem to be mustering the courage to say.

Then, almost in a whisper, “Max … are you the anonymous donor paying for all of this?”

The words hang in the air like a physical force between you, so full of implication and unvoiced emotion that even Max can’t find a way to deflect them. He stares back at you, utterly disarmed beneath the intensity of your scrutinizing gaze.

For a long beat, only the hum of hospital machines and equipment fills the weighty silence. Max’s jaw works tensely as he considers how best to respond. He wants to shrug it off, make some sardonic quip to reestablish the carefully curated aloofness that serves him so well in the business world.

But then Olivia lets out another joyous giggle as she squishes the plush bear’s paw, completely enraptured and undistracted by the silent standoff occurring across her bedside. And all of Max’s formidable defenses and calculated denials abruptly dissolve in the face of such childlike innocence.

So instead of evasion, he answers your question with a small, barely perceptible nod and a softly murmured, “Yes.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before you’re suddenly surging up out of the chair with a wounded cry. And then your arms are flung around his neck, your body slamming against his chest as you pull Max into a fierce and entirely unexpected hug.

The impact momentarily stuns him, freezing Max in place with his arms held useless at his sides. He can’t remember the last time someone dared to initiate such a brazen display of physical contact — perhaps ever, now that he racks his brain.

But just as he contemplates gently extricating himself from your clutches, your ragged voice rises to his ear in a trembling whisper.

“Thank you.” you’re whispering over and over like a fevered prayer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you ...”

With each impassioned repetition, Max can feel more of the tension slowly leeching from his frame. He finds himself sinking bonelessly into your embrace, one hand coming to rest against the small of your back in an automatic gesture of soothing.

Soon enough, heaving sobs are wracking your entire body against his. Hot tears quickly begin to soak through the fabric of his expensive dress shirt as you cling to him with the desperation of a fallen angel clawing her way back into grace. But Max doesn’t pull away, doesn’t extricate himself or put distance between your respective roles as worker and corporate king.

Instead, in a move even he can’t fully explain or justify, his free hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in even tighter as you keen your grateful relief against the column of his throat.

“It’s … quite alright.” he finds himself rumbling in a low, soothing voice completely at odds with his usual persona. “No thanks are necessary. All that matters now is ensuring your daughter’s full and complete recovery … at whatever cost required.”

He isn’t sure whether his throwaway platitude is meant more for his benefit or yours at this point. But either way, you show no signs of releasing him from the crushing strength of your desperate clutch anytime soon. So Max does the only thing left available to him — he simply lets you cry and shake and cling to him for as long as you need.

Until finally, with a handful of watery hiccups and sniffles, you manage to tilt your blotchy face up towards his.

“I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.” you murmur throatily. “For giving Olivia more than just some faint hope, but an actual chance to grow up and live the life she deserves.”

Tenderness isn’t something that often breaks through Max Verstappen’s shroud of callous indifference. He can count on one hand the number of times in his adult life he’s allowed himself to indulge in such sentimental trivialities.

But gazing into your puffy, reddened eyes, he finds he can’t quite summon any bitter cynicism. Instead, his voice remains low with a soothing gentleness that feels almost foreign falling from his lips.

“The only form of repayment I’ll require.” he says finally, “is your permission to take you to dinner.”

He blinks once, almost taken aback by the words that slipped unbidden from his throat. But you, for your part, seem equally dazed as your brows knit in bewilderment.

“Dinner? But … I haven’t left Olivia in weeks.”

At that, Max manages a wry smile, feeling as if he’s regained at least some fraction of his footing and composure. “Of course I don’t expect you to. I simply meant for the three of us to dine together … here, in the hospital. My treat, naturally.”

Your fingers unconsciously clench tighter into the fabric of his ruined dress shirt. But even with the hint of embarrassment pinkening your cheeks, he can see what looks almost like … excitement? Perhaps even coyness sparking behind your gaze before you avert your eyes demurely.

“I … yes, of course.” you murmur, sounding almost bashful. “We would be honored.”

Max simply nods, committing every little part of the interaction to his increasingly scattered memory for later dissection. For now, he withdraws himself from the gentle circle of your arms with what he hopes appears a natural sort of casualness.

“Very good then,” is all he finds himself able to say in response. “I shall make the necessary arrangements and return shortly with something to eat.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the exit, throwing one final look over his shoulder. You’re already back in your chair at Olivia’s bedside, shooting him another shy little smile as you start to idly stroke your now dozing daughter’s hair.

And before Max even fully processes the impulse, he feels the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a warm half-grin in response.

A expression so unfamiliar on his usually dour features that it renders him momentarily unrecognizable, even to himself.

Shaking his head as if to cast off the dizzy sense of displacement, Max continues out into the hallway. He stubbornly refuses to dwell too much on the stirrings of contentment radiating through his chest.

Such indulgent notions are highly unseemly for a man of his stature and influence, after all. Better to ignore them entirely, as he always has.

Though even as the thought crosses his mind, Max finds himself picking up his pace with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Because somewhere along the way, he realizes ...

Denial doesn’t appear to be an option anymore.

***

Two Years Later

The ornate grandfather clock in the corner ticks rhythmically, its pendulum swinging with measured precision. Max’s gaze flicks over to it briefly before returning to the stack of documents before him. Numbers and figures blur together as his eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A giggle from the corner of the room breaks his focus. He glances up to see Olivia sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, curls bouncing as she plays with her Barbie dolls. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of her innocent joy.

“What are you up to over there, kleine muis?” He asks, his voice gruff but tinged with affection.

Olivia looks up, her eyes sparkling. “I’m having a tea party with Barbie and Ken.” she explains, brandishing the dolls. “Would you like to join us, Maxie?”

Max chuckles softly. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m afraid I have a bit too much work to do for a tea party right now.”

“Okay.” Olivia says cheerfully, returning to her imaginary festivities.

You had dropped Olivia off at Max’s office after her kindergarten class, needing to rush to an urgent marketing meeting. Max had insisted on keeping her company until you returned, despite the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He watches Olivia play, mesmerized by her ability to create entire worlds from mere toys and her vibrant imagination. Her carefree laughter is a soothing balm against the chaos of his day.

After a while, Olivia looks up again. “Maxie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, lieverd. What is it?”

Olivia fidgets with one of the doll’s dresses. “Today at school, we had to draw pictures of our families.”

Max’s heart constricts slightly at the innocuous statement, but he manages a reassuring smile. “Did you have fun with that activity?”

Olivia nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. I drew me, Mommy, and you.”

The words hit Max like a physical blow, stealing his breath away. He stares at Olivia, his eyes widening as a storm of emotions swirls within him.

Olivia, oblivious to his inner turmoil, continues, “But then Timmy said that you’re not really my daddy since we don’t have the same last name. Is that true, Maxie? Are you not my daddy?”

Max swallows hard, his throat constricting. He had grown to love this child as if she were his own flesh and blood, but he had never dared to assume the sacred title of father. The realization that Olivia saw him that way, despite the lack of biological ties, threatens to shatter his carefully constructed walls.

Pushing back from his desk, he rises to his feet and makes his way over to where Olivia sits. He lowers himself to the floor, his movements stiff and hesitant. Olivia watches him with curious eyes, still clutching her dolls.

“Olivia.” he begins, his voice thick with emotion he struggles to contain. “Even though we don’t share the same name, and I didn’t ...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I didn’t have a hand in bringing you into this world, you are every bit as much my daughter as if you were my own.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, considering his words. “So, I can call you Daddy?”

The simple question unlocks something deep within Max’s core, a part of himself he had locked away long ago. He feels moisture prickling at the corners of his eyes, an unfamiliar sting that he doesn’t fight.

“Yes, kleine muis.” he whispers, his voice wavering. “I would be honored if you called me Daddy.”

Without warning, Olivia drops her dolls and flings her small arms around Max’s neck, hugging him tightly. Max freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, before melting into the hug. He wraps his arms around Olivia’s tiny frame, holding her close as if she might slip away at any moment.

They stay like that for long minutes, Max’s shoulders trembling slightly as the dam he had so carefully constructed finally cracks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks, mingling with the softness of Olivia’s hair as he buries his face against her.

At last, Olivia pulls back, her eyes shining with joy. “I love you, Daddy.” she says simply, the words reverberating through Max’s very soul.

He manages a watery smile, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “And I love you, lieverd. More than you could ever know.”

Olivia beams at him before scrambling to her feet. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She darts over to her little backpack, rummaging through it eagerly.

Max watches her, his heart still thundering in his chest from the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. He had built an empire, commanded boardrooms with an iron fist, and struck fear into the hearts of grown men … yet this innocent child had disarmed him completely.

“Here it is!” Olivia exclaims, returning with a piece of paper clutched in her small fist. She holds it out to Max, beaming. “For you, Daddy.”

With trembling hands, Max takes the drawing. A bright smile breaks across his face as he studies the crude but endearing figures — stick figures, but he can clearly make out Olivia, you, and himself, joined by vibrant swirls of color.

“It’s beautiful.” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the lines with a tenderness he reserves only for her. “Thank you.”

Over the next few days, Max has the drawing professionally framed, the simple piece of artwork taking pride of place on the wall of his office. Whenever his gaze falls upon it, his heart swells with a love and sense of purpose that had been missing for far too long.

Beside the framed drawing hangs his business degree, a symbol of his power and influence in the corporate world. Yet, it is Olivia’s artwork that holds the most meaning, a reminder of what truly matters in this life.

Because Max is many things — a captain of industry, a force to be reckoned with, a man who has clawed his way to the top through sheer grit and determination.

But most importantly, he is a father.

And he has never been more proud of any achievement than to call himself Olivia’s daddy.

3K notes · View notes

sbcdh · 3 months ago

Text

On the morning of August 19th 1966, the merchant marine vessel Pelican unloaded its cargo into the port of Los Angeles. Recently declassified information about the Pelican’s ship manifest confirms that the ship was carrying experimental materials for a nascent project Clover. Of the 425 drums of material, only 424 were accounted for.

While government officials have not confirmed exactly what was in the lost barrel, its contents are believed to be approximately 55 gallons of an experimental substance similar to LSD.

To anyone with a passing interest in the 1970’s music scene, this will not come as news. Tall tales of a lost ship full of experimental drugs were as common as disco, though the stories have been exaggerated. The most common form of the story features a drunk crane operator loading a shipping crate onto the wrong train, though in reality it was only a single barrel that went unaccounted for. The more outlandish forms of the legend include everything from a daring heist by a crew of rocker-pirates to shadowy government entities vanishing the entire ship for their own nefarious purposes.

The reality was a simple logistical mixup, a mistake that can be tracked back to a simple addition error on an inventory sheet, an ordinary yet deeply embarrassing mistake on part of the government. Additionally, The information that revealed the lost barrel came alongside a report detailing project clovers lost asset tracking protocol. Protocol that reads as comically naive in hindsight, with guidelines including “monitoring local jazz bars” or keeping an eye out for “feminist thought.” With the benefit of retrospective, it is no surprise that agents were not able to track the barrel.

Declassification of the Pelican’s manifest prompted an unexpected crossover with another niche legend of the 1970s Los Angeles music scene: the disappearance of the Knights of Altonia.

Even today, many consider the Knights of Altonia to be a myth, but scant references to their existence can be found. According to a review from a 1977 issue of Jam! Magazine, the Knights of Altonia were a “D-List psychedelic glam metal outfit with more style than skill, known more for their disappearance than their music.” Though a 1997 retrospective from Tempo calls them “A band too ahead of their time to be properly appreciated” noting their flamboyant stage costuming and its significant influence on the aesthetics of the genre.

To the frustration of music historians seeking to separate fact from fiction, the band featured an elaborate mythology, with each member claiming to be a “Wizard-Knight of the Mystic Tower” who traveled from their world to ours “on a journey through the Nine Realms to find the secret stone.” This has been the source of innumerable urban legends around the band. A common joke among hobbyist historians at the time claimed that the Knights did not vanish, but simply “returned to the Nine Realms.” Information on the band is so muddled that many music historians doubt their existence entirely. In fact, the only confirmed, physical evidence of the band’s existence is a photograph at the bottom of the Jam! Review, it features:

Lead singer and guitarist Donald Hawkins as his stage persona “Zozimos the Wise.” He sports a mane of dreadlocks, and a classic blue wizard hat and robe decorated with yellow stars.The robe is worn open to reveal Donald’s bare chest, along with velvet short-shorts and a pair of thigh-high leather boots. The article states that the glittery bright purple guitar in his hands was named “Excelsior.”

Rhythm guitarist Jon Todachine as “Wan the Witch King.” He wears a deerskin jacket, also open at the front, decorated with what appear to be crow feathers and small animal bones. The theme of bones continues to his belt buckle, which features an as-of-yet unidentified animal skull. This figure is presumed to be Jon, although it should be noted that the broad hat he wears features a curtain of beads that obscures his face.

Bassist Riley Knox as “Chulainn the Horned.” He wears a full deer skull, along with a lit candle that appears to be slowly melting down over the mask. Most of his upper body is obscured by what appears to be a cloak of leaves. Beneath the cloak he appears to be wearing a pair of Nike Blazers.

Drummer Marcus Wilson as “Magnus Fire-Weaver.” He wears a viking helmet over intricately braided red hair, a chain-maille loincloth, a pair of medieval bracers on his wrists, and nothing else.

Most notably, a speaker on stage left is placed upon a large steel drum identical to the ones used by project clover.

Study is ongoing.

2K notes · View notes

brunchable · 5 months ago

Text

How To Impress a 21st Century Girl.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Themes: Rom-Com, Fluff, Mutual Pining(Heavy?), First Date, Flirtation and Playfulness.

Summary: Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

A/N: I'm a sucker for rom-coms, I hope you guys enjoyed this because I enjoyed writing it.

tags: @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917

It had all been Sam’s idea. "Come on, man. You need to get back out there!" Sam had said, way too enthusiastically, while setting up a Tinder profile for him without even asking. Bucky had resisted at first, arguing that dating apps probably weren't his thing. But Sam was persistent, reminding him that it was 2024, not 1944, and that "no one meets in grocery stores anymore."

Reluctantly, Bucky had gone along with it, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, now he knew.

Bucky was starting to think Tinder was out to get him. His first two dates had been disasters—and not just normal awkwardness, but spectacularly bad. The first girl, Jenny, had brought her ex-boyfriend to the date. Apparently, he was her ride, and they were still "good friends." Bucky had spent two hours third-wheeling a reunion he hadn’t signed up for. The second girl, Alicia, had a collection of ceramic frogs. And when Bucky said “collection,” he meant obsession. The girl spent an entire dinner showing him photos of different frog figurines. It was ribbiting. Literally. One of them even made croaking sounds.

So, now here he was, on date number three, standing outside some trendy café, wondering what fresh nightmare awaited him. This time, though, he’d let you plan the date. Maybe handing over control would be better than having to smile through another amphibian-themed dinner.

You showed up right on time, and Bucky was genuinely relieved to see no ex-boyfriend hovering in the background. You were wearing a paneled knit dress with spaghetti straps that hugged you just right, and your short hair was perfectly tousled. You smiled at him, but the look on your face told him you were just as unsure as he was.

“Hi,” you greeted, and Bucky instantly forgot every single normal response. Holy shit he is TALL.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” he mumbled back. He was really nailing this whole dating thing.

You walked inside, and the café had that minimalist vibe. A lot of plants. A lot of exposed brick. The kind of place where you’re not sure if you’re supposed to sit or admire the interior design.

As you both sat down, Bucky tried to channel his inner suave. He could do this. He had faced way worse than an awkward date. Like alien invasions. Like that one time he lost his arm again. This was nothing.

Except... why was talking to an attractive woman harder than fighting off super soldiers?

“I, uh, like your dress,” Bucky said, already feeling the heat creep up his neck. Nice, Barnes, real original.

“Thanks,” you replied, with an amused smile playing on your lips. “I like your... jacket.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his worn leather jacket. “Yeah. It’s... warm.”

Warm? That’s what you’re going with? He mentally slapped himself. This was going well. So well. He tried to change the subject and scanned the menu. “Uh... so, what’s good here?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “The internet said they have good coffee, though.”

“Internet reviews, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s always a gamble. Could be great... could be a disaster.”

Cue the awkward silence.

The waiter had barely placed the food in front of you both before the quiet tension stretched between you like you were sitting in a library, not a café. Bucky poked at his bagel as if it might come to life at any moment, while you took a delicate sip of your coffee, your eyes darting between him and the wall behind him.

You both chewed in the most nonchalant way possible, each of you hyper-aware of the silence that was growing louder by the second. You were mentally cursing every decision that led to this exact moment, and Bucky, for his part, was questioning whether retiring from the whole Avenger thing had been a mistake.

Say something. Anything, Bucky thought, taking another bite of his bagel, which suddenly felt like chewing rubber. Ask about herr favorite food? No, that’s boring. Comment on the weather? Oh, yeah, nothing like ‘Hey, it’s been cold lately,’ to really sweep her off her feet. Real smooth.

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out how you managed to forget how to make normal conversation. Maybe ask him about his hobbies? No, that’s basic. Compliment his hair? What are you, in fifth grade? Pull yourself together!

Bucky, still chewing the world’s driest bagel, caught your eye for a split second, and you both did that polite half-smile thing that happens when you’re not sure whether you should talk or continue pretending to enjoy the food.

Did she just smile at me because I’m being awkward, or am I overthinking this? Bucky wondered, immediately breaking eye contact and pretending his coffee was the most fascinating thing on the table.

You, on the other hand, were screaming internally. Oh God, did I smile too weird? Was it the kind of smile that says, ‘I like you,’ or the one that says, ‘I’m trapped in this date and don’t know how to escape’?

You both took another sip of your drinks at the exact same time.

Alright, Barnes, get it together. Say something smart, Bucky told himself, putting his mug down carefully.

“So, uh... how’s your coffee?”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for a response. How’s my coffee? It’s coffee. Just say it’s good. Don’t overthink it.

“It’s... good. How’s your bagel?”

Bucky looked down at the circular piece of bread like it had personally betrayed him. “It’s... round.”

Round? Really? You went with ‘round’? Smooth, real smooth, he chastised himself, nodding like he had just made the most profound statement about bagels ever.

Your lips twitched. Did he just describe his food as ‘round’? Okay, maybe I’m not the only one struggling here.

You took another sip of your coffee, trying to hide your smile. God, this is like watching two middle schoolers on a first date.

You both glanced at each other again. Smile. Look away. Silence.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. Alright, clearly, she thinks I’m a complete idiot. But it’s fine. I can recover. Just... find a topic. Literally any topic.

You picked at your napkin. Okay, maybe I should mention the escape room next. But what if he hates escape rooms? What if he thinks they’re boring? You cleared your throat slightly, ready to speak, but then—

Bucky cleared his throat at the same time. You both froze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You go first,” Bucky said quickly.

“No, no, you first,” you insisted, waving your hand.

Bucky’s brain blanked. He blinked, searching for anything to say. “Uh... did you... park nearby?”

You stared at him, and then a smile slowly spread across your face. Did he really just ask me about parking? You nodded. “No I–um took public transport. Did you?”

Bucky gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Close. Very close. Super convenient.”

You both stared at each other for a beat, and then, in a miraculous moment, you both cracked up at the exact same time.

“Parking?” you laughed, shaking your head. “That’s the best we’ve got?”

Bucky held up his hands. “Hey, I panicked, okay? The bagel threw me off.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your shoulders shaking with laughter. “And I thought the frogs were bad.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh harder. “Okay, in my defense, this date is way better than ceramic frogs.”

“Glad to be the non-frog date.” You raised your cup in mock salute.

You both chuckled, and for the first time, the awkward tension seemed to melt away. Sure, you were a bit of a mess, but at least you were a mess together.

As you calmed down, you leaned forward, a playful grin on your face. “So, what’s next? You ready for the escape room?”

“I dunno. Should I be worried?” Bucky smirked, feeling a lot lighter.

“Only if you’re bad at puzzles,” you teased.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back with a smirk. “Oh, trust me, I think I’ll manage.”

And with that, you both finally stood up to head for the next part of your date, the awkwardness left behind with the round bagel and the overly complicated coffee.

× × × ×

As soon as you stepped into the Asylum escape room, the mood shifted from "awkward first date" to "this might be how I die."

Oh, great. Creepy hospital décor. Perfect first-date vibes. You eyed the flickering lights and eerie medical tools scattered around the room, trying not to let on how much it was creeping you out. At least it’s better than ceramic frogs, you thought, glancing at Bucky.

“This is supposed to be the hardest escape room they have,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “Takes most people at least an hour. You ready for this?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean... it’s puzzles, right? How hard can it be?” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear calm. I’ve literally fought aliens. How bad could a few puzzles be?

“You’ve never done one of these before, right?” You looked at him, a bit skeptical.

He shook his head. “First time. But, uh... I’m good under pressure.” Under pressure? What am I saying? I sound like I’m about to defuse a bomb, not solve a riddle. Get a grip, Barnes.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” You smiled, trying to hide your own nerves.

The clock started ticking, and immediately, you were plunged into darkness. A loud creak echoed through the room, followed by a voice over the intercom: “Welcome to the Asylum. You have 60 minutes to escape. Good luck... you’ll need it.”

Perfect. Creepy voice? Check. Flickering lights? Check. Yep, I'm doomed. You moved toward a stack of papers, squinting at the dim lighting. “Okay, first thing’s first... we need to find the clues hidden in this room to unlock the door.”

Before you could even start, Bucky was already inspecting a random pipe on the wall. He tugged at it, and it came loose, revealing a hidden key taped to the back. Oh, that was... lucky? Or did I just break something?

You froze mid-step. “Wait. How did you—”

“I... uh... just pulled on it.” Bucky looked just as surprised as you. Did I just accidentally solve this?

“Okay. Lucky guess.” You stared at him.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe.” Play it cool, Barnes. Don't look like you’re clueless here.

You both moved into the next room, which had even creepier décor. Faint writing on the walls, jars filled with unidentifiable things, and a mannequin in the corner that Bucky immediately side-eyed like it was going to jump out at you. Okay, I don’t trust that mannequin. Why’s it looking at me like that?

You picked up a piece of paper with some cryptic writing on it. “This says something about finding the light within the dark. I think it’s a clue. We need to—”

“Found it,” Bucky called out.

You turned to see him holding up a blacklight. How does he keep doing this?!

“They always hide something with a blacklight, right?” He grinned, flashing the light on the wall, revealing a series of glowing numbers. That’s a thing, right? People hide stuff with these lights all the time... right?

“Oh, you’re just full of ideas now, huh?” You crossed your arms, smirking.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool. “Just... using my instincts.” Yep. Totally knew that.

You worked through the next few puzzles, but by "worked," what you really meant was Bucky accidentally stumbling into the solutions. Every time you tried to figure out a clue, Bucky would casually touch something, pull a lever, or press a random button that—surprise—opened the next door or revealed the next key. At first, you thought he was joking. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear: Bucky was somehow solving the escape room by sheer dumb luck—or so you thought.

This is starting to freak me out... Am I secretly a genius? Bucky thought.

At one point, you were trying to decipher a complicated code etched into the wall, mumbling to yourself about numerology and patterns, when Bucky—completely oblivious—pulled a book off the shelf, and a hidden door creaked open in the floor.

No. No way. “Are you—” You blinked. “Did you just—”

Bucky glanced at the open trapdoor, confused. “What? Was that not supposed to happen?”

You slapped your forehead. “No! I mean, yes, but—oh my God, Bucky, you’re breaking the game.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose!” Seriously, I just touched a book. How is that a thing?

You looked down at the trapdoor, then back at him. “What are you? A puzzle savant? Did you plan this?”

Bucky laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Nah, I just thought the book looked weird.” Great, now she thinks I’m some kind of escape room wizard.

You gaped at him. “The book looked weird?” Weird? Dude, I’m starting to think you have X-ray vision.

“I mean... yeah. It was dusty.” It wasn’t even that weird... or was it?

You squinted at him, hands on your hips. “You’re telling me you spotted a dusty book and thought, ‘Aha! Hidden door.’?”

“Isn’t that... what you’re supposed to do in these rooms?” Bucky shrugged, looking genuinely sorry. Please tell me that's how this works.

This man is unbelievable. You stared at him for a long moment before bursting out laughing. “Oh my God. You’re accidentally good at this. You’re just walking around solving stuff like you do this every weekend!”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing a little. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m glad she’s laughing. “I swear I’ve never done this before.” This isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified,” you teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re like a walking cheat code.” Sure, Sherlock. Whatever you say.

“Hey, I’m just here to help.” He smiled, clearly enjoying your reaction. At least she’s impressed. That’s something.

I think you might secretly be a robot. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, escape room prodigy, let’s see if you can crack the last one.”

You entered the final room—a dimly lit chamber with a creepy-looking mannequin in the corner and random medical equipment scattered around. You narrowed your eyes.

“Okay, this is the hardest part. No way you’re going to just... guess your way out of this one.”

“Yeah, this one’s. . . tricky.” Bucky glanced around, clearly trying to look casual. Please don’t let me stumble into the solution again...

Please don’t let him find the solution immediately. Just this once.

You pointed at the mannequin. “We need to find a code hidden somewhere in this room. The clue says it’s ‘locked in the mind.’ So it has to be something mental, right? Like a puzzle?”

Bucky stared at the mannequin for a second, then slowly reached out and twisted its head off. Inside, there was a slip of paper with the code on it. Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Your jaw dropped.

“I just thought... you know... maybe the head comes off?” Bucky held up the paper, looking sheepish.

Why am I even here?! You threw your hands up in the air. “Of COURSE the head comes off! Because that makes total sense! Sure!”

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Well, it did say ‘locked in the mind.’” Technically, I was right.

You glared at him, then shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Okay, that’s it. You’re banned from escape rooms. You ruin them.”

“Ruined it?” Bucky asked, grinning. “We escaped, didn’t we?” She’s totally impressed, even if she won’t admit it.

“We escaped in twelve minutes, Bucky! Twelve!” You slapped his arm playfully. “That’s not normal!”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Sorry?” Guess I’m not so bad at this ‘fun date’ thing.

As you both stepped out of the escape room, the staff was standing there, looking like they’d just witnessed the impossible.

“You’re... done?” Pink-haired Girl asked, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Wow. They look like I just told them Santa isn’t real, Bucky thought.

You, just as confused, looked over at Bucky. “Uh. . .yeah, I guess?”

“Looks like it.” Bucky gave a casual shrug. No big deal. Just casually shattering dreams.

Clipboard Guy checked his stopwatch again, his mouth hanging open. “Twelve minutes. No. That’s not possible. People are supposed to break down in there. We’ve had people cry!”

Cry? What is this, an escape room or emotional boot camp? “You want me to go back in and tear up a little? You know, for the full experience?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“People have left that room emotionally damaged. You just... strolled out.” Pink-haired Girl blinked.

You stared at Bucky, still wrapping your head around it. “I didn’t even get through the first clue, and you were already unlocking half the room.”

“You were working hard. I just sped things up a bit.” Bucky chuckled softly, glancing at you with a playful smile. I mean, you were giving it a solid effort...

The Master of Puzzles guy appeared, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Did you... have the answers beforehand? Because that’s the hardest room we’ve got. We’ve had people rage-quit in there.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, looking amused. “Nah, just good at finding my way out of things.”

“I didn’t even do anything. You solved the whole thing!” You shook your head, still half-laughing, half in disbelief.

“Hey, you were a great moral support.” Bucky smiled at you, nudging you lightly. Seriously, though, it’s good to have someone to watch while I dismantle a room’s dignity.

Clipboard Guy muttered, “We’re gonna have to ban him. He’s banned.”

Oh no, I’ve ruined their sacred puzzle temple.

“He broke the hardest room we’ve got. Who even does that?” Pink-haired Girl nodded, still dumbfounded.

“Well, I’d offer to go back and struggle a bit, but... I don’t think it’d be convincing.” Bucky smirked, leaning casually against the counter. Trust me, I can’t fake being bad at something. Even if I tried.

As you headed for the exit, Bucky held the door open for you, giving the staff one last glance before he leaned over to you, voice low.

“What? You wanted to be stuck in there all night?”

“Honestly? It would’ve been nice to solve at least one puzzle.” You groaned, though you were smiling.

“Next time, I’ll let you have the first clue. Promise.” Bucky chuckled softly. And by let you, I mean I’ll stand far away from everything and try not to accidentally win.

“You better.” You laughed, shaking your head as you both stepped out into the night.

× × × ×

The arcade was buzzing with lights, sounds, and the faint scent of popcorn. It was a complete shift from the eerie asylum escape room, and you were already eyeing the rows of flashing machines and claw games with glee.

Alright, this is more like it. No creepy mannequins here, just good old-fashioned fun.

Bucky, on the other hand, looked around like he had just entered a foreign world. The last time he’d been in an arcade, they didn’t have all this flashing neon or half the games that were here now. What happened to the simple stuff? Pinball machines and jukeboxes. Now I’ve got ten-foot robots staring at me while kids slap buttons like their lives depend on it.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile at how excited you looked. Okay, if she’s this excited, maybe this won’t be so bad.

“Okay, so... how does this place work again?” he asked, watching a kid furiously slap buttons at a nearby game.

You laughed, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s simple! We just play a bunch of games, earn tickets, and then trade them in for really weird prizes. Easy.”

Bucky nodded, though he still looked a little confused. “So, you win tickets by—?”

“By being amazing at games, obviously,” you said, your eyes already darting toward a nearby basketball shooting game. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Bucky followed you, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’ll keep up.” Alright, let’s see if I remember how to be competitive at... basketball?

You started with basketball, and while you had a decent shot, Bucky quickly became the Michael Jordan of arcade basketball. He tossed shot after shot into the hoop with ridiculous ease, barely even looking like he was trying.

Oh, come on. Seriously? Why is he good at everything? You shook your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Are you serious right now? Are you even aiming?”

“I dunno. I just... throw.” Bucky shrugged, not missing a single shot.

“This is what I get for going on a date with someone who’s literally built for accuracy.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. Why am I pretending like I’m mad? It’s honestly impressive.

He flashed a boyish grin. “You wanted to see if I could keep up.” Oh, I’m keeping up, doll.

You crossed your arms, pretending to pout. “I wasn’t trying to lose in record time.”

When the game ended, Bucky had a ridiculous amount of points, and you had... well, significantly fewer. He collected your combined tickets from the machine, glancing down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Should I carry these, or do you want to hold on to the three tickets you earned?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

How is he still charming even while teasing me? This is unfair. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you snatched a couple of tickets from his hand with a grin. “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Careful, doll. You keep talking like that, and I might just take you up on it.” Bucky’s smirk widened, and he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make your pulse quicken.

Okay, that was a little too good. I should not be blushing right now. Your eyes widened for a second, a flush creeping up your neck before you shot him a playful glare. “You wish.”

“You know I don’t have to wish for anything.” He chuckled, stepping back with a wink.

Well, that escalated quickly. You tried to bite back your smile, but it was impossible with the way he was looking at you. “I’m starting to regret bringing you here.”

Bucky held up the stack of tickets, grinning like a kid who just won the lottery. “You’re only regretting it because I’m walking away with all the prizes.” Did I just turn an arcade into a battlefield?

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in.” You huffed, shaking your head, though the smile on your face said otherwise.

Bucky shot you another wink. “Oh, I plan to.”

This guy is dangerous with that smile. You smirked, leaning in a little. “So... what happened to the awkward guy who pointed out that bagels are round? Because this,” you waved at the arcade tickets, “does not feel like the same guy.”

“What? You weren’t impressed by my bagel observations?” Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. I was doing my best back then, okay?

You laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, I was very impressed. I just didn’t know you were hiding this arcade legend behind all that bagel wisdom.”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “I’m full of surprises, doll.” You have no idea.

“Clearly,” you said, still teasing him as you walked toward the next game. “Let’s see how many more surprises you’ve got.”

You dragged him over to the shooting gallery game, where you were met with an array of plastic rifles and paper targets.

“I’m kinda good at this,” you declared, grabbing one of the rifles with renewed determination. “You can’t have a crazy aim for everything.” Finally, something I can win.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “Okay. Let’s see what you got.”

You aimed and fired... missing every single target. You winced as the targets flipped back and forth, mocking you with their tiny, evil faces. Are you kidding me?

“You’re holding it too tight.” Bucky stepped up beside you, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, great. Here we go. The expert.” You groaned. Of course, I’m holding it too tight. Leave it to Bucky to know everything.

Bucky smiled, but instead of saying anything, he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, his hands gently guiding yours on the plastic gun. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you felt the warmth of him so close. His breath was soft against your ear as he leaned in to guide your aim, his voice low and steady.

Why does he have to be so good at this? I can barely think straight.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands adjusting yours gently. “Don’t grip it so hard. Just like this.”

How am I supposed to relax when he’s practically wrapped around me?

Your pulse quickened, your senses suddenly overwhelmed by how close he was. His cologne—woodsy and warm—filled your lungs, making you a little dizzy. You swallowed hard, focusing on anything but the way your back pressed against his chest. “Okay... relax. Right. Got it.”

“You’re not relaxing.” Bucky’s voice was low, almost teasing.

Yeah, no kidding. Not exactly easy when you smell like a lumberjack dream.

“I am relaxed!” you shot back, though your heart was racing so fast you were sure he could hear it.

Bucky chuckled, and the soft rumble of his laugh vibrated against your back. “If you were relaxed, you wouldn’t be holding your breath.”

If she’s holding her breath, I must be doing something right.

You blinked, realizing that yes, you were in fact holding your breath. You exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the targets instead of the fact that Bucky was basically wrapped around you.

“Good,” he said quietly, his hands still steadying yours. “Now, pull the trigger. Nice and easy.”

Yeah, this is totally normal. Just shooting targets, totally not thinking about how close we are.

You followed his lead, squeezing the trigger gently. The shot rang out, and the sound of a hit echoed through the machine. The target flipped backward, signaling a perfect hit.

“I did it!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over as you turned your head to look at him.

Your faces were just inches apart. Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with tension, the good kind—the kind that makes your heart race and your stomach flip.

God, she’s close. Just a little closer...

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and Bucky swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting where you were or what you were doing. All he could think about was how easy it would be to lean in just a little more, to—

“Uh, sorry!” A kid nearby bumped into the machine, jolting you both out of the moment.

Of course. Great timing, kid.

You quickly stepped out of Bucky’s embrace, your face flushed. “Well, um... thanks for the lesson, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, his ears a little pink. “Yeah. Anytime.” Anytime? Seriously, Barnes? That’s all you’ve got?

You moved on to a few more games, but the tension between you still lingered, electric and unspoken. After a particularly intense game of air hockey (where you almost won, thanks to Bucky being a little too distracted by you), you found yourselves at the prize counter.

Your eyes scanned the shelves, but one prize in particular caught your attention: an absolutely massive goose plush sitting at the top of the prize display. It was ridiculous, almost comically large, but it made you smile instantly.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, pointing. “That goose is so cute.”

Bucky followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. A goose? Really? She could pick anything, and it’s that giant bird?

“You like that thing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“I mean, look at it. It’s the size of a couch,” you said, laughing. “No one’s ever gonna win enough tickets for that.”

Bucky looked thoughtful for a second. Then, without saying a word, he handed all of your tickets to the guy at the counter. Challenge accepted, doll.

The kid behind the counter stared at him. “Uh, you know this isn’t enough for the goose, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, but... what’s it take to win that thing?”

Because clearly, winning giant plush birds is my new priority in life.

The kid blinked. “Like... a thousand tickets.”

Bucky smirked, then turned to you. “Wait here.”

“What are you doing?” You frowned, confused.

Please don’t say you’re going to try and win a thousand tickets... oh my God, he’s going to try and win a thousand tickets.

Bucky said nothing and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later, you saw him at one of those old-school, rigged basketball games. His face was calm, determined—like he was about to go to war.

One after the other, Bucky sank shot after shot, racking up points so fast that you had to rub your eyes to believe it. Within minutes, he had earned a mountain of tickets. He moved on to another game, this time skee-ball, and then to another. Every single game, he dominated, earning enough tickets to make the counter kid’s jaw drop when he returned with what looked like a roll of tickets big enough to use as a belt.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, watching as Bucky handed the tickets over, a satisfied smirk on his face. The kid counted them, eyes wide, then slowly reached for the giant goose plush.

The oversized goose was practically half Bucky’s height as he carried it back over to you, grinning.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you with a proud look. “You said you liked it, right?”

Who just... casually wins a giant goose plush? How did he do that?

You stared at the giant, fluffy creature, then at him, your heart flipping over itself. “Bucky... this is insane. It’s huge.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave without winning you something.” He shrugged, his grin boyish and a little shy. Yeah, Barnes, act like you’re not insanely proud of yourself right now.

He’s... adorable. Stop. Focus. “You really didn’t have to... but I love it.” You laughed, hugging the goose to your chest.

“Good.” Bucky’s eyes softened as he watched you smile. Worth every single ticket.

Your heart raced, your face heating up as you looked at him over the massive plush. “You’re full of surprises, Barnes. Who knew you’d be this good at arcades?”

Just trying to impress the girl, no big deal.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” He smiled, a little more reserved this time.

Well, mission accomplished, buddy. You blushed, the air between you crackling again with that familiar tension. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other, the absurdly large goose between you, until you laughed and nudged him with your elbow.

“You know, this might be the best date I’ve ever been on,” you said, your tone light but sincere. Was that too much? Did I just over-share?

Bucky’s smile grew, his eyes softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, holding the goose a little tighter. “Definitely the best.” Okay, that was smooth. Not awkward at all.

You left the arcade with the giant goose plush between you, its goofy face almost mocking the awkwardness that had suddenly crept back into your steps. Bucky walked beside you, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying to figure out what to say.

Do I say something? Or just... keep walking?

The sounds of the city filled the silence around you, but neither of you spoke. The playful energy from the arcade had faded into something quieter, more uncertain.

Why am I so bad at this? Just say something, Barnes.

After a long stretch of quiet, Bucky cleared his throat. “So... is this the end?” Smooth, real smooth.

You blinked and glanced over at him, trying to keep your heart from doing a flip at his words. “Well, that’s all I had planned. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly as he looked ahead, his mind clearly weighing something. Okay, don’t screw this up. Don’t sound too eager.

For a moment, you thought maybe he was going to say goodbye, that maybe this was the end of your date after all. But then, he spoke quietly, almost as if he was embarrassed to admit it.

“I kind of don’t want to go home yet.” Well, there it is. Now she knows.

You felt a flutter in your chest, your face heating up as a small, shy smile tugged at your lips. You ducked your head, looking down at the sidewalk to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. The way he said it—so simple but sincere—made your heart skip.

Why does that sound so much cuter than it should? You bit your lip, an idea suddenly coming to you.

“Well...” you started, glancing up at him. “There’s a new building by the riverside with a sky deck. It just opened recently, and it’s supposed to have the best view of the city.”

“Sky deck, huh?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A sky deck? Yeah, that sounds better than awkwardly walking home.

You nodded, a little more excited now. “Yeah. It’s pretty high up, and overlooks the whole city. I haven’t been yet, but I heard it’s amazing at night.”

“Sounds better than going home.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft smile. Thank God. I’m not ready for this to be over yet.

“Then let’s go.” You grinned, feeling your heart race just a little faster.

You shared a quick, almost nervous glance at each other before walking in the direction of the riverside. The awkwardness wasn’t completely gone, but now, it was laced with anticipation, a kind of giddy energy that made your stomach flutter. You hugged the plush goose a little tighter, trying not to let your excitement show too much, but inside, you were buzzing.

× × × ×

The city lights shimmered below you as you lounged on the comfy chairs, drinks in hand. The night air was cool, but it didn’t come close to breaking the warmth buzzing between you and Bucky.

She’s... something else, Bucky thought, leaning back slightly. His gaze kept shifting between the breathtaking skyline and you, but he found himself more captivated by you. How am I supposed to focus on the view when she looks like that?

Noticing the quiet, you smirked. “So, you were really gonna end the night without showing off more of your endless talents?”

Oh, she’s teasing now. Alright, two can play this game. Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused. “What, beating you at arcade games wasn’t enough?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re a walking cheat code, Bucky. But I feel like there’s more you’re holding back.”

His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on your lips for just a little too long. More than you know, doll. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath caught for a second, but you quickly recovered, tilting your head and flashing him a grin. “Oh yeah? Like what? Some secret talent I should know about?”

Keep your cool, Barnes. Don't blow it now.

Bucky leaned in just a fraction, his voice lowering, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. But I only show them to people who ask nicely.”

God, does he have to sound that smooth? Your heart flipped at the way he was looking at you, intense, as if he was seeing through every joke and teasing comment. How am I supposed to keep this casual?

“Nicely, huh? And what do I have to do for you to show me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the playful banter fading into something more charged.

“Keep hanging around,” he said softly.

I’m in deep now. Bucky's eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. Should I kiss her? Maybe I’m reading this wrong...

His eyes dropped to your lips again, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into nothing. It was just him—his voice, his presence, the way he was looking at you like he wanted to kiss you but was holding back.

You swallowed, feeling the tension build like a slow fire. You sipped your drink, trying to cool yourself down, but it did little to shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Stop overthinking, just go with it.

“I could do that,” you murmured, a small smile playing on your lips. You felt his eyes on you, and the air between you felt electric. You glanced at him, catching him staring at your lips again. Your pulse jumped. He’s really staring... isn’t he?

“You’re staring,” you said, teasing, though your voice had a soft edge to it, your heart thudding in your chest.

Bucky blinked, caught, but instead of pulling away, he smirked. “Am I?”

Yeah, Bucky, play it cool. Like you haven’t been staring for the past five minutes.

“Mhm,” you teased, though your voice was barely steady. Why does that smirk make my heart race? “I mean, I get it. The view’s great and all.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “You could say that.”

I can’t believe this is actually happening. You felt your face heat up at the way he was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach do wild flips. Why is this so... intense?

“You’re not just talking about the city, are you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly, sending shivers down your spine. Just kiss her already. “Maybe not.”

Your breath hitched. “And what are you looking at?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked on yours. “What do you think?”

She knows exactly what I’m looking at.

Your heart raced, the pull between you growing stronger with every passing second. His eyes kept flicking down to your lips, making you wonder if he was going to kiss you. I really shouldn’t wait any longer...

Bucky cleared his throat suddenly, as if shaking off the trance he’d been in, and leaned back into his seat, looking almost embarrassed. Okay, maybe I’m rushing this.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, your voice softer, gentler now. God, why did he stop? “Don’t be. I didn’t mind.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, the tension flaring again. She didn’t mind? Well, maybe I didn’t screw up, after all—or I did because you didn’t kiss her you idiot. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, a soft smile tugged at his lips, and his expression softened.

“So... orthopedic ward, huh?” he said, shifting the conversation, though his eyes were still locked on you. “How do you handle that? All those broken bones?”

Smooth, Barnes. Talk about bones to distract yourself from the fact you were just about to kiss her.

You took a deep breath, relieved for the break in intensity but missing it instantly. Great, now I’m thinking about how close he was... “Well, it’s mostly convincing people not to do dumb things. Like skateboarding down staircases. You wouldn’t believe what people put themselves through.”

Bucky chuckled. Yeah, I believe it. Considering I’ve done dumber things in my time. “I can believe it. I’ve been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve skateboarded down staircases?”

“No, but I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my time,” he admitted, leaning in again. Pretty sure falling for you might top the list. “But if I did something dumb, you’d patch me up, right?”

You smirked, your eyes twinkling. He’s flirting again. I can’t take this seriously. “Oh, I’d patch you up. But I’d make sure to remind you how dumb you were the entire time.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, the distance between you shrinking again. Patch me up, lecture me—just keep talking, I don’t care. “But I think I’d be a good patient.”

You shook your head with a grin. Good patient? Doubtful. “I doubt that. You’d probably complain the whole time.”

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, his tone teasing but soft. I’d let her take care of me, no problem. “If you were the one taking care of me, I’d be on my best behavior.”

He’s definitely not just talking about broken bones... Your heart skipped at the way he was looking at you again, his voice dropping to something more intimate. The banter was light, but underneath it all, there was that same intensity. Okay, now I’m thinking about kissing him again...

“You don’t strike me as someone who’s ever on their best behavior,” you teased softly, though your breath caught in your throat.

Bucky smirked, his eyes flicking to your lips again. “Maybe you bring it out in me.”

God, I hope so.

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. Your pulse raced, and you leaned into the moment, letting the tension simmer between you, unspoken but undeniable. He’s close again…

“I’ll have to see that for myself,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

She’s close, too. Just lean in, Barnes. Bucky’s gaze darkened, his voice low and rough. “You just might.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as the tension between you crackled, thick and electric. You shifted slightly, leaning in with a playful smirk. “So... tell me, you got any other dates lined up after this one?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered with amusement as he leaned back, crossing his arms. Dates? I can barely keep up with this one. “Why? You worried I’ve got someone else lined up?”

You grinned, holding his gaze. “Maybe. Should I be?”

Not a chance. He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking as his voice dropped lower. “I don’t know... do you have any other dates lined up?”

He’s really turning this on me, huh? You blinked, your heart racing, but you quickly shot back, “Well, maybe... maybe not. Depends on how this one ends.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his eyes dropping to your lips again, the intensity rising. Alright, Barnes, time to end this date right. “Guess I better make sure it ends right, then.”

Before you could respond, Bucky reached out, his fingers gently tilting your chin up. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek as he leaned in, your lips so close you could feel his breath.

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow, as his parted lips brushed against yours, soft and slow, his head tilting just slightly. The kiss was gentle at first, his lips locking against yours in a way that made everything around you fade to nothing. He could taste the faint sweetness of your daiquiri on your lips, and with a soft groan, his tongue did a slow, savoring lick against your bottom lip before slipping past, deepening the kiss.

Your hands instinctively moved up, cupping his face as you kissed him back, your fingers sliding along the scruff of his jaw. The warmth of his touch, the way his thumb stroked your cheek, the way his lips moved against yours —everything about it was intoxicating, pulling you under.

Then Bucky pulled back for a quick gasp, his breath mingling with yours , before diving back in, capturing your lips with even more intensity. The kiss deepened, more urgent this time, as though neither of you wanted the moment to end. His hand on your nape tightened slightly, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

They didn’t stop until they couldn’t breathe anymore, finally pulling apart when the need for air overtook you, both of you breathless and flushed. Their foreheads rested together, the cool night air doing little to cool the heat between you. Bucky’s thumb gently stroked your cheek as he whispered, his voice rough, “Definitely no other dates lined up after this.”

You smiled, your hands still cradling his face, your heart pounding. “Good. Neither do I.”

× × × ×

As Bucky’s motorcycle came to a slow stop outside your house, and glanced up at your front porch. You hopped off the bike, shaking out your hair with a satisfied grin.

That ride was way too short... you thought, glancing at him as you handed Bucky his helmet, which he stubbornly told you to wear instead of him.

Bucky, being the gentleman, didn’t just let you off with a wave. He slid off the bike and stood up straight, dusting his hands like he was about to help carry your groceries.

Alright, Barnes. Play it cool.

"I’ll walk you up," he said casually, like it wasn’t 2024 and people usually just waved from their cars.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a smirk. "You’re walking me to my porch?"

Bucky nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She thinks it’s weird? Hell, I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do.

“Of course. What kind of guy lets a lady walk to her door alone?” he replied, shrugging like this was completely normal.

You tried not to laugh, biting your lip to hold back a smile. He’s serious. Oh my God, he’s really serious. "Wow, okay, Mr. 1940s. What’s next, you gonna tip your hat and call me ‘ma’am’?"

Bucky smirked, taking a step closer. Alright, go with it, Barnes. “I could, if that’s what you’re into.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes but smiling as you walked together toward your porch. He’s ridiculous... and kinda sweet. You couldn’t help but notice how he slowed his pace just a little, like he was savoring the moment, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, casual yet somehow... considerate.

When you reached your porch, Bucky stopped, glancing at your door as if making sure it was safe territory. This is it. Play it smooth.

You turned to him, unable to hold back a laugh this time. "So, do I get a secret code to get into my own house, or...?"

Bucky grinned, leaning casually against the porch railing. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

Alright, Barnes, she’s not buying it. But hey, it worked.

“You know, they invented porch lights for a reason.” You shook your head, amused. He’s seriously acting like my personal bodyguard right now.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” Bucky shrugged, leaning in just a little closer, that playful glint in his eye. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh.

You looked up at him, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You know, there’s a fine line between being a gentleman and babysitting.”

Bucky chuckled. She’s killing me with that smirk. “Hey, you never know. There could be a rogue bagel out here, just waiting to trip you up.”

Oh, not the bagels again. “Oh my God, not the bagels again!” you burst out laughing, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You know they’re round, right?”

This man is unbelievable. You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I think we’ve officially come full circle.”

“Just like a bagel.” Bucky gave a slow, dramatic nod.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, but you shook your head, standing on your porch with your hands on your hips. Why do I like this guy so much?

“Alright, alright, you’ve escorted me safely to my door. Anything else, or are you going to salute me goodbye?”

Bucky’s grin softened, and with a playful twinkle in his eye, he gave a small, mock salute. She’s gotta be messing with me right now, right? “Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Goodnight, soldier.” You couldn’t stop smiling as you opened your door, turning back to look at him. Don’t walk away, don’t walk away yet...

As you slipped inside, you peeked out one last time, watching as Bucky lingered for a second, that charming smirk still on his face before he finally turned and headed back to his bike. Say something, Barnes. Don’t just leave like a dork.

But then he stopped, halfway to his bike, and turned back around, something flickering in his eyes.

No, I’m not leaving yet. Not without...

Before you could ask what he was doing, Bucky closed the distance between you with a few long strides. Without hesitating, he gently tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you—soft, quick, but just enough to make your heart race. His lips parted against yours, and for a split second, you tasted the warmth of him before he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes.

That... was... wow.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart doing a somersault. Did that just happen? You were still processing when Bucky grinned, his voice a little more hushed. “I guess I couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye.”

Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.

You blinked, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a soft, “No complaints here.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his hand still lingering at your neck for a moment longer. Then, he cleared his throat, stepping back a bit. “Hey, uh... you got a number I could call sometime?”

He’s asking for my number after that?

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter as you reached into your pocket, grabbing your phone. “Yeah, here—let me put it in.”

As you typed in your number, Bucky watched you, that familiar twinkle back in his eyes. Best decision I’ve made all night.

When you handed his phone back, your fingers brushed his, sending a small jolt up your arm. Yep, I’m done for.

Bucky pocketed the phone, flashing that boyish grin again. “Alright. I’ll call you.”

Yeah, you better. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He took a slow step down from the porch, but not without glancing over his shoulder one more time. “Goodnight... again.”

You stood there, grinning like an idiot. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way back to his bike, you slipped inside your house, leaning against the door as your heart raced. Did he really just kiss me? Again? Oh, this is definitely not over.

You peeked out one last time through the crack in the door, watching him as he swung his leg over his bike. Even from your doorway, you could hear him muttering with a smirk, “Just trying to keep the rogue bagels at bay.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you finally closed the door behind you, your heart racing a little more than you expected. I’m never going to forget this night...

2K notes · View notes

seospicybin · 15 days ago

Text

COCKY.

CHAPTER II.

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I

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. (19,8k words)

Author's note: Hope you can handle the amount of cockiness in this one. Pls share your thoughts on it after, enjoy ♡

As you step into the lab this morning, you expect a normal start to your day—running tests, reviewing reports, maybe dealing with Jane’s ongoing stress about her own project. But as soon as you walk in, you realize something is off.

There’s a man standing in the middle of the room, casually looking around as if he belongs there. You pause for a second, taking him in—he’s effortlessly handsome, with sharp, playful eyes that hold a spark of mischief. His dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he just ran a hand through it. The confidence in his posture is undeniable, his toned frame draped in a worn-out leather jacket over a plain white t-shirt. When he notices you, his lips curl into a smirk that suggests he’s already enjoying himself.

He notices you before you can say anything, turning to face you fully. A slow smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as he offers his hand.

"Finally, I was starting to think I had the wrong lab," he says with a playful lilt to it.

You straighten your shoulders, keeping your expression neutral as you carefully ask, “I'm sorry but who are you?”

“Han Jisung,” he introduces himself, his voice smooth and teasing as he holds his hand out at you. “Your new test subject.”

You blink. Of all the things you expected today, this was definitely not one of them. You shake his hand briefly, noting the warmth of his grip before pulling away. “Right. Thanks for coming in.”

He chuckles, tilting his head as he studies you. “Not the reaction I was expecting. Do all your test subjects get this warm welcome, or am I special?”

You keep your professionalism intact, offering a polite but firm smile. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Han takes a seat across from you, draping himself over the chair like he’s settling in for an entertaining conversation rather than a clinical interview. You step over to the counter and grab a disposable cup, filling it with the freshly brewed coffee that had been keeping you company all morning.

“Here,” you say, placing it in front of him as you take a seat across from him at the cold lab table.

He raises a brow, lifting the cup to his lips. “Well, this is already better than most first dates.”

You roll your eyes but don’t entertain the comment. “Before we begin, let me explain what we’re doing today. This session is purely an interview. We’ll go over your medical history, habits, and other necessary details to make sure you’re a suitable candidate for testing the product.”

Han takes a slow sip, eyes locked onto yours over the rim of the cup. “So no hands-on testing today?”

“Not today,” you confirm with an easy chuckle.

He hums thoughtfully. “Guess I’ll just have to be patient.”

You choose to ignore that and pick up your clipboard, clicking your pen. “Alright, let’s start with some basic questions. Your full name?”

“Han Jisung,” he replies smoothly.

“Age?”

“Twenty-four,” he says. “But if you’re into older guys, I can lie.”

You hold back a sigh and move on. “Occupation?”

“Sound engineer. Freelance.”

“Are you sexually active?”

A slow, knowing grin spreads across his face. He leans in slightly, resting his elbow on the table. “Oh, absolutely.”

You keep your face neutral. “Care to elaborate?”

He shrugs. “I believe in keeping things… consistent. And exciting.” His eyes sweep over you, lingering just a second too long. “What about you?”

You ignore him and move to the next question. “Do you smoke?”

“Nope.”

“Drink?”

“Socially,” he answers, then tilts his head. “I’m assuming you need all this info for the test, but if you wanted to get to know me, you could’ve just asked me out.”

You manage to keep your composure, offering him a mild, unbothered look. “You volunteered for this, remember?”

“I did,” Han nods, looking satisfied. “And now that I’m here, I think I made a great choice.”

You exhale through your nose, choosing to move on rather than feed into his antics. “Do you have any known allergies?”

His lips curve into something wicked. “Not to latex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

This is going to be a long interview. You mutter inside your head.

A few moments later, you glance down at your clipboard, double-checking that you’ve gone through all the necessary questions. With a satisfied nod, you set your pen down and look up at Han, who’s been watching you with an amused glint in his eyes the entire time.

“That’s all for the questions,” you inform him, maintaining your professionalism. “Before we wrap up, do you have any questions about the test?”

Han taps his fingers against the coffee cup, pretending to think. “So, just to be clear, my role in all of this is to… what? Try on the product and report back?”

You nod. “Yes. You’ll test for fit, comfort, durability, and overall performance. You’ll be given a log to record your experience each time you use it, including any issues you encounter.”

His lips twitch. “Experience, huh?”

You put on a small smile as you confirm with a nod. “Yes, experience.”

“And do I test it alone, or is that optional?” He leans in slightly, eyes dancing with mischief.

You keep your expression neutral. “That is entirely up to you.”

Han chuckles. “Noted.” He leans back in his chair, spinning the coffee cup between his fingers. “And how many times do I have to… test it?”

“Over a set period of time,” you explain patiently. “We’ll provide you with enough samples to use regularly and ask you to report back with detailed feedback.”

He hums in thought. “So, let’s say I’m a particularly… diligent tester. Does that mean I get extra credit?”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “There’s no extra credit.”

“No incentives for going above and beyond?” He places a hand over his heart. “I take my responsibilities seriously, you know.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting. “Your only responsibility is to provide accurate feedback.”

He nods sagely. “And I assume you’ll be the one reviewing my… reports?”

“Yes,” you reply, starting to regret that fact.

Han grins. “Well then, I’ll make sure to be very detailed.”

You glance at the clock and decide that’s enough of this. “If you have no further questions, I think we’re done for today.”

Han stretches his arms above his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Alright. But don’t be surprised if I come up with more questions later. I like to be thorough.”

Somehow, you already expected that. You clear your throat, pushing aside the unexpected tension his presence brings. Keeping your tone professional, you grab your clipboard and jot down a few notes before looking up at him.

“I’ll need you back here in two days for the next part of the test,” you inform him, maintaining eye contact. “Same time, same place.”

Han tilts his head slightly, his smirk deepening. “Two days, huh?” he muses. “That feels like such a long wait.”

You exhale through your nose, unimpressed but amused. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

He hums, stepping back but not before letting his gaze linger on you for just a second longer than necessary. “Oh, I will. But still…” He takes a few steps toward the door, then turns back with a lazy grin. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

You roll your eyes but say nothing, watching as he finally exits the lab. As soon as he’s gone, you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

Just as Han reaches the door, he glances back at you with that same cocky grin. “I’ll bring coffee for our second date,” he teases, winking before stepping out.

Before you can even process a response, you hear Jane’s voice echo from the hallway. “Second date?”

Your head snaps up just in time to see her walking toward the lab, passing by Han, who gives her a playful nod before disappearing down the hall. Jane stops right in the doorway, her eyes flickering between you and where Han had just been standing.

You quickly shake your head. “It’s not—He’s just—It’s for the test.”

As soon as Han disappears down the hallway, Jane practically materializes at your side, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who was that?” she asks, tilting her head toward the direction Han had gone.

You hesitate, not wanting to give her more reason to pry, but you know Jane well enough to realize she won’t let this go. “A participant for my product test,” you answer simply, hoping that’s enough to satisfy her.

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Right. And why did he call your next session a ‘second date’?” She crosses her arms, her gaze sharp. “Because that doesn’t sound very… professional.”

You sigh, already regretting not shutting Han down the moment he started with his playful remarks. “He’s just… like that. He’s young, flirty—doesn’t take things too seriously. But he signed up for the test, and he qualifies, so I have to deal with him.”

Jane hums, clearly unconvinced. “And you’re sure he’s here for the test? Not just to hit on you?”

You scoff. “Oh, please. I doubt he went through the entire screening process just for that.”

Jane gives you a knowing look. “Mm-hmm. Well, you better be careful. That guy looks like trouble.”

You shake your head, brushing off her concern. “It’s just work, Jane. Nothing more.”

But as you replay Han’s words in your head—Can’t wait to see you again—you wonder if dealing with him is going to be more challenging than you expected.

The elevator doors slide open, and you step in with Jane by your side. She’s already mid-conversation, rambling about her weekend and the never-ending stress over her product’s approval.

“But enough about me,” she says, turning to you as the doors close. “What about you? Where did you go this weekend?”

You keep your expression neutral, pretending to adjust the strap of your bag. “Nowhere special. Just stayed home, watched some movies.”

Jane squints. “That’s it? You didn’t go out? No dates? No fun?”

You shake your head, keeping your tone casual. “Nope. Just a quiet weekend.”

Before you can scramble for a better response, the elevator dings and the doors slide open again.

Chris steps in. He’s dressed sharp as usual and the knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips already tells you he heard the last part of your conversation.

You and Jane greet him, and he gives a polite nod in response before leaning casually against the corner of the elevator, his gaze flickering to you.

Jane faces the mirror walled one side of the elevator, fixing the smudged corner of her red painted lips, “Come on, you did nothing at all on the weekend? Not even a little adventure?”

You force a small laugh. “Nope. Just me, my couch, and Netflix.”

From the corner of your eye, you notice movement. Chris shifts slightly, and you swear you hear a quiet huff—like he’s holding back a laugh.

Jane doesn’t notice him—or if she does, she’s too focused on her interrogation. “Ugh, you’re so boring. At least tell me you had good takeout.”

You nod. “Yeah. Ordered some really... good food.”

Chris’ grin widens, and you glance at him briefly, catching the amused glint in his eyes. He’s enjoying this way too much.

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor, and you practically rush out, eager to escape Jane’s questions and Chris’ silent teasing.

As the doors slide shut behind you, you exhale. You don’t have to turn around to know Chris is still grinning.

The morning is slow, the kind that lets your thoughts linger too long on things you shouldn’t be thinking about—like the weekend you spent tangled up with Chris in that hotel suite. It’s been days, but the memories keep creeping back at the worst moments, making your skin heat up and your mind wander.

You shake it off, focusing on your work. You have a second test with Han today, and while his flirty attitude during the interview was something you could handle, you’re bracing yourself for more of his antics. Then, a knock at the door.

You barely have time to look up before Chris steps inside, moving with that easy confidence of his—like he belongs wherever he goes. His suit is crisp, the top button of his shirt undone just enough to look effortless. His hands are in his pockets, his expression unreadable except for the slight smirk tugging at his lips.

"Hard at work, I see," he says, voice smooth as ever.

You blink, caught off guard. "Chris? What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, stepping further in. "Can’t a product manager check in on his researcher?"

You narrow your eyes, already sensing his real reason for coming. "You don’t usually drop by unannounced."

Chris leisurely strolls around the lab, eyes scanning the workbenches. His gaze lands on a few product prototypes you’ve been testing, and suddenly, his lips twitch into a knowing grin.

"You know," he muses, picking up one of the silicone models, turning it over in his hand like he’s inspecting a fine piece of art, "I’m starting to think you have the best job in the company."

You sigh, already regretting letting him in. "Huh?"

"No, seriously," he continues, mock admiration in his voice as he gestures around the room, but his eyes drift towards the shelf full of dildos in all sizes. "I mean, most people deal with boring paperwork, sales reports, or, I don’t know, actual medicine. But you? You come to work every day and play with dildos."

You let out a low scoff. "I need them to test the products."

"For research, yeah, yeah, I got that," he says, nodding dramatically before setting the model down and turning to you with a teasing glint in his eyes. "So, be honest. Got a favorite?"

You shoot him an exasperated look. "Are you done?"

Chris tilts his head, pretending to think. "Not until you answer."

You cross your arms. "If I say yes, are you going to get jealous?"

He clicks his tongue, grinning. "Depends. Is it one of these, or…?" He lets the sentence trail off, his expression smug.

Your jaw drops at his implication, heat rushing to your face. "Oh my God—Chris!" You reach for the nearest pen to throw at him, but he dodges effortlessly, laughing.

"Relax," he says, still chuckling. "I’m just making sure you’re not out here conducting research without me."

"Do you have any actual work-related questions, or are you just here to waste my time?" you snap, trying to regain control of the conversation.

Chris leans against the counter, watching you with amusement. "Bit of both."

Before you can think of a comeback, the door swings open again.

"As promised, I bring coffee for the second date," Han announces, stepping in with a confident grin, two cups in hand. His dark eyes glint playfully as he holds one out to you.

The shift in the air is instant. You feel it immediately—the weight of Chris’s gaze, the ease of Han’s presence, the way you’re suddenly caught between them.

Chris raises an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, before turning to you. "A second date, huh?"

Han, seemingly unbothered, strides right up to you and places the coffee in your hand. "Figured you’d need the energy for today’s test." Then, he glances at Chris, tilting his head. "Oh, hey, man. You her boss or something?"

Chris doesn’t blink. "Or something."

You clear your throat, shifting slightly as you take the coffee Han hands you. “Chris, this is Han Jisung. He’s a participant for the product test.”

Chris’s gaze flicks over to Han, assessing him with a cool, unreadable expression. “Is that so?”

Han, completely unfazed, grins. “Yep. Here to lend a helping hand… or, well, something else.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. Chris, on the other hand, merely exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he looks back at you. “You sure know how to pick them.”

You glare at him, then turn back to Han. “And Han, this is Chris Bang. He’s the product manager overseeing my research.”

Han hums, giving Chris a once-over before offering a lopsided smile. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Chris, still watching him closely, finally nods and shakes his hand. “Likewise.”

There’s a beat of silence, the air thick with an odd mix of curiosity and challenge, and you’re already regretting having them in the same room together.

Han is the first to break it, turning back to you with a bright expression. “So, where are we doing this? Should I start getting undressed, or—?”

Chris chokes on absolutely nothing. You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply through your nose.

“Han,” you say, forcing yourself to keep your voice level, “we are not doing that now.”

“Right, right, interview first. Got it,” Han says, completely unbothered. He pulls out a chair and sits down, legs spread comfortably apart as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m all yours, then.”

Chris’s jaw ticks. You don’t miss the way his fingers twitch slightly against the counter.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Chris, do you need anything else?”

Chris finally tears his gaze away from Han, looking at you with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, I think I’ve seen enough.”

He pushes off the counter and straightens his jacket. “I’ll leave you to your… work.”

You purse your lips as he heads for the door. But just before stepping out, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes meet yours, holding them for a moment too long.

Then, with a knowing smirk, he simply says, “Enjoy.”

And with that, he’s gone. You exhale a long air, shoulders sagging.

Han whistles lowly. “Your boss has a real intense vibe, huh?”

You shoot him a look. “Just drink your coffee.”

Han grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

And with that, you steel yourself for what’s to come. Because if that tension was any indication… things are about to get a lot more complicated.

You lead Han down the hall to the testing room, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. He follows beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, exuding an easy confidence that makes it clear he’s enjoying this just a little too much.

“So, what’s the plan?” Han asks, throwing you a playful glance. “Are we finally getting to the hands-on part?”

You quietly sigh but keep walking. “First, we need to take your measurements.”

He stops in his tracks, then dramatically places a hand over his chest. “Wow. You don’t even take me out to dinner first?”

You sigh, pushing open the door to the testing room and gesturing for him to step inside. “Get in, please.”

The room is sterile and professional, with a small examination table and a set of measurement tools neatly arranged on the counter. You walk over to your clipboard, flipping through the necessary paperwork.

Han looks around, then smirks. “So, what’s next? Do I need to, uh… strip down?”

“Not completely,” you pull a folded medical gown from the drawer and hand it to Han. “Here, put this on,” you instruct. “I’ll step out to give you some privacy.”

Han takes the gown but doesn’t move right away. Instead, he gives you an amused look. “Privacy? Didn’t we just establish that you’ll be seeing all of me anyway?”

You glare at him, crossing your arms. “Just put it on, Han.”

He chuckles but doesn’t argue, and you step outside, closing the door behind you.

You take a deep breath, already bracing yourself for whatever antics he’s going to pull. After waiting a reasonable amount of time, you knock before re-entering. And of course—he’s standing there, completely naked.

Your eyes widen for a split second before you whip your head up to meet his gaze. “Han!”

He grins, making absolutely no effort to cover himself. “What? You said you needed to take measurements, right?”

Your grip tightens around your clipboard. “I also gave you a gown for a reason.”

He shrugs. “Figured we’d just cut to the chase. Efficiency and all that.”

You exhale sharply, willing yourself to stay professional. He really is the type to do things as he pleases so you may as well just do things his way.

"Fine," you mutter. "Let's just get this over with."

Han’s grin stretches wider, clearly pleased that you’re going along with it. “See? Now we’re talking.”

As much as you try to stay professional, it’s impossible not to notice just how well-built Han is. His broad shoulders taper down into a dainty waist, his physique lean yet toned, the kind that suggests he takes care of himself but doesn’t overdo it. His skin is smooth, save for the ink that decorates his body—tattoos etched along his shoulder and ribcage, the dark lines contrasting against his complexion.

You swallow, quickly refocusing on your task, but the thought lingers—he is right to be this confident. He has every reason to be.

Han catches the flicker of your gaze, his smirk deepening. “Like what you see?”

You scoff, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m just doing my job.”

He hums, clearly enjoying himself. “Sure, sure. But if you ever want to look a little longer, I won’t mind.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress the heat rising to your cheeks. “Just stay still, Han.”

You shift your focus on the task at hand. Professional. You need to stay professional. You put on latex gloves and grab your measuring tape before kneeling slightly to get the proper angles, avoiding looking anywhere unnecessary.

As you begin taking measurements, you comment, “You seem pretty confident about all this.”

Han smirks, raising his arms and folding them behind his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You put the end of the measuring tape against his pubic bon and gently lift length for a good measurement in its flaccid state. You glance up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Most people would at least be a little nervous. This isn’t exactly an everyday situation.”

He chuckles. “I’m not most people.”

You shake your head, suppressing a laugh. “Clearly.”

Han watches as you put the measuring tape around his cock to measure his girth, his gaze amused and curious. "What about you? You nervous?"

You scoff, keeping your attention on the measurements. "Why would I be?"

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Well, you are taking measurements of a very naked, very handsome man."

You snort at that but decide not to answer him, you get up to jot down the numbers on the clipboard. Once you finish, you keep your tone as professional as possible as you inform the next step. "I need to take your measurements when you're fully erect."

Han raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing. "Oh? And how exactly do you suggest I do that?"

You blink at him, already regretting your choice of words. "That's… up to you," you say, quickly looking away.

He tilts his head, watching you with amusement. "You could help me, you know." His voice is playful, but the way he watches for your reaction tells you he's testing boundaries.

You refuse to take the bait, your expression carefully neutral. "There are some, uh, magazines in that drawer if you need them. And you can use the office tablet to… browse whatever helps."

Han’s grin widens as he leans slightly forward. "Oh? Thoughtful setup. Did you pick the selection yourself?"

You roll your eyes, refusing to let him get under your skin. "Just do what you need to do."

Han chuckles, stretching his arms above his head, utterly unbothered by his nakedness. "You sure you don’t want to stay? Might be more efficient with some assistance."

You give him a sharp look before turning toward the door. "I’ll give you a moment."

As you walk out, you hear him laughing behind you. "Just saying... You’re missing out on a great show."

A few minutes pass before the door swings open, and Han leans against the frame, fully exposed, his usual playful smirk in place. And his cock is... well, fully erected.

“So,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “Erect enough for you?”

You scoff in disbelief despite the heat creeping up your neck. He’s obviously enjoying this way too much. Without a word, you grab your measuring tape and step back into the room, motioning for him to stand still.

Han watches you with amusement as you kneel slightly to take the measurements, his confidence completely unshaken. “I gotta say, I’m impressed by your professionalism,” he muses. “Most people would be flustered by now.”

You shoot him a look, jotting down the numbers on your clipboard. “I work in research. This is just another data point to me.”

Han chuckles, low and knowing. “Sure it is.”

You continue with the measurement, doing it all over again and noting down the numbers with practiced professionalism. Han watches you expectantly, his cocky smirk never fading.

“So?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement. “Are you impressed?”

You don’t respond, keeping your eyes on the clipboard as you jot down the details. But deep in your mind, a thought lingers— Chris is still bigger.

You push the thought away immediately. This isn’t about comparisons. This is research. Purely professional.

Clearing your throat, you straighten up. “Alright, we're done with the measurements,” you say, keeping your tone neutral.

Han grins, clearly entertained by your lack of reaction. “Didn’t expect you to be so shy,” he teases as he finally reaches for the gown.

“I’m not shy,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

You move on to the next part of the test. You grab a sample from the prototypes you brought with you, tearing the packet open and handing the condom to him.

“Go ahead and put it on,” you instruct, stepping back to give him space.

Han takes the condom with a smirk, rolling it over himself with ease. But as it stretches around his girth, you immediately notice the strain. He shifts slightly, adjusting it with his fingers, and then raises an eyebrow at you. “This one’s a little tight,” he comments, his usual playfulness still present despite the slight discomfort.

You nod, already anticipating this. You grab another packet—this one a size bigger—and hand it to him. “Try this one instead.”

Han takes it and swaps out the first condom, rolling the new one on. His smirk deepens as he glances down at himself. “Ah, now this one fits just right,” he says with satisfaction. He looks up at you with that same teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re really thorough with this, huh?”

You ignore his playful tone, jotting down your notes. “That concludes the test for today,” you say, stepping back. “You can put your clothes back on.”

Han stretches his arms over his head, taking his time before reaching for his clothes. “Gotta say, this was probably the most interesting appointment I’ve ever had,” he muses, giving you a wink.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head as you turn away to give him some privacy. Han Jisung was going to be a handful—you could already tell.

Back in your lab, you hand Han a sleek black box with your company’s logo printed on it. “Here,” you say, placing it in front of him. “These are the samples for you to test on your own time.”

Han picks up the box with interest, inspecting it before lifting the lid. Inside, neatly arranged, are multiple packets of condoms. His gaze flickers over them, and then he looks at you with an amused smirk. “You’ve got quite the range here,” he comments. “How many sizes are there?”

You cross your arms. “We only manufacture three: large, extra-large, and extra-extra-large.”

Han’s eyebrows lift. “Damn. So no small or medium?”

“No,” you reply simply. “Our target consumers are people who require larger sizes. We’re focusing on comfort and proper fit.”

Han hums in understanding before his lips quirk up again. “And what size am I?” he asks, voice dripping with curiosity.

You glance at your notes, already knowing the answer. “Based on my calculations, you fall into the extra-large category.”

Han nods approvingly, seemingly pleased. But then, with a mischievous tilt of his head, he asks, “Do you have a participant in the extra-extra-large category?”

Your fingers twitch slightly, but you maintain a composed expression, even as your mind immediately conjures an image of Chris. You refuse to let your face betray your thoughts. “That information is confidential,” you say smoothly, flipping through your notes. “Now, let’s focus on your test.”

Han watches you for a beat, as if trying to read between the lines, but then he lets it go with a shrug. “Alright, boss,” he says playfully. “So what kind of feedback do you need from me?”

You clear your throat and straighten your posture, regaining full professionalism. “You’ll need to test the condoms in various conditions,” you explain. “Comfort, durability, sensation—any issues you experience, I want you to document them in detail.”

Han’s smirk deepens. “In detail, huh?” He leans forward on the table, resting his chin on his hand. “So, if I have any… intense experiences, I need to let you know?”

You meet his gaze with a deadpan look. “Preferably without unnecessary embellishment.”

Han chuckles, sitting back. “Got it. No unnecessary details… unless you want them.”

You exhale sharply, deciding not to dignify that with a response. “Just be thorough,” you say, gathering your papers. “I expect a full report when you’re done.”

Han grins as he picks up the box again. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be very thorough.”

As soon as Han walks out of your lab, a familiar voice pipes up from the doorway.

“Well, well, well,” Jane hums, arms crossed as she leans against the doorframe, watching Han’s retreating figure disappear down the hall. She turns back to you, a knowing smirk stretching across her face. “That was… interesting.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Don’t start.”

Jane strides in, plopping herself onto a stool across from you. “Oh, I’m definitely starting.” She tilts her head. “So… new participant?”

You glance at the door before nodding. “Yeah. Han Jisung. He’s, uh, testing the product now.”

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Testing the product, huh?” She leans in with a teasing grin. “That’s funny, because from where I was standing, it looked like he was testing you.”

You exhale sharply, shooting her a look. “He’s just flirtatious. That’s how he is.”

Jane clicks her tongue. “Mmm-hmm. And you’re totally unaffected?”

You pause, then shake your head. “I don’t have time for distractions. I need to focus on finalizing the product.”

Jane hums, still grinning. “Sure, sure. But you do realize he was flirting with you, right?”

You sigh. “Obviously.”

“And you were kind of flirting back.”

“I was not.”

Jane laughs. “Please. If that was you being professional, I’d hate to see what happens when you actually flirt with him.”

You rub your temples again. “This conversation is over.”

Jane just smirks. “Fine, fine. But I’ll be keeping an eye on this little situation. Purely for scientific curiosity, of course.”

You roll your eyes, waving her off. “Go do your own research.”

Jane chuckles as she stands. “Oh, don’t worry. I am. But this? This is way more fun to watch.”

As Jane disappears down the hall, her teasing words linger in your mind. You exhale, turning back to your work, but your fingers hesitate over your notes.

Was I really flirting back?

You replay the conversation with Han in your head—his easy confidence, the way he grinned at you, how effortlessly he turned every exchange into something playful. You had brushed it off, keeping your responses neutral, professional… or at least, you thought you had.

But if Jane noticed something—if she thought you were flirting back—did that mean Han thought so too?

You shake your head and mutter to yourself, “I was just doing my job.”

Still, as you force yourself to refocus, a nagging thought creeps in. What if everyone else thinks otherwise?

What if Chris thinks otherwise?

The morning feels heavier than usual as you step into the elevator, half-hoping for a quiet ride up. But when you look up, you see Chris standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression calm and collected.

Your stomach tightens. You haven’t really spoken to him since Han walked in on you both in your lab. That moment still lingers in your mind—the way Chris had looked at you, how he had casually gone along with the introduction while Han had stood there, grinning like he knew something you didn’t.

Now, standing beside Chris in the enclosed space, you don’t know whether you should be the first to speak. The silence stretches between you, only filled by the soft hum of the elevator.

Then, Chris breaks it. “Are we still doing it?”

The bluntness of his words makes you stiffen, caught off guard. You glance at him, but his gaze remains on the elevator doors, as if this is just a casual inquiry.

You regain your composure and answer steadily, “As long as you still want to participate, then yes.”

Chris nods, but there’s something contemplative in his expression. “When’s the next test, then?”

“Whenever it’s convenient for you,” you say.

He doesn’t even hesitate before saying, “I have time this weekend.”

You nod, immediately agreeing, though you can’t ignore the way your heartbeat picks up. “Alright. This weekend, then.”

At that, Chris finally turns his head to look at you. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, like he wants to say something else—but then the elevator dings.

The doors slide open to your floor. You take a step forward, stealing a glance back at him. He’s still watching you.

Forcing yourself to keep it professional, you nod. “Have a good day.”

And then you step out, the doors sliding shut behind you, leaving Chris alone in the elevator.

You sit at your desk, staring blankly at your laptop screen, but your mind is far from your work. Instead, it’s replaying the interaction you had with Chris in the elevator earlier.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary—just a simple conversation about the next test. So why are you overanalyzing every second of it?

Maybe it was the way he asked, a little too quickly, as if he was eager. Or maybe it was the way he turned to you, like he had something else to say but didn’t get the chance.

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. Get a grip.

Before you can spiral any further, the lab door bursts open, and Jane comes rushing in.

“We did it!” she exclaims, her voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Before you can even react, she throws her arms around you, squeezing you in a tight hug.

“My product got the green light!” she nearly screams, pulling back to grab your shoulders and shake you slightly. “Mass production is happening! This is real!”

Your brain catches up to her words, and a genuine smile spreads across your face. “Jane, that’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“I know, right?” She bounces on her heels, barely able to contain herself. “All those late nights, all that reformulation—it actually paid off!”

“I never doubted it for a second,” you tell her sincerely.

She grins, but then her eyes narrow slightly. “Wait, why do you look so calm? You should be freaking out with me!”

You chuckle. “I think you’re doing enough freaking out for both of us.”

She swats your arm playfully before sighing dramatically. “Ugh, I just—God, I can’t believe it. You’ll be next, you know.”

At that, your smile falters just slightly. The reminder of your own product’s pending status brings back the weight of your own stress. But you push it down, focusing on her excitement instead.

“I hope so,” you say lightly. “But for now, let’s just celebrate your win.”

Jane beams at you, still buzzing with energy. “Oh, we’re celebrating. Drinks after work. No excuses.”

You shake your head, amused. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The bar is lively, filled with laughter and conversation as Jane’s entire research team celebrates their success. You sit at the high-top table, nursing your drink while Jane recounts every stressful moment leading up to her product’s approval.

“I swear, I thought I was going to throw up when I opened the email,” she says, shaking her head dramatically.

“Honestly, I thought you did throw up,” one of her team members chimes in, making the group laugh.

You smile, but your mind isn’t entirely present. You’re still caught up in the events of the day—Chris in the elevator, the way he was looking at you like he had more to say, the way you overanalyzed it all afterward.

And just as if your thoughts summon him, the bar door opens, and in walks Chris.

Your body stiffens slightly at the sight of him. He scans the room, quickly spotting your table, and strides over. His presence is magnetic as always, his sleeves rolled up just enough to tease his forearms, and his signature easy grin already in place.

“Look who decided to join us!” Jane announces, nudging your arm. “I invited him since, you know, he is the product manager.”

You glance at her, noting the sly glint in her eyes. “Just that?” you ask, keeping your voice casual.

Jane feigns innocence. “Of course! What other reason would there be?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but before you can say anything, Chris pulls up a chair next to you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne.

“Hope I’m not too late,” he says, flagging down the waiter for a drink.

“Nope, we’re just getting started,” Jane assures him, shooting you a quick glance before turning back to her team.

You take a slow sip of your drink, trying to shake off the suspicion creeping up your spine. Because despite Jane’s nonchalant attitude, you can’t help but feel like there’s more to her invitation than just acknowledging Chris’s role as the product manager.

And by the way Chris is sitting comfortably beside you, his knee brushing against yours under the table the whole night, you get the feeling you’re right to be suspicious.

Jane, already a little tipsy, is in full celebration mode. She waves down the waiter and orders another round for everyone, grinning as she slides a fresh drink in front of you.

"Come on," she nudges you. "You have to keep up tonight."

You sigh but take a sip, knowing there's no point in arguing when Jane is in this mood.

The night continues with laughter and drinks, and one by one, the rest of Jane’s team heads to the dance floor, leaving just the three of you at the table. Jane is leaning back in her chair, lazily swirling the ice in her glass as she suddenly turns her attention to Chris.

"So, Product Manager Chris Bang," she drawls, tilting her head at him. "Why have you been calling her to your office so many times lately?"

Chris, mid-sip of his drink, pauses just slightly before setting his glass down. He glances at you briefly, amusement flickering in his eyes before turning back to Jane. "Work, obviously," he says smoothly.

Jane snorts. "Work? Really? You, the Chris Bang, personally following up on a single research project so often? I don’t buy it."

You shoot her a look. "Jane—"

"What? I’m just curious!" she says, throwing up her hands. "If you guys have, I don’t know, a thing going on, you could just tell me."

Chris lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers tapping against his glass. "A thing, huh?"

You glare at Jane, your heart hammering in your chest. She was not supposed to be this perceptive. "You do realize he's our boss, right?" you say, attempting to sound unimpressed.

"Uh-huh," Jane says, clearly unconvinced.

Chris leans back in his seat, casually stretching his arm over the back of your chair. "Sounds like someone's had too many drinks," he teases.

Jane narrows her eyes at him. "Sounds like someone's avoiding the question."

Chris smirks but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he picks up his glass, taking another slow sip.

You grip your drink a little tighter, trying to play it cool, but the way Chris is not denying anything, the way he’s just letting Jane speculate—it’s making you very aware of how close he is to you right now. And by the look in his eyes, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You quickly flag down the waiter again, determined to shift Jane’s attention away from whatever game she’s playing. “Another round?” you offer, plastering on your best innocent smile.

Jane’s eyes light up. “Now that’s the spirit!” She turns to Chris. “You better not let her drink alone.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts his glass. “I wouldn’t dare.”

It works. Jane gets caught up in the drinks and the celebration again, and for a while, the conversation drifts away from you and Chris.

Next thing you know, Jane is dragging you onto the dance floor. You’re buzzed, your body light, and for once, you let yourself just have fun. The music thrums through your veins, and you move with the crowd, letting the beat take over.

At some point, as you spin around, your eyes catch onto something—or rather, someone.

Chris is still seated at the table, leaning back comfortably with his drink in hand, but his eyes are on you. Watching. And when your gazes meet, he doesn’t look away.

A thrill runs through you. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder, more aware of the way his gaze lingers. You pretend not to notice at first, dancing as if he isn’t there, but deep down, you know you’re moving just a little more deliberately. A little more enticingly. And you like that he’s watching.

The moment stretches between you like a live wire, crackling with energy neither of you dares to name. And as if he can't stand being a mere watcher, Chris walks up to you. He steps in closer, pushed forward by the press of bodies around you, and instead of pulling away, he stays. The heat of his body radiates against yours, your breaths mingling in the dim, neon-lit haze of the bar.

You don’t speak, and neither does he—not at first. Instead, there’s only the exchange of glances, the slow drag of his eyes over you, the way your body naturally falls in sync with his. It’s almost too easy, too natural, the way he places a careful hand on your waist, guiding your movements subtly like he’s testing the waters.

And then, he leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I can’t wait for the weekend.”

The words send a pulse of heat through you. You smirk, just enough to make sure he sees it before you tilt your head toward him, lips grazing the edge of his jaw as you murmur back, “Why wait until the weekend?”

You feel his sharp inhale more than you hear it. His grip on your waist tightens, a reaction he doesn’t even try to hide.

“Why not do it tonight?” you continue, letting the words drip slow and deliberate between you.

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable at first—surprised, maybe, but something darker flickers beneath it. Something intrigued. He doesn’t answer right away. But he doesn’t say no, either.

The moment the words leave your lips, there’s no taking them back. You don’t give Chris time to react before you’re tugging him through the press of bodies, weaving past dancing figures and clusters of coworkers lost in conversation. You make a beeline for your table, snatching up your bag in one smooth motion, and beside it, Chris’s neatly folded jacket. He barely has time to slip it from your grasp before you’re leading him out of the bar and into the cool night air.

Chris follows without protest, though his brows are still knit in confusion, his lips slightly parted like he’s trying to piece together what just happened.

But instead of heading straight for the curb, he gently tugs at your wrist, steering you into the narrow alley beside the bar. The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp barely reaches the space, but it’s enough for you to see the way he’s watching you—like he’s trying to read between the lines, trying to make sure.

“You really want to do this tonight?” His voice is quiet but firm, searching.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Chris exhales, rubbing the back of his neck as he studies you. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I’m not drunk,” you counter smoothly. “Just… mildly intoxicated.”

His brow lifts at that, still unconvinced. You step closer, meeting his gaze, letting your voice drop to something softer, something more deliberate. “You told me to relax, didn’t you?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks but you press on, your fingers brushing the lapels of his jacket. “Maybe now that I’m fully relaxed…” Your lips curl slightly as your voice dips lower. “I can take you well this time.”

For a moment, there’s only the hum of the city around you—the distant pulse of music from the bar, the faint rush of passing cars. Then his eyes darken, a spark of something untamed flickering through them. He doesn’t say a word.

Instead, his hands find your waist in one swift motion, pulling you flush against him. And before you can tease him for his sudden silence, he spins toward the street, lifting an arm to hail a taxi, his grip on you firm and unwavering.

As soon as the two of you are on the backseat of a taxi, Chris wastes no time draping his jacket over your lap. A gentlemanly gesture, if not for the sly curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes when he turns to you.

“Wouldn’t want you catching a cold,” he murmurs, voice smooth, deliberate.

You barely have a second to process the weight of his words before you feel it—his hand slipping beneath the fabric, fingers gliding under the hem of your skirt with ease. The moment his palm presses against your clothed heat, a sharp jolt runs through you.

Chris watches you, eyes trained on your face, amusement dancing in his expression as you press your lips together in a feeble attempt to stay composed. The driver hums along to the low music playing on the radio, oblivious to the way Chris’s fingers trace teasing circles over the dampening fabric between your thighs.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he muses, voice barely above a whisper, meant just for you.

You shoot him a sharp look, but it’s hard to glare when your body betrays you, hips subtly shifting toward his touch.

Chris’s smile deepens. “You seemed so eager back at the bar. What happened?”

You grip his wrist under the jacket, not pushing him away, but just holding on—something to ground yourself as his fingers apply more pressure right on your clothed clit. The sensation is maddening, just enough to tease but not nearly enough to satisfy.

The taxi slows at a red light, and Chris leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t make me stop now.”

It’s a warning and a challenge all at once. You squeeze Chris’s wrist, nails digging into his skin, but he doesn’t stop—if anything, the pressure of his fingers against your clothed heat intensifies.

"Shh," he whispers, lips grazing your ear. "Don't get us caught."

Easier said than done. Your thighs clamp around his hand instinctively, but Chris simply chuckles, using the limited space to his advantage, his fingers stroking lazy, torturous circles over the damp fabric.

Your breathing stutters. Every little movement feels like fire licking at your skin, and the worst part? The driver is completely unaware.

Chris shifts closer, his voice dipping lower, a teasing lilt in his tone. "You were the one who didn’t want to wait until the weekend," he murmurs. "But now you're struggling to keep quiet? What happened to all that confidence?"

You want to glare at him, maybe throw back a snarky remark, but when he presses a little harder—just enough to send a jolt of pleasure up your spine—you have to bite down on your lip to stop the sound threatening to escape.

Chris watches you, completely enthralled, eyes dark with amusement and something deeper—something possessive. His free hand brushes your cheek before he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture so tender it contrasts the sinful way his fingers are working you under the jacket.

"You’re trembling," he notes, and there's that damn smirk again.

The taxi slows, and your heart nearly stops as the driver glances at you both through the rearview mirror.

Chris finally—finally—pulls his hand away, taking his time smoothing down your skirt as if nothing had happened at all. Then he leans in one last time, lips a breath away from your ear as he whispers, "Hope you're ready for what's next."

The moment the hotel room door clicks shut behind you, the air shifts. Gone is the restraint from earlier, the teasing and subtle touches—now, it's thick with something heavier, more urgent.

Chris tosses his jacket onto a nearby chair before turning to face you. His gaze sweeps over your form, eyes dark, filled with an unspoken hunger that sends a shiver down your spine.

"You sure about this?" he asks, voice quieter now, less playful, but no less intense.

You step forward, closing the space between you. "I was the one who said not to wait," you remind him, your hands already reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

Chris exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head, but he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he lets his hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress as if grounding himself. "You really don’t like being patient, do you?"

You let his question linger in the air, unanswered but your fingers make quick work of his buttons, parting his shirt to reveal the toned muscles beneath. He lets you take your time, watching you with hooded eyes, but the moment your hands graze over his bare skin, his control seems to snap.

In one swift motion, Chris grabs your wrist, spinning you around so your back is pressed against the door. His body is warm against yours, caging you in, his breath fanning across your face as he leans in.

"You have no idea what you just started," he murmurs before claiming your lips in a deep, searing kiss.

With his muscular arms wrapped around you, he can easily steer your body, dragging you with him toward the bed until he plops down on the end of the bed.

You settle onto Chris’s lap, your back flush against his chest as his arms wrap around you, holding you close. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, his breath fanning against the curve of your neck.

His lips find your skin, slow and deliberate, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder, trailing up to the sensitive spot just below your ear. A shiver rolls through you, and he must feel it because he chuckles, low and pleased.

"You always get like this when I touch you," he murmurs, his fingers finding the first button of your shirt.

You don't answer, just let him work, feeling each flick of his fingers as he undoes one button, then another, until the fabric parts. His hands slide beneath the material, palms warm against your bare skin, tracing along your sides before gliding up to your shoulders, easing the shirt off.

It slips down your arms and onto the bed, forgotten. Chris hums in approval, his hands wandering, exploring—one skimming down your thigh, the other greedily palming on your breast, holding you in place as he continues his slow, torturous kisses.

"You’re always so tense," he muses, his lips brushing your ear. "I think I like you better like this… relaxed, pliant."

His hands roam, touching everywhere except where you crave him most, teasing, testing your patience. You shift slightly in his lap, pressing closer, and his grip tightens just enough to remind you—he’s in control of the pace and he's going to take his time.

Chris lets his fingers wander lower, tracing the edge of your skirt where it rests against your thighs. His touch is slow and gentle, but there’s a tension in the way he exhales against your neck, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“You won’t be needing this,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping under the hem.

You lift your hips just enough to let him slide the fabric down, and he takes his time, inch by inch, until it pools at your feet. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they skim over your bare thighs, tracing soft patterns, teasing.

He shifts beneath you, pulling you even closer against his growing bulge, and you feel the unmistakable proof of his arousal pressing into you through his pants. The realization sends a shiver through you, one that he catches instantly.

“Still relaxed?” he teases, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You don’t get a chance to answer before his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear. He doesn’t rush—he takes his time, dragging the fabric down slowly, his knuckles grazing your skin as he goes. The anticipation coils low in your stomach, your breath catching as you finally feel the cool air against your bare skin.

Chris lets out a quiet groan, his hands splaying over your hips as he pulls you even closer, his lips finding the curve of your neck again. “Perfect,” he whispers against your skin, his voice laced with something deeper, something reverent.

His hands roam, exploring, teasing, while his lips trail soft, lingering kisses down your shoulder, across your spine. Every touch, every whisper, sends warmth flooding through you, leaving you bare in every possible way.

Chris chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as you grab his hand and guide it between your thighs. His fingers brush against your heat, and he inhales sharply, his grip tightening on your waist.

"Impatient, mmh?" he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement, though his fingers don’t move just yet. Instead, he lets them rest there, just enough pressure to tease but not enough to satisfy.

You shift slightly in his lap, pressing yourself against his hand, silently urging him to do something—anything—but he only smirks against your shoulder. "I like it when you ask nicely," he muses, his breath warm against your skin.

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, your body aching for more, but before you can say a word, he finally moves. A slow, deliberate stroke on your clit. Your breath catches, and he hums in approval, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear.

"That's better," he whispers, his fingers working you open with a practiced ease, pumping in and out of you.

Each movement is agonizingly slow, dragging out every sensation, as if he wants to take his time, to savor the way you react under his touch. His free hand grips your hip, keeping you steady as you try to press yourself closer, seeking more.

Chris chuckles again, his fingers curling slightly, finding that spot that makes you tremble. "That’s it," he coaxes, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. "Let me feel you."

And as his touch grows more insistent, as his lips trail down your neck, whispering praises into your skin, you realize just how much control he has over you in this moment—and how easily you’re willing to let him have it.

He shifts, his hands firm yet gentle as he lays you down against the plush hotel bed. The warmth of his body lingers on your skin, and for a moment, you almost forget yourself in the haze of anticipation.

But before you can get lost in it completely, you murmur, "The condom… it's in my bag."

Chris hovers over you, his lips curving into a small smile before pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth. "Good thinking," he muses, his voice low, thick with desire. He pulls away, stepping back to retrieve the condom.

As he stands at the end of the bed, the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across his toned frame, you take a moment to admire him. His body—broad shoulders, sculpted abs, muscles flexing with each subtle movement—holds a raw, effortless allure.

Gosh, Chris is beautiful.

His brows furrow slightly in focus as he tears open the packet, rolling the condom down his length with practiced ease. The sight alone sends another wave of arousal through you, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

Chris catches you staring, his lips quirking into a smirk. "Like what you see?" he teases, his voice playful, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his gaze—something knowing.

You don’t answer, but the way you bite your lip gives you away.

Chris lets out a quiet chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours as he climbs back onto the bed, settling between your legs. "Let’s put it to the test, then," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your lips before capturing them in another slow, searing kiss.

He kisses you deeply, his hands roaming over your bare skin as the two of you melt into the mattress. The heat between you is palpable, the slow press of his body against yours making every inch of you burn with anticipation. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat, each kiss setting your nerves alight.

Then, he pulls back just enough to guide you onto your stomach before gently urging you onto your hands and knees. His touch is steady, reassuring.

"It’ll be easier this way," he murmurs against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses along your spine. "You won’t have to think too much. Just feel."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you nod, swallowing back the nervous tension that had been lingering before. The warmth of his mouth trails down your back, each kiss making you more pliant, more eager.

Then, without another word, Chris aligns himself behind you, his hands gripping your waist as he slowly pushes his length inside you.

Chris grips your waist with steady hands, his thumbs tracing soothing circles against your skin as he slowly pushes inside. The stretch is intense, and he catches the way your fingers grip the sheets, your breath hitching.

"Does it hurt?" he murmurs, his voice low and careful.

You swallow hard, your body adjusting to his size. "Just… put in more," you whisper, wanting to get past the ache, wanting to feel all of him.

Chris exhales through his nose, his grip tightening slightly before he pushes in deeper, inch by inch, with the utmost caution. You bite your lip, willing yourself to relax, but the deeper he goes, the more overwhelmed you feel. Your body tenses.

"Wait—stop," you gasp suddenly. "That's too deep."

Chris halts immediately, his hands sliding up to your hips, grounding you. You take a shaky breath before glancing over your shoulder. "Are you all in?"

Chris tilts his head down to see his cock is only halfway in, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. "Not even close," he says, lips quirking into a smirk.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and a groan escapes you. "Fuck Chris! Why you have to be too big?" you mutter, frustration laced in your voice.

Chris chuckles, his hands smoothing over your skin in reassurance. "You’re cute when you’re like this," he teases, leaning over you. His breath fans against your cheek before he captures your lips in a deep, slow kiss, melting away your tension with each lingering touch.

He watches your expression closely, searching for any signs of discomfort, but when he sees the pleasure beginning to overtake the tension in your body, he pulls hid cock back slightly before thrusting into you again—deeper this time, but still careful.

A gasp leaves your lips, your body adjusting, the overwhelming stretch melting into something more intoxicating. The feeling of him inside you, filling you, sends waves of pleasure rippling through you. You grip the sheets beneath you, eyes fluttering shut as he finds a steady rhythm, each movement dragging bliss across your nerves.

Then it hits you—faster than you expected. Your body clenches around him, a moan slipping out as pleasure crashes through you. Chris immediately senses the shift, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he slows.

"Are you coming?" he asks, voice husky, his breath warm against your shoulder.

You nod, still trembling, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Do you want me to stop?" His voice is softer now, tinged with concern, but you shake your head frantically.

"No—" You exhale shakily. "It’s too good. Don’t stop."

Chris groans at your words, his hands sliding up your sides before pulling you back against him. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, murmuring something too quiet to catch before he picks up his pace again.

This time, there’s no hesitation—only the raw need between you as your bodies move in sync. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension coiling deep within you as Chris thrusts into you, each movement drawing you closer, each moan swallowed into his heated kisses.

And then, all at once, you fall apart around him, pleasure surging through you as your body tightens and trembles against him. Chris follows soon after, a deep groan spilling from his lips as he reaches his own high, his arms locking around you as you both shudder through the overwhelming release.

For a moment, neither of you move, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then Chris presses a lingering kiss against the back of your neck, his grip on you loosening but still firm, as if he’s reluctant to let you go.

Chris slowly pulls out, his touch gentle as if he knows you’re still sensitive. A shiver runs through you at the loss of him, and you collapse onto the bed, catching your breath as you watch him.

Standing at the edge of the bed, Chris carefully rolls the condom off, inspecting it for a moment before tying it off and discarding it. It’s hard not to notice the way it’s stretched, the amount of his seed inside it making your stomach flip. He doesn’t say anything, just walks toward the bathroom, his bare form disappearing inside as you lay there, trying to process everything.

The distant sound of running water fills the room, and as your heartbeat slows, a strange clarity settles over you. You feel yourself sobering up—not enough to regret anything, but enough to realize the weight of the moment.

When Chris returns, wiping his hands dry with a small towel, he catches your gaze and smirks. “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

You shake your head, pushing yourself up slightly. “I was just going to ask…” You hesitate, but then decide to just say it. “What do you think of the condom’s performance?”

For a second, Chris just stares at you—then he chuckles, running a hand through his messy hair. “Of course you’d get right back to work.” He exhales through his nose, his smirk softening as he joins you on the bed. “Well, it held up. No breakage, no slipping, even after how intense that was.” He gives you a pointed look, making heat creep up your neck.

You clear your throat. “That’s good.”

Chris hums, leaning back against the pillows. “Though I think you might need to test it a few more times before you finalize your product. Just to be sure.”

You roll your eyes, but the small smile on your lips betrays you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chris lets out a small sigh, stretching his arms before settling more comfortably against the pillows. “Since we both have work tomorrow, maybe we should stop talking about work and just get some rest.”

You nod, realizing how heavy your limbs feel now that the rush of everything has passed. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

There’s a brief silence, just the sound of your breathing filling the dimly lit room. Then, Chris shifts slightly beside you. “Hey…” His voice is softer now, almost hesitant. “Is it okay if I cuddle you?”

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected question. Of all things, you weren’t expecting him to ask that. But before you can even think about it, you find yourself nodding.

Chris doesn’t hesitate once he gets the answer he wants. He moves in closer, his warm, bare body pressing against your back as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into him. The heat of his skin is comforting, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back oddly soothing.

You let out a quiet breath, melting into the warmth of him. His hand rests lightly against your stomach, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles there. Neither of you say anything, and you don’t need to. Slowly but surely, you feel your body relaxing, your eyelids growing heavy.

As you settle into his warmth, your body fully relaxing against his, you feel Chris nuzzle slightly into the crook of your neck. His breath is steady, slow, comforting.

Just as your eyelids start to droop, you murmur, “Goodnight, Chris.”

His arm around your waist tightens just a little, and you hear the faintest hint of a smile in his voice as he whispers back, “Goodnight.”

The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet comfort between you lull you into sleep, tangled together in a way that feels dangerously natural.

The pale morning sun casts a warm glow on Chris’s pale skin as he fixes the cuffs of his shirt beside you. The atmosphere is surprisingly comfortable despite everything that happened last night—though the occasional brush of his hand against yours or the way his gaze lingers on you a second too long reminds you of just how close you had been mere hours ago.

As you slip on your shoes, you break the silence. “If Jane asks about us, just say I got too drunk, and you took me home. Keep it simple.”

Chris pauses, smirking as he tilts his head at you. “That’s the best excuse you could come up with?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “It’s believable, isn’t it? Besides, you know how Jane gets.”

Chris chuckles, rolling up his sleeves as he steps closer. “Oh, I do. Which is why I think she won’t buy it for a second.”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Chris.”

“Relax,” he grins, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I won’t say a word. Especially not to Jane.”

Satisfied, you exhale a small breath of relief, though his amusement at your paranoia doesn’t go unnoticed. As you both gather your belongings, preparing to leave the hotel, a thought lingers in the back of your mind—one that you refuse to entertain for too long. Because despite your best efforts to keep things professional, something between you and Chris has undeniably shifted.

You step into the office, keeping your head low as you make your way toward your lab, hoping to slip in unnoticed. But of course, Jane is already there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, looking equally exhausted.

“You’re late,” she grumbles, squinting at you.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “I know. I feel like death.” You press a hand to your forehead for extra effect. “I’m seriously so hungover.”

Jane groans, rubbing her temples. “Tell me about it. I shouldn’t have ordered that last round.”

You nod quickly, going along with it. “Yeah, I think that’s what did me in too.”

Jane tilts her head, her suspicious gaze scanning you. “Wait… where did you even go after that? You disappeared.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your face neutral. “I got too drunk, and Chris helped me get home.”

Jane narrows her eyes. “Huh?”

You swallow, keeping your expression casual. “Yeah, he was just being nice. You know, since he’s my boss and all.”

For a moment, Jane doesn’t say anything, her eyes assessing you like she’s trying to catch you in a lie. But before she can press further, someone from her team calls her name from down the hall.

Jane groans, rubbing her face. “Ugh, I have a meeting with the production team. Can't believe they make me sit through this with a headache.”

You nod, putting on your best sympathetic look. “Good luck with that.”

She sighs and starts walking away, but not before casting one last glance at you. “This conversation isn’t over.”

You force a laugh as you watch her go, exhaling in relief once she’s out of sight. You got off the hook—for now.

You put on your lab coat first before starting any work. You grab your notebook from your bag and flipping through it when a familiar voice calls out from the doorway.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

You glance up to see Han leaning casually against the doorframe, holding two cups of coffee in one hand and a small white box in the other. His usual flirtatious grin is in place, his eyes glinting with mischief as he steps inside.

You exhale and put on a polite smile, already bracing yourself. “Good morning.”

He strides over and places the coffee and the box on your desk before pulling out a chair for himself. “I figured coffee alone wasn’t enough, so I brought cheesecake. Thought I’d spoil my favorite researcher a little.”

You raise a brow. “Bribing me now?”

He smirks. “If it works, then yeah.”

You sigh but can’t help the small smile forming on your lips as you open the box, revealing a neatly sliced cheesecake with a drizzle of caramel on top. It looks dangerously good.

“Alright,” you say, picking up one of the coffee cups. “I’ll accept it. But only because I skimped on breakfast.”

Han chuckles, watching as you take a small forkful of the dessert. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You shake your head at his antics before setting your fork down and flipping open your notes. “Let’s get to business.”

Han places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “You mean we’re not on a date?”

You snort and skip on answering him. “Now, let’s continue the interview.”

His grin widens, but he sits back, sipping his coffee. “Alright, boss. Fire away.”

You take a sip of a coffee first while getting the questions ready and pull out your notes. “Alright, let’s get into it. How’s the product testing going?”

Han hums, stirring his coffee lazily. “Not bad. Feels good, fits well. No complaints so far.”

You nod, jotting that down. “And how many have you used?”

Han pauses mid-sip, then lowers his cup with a smirk. “Why? Are you keeping score?”

You sigh. “Just answer the question, Han.”

He shrugs. “Out of the eight packs you gave me? I’ve only used two.”

Your pen stills on the paper. “Two? That’s it?”

Han leans forward slightly, his smirk deepening. “Yeah. I’m saving some.”

You frown. “Why?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “For you, obviously.”

Your brain short-circuits for a moment before you let out an exasperated sigh. “Han—”

“I mean, it’d be unfair if I was the only one testing it, right?” he says smoothly, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you with amusement. “Wouldn’t you want firsthand experience?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “This is a professional study.”

He chuckles. “Sure, sure. But the offer stands.”

You shake your head, refusing to indulge him any further. “Moving on. Did you experience any discomfort?”

Han grins. “None at all. Though I wouldn’t mind testing the durability a bit more.”

You glare at him. “Stick to the questionnaire.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. For now.”

You sigh, writing down his responses, pretending that your face isn’t heating up from his teasing. Despite it, you manage to finish all the questions you have for him. You glance at your notes, ensuring you’ve covered everything.

“Alright, I think that’s all for today,” you say, capping your pen. “I’ll see you next week for the final interview.”

Han leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, lips curving into a smirk. “That’s it?”

You raise a brow and put on a small smile. “That’s it.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Come on, we can’t end our third date like this.”

You roll your eyes as you remark once again. “It’s not a date.”

He tilts his head, feigning innocence. “I brought you coffee and cheesecake, didn’t I?”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, the lab door swings open, and Jane strides in. She stops abruptly, her eyes darting between you and Han, taking in the way he’s leaning in just a little too close, the amused glint in his eyes, and the way you’re trying very hard not to look flustered.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, crossing her arms.

You straighten up instantly. “Nope. Just finishing up his interview.”

Han, completely unbothered, flashes her a charming smile. “Oh, hey. You must be Jane.”

Jane narrows her eyes at him before shifting her gaze back to you, suspicion evident. “So… what exactly were you two talking about?”

Han grins. “Just planning our next date.”

You groan. “Han.”

Jane’s eyes widen in intrigue, a slow smirk forming on her lips. “Oh? Is that so?”

You shoot Han a warning look, but he just winks at you before standing up and grabbing his coffee. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he says smoothly. “See you next week.”

Jane doesn’t let Han’s exit stop her. Instead, she steps further into the lab and plops down in the chair across from you. “So,” she drawls, “third date, huh?”

You rub your temples. “Don’t encourage him.”

But Jane ignores you, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she turns toward the door Han just walked through. “Hey, Han!” she calls out.

He peeks his head back in, coffee in hand, looking amused. “Miss me already?”

Jane smirks and reaches into her bag, pulling out a sleek black invitation. “Why don't you come to the launch party for my product this Friday night? It’s going to be fancy, lots of people from the company, free drinks. Since you’re so keen on taking my friend on dates, why don’t you make this your fourth?”

Han raises a brow, glancing at you. “A formal date, huh?” He grins, looking back at Jane. “I like the way you think.”

You sigh, knowing there’s no way out of this now.

Han walks over and takes the invitation from Jane’s hand, flicking it between his fingers as he gives you a look filled with playful intent. “Guess it’s true what they say,” he muses. “Love finds a way.”

You groan. Jane cackles. And Han? Han just winks before strolling out of the lab, leaving you to wonder how exactly you ended up in this mess.

Friday night arrives, and the venue is buzzing with energy. The event hall is decorated with elegant lights, the clinking of glasses and soft hum of music filling the air. The launch party is in full swing, employees mingling with industry professionals, celebrating her achievement. You arrive dressed appropriately for the occasion, nursing a glass of champagne as you navigate through conversations.

As soon as you spot Jane across the room, you make your way through the crowd, champagne flute in hand. She’s in the middle of a conversation with a few colleagues, but when she sees you, her face lights up with excitement.

“There she is!” Jane exclaims, excusing herself from the group to pull you into a quick but tight hug. “You made it!”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. “Of course, I did! There was no way I’d miss your big night.”

Jane pulls back, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Can you believe it? After all the late nights, the revisions, the stress—it’s finally happening. The product is officially launched!”

You smile, genuinely happy for her. “And you deserve every bit of this. You worked your ass off for this moment.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her chest. “I really did, didn’t I? God, I need more champagne.”

You chuckle and clink your glass against hers. “To your hard work paying off.”

Jane grins. “To both of us. Your product is next, you know.”

You shake your head, sipping your drink. “One step at a time.”

“Psh, please,” Jane scoffs. “You’re basically a genius in your field. It’s only a matter of time.”

Before you can argue, she suddenly gasps and grabs your arm. “Wait, wait—look who just walked in.”

You follow her gaze toward the entrance, and sure enough, Han is making his way through the crowd, dressed in a fitted suit that makes him look a little too good for your liking.

Jane smirks. “Guess you really did get yourself a date tonight.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the way Han’s eyes find yours almost instantly, his lips curling into that all-too-familiar smirk.

Jane elbows you playfully. “I’ll leave you to it,” she teases before slipping back into the crowd, leaving you standing there as Han approaches.

Dressed in a well-fitted suit that makes him look effortlessly charming, he scans the room until his eyes land on you. A slow, knowing grin stretches across his lips as he approaches, hands in his pockets, confidence dripping from every step.

“Well, well,” Han drawls as he stops beside you. “You clean up nicely, professor.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the way he looks—like trouble wrapped in an expensive suit.

“How’s the party?” he asks, leaning in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You take a sip of your champagne. “Just started. Jane’s thrilled.”

Han hums, glancing around before tilting his head at you. “And you? Having fun?”

Before you can answer, Jane appears out of nowhere, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and grinning between the two of you. “Oh, I knew you’d show up, Han.”

Han chuckles. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You awkwardly wave toward the bar and ask, “Drinks?”

Han smirks and leans in just slightly, voice teasing. “Lead the way.”

You and Han sit at the bar, drinks in hand, the ambient chatter of the event fading into the background as he leans in slightly, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he starts, swirling his drink in his glass, “are product launches always this fancy, or is this just Jane’s excuse to throw a party?”

You chuckle, taking a sip of your champagne. “A little bit of both. But mostly, Jane loves a reason to celebrate.”

Han hums, resting his chin on his palm as he watches you. “And you? Do you like to celebrate?”

You quirk a brow. “Are you asking if I party?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “I’m just wondering if I’ll ever get to see you let loose. I bet you’d be fun after a few more drinks.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “This isn’t that kind of party.”

He grins. “Pity.” Then he lifts his glass toward you. “Still, I think this counts as a fourth date, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes but clink your glass against his anyway. “You’re really committed to this bit, huh?”

“I prefer to call it optimism,” he says smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief. “But if you want me to stop, you just have to say the word.”

You don’t say anything, and that only makes his smirk widen. Just as you’re about to respond, something—or rather, someone—catches your eye.

Across the room, standing near the entrance with a drink in hand, is Chris. He’s watching you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in the way he’s standing, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flick from you to Han and back again.

For a brief moment, your heart stumbles in your chest. You take a slow sip of your drink, trying to shake the strange weight in your chest. It’s just Chris. It shouldn’t mean anything. And yet, you can’t help but steal another glance in his direction.

Han is still talking, still flashing that charming smile, completely unaware of the way your attention has drifted elsewhere.

“—so, I figured, if I’m already here, might as well make it worth my time, right?” He sets down his drink as he notices something on your face, "Can I just—"

Before you can even process it, his fingers are grazing your face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. It’s a fleeting touch, gentle, but deliberate. His gaze lingers on yours, dark eyes full of something playful yet unreadable.

"There," Han mutters with a satisfed smile as he securely tucked it behind your ear.

You don’t have time to react—not properly—because just over Han’s shoulder, you see Chris. He’s moving now, weaving through the crowd, his expression as unreadable as before. There’s a certainty in his stride, a quiet intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You know he’s coming straight for you. Panic flutters in your chest before you can stop it. “I need to use the restroom,” you blurt out, pushing back from your seat.

Han blinks in surprise, his hand falling away as you stand abruptly. “Oh? Uh—”

You don’t let him finish, flashing him a quick, apologetic smile before turning on your heel. You don’t look back.

Inside the restroom, you grip the edge of the sink, taking a steadying breath. The cool marble soothes your fingertips, but it does nothing to calm the rapid thud of your heartbeat. You left in such a rush. Why did you run?

Before you can even begin to sort through your own emotions, the door swings open. You tense, your eyes darting to the mirror—only to exhale in relief when you see Jane stepping in.

“Oh,” she says, her brows lifting slightly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You force a chuckle, shaking your head. “You didn’t. Just… needed a moment.”

Jane leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a knowing expression. “A moment away from Han?” she teases, tilting her head. “But you two looked pretty cozy out there.”

You feel your face warm. “It’s just conversation.”

“Uh-huh.” She hums, unconvinced. “Well, from where I was standing, it looked like he was about to kiss you.”

You sputter. “He was not—”

Jane waves a hand, cutting you off. “I’m just saying, I see the way he looks at you. And honestly?” She grins. “I don’t blame him.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it comes out weaker than intended.

Jane studies you for a beat longer, her expression softening. “But… that’s not why you ran, is it?”

You freeze for half a second too long.

Jane catches it immediately. Her grin fades, replaced by curiosity. “You got real nervous all of a sudden. Something—or someone—got you spooked?”

You swallow, forcing yourself to maintain a neutral expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jane narrows her eyes. “Uh-huh. You sure about that?”

You nod, maybe a little too quickly. Jane doesn’t press further. Not yet. But you know her well enough to realize she won’t drop it that easily.

Jane eyes you for another long moment before sighing and reaching into her small clutch. You watch as she rummages through it, her fingers brushing past a few cosmetic items before finally pulling out a small blister pack. She pops a single pill into her palm and hands it to you, then produces a half-full bottle of water like she knew this moment was coming.

“Here,” she says, offering both to you.

You hesitate, looking down at the pill in your hand. “What is it?”

Jane smirks, shaking the water bottle slightly to get you to take it. “Something to help you relax.”

You squint at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She laughs. “It’s nothing illegal, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just take it.”

You glance at the pill again. It’s small, pale pink. Harmless-looking. But then again, so are most things before they kick in. You look up at Jane, searching her face. “Is this how you handle your nerves?”

She grins. “No, I handle my nerves with tequila, but I figured you’d want something that won’t have you slurring your words in front of the hot-guy-with-extra-large-dick Han.”

You sigh, rolling the pill between your fingers. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you do need something to take the edge off. Your mind has been spiraling ever since you saw Chris watching you from across the room. Before you can second-guess yourself, you pop the pill into your mouth and take a sip of water, swallowing it down.

Jane watches you with a pleased expression. “Atta girl.”

You shoot her a wary look. “If I pass out in the middle of the party, I’m blaming you.”

She snickers. “Relax. It’s mild.” She leans in slightly. “Though, if I were you, I wouldn’t fight the feeling when it kicks in. Just let go and enjoy the night.”

You shake your head, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

Jane winks and wickedly smile as she says, “I'm your only friend. You can't get rid of me.”

She gives you one last knowing smile before tucking her clutch under her arm. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “Just… breathe, okay?”

You nod, watching as she turns on her heel and exits the restroom, her heels clicking against the tile floor. Once she’s gone, you exhale slowly, leaning against the sink. The pill hasn’t kicked in yet, but you tell yourself that you’re already starting to feel lighter—whether it’s real or just in your head, you don’t know.

A minute passes before you decide to leave. You straighten your dress, smooth out any imaginary wrinkles, and push open the door.

The moment you step out, Han is there, leaning casually against the wall just outside the restroom. His eyes light up as he spots you.

“There you are,” he says, pushing off the wall. He immediately hands you a drink, grinning. “I figured you could use a refill.”

You take the glass from him automatically, looking at him curiously. “Were you waiting for me?”

Han shrugs, his smirk playful. “Maybe. Or maybe I just happened to be standing here, looking ridiculously handsome, at the right time.”

You shake your head, chuckling softly. “Of course.”

He watches you take a sip of your drink before stepping closer, tilting his head slightly. “You okay? You disappeared on me back there.”

You hesitate for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Just needed a breather.”

Han doesn’t question it. Instead, he simply smiles and gestures toward the party. “Well, now that you’re back, should we rejoin the fun? Or…” His gaze flickers with mischief. “Do you want to sneak out and do something more interesting?”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t deny it. As you take another sip of your drink, Han effortlessly falls into conversation again, keeping the mood light, as if he’s completely oblivious to the weight lingering in your chest.

As you and Han continue chatting, a strange warmth spreads through your body—not just from the alcohol, but something deeper, heavier. Your skin feels hot, your heartbeat a little too fast, and the room starts to blur at the edges.

You shift on your feet, suddenly restless, and Han notices immediately. “Hey,” he says, reaching out to steady you. “You okay?”

“I just…” You swallow, trying to gather your thoughts. “I think I need some air.”

Without hesitation, Han takes your wrist gently. “Come on,” he says, leading you through the crowd. He navigates the party effortlessly, guiding you toward the balcony doors. The second you step outside, the cool night air rushes over you, making you sigh in relief.

Han watches you closely, concern flickering in his eyes. “Better?”

You nod, but the sensation in your body hasn’t entirely faded. There’s still this strange warmth, this unshakable feeling of being unmoored. You try to focus on Han’s voice as he talks, but his words blur together, fading into the background like static.

Before you even think it through, you murmur, “Can I just… lean against you for a bit?”

Han blinks in surprise, but his reaction is immediate. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Of course.”

He opens his arms slightly, and without another word, you step into his space, resting your head against his chest. His arms come around you naturally, holding you steady, and you melt into his warmth, snug against him.

For a moment, the world quiets. The sounds of the party fade into the background, replaced by the steady rise and fall of Han’s breathing.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice low.

You hum in response, your body finally relaxing. You’re not sure if it’s the pill, the drinks, or just sheer exhaustion, but right now, wrapped in Han’s arms, you don’t want to think about anything else.

A slow, melting warmth seeps into your body, and suddenly, it isn’t enough just to rest against Han. You need more—you need to be closer, to feel his warmth completely surrounding you. Without thinking, you shift, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

The scent of him—clean and subtly spiced—fills your senses, and you inhale deeply, a content sigh escaping your lips. Han stills for a moment, then exhales a soft chuckle, his hand instinctively running down your back in a slow, comforting motion.

“You’re really making yourself at home, huh?” he teases, his voice lower, more amused.

But you don’t respond. You just press closer, your head tilting up slightly. Han tilts his head down at the same time, and before you realize what’s happening, your eyes meet—so close, too close.

There’s a moment, a charged silence between you, a breath suspended in time. You can feel it—the pull, the inevitability of it. You’re not sure who leans in first, but suddenly, his lips are just a whisper away from yours, the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin—

And then, abruptly, the moment shatters.

A firm grip wraps around your wrist, yanking you back before your lips can touch. You barely have time to register the shock on Han’s face before you’re being pulled away, your body stumbling into a familiar, solid frame. Chris.

His grip is unrelenting, his body tense as he physically separates you from Han. “We’re leaving,” he says, voice clipped, leaving no room for argument.

You blink up at him, dazed, trying to process the sudden shift. “What—?”

Han straightens, his expression shifting from surprise to something more unreadable. “Dude, what the hell?”

Chris doesn’t answer. He just tightens his grip on your wrist, his jaw ticking. “She’s done here.”

Han’s eyes flick between you and Chris, and then he takes a deliberate step forward, his playful demeanor gone. “She can decide that for herself.”

You can feel the tension crackling in the air between them, thick and suffocating. Your mind is still hazy, your body still burning with lingering heat, but Chris’s grip is grounding—firm, possessive.

For a second, you’re torn. But Chris doesn’t give you a choice. He tugs at your wrist again, his voice dropping lower, quieter. “Let’s go.”

And somehow, even in your dazed state, you find yourself moving, following his lead.

Chris keeps a firm arm around you as you stumble slightly inside the elevator, his grip steadying you. His jaw is tight, his lips pressed into a hard line as he watches you from the corner of his eye. The tension in the small, enclosed space is suffocating.

"You really need to learn your limits," he mutters, voice low but laced with frustration. "Drinking that much? Letting that guy all over you?" He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You're lucky I was there."

You barely register his words, your body still buzzing, your mind clouded. You feel too warm, too restless. By the time he leads you outside and into the cool night air, you feel like you’re burning from the inside out. He opens the car door for you, his other hand resting on your back to guide you in, but you don’t move. You just stand there, staring at him, your breath coming in short, uneven exhales.

Chris sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Come on, get in."

"I'm not drunk," you murmur.

Chris lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Sure, you’re not."

His dismissiveness makes something snap inside you. Before he can react, you grab the front of his shirt, yanking him down to your level, and press your lips hard against his.

He freezes. His entire body stiffening. For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. And then, just as suddenly as you kissed him, you pull away.

Chris stares at you, his eyes wide, lips slightly parted. "What—?"

"I'm not drunk," you repeat, your voice steadier now. "But Jane—" you swallow, your body trembling with heat, "—I think she gave me one of her aphrodisiac pills."

Chris blinks. His expression shifts from confusion to disbelief. "You’re kidding."

You shake your head, but it's hard to focus when all you can think about is the way his body feels pressed against yours, the way his lips felt under yours just now—warm, firm, perfect.

"Chris," you whisper, stepping closer, your fingers fisting his shirt again. You tilt your head up, your eyes dark and needy. "I want you."

Chris swallows hard, his hands hovering near your waist but not quite touching. "You don’t know what you’re saying."

"I do." Your voice drops lower, your lips grazing his jaw. "I want you. I want you... all over me."

Chris lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening on your hips. His restraint is palpable, his whole body tensed like a wire about to snap.

You tilt your head back, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "So… how about we do another test tonight?"

Chris exhales sharply, his hands gripping your arms as if grounding himself. "No," he says, his voice strained. "Not like this."

You blink up at him, your body pulsing with need. "Why not?" Your voice comes out in a frustrated whisper, your fingers tightening around his shirt.

"Because you're not yourself right now," he mutters, jaw clenched. "I’m not taking advantage of you."

"Told you I'm not drunk. I—I'm just so horny," You admit with a shy chuckle. Getting no response from him, you huff, pushing him away with a frustrated groan. "Fine," you bite out. "Then I'll find someone who will."

Chris’s eyes darken instantly. "What?"

"If you won’t help me," you say, turning on your heel, "The hot-guy-with-extra-large-dick Han will."

You don’t make it two steps before Chris’s hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you back with enough force that you collide into his chest. You gasp, but before you can utter another word, his lips crash against yours.

The kiss is punishing—hot, deep, desperate. His hands grip your waist, pressing you firmly against him, his body heat consuming you. His lips move fiercely against yours, and you melt into him, moaning against his mouth.

When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His grip on you tightens as he growls against your lips, "Get in the fucking car."

Your knees feel weak, your body humming in anticipation. His tone is commanding, leaving no room for argument. Swallowing hard, you nod, breathless.

Chris releases a sharp breath, then, without another word, opens the car door for you. This time, you get in.

Chris barely gets the door closed before your hands are on him again, tugging at his jacket, desperate to feel him. He groans against your lips, backing you toward the bed as his fingers work hastily to unbutton your dress.

"You're impatient tonight," he mutters, his voice rough with desire.

"You have no idea," you breathe, yanking his shirt up and over his head. Your hands roam his bare chest, nails scraping lightly down his toned abdomen.

Chris lets out a sharp breath, gripping the fabric of your dress and pulling it down your arms, letting it pool at your feet. His eyes darken as they rake over your body. "You're unreal," he murmurs, his hands roaming your curves, fingers tracing the thin lace of your underwear.

Your hands move to his belt, but he beats you to it, unfastening it in one swift motion before shoving his pants down. His mouth finds yours again, his kisses feverish, almost desperate. He lifts you effortlessly, guiding you onto the bed, his body pressing down against yours.

"Tell me what you need," he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck, sending shivers through you.

"You," you whisper, tugging him even closer. "Now."

Chris shifts lower, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he trails kisses down your collarbone, his fingers tracing slow, teasing patterns along your inner thigh. His touch is light, deliberate, setting your nerves alight with anticipation.

"You’re already so worked up," he murmurs, his voice deep, laced with amusement as his fingers brush over the damp fabric of your underwear. His dark eyes flick up to meet yours, watching every little reaction, the way your breath catches, the way your fingers curl against the sheets.

He presses a single digit against you, just enough to feel the heat through the thin lace. "Tell me how bad you want it," he coaxes, but before you can answer, he pushes your underwear aside and slides a finger inside you, slow and deliberate.

A quiet gasp escapes your lips, and Chris smirks, drinking in the way your body tenses, the way your eyes flutter shut. "That good?" he muses, adding another finger, stretching you just right as he curls them slightly, hitting that spot that makes your hips jerk against his hand.

Your fingers dig into his bicep as he sets a steady rhythm, his thumb grazing against you in slow, lazy circles. "Look at you," he breathes, eyes fixated on your parted lips, the soft, involuntary moans slipping out with each movement. "So responsive..."

You bite your lip, barely able to keep yourself from begging for more, but he catches it, his pace shifting, pushing you right to the edge with expert precision. "Don’t hold back," he murmurs, his voice coaxing, hypnotic. "I want to see you fall apart."

Chris watches you unravel, your body trembling against his touch as waves of pleasure wash over you. His fingers never stop moving until you're spent, your breath ragged and uneven. He presses a deep kiss against your parted lips, swallowing the soft whimpers still escaping from you.

When he finally pulls away, you blink up at him, dazed, still reeling. But the hunger inside you hasn’t dulled—it’s only grown stronger. "More," you whisper, your fingers curling around his wrist, guiding his hand back to where you need him the most.

Chris chuckles, low and warm, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. "Greedy, mmh?" he teases, but his voice is thick with desire, betraying how much he wants this just as badly. He leans in, capturing your lips in another slow, lingering kiss before murmuring against your mouth, "I think it's safer if I put the condom on first."

He pushes himself up and gets off the bed, he goes to where your drop your bag on the floor, rummaging through your bag to find the box of condom inside and takes one before returning to bed.

Chris pauses, the condom packet crinkling between his fingers as his eyes land on you. You’re sprawled on the bed, legs spread apart, your fingers moving slowly over your clit while your gaze stays locked onto him. The heat between you both thickens, crackling in the space between you.

He exhales sharply, his grip loosening on the condom as he lets it drop onto the nightstand. His other hand slides down his toned abdomen, wrapping around himself, stroking lazily as he watches you. The way your breaths grow uneven, the way your body responds to the sight of him—it sends a dark thrill through him.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice husky, teasing. He gives himself a slow, deliberate stroke, his eyes darkening with something possessive. "Watching me while you touch yourself."

He doesn’t move toward you just yet. He wants to see how far you’ll take it, how much you crave him. And judging by the way your fingers move faster, your lips parting on a quiet gasp, he knows you want this just as badly as he does.

Chris continues watching, enthralled, as your body trembles and shudders under the pleasure you give yourself. Your breaths come out in soft, uneven pants, your fingers working you through your high while your eyes remain locked on him. The way you fall apart at the mere sight of him stroking himself—it sends a deep, possessive satisfaction coursing through him.

As your body relaxes from the waves of pleasure, Chris finally moves. He climbs onto the bed with effortless grace, settling beside you. His hand finds yours, his fingers curling around your wrist as he brings your trembling fingers to his lips.

Holding your gaze, he presses his mouth to your fingertips, his tongue flicking out to taste you. A low hum rumbles in his chest as he licks them clean, his eyes dark with something hungry, something dangerous. "So sweet," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "I could get addicted to this."

Chris keeps his heated gaze locked onto yours as he finally rolls the condom down his length. The way he handles himself—so sure, so in control—only fuels the fire burning inside you.

He reaches for your legs, his hands warm and firm as he lifts them, settling them against his chest. His lips find your calf first, pressing a lingering kiss there before trailing lower, his breath hot against your skin. His mouth finds your ankle next, planting another kiss there, unhurried, almost reverent, before he finally parts your legs just enough.

You feel the weight of him as he slips between, his thick length pressing against your cunt but not quite entering. Instead, he rocks his hips forward, the friction sending a slow, torturous pleasure through your core as he thrusts between the soft, slick heat of your thighs.

His grip tightens, holding your legs securely against him as he sets a steady rhythm, dragging his cock between your folds with each deliberate roll of his hips. The teasing sensation makes you ache, makes you crave more, but Chris doesn’t rush. He keeps his pace steady, his lips brushing over your ankle again as he murmurs, “You feel so good like this.”

Chris keeps his steady rhythm, his length gliding between your thighs, dragging against your swollen clit with every thrust. His grip on your legs tightens as he watches you, his eyes dark with hunger. The pressure, the friction—it’s all too much, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of release.

Sensing it, Chris suddenly lets go of your legs, spreading them wide on either side of him. His hands find your hips, and before you can even process what’s happening, he pushes forward, sinking his length into your entrance in one smooth motion.

The sudden stretch, the overwhelming fullness, and the way he fills you—it all crashes over you at once. Your body tenses before unraveling, pleasure slamming through you as you come hard around him, your walls fluttering and squeezing him tight.

Chris groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he stills inside you, feeling every wave of your release. His lips part, eyes locked onto your blissed-out expression as he murmurs, “That’s it… just like that.”

He stills for a moment, letting you ride out the aftershocks of your climax before he starts moving again, his thrusts slow and steady. He watches the way your body takes him, stretching to accommodate his size, your breath hitching with each movement.

But then, as he pushes his cock deeper, you let out a sharp whine, your hands gripping his arms. “Chris… not too deep,” you whine.

He freezes immediately, concern flashing in his dark eyes. Without hesitation, he withdraws just enough to ease the pressure, his touch grounding. “Better?” he asks, voice low, restrained.

You nod, your muscles relaxing beneath him. Chris carefully thrusts back in, this time slower, more measured, watching for any signs of discomfort. But instead of pain, a moan slips past your lips, your body adjusting around him.

His lips curve into a smirk before he leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, searing kiss. “You feel so good around me,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. He punctuates his words with another deep thrust, swallowing your moan as he kisses you again, his hands roaming, grounding you in the pleasure only he can give.

Chris moves with utmost care, his body pressing flush against yours as he fills you over and over again. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips tracing a path from your jaw down to your collarbone, lingering as if he wants to savor every inch of you.

You shudder beneath him, overwhelmed by the fullness, by the way he’s stretching you in a way no one else ever could. “Chris… touch me,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as his hand glides between your soft mounds, he fondles on the ample flesh before pinching on your nipples, drawing out sounds from you that make his eyes darken with need. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “Oh, this body—So fucking perfect for me.”

He kisses down your throat, across your chest, taking each of your nipple into his mouth and sucking on it hard, his lips trailing over every place his hands explore. The possessiveness in his touch sends heat straight to your core. He cups your face, forcing you to look at him as he thrusts deeper. “No one fits you perfectly like I do,” he whispers against your lips before kissing you slow and deep. “Just me. You’re mine.”

And with the way your body tightens around him, surrendering completely, you know you’re his.

Chris entwines his fingers with yours, pressing your hands above your head, pinning you to the bed as he keeps moving inside you. His thrusts are deep, deliberate—like he wants to make sure you feel every inch of him, to make sure you know exactly who’s making you fall apart.

Your body tightens around him, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as the pleasure coils inside you, building to an unbearable peak. He watches you, his gaze dark and intense, his own breathing ragged as he chases his release alongside you.

"Let go," he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with need. "Come for me."

And you do—your entire body arching, trembling beneath him as waves of pleasure crash through you, pulling him along with you. His grip on your hands tightens as he groans, his movements becoming erratic before he finally buries himself deep inside you one last time, his release following yours.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the warmth of his body still pressed against yours. Then, slowly, he loosens his hold on your hands, kissing each of your wrists before lowering himself to kiss your lips—soft this time, lingering, as if he doesn’t want to let go of this moment just yet.

The next moment, you find yourself lying on your side, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, your body still thrumming from the aftermath of pleasure. Your eyelids grow heavy, and just as you’re about to drift off, you feel the mattress dip behind you. Chris slips back into bed, his warmth immediately surrounding you, and without thinking, you instinctively snuggle against him.

Softly, you murmur his name, tilting your head slightly, searching for him in the dim glow of the room. He hears you—feels you—and before you can say anything more, his lips find yours. The kiss is slow, unhurried, a stark contrast to the intensity from earlier. You sigh against his mouth, guiding his arm around you, pressing his hand to your skin, silently asking for more.

His fingers trace gentle patterns along your arm, down your side, skimming over the curves of your body with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push—just touches you like he’s memorizing every inch, grounding you in his presence.

The soothing rhythm of his touch, the steady rise and fall of his breathing behind you, lulls you into a peaceful haze. As you begin to slip into sleep, Chris presses one last kiss to the back of your shoulder, his hold tightening around you, as if silently telling you that he’s not going anywhere.

You feel yourself sinking deeper into sleep, wrapped in Chris’s warmth, his touch lingering on your skin like a quiet promise. His breathing is steady, soothing, his hand resting on your waist as if he doesn’t want to let go.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know this was supposed to be about the product test. About business. About work. But none of that seems to matter anymore.

All you can think about is him—how good he feels around you, how perfectly he fits against you, how easy it is to lose yourself in him. And for the first time, you don’t try to fight it. You just let yourself fall.

Monday morning arrives with a heavy weight pressing down on your shoulders. The upcoming presentation looms over you, and as you go through your notes, tweaking last-minute details, the stress slowly builds.

Your lab is unusually quiet, everyone focused on their own work, but the tension is unmistakable. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself when the door swings open, and in comes Jane, carrying a tray of coffee cups.

"Morning, everyone," she chirps, setting the tray down on the nearest counter. She picks up one cup and hands it to you personally. "Thought you could use this before your big presentation."

You take it gratefully, the warmth of the cup grounding you. "Thanks, Jane. I really need it."

She grins, tapping your shoulder playfully. "You're gonna do great. Don’t overthink it. Just go in there and show them why you’re the best at what you do."

Your team murmurs their agreement, offering you nods of encouragement. You exhale, feeling a little lighter. "Alright. Let’s do this."

You stand at the front of the conference room, the large screen behind you displaying your carefully crafted slides. Taking a steadying breath, you begin your presentation, guiding the board through the development, research, and testing phases of your product. You're clearly nervous but you also can't deny that there's this spark of excitement inside you from knowing that Chris is here.

Everything goes smoothly—until one of the executives leans forward and asks, "Have you completed the product testing?"

You hesitate for only a second before answering honestly. "Yes, my team and I have conducted tests with about 20 participants so far. The results have come in at approximately 82 percent, but those results show overwhelmingly positive outcomes for the product."

The room hums with murmurs as the board members exchange glances. Another executive asks, "Only 82 percent? Is there a reason why it hasn’t reached full completion?"

You nod, maintaining your composure. "Some participants haven't finished all phases of testing yet, and we're still gathering long-term feedback. However, the data we've collected so far strongly supports the product's effectiveness and market viability."

There’s a brief pause before one of the higher-ups speaks. "So, based on the current results, do you believe the product is ready for the next phase?"

Your grip tightens slightly on the remote in your hand. You briefly glance at Chris, looking calm and composed. Turning back to the board, you lift your chin and respond with confidence. "Yes, I do."

The board members exchange glances, some nodding in agreement while others seem uncertain. They begin discussing among themselves, weighing the potential risks and benefits of pushing the product into production with only 82 percent of the testing complete.

You listen intently, your fingers subtly gripping the edge of the table as you wait for their final say. But then, Chris—who has been mostly quiet throughout the presentation—clears his throat.

"As the product manager," he begins, leaning slightly forward with his hands clasped together on the table, "I believe this product shows great promise, but I also think it needs more time to fully develop as a whole before moving to production."

His words hit you like a sudden chill. You blink, barely concealing your surprise as you turn to look at him. Of all people, you thought he would support you, not slow things down.

"Why?" One of the executives asks, shifting their focus to Chris.

Chris exhales, maintaining a calm but firm demeanor. "While the test results are positive, we still have incomplete data. Rushing production without that final percentage could lead to unforeseen issues down the line. I suggest we allow more time for testing to ensure we’re delivering the best possible product."

The air in the room feels heavy, charged with an unexpected tension. You sit there, frozen, staring at Chris as his words settle over the table like a cold gust of wind.

Needs more time.

You blink, certain you misheard him. But as you scan the room, watching the board members nodding along to his words, reality sinks in. You expected hesitation from them, some pushback—but from Chris? The one person you thought would support you?

Your fingers tighten slightly against the smooth surface of the table as one of the executives speaks up. "Mr. Bang, the data so far shows overwhelmingly positive results. What concerns do you have specifically?"

Chris remains composed, his expression calm and professional. "While the initial findings are promising, we're still missing a full picture. An 82 percent completion rate isn’t enough. We need to ensure the product works consistently across all test cases. If we rush into production now and unforeseen issues arise, it could set us back significantly."

You swallow, your pulse quickening. His reasoning makes sense, but something about this doesn’t sit right with you.

"But," you interject, keeping your tone even, "our projections show that the product is already outperforming expectations. The test subjects' feedback has been overwhelmingly positive. We could work on final refinements even as we prepare for production."

Chris finally turns to you, and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickers in his gaze. "It's not just about projections. We need certainty. If we wait and refine the product further, we’ll have a stronger launch, with fewer risks."

You press your lips together, your stomach twisting. Why does it feel like he’s shutting this down?

The board members deliberate, murmuring among themselves before one of them speaks up. "We appreciate your work on this, but we agree with Mr. Bang’s recommendation. We need to be absolutely sure before we move forward. Continue testing. We’ll revisit this in a month."

A month.

You inhale slowly, forcing a composed nod. "Understood."

The meeting adjourns, chairs scraping against the floor as people gather their notes. You stay seated for a second longer, staring blankly at the screen where your presentation once was.

You remain seated as the board members file out, their decision echoing in your mind like a dull, unrelenting thud. The weight of it presses against your chest, but nothing feels heavier than the quiet betrayal sitting in the air between you and Chris.

You glance toward the door, catching sight of his retreating back as he exits the room without looking at you. No explanation. No acknowledgment. Nothing.

Your fingers clench around the edge of the table. Disbelief lingers in your bones, tightening around your ribs. You never expected him—of all people—to be the one to hold you back. To stand in the way of your work. Your progress.

He should have had your back. Shouldn’t he? But instead, he shut you down.

You force yourself to stand, smoothing down your blouse even as frustration simmers beneath your skin. You don’t know why Chris went against you today. You don’t know why he suddenly acted as though this wasn’t something worth pushing forward.

You exhale, shaking off the uneasy feeling creeping into your chest. Maybe he’s just being cautious. Maybe this really is just about the product.

Maybe.

✨ The third chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page. ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @drhsthl @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @eastjonowhere @angstraykids @lenfilms @modesttiger @inniesfanblog @multi-fandommaniac @tirena1 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @thecutiepieme @nightmarenyxx @hanniebunch @hyvneluv

#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 #cocky series

670 notes · View notes

cutehoons02 · 3 months ago

Text

Would you like to recreate with me these spicy scenes?

University series: Heeseung Jungwon Jay

*pairing: pervy roomate Jake x vlogger/youtuber Girl

*trope: roomates to lovers

*synopsis: What if your nosy roommate named Jake Sim found a pack of Amazon and inside were "spicy" books you need to read and review on various social platforms? A disaster. Jake is the perfect roommate but underneath he’s a pervert and thanks to these books he has the chance to tease you, to poke you with his double-sided jokes and maybe give in to his advances.

*tags: A lot of tension, pervy Jack, a lot of humor, teasing, fluffy, kissing, sucking, mirror sex, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) minor don't interect +18, fingering, masturbation, cunt slapping,cowgirl, reproduction of sex scenes from a book invented by me, pet names (spicygirl, goodgirl) (golden retriever boy,pervy) jealousy, possession

(English is not my native language)

11k (🤍)

Having Jake as a roommate is not bad for you, he cooks when he has time for delicious dishes, respects the rules of washing dishes and cleaning the house, and always leaves his unmistakable scent of spicy but sweet tenor throughout the home. The only thing you can’t stand about him is how nosy he is in things that should not interest them, as it happened at this exact moment but let’s understand Jake is called by his friends "Golden retriever boy" and it’s in his nature to be curious...

Jake had just returned from the gym, still slightly sweaty, with his hair all messed up and a shirt he’d left on the couch as soon as he walked through the door. He was wandering around the living room with his protein smoothie in hand when he noticed an Amazon package on the coffee table, it was written that it was for Y/n but he was now used to discarding the gifts that made you the brands you worked with and each time he found: makeup, skincare, accessories and scented candles. He knew that it bothered you slightly when opening your things before you but by now you had made a habit of it, it was almost a year that you shared the apartment with that guy with the nerd and studious appearance but who also loved to have fun; He was very curious to see what was in that package and when he opened it he found 3 books, men perfect with bare chest but with masks on their face, women posing as languid and titles that seemed like they had come out of a fanfiction contest.

«The masked devil? Wait, what is this?» Jake raised an eyebrow, flipping through the pages. But it did not stop there now on Tik Tok you could find everything and you were a vlogger but you also talked about books in the #Booktok, he searched for the title of this to find out more and found himself catapulted into a universe of videos with animated reviews and quotes... spicy. This book was meant for an almost adult audience and when he saw the aesthetics he realized that it was about 4 guys who were called the "dark devils" and they all had 4 books with their respective "love stories" if you could call them so, But his curiosity hit him even more when he saw that only in a book there were a huge amount of spicy scenes and dirty settings where the protagonists did their thing.

«Wow, who would have thought that the literature student and vlogger with more than 500 thousand followers read this kind of stuff.» He said with a mischievous grin, starting to read one of the boldest scenes aloud for pure fun and to understand why TikTok videos had more than half a million likes.

Just then, you were coming back from your creative writing course at the university. You were wearing a light leather jacket over a plain top and faded jeans, but you stopped suddenly when you saw Jake on the couch. He was without his shirt where you could see all the well-defined muscles of the several hours he spent training and your eyes went down where you saw the V line where there were his Calvin Klein boxer shorts, wearing just a pair of sports pants and...nerd glasses? That made him even sexier and more innocent than the little innocent Jake could have; with a book in his hands, He was reading with an almost academic concentration the book that had sent you the publishing house to read and then to review in your various social platforms.

"What are you doing?!" you yelled in panic with your cheeks slightly red for the situation, while your eyes passed from the book to your roommate half-god and half-nerd.

Jake looked up slowly as if he had been caught in the act but with a smile so disarming that he seemed innocent.

«Oh, welcome back, Y/n, or maybe I should call you SpicyGirl from today. Is this your book?» asked, lifting the book to show you the cover with an inquiring air. «Interesting choice of readings, who would have ever thought that a literature student was encouraged to read these dirts, I thought you only read authors like Dante or Shakespeare that is a little more modern!»

You brought your hands to your face, blushing visibly.

You brought your hands to your face, blushing visibly. "But how dare you open my packages?! Give me back that book now! It’s the thousandth time I tell you that I don’t want you to open my packages and every time I come home like a puppy looking for something to snoop on you make other things"

Jake stood up, still holding the book. Wait, wait, you can’t leave me in the middle. The protagonist was going to do something with one of those riders in a pool and had just come to the description... ehm, graphic. You know, this stuff is instructive. Really.»

"Instructive?!" You went to him, trying to grab the book, but Jake raised his arm above his head, keeping it out of his reach. He was taller than you and with that cheeky little smile, he looked at your head to head and saw how red you were both because of the situation in the book but also because you were way too close and he: He wore only a pair of sweatpants and had his toned and sculpted physique.

«Well, yes» he continued with a sneaky smile. «I didn’t expect that Miss Vlogger, where you put all the colorful, cute videos of your trips with your friends had such a dark side... Dark romance, huh? I bet the next package when they see you have reviewed these things will be full of sex toys...?»

You hit him lightly on the chest. " If you don’t give me back the book right away, I swear that I’ll make you appear in one of my vlogs dressed as a character from Bridgerton and you know that I’m not kidding Jake"

Jake laughed, finally lowering the book to hand it. «Okay, okay, here it is, SpicyGirl. But I must say that now i'm curious. Why is a girl all cardigan, always nice, composed, and vlog read stuff so...spicy?»

Took the book with a quick gesture from Jake’s hand trying to regain composure.

"For your information, i'm an eclectic reader, this saga is the saga of the moment on Booktok and they sent me the first 3 books to read, sponsored them, and gave us a detailed review. And you’re a pervert! Next time, leave my packages alone."

Jake falls back on the couch and stretches a little with his hair slightly fluffy and that perverted smile, leaning on the armrest «Sure, sure. But you know,» he said with his head down, «if you need someone to discuss your... readings with, I’m here. That’s why we’re roommates, right? Helping each other, sharing moments of no and fun together!»

You were about to go to your room with the book in your chest. " Not even for an idea, i will share with you what i think of these books, if you are curious you will look at the review that i will publish in a couple of days. And put on a shirt, every time i see you you’re always half naked!"

«You say it, SpicyGirl, and stop being a saint in your books there are more scenes where the protagonists are naked than anything else, and don’t tell me that you don’t like what you see» Screamed Jake as you slammed the door of your room with all red cheeks but with a funny smile.

You were lying on the bed with the book in your hands. You agreed to review the novel at the request of your followers for weeks now, your fyp was flooded with videos on this book but you could not concentrate: each chapter was more intense than the previous one, and the idea of having to tell everything in front of a camera made you uncomfortable. You had already reviewed the romance with spicy scenes and you had no problems but it was the first time you were inspired by dark romance. Meanwhile, Jake was in his room playing online video games with Heeseung.

Jake was chuckling as he pressed the buttons on his controller "Dude, you’re dead for the fifth time. Your team will hate you."

Heeseung puffed in the voice chat << Ah, forget it. My head is elsewhere. My girlfriend is on the sofa reading a book... way too exciting and spicy. Yesterday while we were dining he made me see and read some scenes that there are in this saga of "devils" or "demons" with masks >>

Jake pauses, interested in the words of Heeseung. "Book? Wait... what kind of book?"

Heeseung laughed << You know, one of those super-popular dark romances on TikTok. With sensual covers, devils or demons, forbidden passion, blah blah. She’s obsessed with these things lately, when Cheerleader finishes training she eats and then she gets next to me while I play video games and she reads those books >>

Jake looked at Hee with a surprised expression "Wait a second. It’s called "The Masked Devil"?

Heeseung looked at Jake surprised << Yes, that’s it! How do you know?

Jake chuckled between himself and "Let’s say fate has made me read it. Y/n has to review it and by chance, the other day happened in my hand and I read some scenes. But... doesn’t it bother you that your girlfriend reads these things? I mean, don’t you feel... boh, competitive?"

Heeseung laughed openly << Competition? No, on the contrary! Sometimes we take inspiration from those scenes. You are pleased, and to me... well, it does not matter at all, do not take me for crazy but those scenes are described in detail that it is not difficult to be wrong and it is exciting >>

Jake looked at the gamer with surprise "Get a lead, huh? Like... replicates between you two?"

Heeseung laughed at Jake’s interest. << Exactly. Trust me, it works. >>

Jake leaned against the back of his chair, and some naughty thoughts began to spin in his head. The idea of you reading the same book strikes him differently now. He can’t help but imagine you in one of those scenes: vulnerable, passionate, completely lost in a moment of desire, and a mischievous spark illuminates his gaze.

"Interesting. Very interesting, Heeseung"

<< Why do you have that voice? What are you thinking? >>

Jake with an innocent smile took off his headphones "Nothing, nothing. Just... taking mental notes, you know how it is."

"Jake, whatever you’re thinking, i don’t want to know."

Jake closes the chat and leans to his desk. He looks at the wall that divides his room from yours. He can’t get the idea of recreating one of the scenes in that book out of his head. Not for someone else, but with you. A possessive desire creeps into him, making it difficult to ignore that thought.

You, unaware of Jake’s thoughts, continue reading. You were completely immersed in a particularly intense scene with your face flushed. Your door was ajar. Jake, coming out of his room on the pretext of going to the kitchen, noticed the light on and felt the silence coming from your room. Curiosity devours him. He approached slowly, peeking through the crack.

You were reading quietly and underlining the book a scene "Her hands wrapped around her life, pressing it against the wall with an intensity that made her tremble, N/t was now lost to S/b and S/b began to torture his neck and after a while kissed her with a dominant intensity..."

Jake opens his eyes wide, trying to hold back a laugh. He steps back and hands his hair. The sight of you so immersed affects him more than he wants to admit. Here comes an unhealthy idea: to provoke you and push the game a little further.

You went down in a cuina ready to make yourself a tea. Jake is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a casual look, but his eyes betray a mischievous spark.

Jake looked at you with a clever smile «Oh, but look who is the queen of reading. You like that boy disguised as a devil, eh»

You looked up and looked bad Jake "I’m working. It’s for the vlog and the book review of the month"

«Sure, sure. I work hard, I guess. That "pressing her against the wall with intensity" is pure literary analysis, isn’t it?»

"Did you spy again?" You felt your cheeks warm up and your hands on the cup became stronger and stronger because you were slightly angry with Jake, he raised his hands in surrender, but without losing his smile «No, no! You read aloud. And anyway, you should be careful with scenes that are so... engaging. You might inspire someone to emulate them.»

You looked at him exasperated but above all embarrassed " Stay away from my books. And my private life, Jake.

Jake came up with a playful look, lowering his voice and putting his head against your shoulder as you were turned around to not show how embarrassed I was but also to put sugar in your tea «I promise nothing, SpicyGirl. You know, you might be more interesting than I thought... especially if you keep giving me ideas like this...creative.»

The atmosphere in the Humanities department was lively as never before. In the corridors, students and teachers discussed the literary phenomenon of the moment: The masked devil. Some professors complained indignantly, calling the book an "insult to trees sacrificed in vain". Others, on the other hand, defended it enthusiastically, claiming that finally the general public could "explore the nuances of human desire".

You were in the middle of this chaos. You heard some of your friends talk about the book with excitement as Heeseung’s girlfriend, while others dismissed it as "pornography disguised for a sex-obsessed audience.

You didn’t want to look like a goody-two-shoes woman because you weren’t, you had also had half-adventures with some guys but you never tried certain things on the other hand, you didn’t want to rediscover as one who was excited only by reading a book and that you would want to redo all the scenes like a lot of girls but also boys wanted to do them with their partners

Lily: Y/n, when is your review coming out? I want to know what you think!

Sunaa: I read the book and I bet you’ll hate it. It’s too "spicy" for you.

Instagram follower (DM): "Y/n, please tell me you love the masked Devil! 😍 I want to know everything about that book and what you think, I bet you’ll like the second book too!"

The pressure was growing. Your agency had also sent several messages, pressing for a quick release of the video. You felt choked: if you said that you liked the book, some of your followers would judge you badly; if you criticized it, you would lose credibility with your audience. Why did you start reviewing books? you loved reading but this seemed so strained...

You were walking back and forth, biting your fingernail and clenching the book. Jake was in his room playing play. You heard the classic sounds of the joystick and the game in the background and some chuckle: he was probably talking to his friends Heeseung, Jay, and Sunghoon.

You take a deep breath and you know it was a bad idea, but you head to Jake’s room. Knocking quietly, almost hoping he can’t hear you but after a few seconds you hear Jake yelling «Come in».

You slowly opened the door and found him: lying in bed with a sweatshirt almost untied where you could see his toned body, pants of the suit, slightly wet hair because he had just taken a shower, with the nerd glasses intent on throwing some squints with a smile that lit up the whole room while maneuvering the joystick.

She leaned against the back of the bed «Y/n, my favorite roommate. What can I do for you?»

"I need... a favor," you said timidly

«I’m all ears, tell me what you need, Spicygirl.»

"The favor would be...this book." You showed him the book you had in your hand and Jake made a mischievous little sissy

«Oh, that book. Finally, you’re here to admit that you liked it?» You saw him pull himself up from the bed and sit down while he waved to you, sitting on the edge of the bed, and you went slightly embarrassed to sit down, always keeping a distance from him.

"That’s not the point. I need... help to figure something out."

Jake looked at you with a clever smile «I’m all ears.»

"The... you know, the... the "spicy ones." I wonder if... if they’re realistic or not."

God, you were so embarrassed to look at him that you looked at the floor

Jake almost choked on laughter as he heard what you just said «Wait, wait. Do you want me, your lovely roommate, to help you find out if the scenes in that book are replicable?»

"Yes. It’s business, Jake. My followers are expecting an authentic review and i would like to see if those attitudes or scenes can be recreated, some of my friends have recreated them with their boyfriends" you said whispering but Jake had heard you carefully

«So you want to do... field research with me? in plain words would you like to recreate it with me spicy scenes?»

"Don’t say that! You make me sound weird. I don’t have so many male friends, most of them are engaged or I know, I don’t have all this confidence instead you and I have lived together for almost a year and under I trust you, Jake"

Jake’s heart lost some beats when he felt that underneath you trusted him and with his usual golden retriever expression raised his hands in surrender and smiled at you «Ok, okay. Sorry. So, what are you thinking? A particular scene?»

"Maybe the one about kissing against the wall that you heard or stared at the other day" Jake laughed and got up from bed and you did the same thing. Jake approaches slowly, the smile becomes sweeter but with a spark of mischief in his eyes.

«Do you want to recreate the whole scene or what do I know only while I push you against the wall and then give you a little kiss?»

"I think... I think I want to recreate the whole scene"

«Perfect. For the sake of science, let’s see if we can replicate the magic.»

He comes even closer, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

«Are you sure you can handle me, Y/n? You know maybe you could find out that I’m better than that guy with the devil mask»

"I want to find out," Jake, you said looking him in the eye

Jake laughs, surprised by your answer, and stops for a moment.

«Mmm Y/n, you are more brave than I thought.»

"Please Jake, don’t laugh ok, we have to be professional"

«Laughing? Y/n, this is the most exciting moment of like Weekend!.»

Jake slowly approaches, putting his hand on the wall next to your head, and slightly pushes you with his body against his wall studded with posters of videogames and artists he loved. His breath is mixed with yours, and for a moment no one speaks. Then, with a gentle but decisive movement, it leans slightly at the level of your neck and begins to leave you small skin-hugging kisses above the lobe of your ear, At the neck up to go near your slightly noticeable shoulder blades thanks to the top cardigan you wore. You felt one of his big hands slightly clench a side to get even closer to him and when he heard that you were relaxing he started to torture the part of your neck leaving some kisses but at the same time left some small bites and sucked slightly the part Exposed of your neck gently. It was not rushed or exaggerated, but there was a controlled passion, almost as if Jake himself trying to interpret the scene of the book perfectly.

Little moans leave your lips shaking as Jack kept leaving a trail of light-feathery kisses along your neck and at the same time sucking and biting you slightly «God you have a delicious scent,spicygirl»

You detached yourself slightly from him and had no problem getting close to him and catching your lips with his. You were curious to hear how it was to have his soft lips around you, you felt Jake smile in the kiss when you started to return. It makes you feel bad but at the same time, it makes you feel good. And all this was supposed to be for science only, right?

Jake sticks his tongue in your mouth, eager to explore every crack as he had wanted to do for a while, ever since he first saw you walk into the apartment where you were supposed to live together.

The kiss was absolutely perfect and after a while, you broke off and there before you was Jake smiling at you and bringing a small lock of hair around your ear, it was too nice to be true with his hair ruffled, Lips slightly swollen from the kiss, and cheeks flushed.

«Here. Some scenes can be replicated without effort,» he said with a swaggering smile and strayed slightly away from you

"Yes, you’re right," You said looking at him as he lay down in his bed again

«If you need extra help for the sequel or other chapters, you know where to find me, spicygirl!»

You were sitting in your video corner, with the book in your hands. The camera is on, and the smile you show is the professional one of always, but there’s a streetlight of uncertainty in your eyes. The soft lighting of the set makes the atmosphere cozy.

"Hi everyone, here i’m with the review of the "Masked Devil".

The chat is immediately filled with comments from waiting followers, some asking for the most spicy details others are curious if you liked it or not.

"It’s a book... intense, I would say. Very passionate, with scenes that will certainly not leave indifferent and with much tension between the two protagonists.

You avoid going into details and it’s strange because your reviews are always so exhaustive, just describing the plot and your appreciation for the characters. But you never say what struck you the most.

Follower 1: "Y/n tell us the truth, did you like the Devil with the red mask?!"

Follower 2: "Don’t be vague, we want to know the hot scenes, which ones you liked the most, and which ones you would like to replicate in the future with your partner!"

You laugh nervously when you read the hundreds of comments you were getting "Girls, let’s just say that the red-masked Devil knows how to get attention, okay? I can’t say more, but I recommend you to read it if you are curious and you can also tell me what you liked"

The video ends with you smiling, but you know that you have not fully met your audience’s expectations. However, the vlog makes a boom of views: comments are divided between those who adore you for your class also because not all your audience is over age and those who criticize you for being too vague.

You wake up the next morning with the continuous sound of notifications on your phone. Blinking, you reach out and grab your phone. The screen is full of comments on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube.

Follower 1: "Y/n, the review was nice, but we want to know about SECOND BOOK! 😍

You sighed, with a hand in your messy hair.

You would go through the DM until you find a voice message from T/n, Heeseung’s girlfriend.

T/N (voice message): "Y/n, I saw your vlog! You were too shy, girl. I already read the second book, and trust me, it’s EVEN better. Certain scenes... wow. I’m just telling you that i and Heeseung tried the one on the kitchen table was so exciting😏"

You dropped your phone on the bed and the cheeks immediately inflamed.

You laughed a moment when you read that T/n message "On the kitchen table?! But they’re crazy!"

You can’t stop thinking about the fact that you and Jake only had a duplicate kiss, yet the effect on you was... devastating. The situation was definitely getting out of hand.

Jake was sitting on the couch, fiddling with not much belief on the phone. He had spent the whole afternoon trying to ignore that review video you had made, which kept walking around campus. " Be more yourself", "Y/n you have to tell us which parts you would like to replicate with your partner", "Y/n, in the second book you have to be more exhaustive because it is even hotter and we want to know what scenes you liked and didn’t." The comments were all like that, and Jake was wondering what it meant. She was already perfect as she was, damn it.

He was about to put the phone away when he heard footsteps on the floor and when he looked up what he saw left him breathless.

«What the hell»

You were standing there, by the door of the apartment. You wore a dress that looked sewn on you, a gift from some brand that wanted to exploit your image as a micro-influencer. The soft fabric embraced every curve, with a hint of a neckline that suggested more than it showed, while the side slit revealed an unexpected boldness. The hair was arranged in light waves, the makeup just mentioned, but enough to make you look even more luminous.

Jake swallowed, feeling his heart fail. Damn... he’s trying to kill me.

You stopped surprised by his reaction. It wasn’t the first time he saw you in a dress and you sunk at him with an innocent smile, but also a little amused.

"What? Don’t you like the dress?"

Jake got up from the couch, his hand in his hair, visibly agitated. His gaze glided over you, scanning you from head to toe. You were gorgeous, perfect, and... too provocative to go out like that, at least according to him.

«Y/n, can’t... I mean, do you really think you’re going out like this? This little dress doesn’t even cover your thighs completely, not to mention your bare back» he said with tight teeth, trying to keep calm

"Why not? It’s a dress given by the brand that sponsors the event. Must wear it, Jake and then at these events are all dressed in dresses like this"

Jake approached you, with a look that oscillated between frustrated and possessive.

Jake said in a low, rock-like voice, I’m not saying you’re not beautiful, because you are. Too beautiful. That’s the problem. I don’t want others to look at you as I am looking at you now.» You looked at him, surprised by his words. You didn’t expect such a strong reaction from him and you felt his cheeks blush, but you tried to stay calm.

"Jake, you’re impossible. And anyway, it’s not like everyone is looking at me."

Jake stepped forward, narrowing the distance between them. His smile grew more cheeky.

Oh, baby, they will. Trust my words but remember one thing Y/n,... Whoever is watching you tonight, I’m the only one who knows what it’s like to kiss you, and who could be better than that masked devil.»

You stared at him, eyes wide open and the heart beating wildly. You did not answer but Jake noticed the slight flickering of your lips and with a grin he walked away from you or else he was convinced that he would take you and lock you in his room and leaned back to the sofa, taking a deep breath.

«Go, go. Have fun. But not too much, eh?»

You shook your head, trying to ignore the heat that had taken hold of you. I took my bag, taking a last look at Jake before leaving.

"Don’t worry, golden retriever. I’ll be back safe." You said slightly laughing

Jake watched you disappear through the door with your heart still beating wildly. Golden retriever? He thought to himself, if he would find out what his sick mint was thinking about you with that succinct little dress you wouldn’t call him much Golden Retriever but something darker than maybe only in the books was described. But within him, his darker and more possessive side whispered: Safe and sound, yes. But you’re still mine and sooner or later your body will be mine.

Jake lay on the couch, PlayStation controller in his hands. He had just finished a game session with the boys, but instead of feeling tired, he was more agitated than ever. Every time he looked down at his phone, he hoped to see a notification: a message, a photo, something but nothing. He saw that you had posted stories while dancing with other girls while drinking a drink, and the photo of the place where you could see all Seoul.

His brain was a mixture of images: You in that breathtaking dress, your soft hair moving when you laughed, and that cheeky confidence he carried with him... mixed with his usual shyness. It was a dangerous cocktail that made him crazy.

To distract himself, Jake opened TikTok. He was streaming video to video, but his algorithm seemed to decide to torture him with clips of girls reviewing spicy books.

"If you loved the first book in this series, wait until you read the second. It’s even more spicy and intense."

Jake got stuck.

"Wait a minute..."

He rose from the couch, walking slowly towards the bookcase. There, tucked between a book and some university textbooks, was the second volume of that cursed saga. He took it in hand, studying the cover with a raised eyebrow.

"More intense than the first, huh? As if Y/n hadn’t already gone into tilt with that."

She couldn’t resist. She sat down at the kitchen table, opening the book in the chapter where the girl who had made the tik tok suggested a scene to how spicy. It was enough to read a few paragraphs to make him lift his eyes, almost incredulous.

"What the hell... this second masked devil doesn’t joke, he’s even more deranged and perverted than the first?"

Each page he browsed was more explicit than the previous one. Scenes of seduction, desire, and dialogue that seemed written to make anyone blush. Jake found himself biting the inside of his cheek, imagining Y/n reading these things.

He ran his hand through his hair, letting herself go against the back of the chair.

"And I thought the first one was too much for her. This will blow up."

But then, a new idea came into his head. Maybe... maybe Y/n would need help to deal with it. He had already had difficulties with the first one, even asking him to replicate some scenes to better understand. With the second book, the situation would be more intense.

A slow smile formed on his lips.

"I think your golden retriever is still available, Y/n."

He decided to close the book before letting go of too many dangerous thoughts. He put it back in its place, but could not shake the images that the words had evoked. God, there were scenes where he made his beloved feel good by fucking her with his fingers in a pool, against the wall of a theater that was not banned he was fucking or there was also a scene of two boys and a girl, who had definitely closed the book and started laughing.

When the clock was at one o'clock, Jake was still awake. He had read a couple of physics chapters to distract herself, then spent another ten minutes watching TikTok tutorials for a new skincare routine. But every now and then his thoughts would go back there, to Y/n, to the book, and to the night they shared that kiss.

Heard the apartment door open. Jake stood up and dropped his physics book on the table. His heart was beating fast you had no idea how long he’d stayed awake just to make sure I’d come back safe.

And above all... to understand how the hell he would deal with that cursed book.

You looked at him surprised when you saw Jake in his pajamas and his nerd glasses and there was a book of physics on the couch. "Are you still awake?"

Jake didn’t answer immediately. He came up to you without even thinking about it and hugged you. His arms closed around you in an instinctive gesture as if he wanted to make sure that you were really there, safe and sound; and that no boy had touched you. You stiffened for a moment, surprised by that gesture but then you released against his comfortable chest and Jake inspired your delicious scent of cherry and vanilla that every time he felt it went crazy. But just when the hug could become sweet and reassuring, his most possessive and provocative part came out. He looked away slightly, looking down at you with his eyebrow raised and a small grin that had formed on his lips.

«So? How was the evening?»

"It was a fantastic evening" I replied by sitting next to him. Crossing their legs and setting the hem of the dress aware of Jake’s gaze. "There were so many people! And I met the writer of "The Masked Devil". He even told me that he saw some of my reviews and in particular the one I put on his book a few days ago."

Jake tilted his head and looked at you. «What do you think? Does she like them?»

"Yes, she liked it. But..." you nibbled on your lip. "She said I should be more specific. You know, especially in the scenes... those more... spicy scenes. Now even the little girls are curious to know what it’s like to have experiences like this with boys and some scenes can be recreated as we did with the kiss that we gave each other..."

Jake smiled when he heard you talking about the kiss as you had enjoyed it too and surely thought of it much more than you should think.

«Have you already started the second book of the saga?»

You’re just getting stiff. "Yes... but I’m only at the beginning," you said avoiding your gaze.

«Oh yes?» Jake raised an eyebrow. «And where did you stop? By chance...» He paused dramatically, giving a sneering smile. «Did you stop at the scene where the Masked Devil makes his beloved feel good with his fingers? His fingers moved slowly, precisely, touching every nerve as if he knew my body better than I did. But after a while, he put another finger inside me and started pumping and cumming them and at that moment I lost my head. I don’t remember the words very well but in practice was that the scene true, Y/n?»

You looked at him shocked and your cheeks became even redder. "Jake! You... did you read where I stopped?" Your voice was a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief. "I told you not to touch my things!"

«I couldn’t resist» he admitted, laughing. «And then, admit it is an interesting scene.» He approached your body, his smile became more mischievous. «Would you... replicate it with me?»

You hit him again on the arm, but this time with more force. " You’re so perverted Jake, it’s not because we kissed now you want to replicate all those scenes"

Jake laughed, the sound deep and sincere. «Come on, I was joking!» Then he bowed his head, staring at you with a look that had a shadow of seriousness. «But if I wanted...I would be there.»

Jake got up and went to his room to start getting ready for bed with a little grin. Your heart was beating fast, and the room suddenly seemed smaller and you finally went to your room as well as your refuge but the writer’s words kept echoing in your head. "A girl like you should be more thorough. Maybe... try things too, to really understand how to tell them."

It was a tip that made you blush to the ears. You, try those things? You weren’t that kind of girl. You were shy but at the same time extroverted with people you knew and preferred to explore the world through book pages, not replicate scenes. Yet... Jake had shown you that some things weren’t so impossible.

You sat on the bed, staring at the floor. "Is it feasible? Can I do that?" You asked biting your lower lip. In the end, you sighed If you had to choose someone to try with, Jake was the perfect person. He was spontaneous and playful, and his protective side the golden retriever always made you feel comfortable, even when he acted slightly perverted or when he replied with double-sided answers.

While you were thinking, you heard the sound of water flowing from the bathroom. You got up without even thinking about it, still in the short dress you had worn for the event, and opened the bathroom door.

Jake was there, as every night, brushing his teeth. Bare-chested, low-waisted pajamas, and that air of not knowing how attractive he was. When he saw you coming in, he raised an eyebrow, the toothpaste popping out of his mouth in a funny smile.

«Hey,» he muttered, his voice slightly kneaded as he spoke with the toothbrush in his mouth. «What are you doing here? Do you need a mirror?»

You crossed your arms trying to mask the nervousness. "No, I just... wanted to talk about something."

Jake flushed his mouth and wiped himself with a towel, then turned to you with a disarming smile. «Talk? To me? At this time? It must be important.»

You avoided his gaze, staring at the sink. "I was thinking... of the book. The second book of The Masked Devil. "

Jake leaned on the furniture, crossing his arms over his chest. «Ah yes? The scene of the fingers, right?» he asked, in a mischievous tone.

You looked up, blinking him with your eyes. "Jake, stop."

Jake stared at you, the smile slowly spreading as the meaning of his words became clear to him. «Oh, I understand.» He stepped towards you, his eyes twinkling with fun mixed with something deeper. «Would you... repeat that scene with me?»

"I just want to see if... it’s feasible. Like in the book."

Jake came closer again, his body so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his skin. «And what part of the book do you want to replicate exactly?»

He asked, his voice becoming lower, almost a whisper. «The one where he makes her crazy with his fingers?»

Swallow with your heart pounding in her chest. "I don’t know," you replied, trying to keep my voice still. " It depends... on you, would you be willing or not?."

Jake tilted his head, looking at you with an enigmatic smile. Then he raised a hand and gently placed it on your side, sliding his thumb along the edge of the dress. «I am always available for you,Y/n» he said, the tone was playful but with a shadow of seriousness. «You must tell me. I won’t do anything you don’t want and if you feel uncomfortable just tell me and I’ll stop.»

"Thank you, Jake. Can we read it together for a moment and then replicate it?" Jake nodded yes and you went to your room and sat down, you with the book in hand and Jake beside you reading things under his voice did the devil masked with his girlfriend.

«Lie down Y/n, legs slightly on the edge of the bed.» You sat down as Jake suggested and felt his big venous hands between your hips pulling you slightly between the edge of the bed and gently but also slightly with possession Jake pushed up your dress lightly around your hips until he saw Your black thong and innately thoughts invaded his head. «You know that this is not a real game for me, Y/n?» Said yes with my head knelt slightly looked at the thong and said something you would not have imagined that sweet Golden Retriever nerd version had told you.

«Who would have thought that the good girl who does vlogger wear a thong also to go to an event of only influencers? Don’t tell me you’re a good girl because to my mind you seem a little slut who absolutely wants my attention and who asks shyly to be able to recreate some dirty scenes that you read in those books but now you’ll get it»

You heard Jake give you little kisses where there was that little layer of cloth and for you, it was a real torture because his hands were around your knees and he didn’t move them at all to put them in your already slightly wet pussy.

"Jake, please" Jake laughed at your insolence, where was the shy girl who filmed funny vlogs or who got embarrassed while reading those spicy parts in the book?

A hand of his slowly began to rise up to your thigh and his mouth started giving you small kisses around your buttocks, he bit slightly on your thighs to feel your sighs become more and more needy.

«Use your mouth to tell me what to do, baby, if you don’t tell me what to do I’ll stand there all night driving you crazy. You read what the masked devil was doing to his girlfriend a few minutes ago so, speak, Y/n» You took his defiant look and raised your eyes, slightly pulled your hair, and said: "Touch me please" Jake laughed because he wanted to ruin you.

«You have to be more specific»

"Oh my god, stop doing that to me. Touch me where you kissed me before you started torturing my buttocks" Jake was literally testing you and loved to see that underneath you were definitely a good girl because you didn’t want to say the word "pussy". When he pulled down your thong your clitoris was already wet and slightly slimy, Jake hisses in appreciation of the sight of your pussy, and let out a moan of pleasure in seeing you so needy of him, slipped a finger between your vaginal lips to surround your clitoris. «Holy shit, you’re so wet» You pulled your hair again, and with a smile without warning put another finger get into that tight pussy.

«You look so needy of me that you don’t seem a good girl» Put two big fingers in your pussy at once, up to the knuckle, and moan his name, "Jakey is too much" You heard his laugh and began to pump until you were accustomed to the length of his fingers inside you and as in the book that you had read before he put the third finger inside you and while pumping at the same time he bent and curled his fingers to make you feel All three of them. You were seriously ecstatic by the sensations you felt, the groans that came out of your lips, and while Jake looked at you so lost and excited for him with another finger she started to tease your clitoris and pinch it slightly to make you come only thanks to him.

"Jake, I’m coming" You felt his fingers pumping even harder and at the same time an adrenaline rush invaded you and white sticky, and slimy sperm invaded your pussy and Jake’s fingers, you tried to stand up slightly, But you felt Jake give you some light pussy licks and he took a finger close to his mouth and sucked it.

«Well, I can say that I have fulfilled your forbidden dream and that perhaps the things represented in those books can be really realized.»

Jake returns from a long day at the university. The living room light is off, but he notices your bedroom door closed. He knows you’re home because your shoes are by the entrance, but he hasn’t seen you for more than a few minutes or talked to you in days. He lets himself fall on the sofa with a sigh, passing his hand through his messy hair.

«What the hell did I do?»

Think back to that scene on the bed, his hand that drew circles on your skin, and when you moaned his name. At that moment he had found you relaxed, even comfortable with him. But now? Now you were avoiding all interaction with him. The idea that you might feel uncomfortable or, worse, disgusted with him haunted him.

You were lying on the bed, phone in hand looking for distractions between your friends' messages and your followers' comments. But Jake’s thought keeps coming back. Every time you close your eyes, you still feel the warmth of his hands and hate yourself for letting it happen. Not because you didn’t like it - in fact, it’s the opposite. You liked it so much that it was days before you fell asleep you remembered in your mind the kisses and how good they made you feel.

"Ugh, you’re pathetic."

You turn to your side, staring at the book still on its bedside table. That book has kindled something in you, but now you can’t even look at it without thinking about Jake and how the line between you two has faded too fast.

You were with some friends at the bar of the faculty and with the girlfriend of Heeseung and does not miss the opportunity to tease you.

T/N << Oh, you’ve already finished reading the second book? Or are you too busy "experimenting" with your roommate? >>

You choked on his coffee, blushing violently.

"Nothing like that happens!"

<< Sure, sure. It’s just that Jake doesn’t seem to be the type to quit easily. And honestly? He looks at you as if you were his favorite snack and we can also admit it is really sexy but at the same time has that sweet face that would make any girl crazy. >>

The other girls laugh, but you can’t get it out of your head. Maybe T/N was right. Maybe Jake didn’t touch you just for fun or curiosity. And maybe, your problem was that you didn’t mind the idea.

You came back late hoping to find Jake already in bed but instead, he was sitting at the kitchen table with an open physics book and a cup of tea next to it. When he saw you, he stood up immediately but did not approach.

«Hey,» you looked at him for a moment smiled at him, and then sat down on the sofa without answering. Jake moved slowly, sitting in the chair opposite her.

«Can we talk? you’ve been avoiding me for days and I miss spending time with you even just to have a cup of tea» he said looking at you like a puppy

"There’s nothing to say, Jake. I miss spending time with you too but" didn’t stop you talking as he came closer to you.

«Yes, it is. Y/n, if you want me to step aside or... find somewhere else to stay I can go to Jay or Sunghoon, I understand. But please don’t ignore me like that. You’re driving me crazy.»

You looked at him, surprised by his frustration. There was sincerity in his eyes, and the knot in his throat loosened a little when he heard you speak.

"I don’t want you to leave." Jake relaxes slightly, leaning on the back.

«Okay, then help me figure out how not to ruin everything with you?»

You laid your hand and stirred his slightly long tuft and smiled at him.

"You never ruined anything, Jake" and you hugged him timidly feeling your heart beat.

After that argument with Jake things seemed to be "normal" between you two. You were sitting on the couch with your laptop on your knees, pretending to be working on a new video for your channel. In fact, your ears were tuned to the noise coming from Jake’s room where he was getting ready to go out and when he did, your heart skipped a beat.

Jake wears a black shirt with slightly swaggy sleeves and jeans that fit him perfectly. The hair is in a studied disorder, and the perfume he put on seems to fill the whole apartment. When he sees you, he leans nonchalantly against the wall and smiles in a cheeky way.

«What do you think? I’m presentable enough to get the attention of some girls?»

You looked at him for a moment, trying to look indifferent, but you felt a squeeze in your chest. It’s too good. Too much. And the idea of other girls touching him makes your blood boil.

"You will definitely impress someone. I would say too much."

Jake raises an eyebrow, amused by your tone, and approaches the couch. He bends slightly, looking straight into your eyes.

«Jealous, Spicy Girl?»

"Jealous? Of you? Pff".

«Oh, so you don’t care if someone tries to kiss me tonight?»

You’re a little stiff, and Jake doesn’t miss the slightest change in your expression. He enjoys too much to see how badly you hide him.

"You do what you want, it’s your life. I bet you’ll get in trouble and call me."

«Ah, so you think of me when I go out with my friends. Interesting.»

You stare at him with defiance, but inside you, there is a storm. Every fiber of your being wants to tell you to stay, but your rational mind blocks you. Jake comes even closer, lowering himself to your ear with his low, warm voice.

«For the record, there will be no one like you this evening. You know, in case you were wondering.»

You feel the heat rising to your face, but it refuses to give way.

"Go, Jake. I’m sure your "friends" are waiting for you, you don’t want to be late". You said coldly

Jake retracts, but the cheeky smile remains on his lips. He puts on his jacket and heads for the door, taking one last look at you.

«Try not to think too much about me, okay?»

And with a quick nod, he leaves the apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You let yourself fall on the couch, your heart beating fast and a mix of anger and... something that you don’t even want to admit to yourself.

After a few minutes, you were seriously angry with yourself and so you wrote to Heeseung’s girlfriend if she wanted to surprise him and presented you at the place where they had gone then about an hour later you entered Armleaved with T/N, in a black cocktail dress, Elegant but with a touch of sensuality that makes you feel confident. You have carefully chosen your accessories and your hair is smooth and frames your face, with a loving smile you approach the group of Heeseung and Jungwon, who welcome you warmly, Complimenting you on your outfit but your eyes are fixed on Jake who is talking to a girl and seconds later as if he felt someone was looking at him, Jake turns slightly and sees you laughing with Heeseung and Jungwon’s girlfriends but his eyes were glued to your body.

«Fuck. What the hell is she doing here, dressed like that? It’s not possible. It didn’t have to be so... all show. Those clothes that show more than they should» he thinks to himself, Jake stands up sharply, interrupts the conversation with the girl, and walks firmly towards you. He doesn’t greet you like a normal friend, not even as a normal roommate. There’s something different about his attitude. He is not only curious or worried. He is angry and possessive.

You turn around, smiling as he approaches, but when you see him closer, your smile shakes a little. Jake is about to say something, but he stops for a moment, looking at you once more. His breath is heavier, and his eyes stare intensely at your body as if he wanted to possess you with the look.

«So, this is your game, huh? Let everyone around you see... Wearing (gesturing with the finger in the direction of his dress) this piece of cloth?» you were slightly surprised but a small smile made its way into your mouth.

"Jake, what’s the matter with you? I was bored at home and I wrote to T/N if he wanted to come with me to this club where his boyfriend was also there. I’m alone with the guys, you don’t have to be so..."

«It’s not them I’m talking about, Y/n. It’s you. You didn’t have to be so pretty and show yourself like that.» Jake ran his hands through his hair and even his tongue passed between his lips slightly cracked from the cold. You smiled and went to T/N’s to talk and after a while, with the careful look of Jake and Heeseung you were down on the dance floor Jake never left you with his eyes and after 10 minutes he was tired of this situation and came up to you and took you slightly by the hips and whispered. «Want to get some fresh air, Spicy Girl? The place is getting too crowded for you.»

You knew it was an excuse to take you out of the club and I said no with my head but he took your pulse slightly and started walking towards the exit

"Jake, what... what are you doing?"

He looked at you with a bold and dangerous smile, making a gesture towards the door. «You’re too perfect to be here. I want to take you home. I see how they look at you, how they want you. But you are not made for them. You are made for me. And now, come with me.»

Jake does not wait for an answer. He grabs you with delicacy, but with the force that leaves no doubt. At that moment, his mind is on fire. It is not only the physical desire that drives him but something more. A visceral need to have you all to yourself, without more interference, without more third-party players.

"Jake, but I..."

«Don’t talk, Y/n. Come with me. I want to show you something. I want to make you feel what I read. I want you to understand how much you’ve been driving me crazy for months now»

When you arrived at your apartment, you took off your shoes but after a few moments, Jake trapped you between the wall behind you and he put his hands on your hips, pulling you to himself. You felt dizzy, was it really happening?! put a finger on your chin and raise your head. He loved the expression of your red face, and your trembling lips and eyes. You were so scared, but at the same time so excited and you could see that you had just done it to make him jealous and to get his attention. Jake presses his cock against your dressed pussy, smiling as you instinctively push your hips against him and groan, noticing your reaction, Jake slowly rubs his dick against your clitoris again, and you moan in his mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck and put your hands on Jake’s muscular shoulders, your nails sticking into the skin still wearing your shirt and feel your dress pull up, Making you hiss and groan for the cold air that hit your legs and your sensitive pussy. Jake pushed his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth at will while you rubbed gently on his jeans-clad cock.

He heard how wet you were by putting your palm between your panties and wanted to drive you crazy «Fuck, you’re even soggier than last time. Bet when I was out training or class you were touching yourself thinking of me, right, y/n» you annulet slightly and a grin took hold of Jake’s face. «Let’s see if I’m even better than that masked devil, turn around and sit between my legs, I want to make you come like in that scene where he fucks his girlfriend in front of the mirror» obey Jake’s request feeling too excited to answer. He pulls you closer to him by the hips and starts playing with your clitoris, rubbing incredibly slowly. you have leaned towards him, turning your head to hide your face in his neck, but he grabs your jaw and forces you to look at yourself in the mirror. You pushed slightly over his cock and felt how hard it was but your concentration was on Jake’s fingers around your pussy.

«Look. Look how pretty you are while I fuck you with my fingers in front of the mirror, who knows later how it will be to see you not only in front of me but also thanks to the mirror reflection take my dick as a good girl» lowers your panties and looks through the mirror while Jake spreads your wet folds, showing you your swollen clitoris and tight hole. " Jake, pls" was embarrassing to see, so you tried to close your legs, but Jake was quick to use his other hand, forcing you to open your legs again.

Jake shoves two knuckles into your pussy and starts pumping in and out of you at a steady pace, you’ve never felt anything like this before, No one had ever shown you how excited I could be and was full of emotions, especially in front of a mirror where you saw all excited and Jake’s fingers pumping at an incensing rhythm; It was both too good and too overwhelming, but you couldn’t ask Jake to stop even if you were terribly embarrassed to see you like that, not when you were feeling so high at the time.

«Holy shit people are right to say that those dirty sex scenes can be replicated, Y/n after this session you can tell everyone how excited you were but the problem is that these things you can do only with me and with no one else» pressed her thumb against your clitoris, surrounding it. Your back bowed as you tried with all your strength not to moan loudly "Jakie, pls is too nice" Jake pushes his fingers deeper inside you and hits a specific point, Start moving your fingers faster but keep hitting that spot you love so much. He made you crazy and as he fills you with his fingers feel his cock rubbing more and more against your ass and feel how Jake was holding back so that it didn’t explode immediately. Use your other hand to massage your clitoris at a much, much more violent pace than last time. You moan her name, louder than ever until you hear your clitoris pulsate. The sight of you two being lost like that in front of the mirror made your head spin. He pulled you incredibly closer to him, kissing you along the neck as both his hands worked on your pussy: One touched you and the other abused your clitoris until you came Jake put his hands to his mouth and started sucking it and the reflection you saw was so perverse, you completely out of your mind, Jake with the ruffled hair, His lips full, his fingers full of slimy cum, he who carried his fingers to taste your sperm and after a while brought a finger around your lips and licked your own semen.

Jake made you relax a little bit but after a while, he felt his cock too hard push against his jeans, turned you around and his lips never left your skin for even a moment, sweet noises of kisses rang in your ears. You get a thousand chills when you feel Jake lower the straps of your dress and you’re dead skin until it reached your breast and started with one hand to tease him and gently squeeze him instead of the other sucking your already terribly hard nipples. " Jake, I need you. I don’t care at all to recreate those scenes, I just want you right now" Jake growled in a low voice when he heard this confession from you and slightly pushed his hips to get his jeans and at the same time his boxer shorts, you were sitting between his legs and his hard cock was banging lightly against his V-line, it was big, a little red and full of liquid and you licked your lips at the sight of him so vulnerable but at the same time excited thanks to you.

«Do you trust me, Y/n?» you said yes with your head, he pumped some of his cock, the muscles of his arm swelled up with every movement and you were enchanted to see his big hands veined around his dick.

When it entered inside you a loud cry came out of your mouth, tears stung your eyes as you felt tense only by its tip that slid in. " God is so big, Jake. put your hands on me his hips I want to hear you all" Exhalaste, the eyes that lowered to check, Jake put his big hands on your hips. You were panicked, the head that turned when you saw how much length he still had left. Jake whimpered at your narrow walls that swallow him so well and when he brought you closer to him, you felt all his cock inside of you and it was a wonderful feeling You got up slowly and after a while, you started riding it with the same succinct dress that you had put on to make it go away, Your breast flashed slightly to every push that you took the cock of Jake and with one hand held you by the back and with the other he clutched a breast and with the mouth sucked your nipple. You felt every inch of him, the way he pulsed, the way he grew incredibly bigger each time your walls were tightened, the way he effortlessly hit all your sensitive points: you could feel everything about him. Your head began to spin, whining for the pleasure that was beginning to overwhelm you.

"Jakey" whimpered, leaving little suckers in his neck. he hummed in response, shivering every time your walls were tightened on him. "Faster, give me faster." He panicked, Jake, his body stiff as he stared at your dazed expression. He pushed his hips and his dick even more deep inside you Whatever you want, baby, you’re taking it like a good girl. Turn your head and look at you riding my dick» You were slightly still a little embarrassed by the situation but when you turned I saw you so overwhelmed with Jake’s cock pumping inside of you while you rode it like in the scene of the book.

You shivered, whining as deep as it was coming. You could hear the thick head of his cock knocking on your deeper walls, stomach almost swollen from the pressure. " Jake please", you whiny, "it’s too much for me."

«You’ll come for me, y/n? do it, baby. let me see... let me see how good you are to me as you come around my dick.» Jake was dizzy, his eyes were focused on the way your face writhed nicely or the way your boobs bounced off each push, or the way your hair fell on your face, He had imagined this scene a lot of times when he read by chance that scene in the second book.

«Fuck», sighed Jake, the shivers passed through his body. could feel your walls writhing and huddling around him, munching his cock greedily. He kissed your neck, «just a little more, okay?»

Before you could ask him what he meant, his hips had already started moving, setting a brutal rhythm from the beginning without letting you rest. " Fuck! Fuck, Jake!" you sobbed, trembling sensibly.

In the midst of the brutal rhythm, you could feel Jake’s cock pulsating deep inside you, signaling his own orgasm. you screamed, leaving more scratches on his chest, trembling when you felt his sperm cover your walls. Jake stayed inside you for a while and when he pulled out the white sperm dripped all over your walls, hugged you to himself and gave you small kisses on the forehead and in the slightly sweaty hair, He felt how your heart was beating fast and so did he.

Morning light filtered gently through the curtains, creating soft reflections on the room. You woke up slowly, with your body still wrapped in Jake’s warm embrace, he was beautiful with his hair ruffled, lips slightly open and his arms clinging to his chest, he was like a big adorable puppy... an incredibly sexy puppy. You moved slightly towards him and, without thinking too much, you put your lips gently into his. Your mouth sought his in a gesture of affection that you did not know exactly how to explain, but that seemed to come from the bottom of your heart. You tried to move slowly, but Jake made a small roar and pulled you even closer, holding you as if you were his favourite pillow.

«Don’t go anywhere... you’re too comfortable.»

Laugh, have fun. It was amazing how he could be so irresistibly tender even when he was awake. You caressed his hair gently, as he sank his face into the curve of his neck.

"Jake, you’re like a giant koala. How can I move if you hold me like this?"

Jake finally opened an eye, looking at you with a sleepy smile but a cunning smile

«You can’t. That’s the plan. I’ll keep you here forever!»

I hope you like it:) I had a lot of fun writing this one-shot about Jake. I think he is one of the easiest members to write stories with for his character that comes out through the en-o-clock or various videos about him.

835 notes · View notes

helioooss · 3 months ago

Text

i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won’t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#kpop x reader #karina imagines #karina x reader #karina #aespa x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #jimin x reader #yu jimin

498 notes · View notes

taylorswiftstyle · 7 months ago

Text

MTV Video Music Awards | September 11, 2024

Dior Resort 2025 Lorraine Schwartz earrings Stuart Weitzman ‘Ultrastuart Maverick Leather Boots’ - $1,550.00

Dior’s latest cruise collection was an ode to Scotland and the house’s first runway show held there in 7 decades. Creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri said of her inspiration, “Scotland is an important reference in the fashion world and I wanted to interpret it in a different way. For my generation, it’s so associated with punk.” The result was an offering full of voluminous skirts, dramatically cinched dresses, and hourglass jackets rendered in historically accurate tartans and, indeed, set off with certain punk sensibilities thanks to studded leather accessories and clompy buckled boots.

The VMA dress code typically leans towards the wacky and the outrageous. Hence why Taylor has felt comfortable appearing in alphagetti soup baby onesies (aka The Incident, circa 2014). I’ll put it on record again and again that I may pull a face at that look (and still do, a decade later) but I will always appreciate a risk (relative to the wearer). Fashion should be fun!

The collection filters Scotland’s most historic women into its fabrics. Namely, Mary Queen of Scots: a fiery Sagittarius woman I’d like to think Taylor might feel kinship with. During her years of imprisonment in England by QEI, Mary would insert veiled - often political - symbols into her embroidery. At one point even the phrase, "In my end lies my beginning" was embroidered into her state's clothes. Doesn’t that feel, “In the death of her reputation, she felt truly alive”?

In his review of this Dior runway, Mark Holgate for Vogue described the collection as one that “drew on the geopolitics of fabric[s …] and the way [Mary] gave political commentary through her embroideries.” He described the series as full of “defiant beauty and an equally defiant energy. It felt uncompromising. But then maybe women can’t afford to be anything but that, especially now.” If a possible connect, I admire this evocation in the wake of Taylor’s major political endorsement. Especially given Chiuri worked with the iconic Harris Tweeds for their artisan, loomed wool. This teed her up nicely for an onstage call to action to remind viewers to register to vote.

All-in, this felt like a cohesive night of looks to underpin TTPD’s aesthetic. The runway’s interplay of proportions and bustier-like top are very TTPD - sensual, emboldened, playing with what to reveal and what to hide. A look that’s dark academia adjacent.

I do find the biker gloves (also by Dior) confusing and I’m searching for insight on their ‘why’. At the Grammys, I could buy into the ‘Albatross’ reference in her black elbow-length gloves. These? I’m still trying to make sense of. A straitjacket allusion, perhaps? Were I to make some styling tweaks, I would have removed the gloves, opted for the coordinating tartan shorts from the runway, and changed the boots out to an equally tall but caged style to tie into the patterned effect of the ensemble.

Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris via Getty Images

#taylor swift #award #dress #accessory #shorts #jewelry #shoe #dior #stuart weitzman #lorraine schwartz #september 2024 #mtv vma

519 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Cut Deep

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bad news brings the worst out in Logan. [reader is a mutant who can see emotions]

Characters: Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

Note: since this is my first time writing this character, I'd especially appreciate some extra feedback

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“So, me and Scott just wanted to let everyone know we chose a date!” Jean is ecstatic. You can feel her happiness radiating from her. Despite how often you try to block those vibrations out, hers are so strong, you can’t. “And we’ll send out the invitations soon. Be sure to RSVP! And we know you all can make it because it will be right here at the mansion.”

She beams as Scott drapes his arm around her shoulders. They are such a cute couple. Perfect. Everyone on the team loves them. Well, everyone except for the one person roiling with black clouds of spite.

You glance over at Logan as he stews by the door. He stands with his burly arms crossed, his biceps straining in his leather jacket. He glares at the happy couple and curls his lip. Everyone also knows that he has a rotten infatuation with Jean, too. You feel bad for him really.

He catches you staring before you can tear your eyes away. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. You quickly look away and swallow. You get up and go to Jean and Scott.

“Congrats, guys,” you smile, “let me know if you need any help with planning.”

“Thank you. Of course,” Jean smiles as Scott echoes her.

You make room for another well-wisher and back away, basking in the good energy all around. Well, mostly. You feel Logan steaming still but you refuse to look at him. You know how he gets when he’s upset. You don’t need to be able to see into his mind to know he’s pissed off.

As the room converges on the happily engaged couple, you opt to leave before the noise can get too much. You’re always a bit more sensitive with the extra effort of trying to block out the sounds that you don’t want to hear. It’s like a buzz on the other side of a wall. If the door cracks open, it will all blast in like a sonic wave.

You go into the library and reclaim the book you set left carelessly open on a leather armrest. It’s a history of mutants written in the 1700s. A secret tome Professor Xavier collected among his endless search for compatriots, both past and present.

Some you know from the history taught in schools for non-mutants. Like the queen accused of witchcraft or the countless people executed for the very same. Emperors who’s legacies are chalked up to folktale and superstition over the reality of their beings.

You sit up as you sense the shift in the air. That greyness seeps in before the door opens. You know who it is already yet you’re surprised to see him enter. Logan scowls as his eyes pinpoint at you. His rage continues to burn hotter and hotter.

“Oh, hi,” you close the book, “sorry, did you need the library--”

“I need you to stop tryna poke around in my head,” he growls.

You flinch as you stand slowly, “I... I don’t do that. Those are the rules. I stay in my own.”

“I saw you staring,” he accuses.

“I just looked. I could... feel. That I can’t control,” you explain. “Sorry.”

“Feel what? Huh? What do you think you know?”

You clear your throat and shake your head. “Nothing, I don’t know anything.”

“Damn right, you know shit all, little girl,” he stomps over to you.

You gulp as you stare back at him. Logan, Wolverine, X-Man. He’s one of the most admired and well-known mutants alive but that’s all you know of him. You’ve seen him hundreds of times in the mansion, but only in passing. He never wanted to talk to you, only Jean. As far as you knew, he didn’t even know you existed.

“That’s correct,” you agree.

You peek down at the book in your hand. You should put it back. You sniff but as you go to turn, he rips you back by your upper arm. His grip is steel. You face him and wince as he squeezes enough to make your bones ache.

“You think I’m what? Some pathetic creature that’s slathering over another guy’s girl?” He barks.

You shake your head, “nope. No. I wouldn’t... know.”

“You fucking wouldn’t,” he grits, his fingertips pushing into your tender arm. You let out a squeak. “Me? What about you? Always around. Riding her fucking coat tails. All for what? Cause you can tell when I’m having a bad fucking day. Every day is fucking bad.”

You stare at him. A vein bulges in his forehead, another in his neck, and he’s slightly red with his fury. You don’t understand why he’s mad at you. Well, people often don’t aim their emotions in the right direction. Often, there’s too much for them to feel and it just spills over.

Logan’s aura deepens to a thick black. Darker and bolder than anything you’ve ever witnessed. It tendrils around you as you squirm. You clasp onto the book and try to wiggle free as the blood throbs in your arm.

“Ouch. Please, let me go. I wasn’t meaning to--”

“You’re never going to be her. You know that? You won’t even be an X-Man. You’re just one of Charles’ pets.” He reaches for the book and rips it from your hand. “He keeps you in your birdcage and you flutter around and read these stupid things.”

He tosses the book onto the floor and steps closer. You step back and whine. He keeps on until you’re against a shelf.

“You’ll never be her and I’ll never have her,” he grits out. “So, we’ll compromise.” He grabs your neck and you writhe and whimper. “What do you feel now, huh?”

A wisp of red tinges the black fog unfurling from his broad shoulders. More anger but something more. Lust. Love is a delicate pink or a pale purple, but lust is a deep and lurid crimson. Mixed with his rage, it is something more. It’s a tainted hue.

“I can pretend. You should try to do the same.”

“Please,” you press your hands against his stomach.

“Don’t try that shit,” he drags his other hand down your arm and puts his knuckles to your side. He lets his claws out just enough to jab you. “You can’t get in my head. Professor made well sure of that.”

You squeak and shake your head, “I wouldn’t-- Logan, please--”

“Shut your damn mouth and pull your pants down. I ain’t got all day,” he snarls.

“What?” You bat your eyes as they glisten. “No, no, what are you--”

His claws poke you again, easily piercing your shirt and scratching your skin. You lean back into the shelf as you peel your hands away from him. He glowers at you as he releases your neck. He crowds you in as you wait just a moment longer, hoping, wishing he would go.

You lower your hands cautiously. You drop your gaze, humiliated. You shake as you hook your thumbs under your waistband and push your leggings down. You gulp as your eyes tingle.

He grabs your shoulder and spins you to face the shelf. You let out an oomph as you catch yourself against the books. He trails up to the back of your neck and pinches. You squeal into a sob. Your disbelief bubbles to horror. You brace the wood as he yanks on your panties.

“Fucking girl,” he mutters. “Lookin’ at me... what d’ya fucking know?”

“Logan--”

“Stop saying my goddamn name.” He shoves your head so it hits a shelf and you groan. Ouch.

You close your eyes and lean your forehead on the wood. Jean says you need to breathe. Centre yourself. It’s hard when you’re terrified.

You inhale, taking in his emotion, his anger, even a tinge of that other desire that drives him so slap your ass. He digs in his nails as you babble. You gather the black cloud and blow it out.

He hisses and recoils as it ripples off of you like fire. He growls and as you go to turn, he sweeps your feet out from under you. You flail as you fall, landing on your elbow so it throbs. You whine and roll onto your stomach. You drag yourself over the floor as he clutches his head and snarls.

“I told ya not to try anything,” he barks.

“Please, please, I didn’t do anything.”

He steps over you and falls to his knees. He straddles you as you claw at the floor, pushing your toes down as you try to escape him. He swats the back of your head so hard your vision blurs. His anger darkness the room and disorients you.

You’ve never felt anything so intense and you feel everything. Love, joy, pain, grief, confusion... fear. His anger strangles you as he forces your head down to the floor, leaning his weight on his head as he pins you.

He raises himself on his knees and shifts. You kick out, thrashing your arms. You open and close your hands and clamp shut your eyes. You can do it. Take his anger in--

You scream as you’re scalded by the corrupt energy pouring from him. No, it’s too much. You’re not ready. All that training and you’re still weak.

You murmur at the floor, “no, no, please, no...”

He traces his hand down your ass and forces his fingers between your thighs. He feels around roughly, scratching your as he flicks along your dry folds. You gulp and heave. Your tears swell in an unstoppable flow.

You slap your hands on the floor and tense as he prods around, dipping a thick digit into your cunt with a grunt. Your legs distend and you push your toes down. He delves, in, out, deeper, harder, smashing into you.

He rips his hand away and you whine again. He leans over you, his hand stretching across your skull entirely. You can feel his strength in your neck. He bends, hot breath scalding your scalp with the flames of his wrath.

You weep as he brings his tip along your flesh and guides it around blindly. He puts more weight onto your head as he stretches you around his tip. You shriek and jut your arm out straight, the edge of the rug curling in your grasp.

“Help, someone! Help--”

He grabs your head with both hands and slams it into the floor. The reverberating impact fractures your voice and thoughts. He rams his hips down and impales you around his thick cock. You murmur as spittle leaks from your mouth and tears continue to smear your face.

He thrusts, holding himself at his limit and well past yours. He grips your skull tighter and tighter with each tilt. He huffs and puffs, growling and groaning as he tears you up from the inside.

Finally, he releases your head. The metallic shink of his claws cuts through the delirium of physical and mental anguish. The pain in your bones can’t compare to the dagger of his anger piercing through your soul.

He stabs his claws into the floor on either side of your neck. The adamantium grazes your skin, keeping you still for fear of cutting deeper. You wheeze and go rigid as he rears back and slams down harder and harder. His flesh clasp louder with each cruel descent.

The black cloud creeps over the floor like heavy fog. It crawls up the walls as a glimmer of red weaves through it. He ruts deeper and deeper, the motion jarring you so that his claws scrape away the skin at your neck.

He bends over you, curling his shoulders as you feel him tense. He exhales as the blackness covers the ceiling and casts you into shadow. You reach to grasp at his claws, slicing your palms helplessly as you cling on.

He thrusts until you feel him in your guts. Once, twice, several time with all the hatred he can summon. He growls and trembles as he spills into you, a heat hotter than even his boiling rage.

Your hands slip from his claws and you spread your bloodied palms on the carpet. You quake in horrified sobs. He buries himself as he lays his entire weight over you limply. He puffs as he dislodged the metal from the floor.

He hangs his head next to yours and sneers, “it shouldn’t be him, Jean.”

You hold your breath. You can’t speak or move for fear of reminding him what he’s just done. Or worse, reigniting his assault.

He groans and slides out, flipping off of you to sit on his ass. He rests his arms on his bent knees and sighs. You watch the black haze dim to a dull grey. He’s still angry but he can contain it. The storm has calmed but it's far from over.

#logan howlett #dark logan howlett #dark!logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #fic #wolverine #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #x men

400 notes · View notes

shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

Text

Needs Must III

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

WC: 2.2k

TW: frottage into outercourse, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie. explicit smut.

18+ MDNI

“Hey, John—” and choke back a yelp when you realize that the person standing in front of you isn’t Johnny, but the one man you haven’t seen in months.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Despite your shock, a sound of disgust escapes your lips involuntarily, causing him to chuckle. Ghost walks past you, brushing his bicep with your shoulder, and heads to the living room to take off his leather jacket, placing it on the backrest of your couch— and the gloves follow. You stood behind him, arms crossed, curling your socked toes nervously into the soft fibers of your carpet.

He leisurely rolls up the silky satin dress shirt sleeves, exposing the intricate tattoos adorning his forearms. Without turning around, he softly says, “C’mere, pet.” His deep baritone voice pulls at your heartstrings because it’s been so long, you missed him more than you’d like to admit. With a deep breath, you attempt to steady your racing heart, your gaze fixed on the ground, and slowly approach him.

“Oh?” and he tips your chin up with his finger, demanding your attention, noticing his amused smile. “Johnny fuck you into submission, er somethin’?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you’re unsure if it’s out of embarrassment or anger.

“Don’t look surprised. He’s my best friend.” Spluttering, you heatedly ask, “And what? Y’all just gossip like old hens over ‘work’?” finger quoting the last word. With a cheeky grin, he casually shrugs his shoulders. “Somethin’ like tha’. If you worried, he gave you a glowin’ review,” the grin turns into a slight sneer, “bastard.”

Ghost gives you a once-over, sweeping his eyes from your feet to your head, and holds your gaze for a second, then murmurs, “Come.” With a gentle yet commanding hold on your wrist, he pulls you towards the bedroom, and you’re reminded of the times he pinned both of your hands onto the bed with his large one— sending a very familiar ache between your legs. He sits you on the edge of the bed, toes his shoes off, and starts to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing the strong muscles of his chest and his soft, slightly round stomach. He doesn’t even bother removing it fully, instead, he reaches for the waistband of your shorts. You extend your leg out, firmly pressing your dainty foot on his sternum, keeping him in place.

He stills, and you speak before he gets a chance to. “What’re you doing here, Ghost?” His heavy, dark gaze is unwavering, entrancing. “‘M here f’you. You didn’t honestly think tha’ I’d let you keep callin’ Johnny instead o’me?” He encircles your delicate ankle with his long fingers and pushes your leg to the side— the other hand taking the hem of your skirt, dragging it up until it bunches around your waist, and slots himself between your spread thighs. Lips brush against your cheek before moving up to your ear. “What is it? He treat you better than me?” His warm breath sends a shiver down your spine. Instead of waiting for a reply, he catches your earlobe with his teeth, nibbling on it. Your hands promptly fist the sides of his open shirt, mewling at the pinch of his bite. “Hm?” he questions as he grinds his clothed erection against your center.

You’re lightheaded from the sound of his voice, the heat of his body seeping into your skin, the smell of his cologne— a woody aromatic fragrance, all of it so fucking intoxicating. He delivers a sharp, stinging slap to the side of your thigh, demanding your attention, and it sends a jolt straight to your dripping cunt— making it contract around nothing. “He fuck you better than I have?” You give him a vigorous shake of your head, and a needy moan spills from your mouth as he gives your core a particularly hard thrust, the hard metal of the zipper rubbing against your clit. You begin to grind your hips down onto him and move one hand from his now very crinkled shirt, to hold on to the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You boutta come all over my trousers, baby?”

And then his hands are on your waist, firmly keeping you in place. You whine loudly, you were so close—

“Then why did you stop seeing me?” Your head is so heavily clouded with arousal, drunk off of him that the answers tumble out unwittingly— mind solely focused on getting the friction back where you need it most.

“I wanted you all f’me,” slurring your words, “Guess the hand y’always used to choke me with kept the blood from flowing t’my head—” your rambling is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours, tongues entangling. He swallows all of the salacious noises you let slip, drinks them in, makes them his— makes you his. When he pulls away, you find yourself gasping for air. With a raspy voice, you mumble, “I thought you—” and he silences you with another hungry kiss.

“I only kiss what’s mine.” He hooks his thumbs into the band of your knickers and pulls them off, throwing them somewhere behind his shoulder. He swiftly undoes his trousers and steps out of them along with his boxer shorts. “Let’s play a game of Simon says, pet.” He maneuvered your hands to grab under your thighs, keeping them spread for him. Leaning forward, he leans on one arm, using the other to press the head of his cock on your puffy lips, holding it in place with his thumb. He slowly thrusts up, making sure you feel every ridge and vein against your swollen clit, “And I say, you come f’me, just” thrust “like” thrust “this.”

You push your hips down when he pulls back, up when he drags his thick cock up, delicious friction on your bundle of nerves. Every roll of his hips gets you closer to your climax, your pussy dripping slick down to your perineum. Your thighs start to tremble in your sweaty hands, body tense. “Oh my god. Ohmy—”

He shifts his weight from his arm to lean on his elbow, heavy body flush against yours, pressing you into the bed— fisting your hair and pulling it taut, tilting your face up to his.

“It’s either my name or none at all.” He punctuates the syllables with his thrusts. “Si - mon.”

Releasing your thighs, you dig your nails into the sides of his waist, grip tightening at your impending orgasm. Simon grunts a low, gravelly sound. “There they are. My kitten’s sharp claws,” one more thrust, then again, he moans, “Come f’me, baby.” And you tip over the edge. Anything he might’ve said after is completely muted either by the ringing in your ears or the wail that clawed out of your throat. Collapsing, you twitch and shake in Simon’s arms, taking in ragged breaths.

“You with me?” giving him a weak nod. Slowly, he pulls away, and there’s clear, stringy liquid dripping from his tip connecting to the hood of your pussy. He moves you to lie in the middle of the bed gently, body completely limp, plain dead weight, then walks to your nightstand. “What’s with all the lambskin condoms?”

A soft, relaxed sigh slips out of you. “Johnny’s allergic to latex, I had no idea. Had to go without one the first time.” Simon lets out a drawn-out hum, then drops the protection back into the drawer. He shrugs off his damp satin shirt, then gets on the bed, crawling over you— covering your body easily with his, and prods his bare cock at your entrance.

“But you’re mine now, aren’t you? Gonna let me take what’s mine?” Swallowing thickly, you look at him, and his eyes are dark, glittering— gaze intense. Maybe you took too long to answer because he starts to slowly push the tip in, and hisses, “You’re mine, only mine. Got it?” and your tight, rippling walls stretch around his invasion. Your breathy moan is cut off when he bottoms out, flared head firmly pressing into your cervix. He’s at a dead end, and he grinds down, almost like he’s trying to push it past that, feeling a deep pinch at the entrance of your womb. The pressure is punishing, incessant, you swear you can feel him in your throat. “Nod if you understand,” he snarls.

You do as he says, no commands, nodding with messy, jerky movements. “Good girl.” He relents, pulling back to sit on his haunches to press one leg into your bed and hook the other over his shoulder. Wordlessly, he sets a fast pace, but his thrusts are shallow, in a staccato rhythm— and fuck him, because he knows precisely where to hit. Ruthless prodding against your sweet spot, over and over again. It feels like jabs to the underside of your bladder, and every tap makes that feeling sharper, acute. Oh no. Nono—

You know exactly what’s going to happen. Your eyes glisten with tears, cascading down your cheeks, as the overwhelming sensation takes hold, and with every thrust, it only becomes more concentrated.

“Awh, my poor pet. Feels tha’ good, does it? Look at you, cryin’.” You can't find it in you to be even the slightest bit humiliated because you’re about to lose the last of your sanity, he’s about to break you. You can’t even control the shrill moans Simon all but punches out of you.

“Oh, I’d recognize tha’ cross-eyed look anywhere.” He chuckles, “C’mon then. Make a mess f’me.” His thrusts are unyielding in his pursuit of what he’s about to make you do. “Squirt f’me, pretty.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body locks tight, and this time you scream. Liquid warmth floods in between your legs, drenching yourself, your bed, Simon— but you don’t care. There isn’t a single thought in that empty head of yours.

Simon was languidly thrusting, fucking you through the aftershocks until a wavering breath escapes your lips, mirroring the shaky tremors that are currently rippling through your body. As he leans in, his lips softly caress your face, wiping away any stray tears that remain, and the spit that drooled out of your mouth. “You did so well f’me.” Your eyes widen at the feel of his solid, heavy cock still at full mast inside of you.

He changes position, this time hooking the other leg over his shoulder, then gives you one soft thrust and you distinctly hiss, oversensitized. Simon presses your knees into you with his body weight, pinning you down fully, with no escape, and loops his arms underneath your torso to grab onto your shoulders— and starts snapping his hips viciously. A merciless pace, each slap of his hips against your ass making your pussy squelch obscenely, and there’s nothing you can do other than take his assault. It is unbelievable, how just seconds before were squirming away from him because of how tender you were, and here you are, about to fall over another mind-numbing edge.

“If you want me to come, then squeeze that tight cunt and wrench it out of me.” He pounded into you harder, the headboard of your bed furiously smacking against the wall that you know there’ll be cracks on it. Crying out, he continuously hits the deepest part of your pussy, and you come undone. Vision darkening, you’re slammed with wave after wave of pleasure, your walls squeezing him so tight, you’re strangling his cock and he makes a choked sound.

“Oh-of, f-fu-” he lets out a low, drawn-out moan that lasts all four last thrusts— before his hips stutter, and finally still, spurting thick, sticky white ropes of cum into you.

—

The room was echoing with both of your heavy inhales, desperate to fill your lungs with air. It was humid, smelt of sex and body sweat. Simon grunts as he turns to his side, getting off of you, and the sharp gasp of air you intake is comical.

“Am I tha’ heavy, love?”

You look like you’re tittering on the edge of consciousness, but snort and answer him. “Yes. Obviously. The only thing small about you is your humility.” He gives a belly laugh and leans in to give you one last sweet, tender kiss.

“Go to sleep, love. I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow, maybe meet some of my friends.”

“You mean Kyle and John? They’re very nice.” He falters because what? But you were already softly snoring.

Stretching his arm across the nightstand, he swiftly retrieves his phone and a mischievous grin spreads across his face upon seeing a text from Johnny from hours ago.

Ya really answered her text on my phone pretending to be me. Pussywhipped.

You really told her you’re allergic to latex, when you use latex gloves to cook.

Oof. Fair.

And you’re gonna explain to me why she knows Gaz n Price.

Jus’ sharin the love, Simon.

Sucking his teeth, he puts his phone underneath the pillow, and loops an arm around your waist, pulling you to him. With a tender kiss on your sweaty forehead, he drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

A/N: ngl i was fighting for my life? shit had me aroused. oof. im def writing price and kyle into this because 141 til i die. maybe a könig? unsure.

@rookiesbookies KYLE COMIN NEXT

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon ghost x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost smut #cod smut #simon riley smut #call of duty smut #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader smut

2K notes · View notes

velarisdusk · 5 days ago

Text

Ashes Beneath the Sky

Azriel x Reader

summary: Rhysand and Feyre call for a mission to ambush the Autumn Court's reinforcements, a dangerous strike in the midst of war. Despite Azriel's insistence that you stay behind, you can't resist sneaking along. word count: 4.8k content: [ violence, death/killing, blood/gore, weapons, verbal conflict, explicit language, war themes ] author's note: here's my first 1k celebration one-shot completed!! very exciting this was super fun to write, i always love a good enemies to lovers >:) ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ shadowed elixir infused with a veil of dreammist enhanced with echo leaves & sage smoke shaken thank you @moonlitscrolls for the request, and i hope you love it!! <3

The war room was cold. Stone walls, dark and unrelenting, swallowed sound and light alike. The faint scratch of pen on parchment seemed deafening in the silence, broken only by the occasional muttered curse as Azriel packed his gear. He moved with purpose, fingers tightening leather straps and fastening blades with sharp, decisive clicks.

Rhysand stood near the head of the table, Feyre beside him, both reviewing maps and scrawled notes littered with ink-stained marks—territories, routes, and troop positions. The war with the Autumn Court had worn them thin, skirmishes breaking out across the borders. Keir’s attempt at hiding his alliance with Beron from Rhys had turned the Hewn City into a pit of scheming nobles and lurking threats. The mission Azriel was preparing for, a covert strike to cripple supply lines, could decide the outcome of the next battle.

“If our forces can hold the northern pass, we’ll have an opening here,” Rhys murmured, tracing a path along one of the maps. “But if Beron gets those reinforcements in…”

“Our volunteers won’t last against a fully supplied army,” Feyre finished grimly. “We’ve already lost too many Illyrians. If this drags on much longer, we won’t have a choice but to start pulling from the cities.”

Azriel said nothing, methodically tightening the buckles on his chest holster.

“That’s why this strike has to succeed,” Rhys added, his gaze sliding toward Azriel. “We can’t risk Beron cutting us off.”

“Which is exactly why I should be going.” Your voice was quieter than you intended, but firm.

Azriel didn’t stop packing. Didn’t even look up. “No.”

Feyre shifted slightly, glancing between you both. “You’ve been working with Keir’s scouts,” she offered. “Your intel could be valuable out there.”

“And I’ve trained for this,” you added, stepping closer to the wartable. “I can handle myself.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, a long, sharp breath. “I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?” You crossed your arms. “Because you’ve already decided?”

Rhys’s gaze flicked between you and Azriel, sharp with warning. Feyre’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t speak. Rhys shifted his stance, lifting a hand from the table—a quiet, firm signal for you both to stop.

“You two need to figure this out yourselves.” He closed one of the maps with a flick of his wrist. “Feyre and I need to speak with Keir before tonight’s meeting. We might be able to distract him, convince him there’s an internal dispute brewing near the southern border. That way, he won’t have as many eyes on you when you move.”

Rhysand straightened, midnight black suit immaculate despite the hours spent in war planning. The faint silver threading in the lapels of his jacket caught the dim light, mirroring Feyre’s subtle silver accents—matching symbols of their station. Feyre tugged a white fur wrap tight around her shoulders, exhaustion briefly flickering in her face before she steeled it.

“Don’t take too long,” she added, and without another word, they left, the heavy door groaning shut behind them. Their absence left a weight in the air, thick and oppressive.

Azriel finally turned, shadows curling faintly at his shoulders. “I think you’re not ready for this,” he said flatly.

Your chest tightened. “That’s bullshit.”

His gaze hardened, but there was something worse in it—something dismissive. Like you weren’t even standing there, like you were nothing more than a problem to manage. A burden.

“This isn’t about you proving yourself,” he said, voice low and clipped. “It’s about you not getting in the way.”

The words landed like a slap, but it was that look that stuck. That cold, distant stare ignited something sharp and furious in your chest.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I won’t get in your way.”

You turned before you could see the flicker of regret in his eyes, before you could catch the way his fingers flexed at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you, held back only by the weight of his pride.

The cold air bit hard as you stormed out, but the ache lingered—that sharp knot of hurt coiled tight in your chest, impossible to shake. And fury simmered beneath it, bubbling hot and fast. You barely noticed the icy wind slicing against your skin as you stalked through the stone corridors, Azriel’s words chasing you with every step.

Not ready. Not good enough. In the way.

Your teeth ground together. It wasn’t the first time he’d dismissed you like that, like you were just some liability he had to account for. Never mind the nights you spent bent over maps, cross-referencing Keir’s movements and Beron’s supply routes. Never mind the months you’d spent training, pushing your body past exhaustion because you knew what you were capable of. Because you wanted to prove it—to Feyre and Rhys. To yourself. To him.

And yet somehow, it was never enough.

The memories burned hot as you walked. The way he’d intercepted you on scouting runs like you couldn’t handle yourself. The sharp retorts whenever you suggested a strategy. The quiet conversations with Rhys where you were excluded despite knowing just as much as anyone else. He was always watching, always waiting for you to fail.

Like he expected it. Like he was ready for it.

By the time you reached your quarters, your pulse was still hammering in your throat. You shoved the door open, barely noticing the sharp thud as it swung shut behind you. Restless energy rushed beneath your skin, and you started pacing—short, furious strides across the room. Your hands flexed uselessly at your sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if you could wring the frustration from your bones. But it didn’t help. Nothing did. The words, the dismissal, the way he looked at you—it all burned, a wildfire you couldn’t put out.

You hated him. Hated the arrogance in the way he always assumed he knew better. Hated how he never seemed to see you for anything other than a liability, even when you’d proven yourself time and time again. Hated the way his eyes always seemed to look right through you, as if he expected you to fail—expected you to need him. And yet, despite everything, that damn look in his eyes kept flashing through your mind, the way he could say the most cutting things and still make you ache for his approval. You hated how he made you feel like you were standing at the edge of something you weren’t sure you wanted but couldn’t stop staring at.

And maybe that was why you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your pack in the corner of the room. Maybe that was why you checked your boots, ensuring the dagger strapped to your ankle was secure.

You weren’t planning to follow him. Not really. But if you did… you wouldn’t be reckless. You wouldn’t be stupid.

Just careful. Just close enough to make sure things didn’t go sideways.

That’s all.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The narrow pass was slick with ice, jagged rocks jutting from the frozen earth. Shadows clung to the mountainside, swallowing the path in near-blackness. The wind howled through the trees, and you barely felt your fingers as you crept between frost-coated branches.

Azriel and his team of Night Court soldiers had moved ahead, their dark forms barely visible in the distance. You kept your steps light, your breathing measured. The frozen bark scraped your palms as you braced yourself against a branch, easing forward with deliberate care.

You told yourself you were only observing, only here to make sure nothing went wrong. That you weren’t doing this to spite him. That you weren’t doing this to prove him wrong.

The truth twisted sharp and bitter in your chest. Maybe you were trying to prove something. Maybe you wanted him to choke on his own words, to shove your success in his face after he’d written you off so easily. The memory of his voice still rang in your ears: “It’s about you not getting in the way.”

Fine, you thought coldly. I won’t get in your way.

…

Unless you need me.

But right now, it didn’t look like he would.

Azriel’s forces swept through the path with deadly precision—fast, organized, efficient. Their attack was measured, seamless. Blades glinted in the dim light as they descended upon the enemy, a small convoy of Autumn Court soldiers caught off guard. Their wagons were heavy with supplies for Beron’s forces. You barely caught flashes of movement before bodies crumpled to the ground, the clash of metal ringing through the air. The night came alive with the crackle of fire as one of the wagons was set ablaze, then another, flames licking at the sky.

Azriel himself moved like something out of a legend, swift and devastating. His wings flared wide as he leapt from the rocks, plunging into the fight with ruthless elegance. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. Every strike was fluid, every movement calculated. His blade sang through the air, cutting down one attacker after another. The grim set of his face never wavered. No strain, no struggle. Just calm, relentless focus.

You shouldn’t have been watching him like that, not with your chest tight and your pulse a little too fast. But Mother above, he made it look effortless, like this was all just some intricate, deadly dance.

He didn’t need you.

That fact settled uneasily in your stomach. You shifted your weight against the tree, gaze flicking between his soldiers, searching for some gap in their formation, some opening where you could make yourself useful. But there was nothing. They had it handled.

Then you saw him.

A figure perched in the trees, not far from you, face half-shrouded in a dark hood. The crossbow in his hands gleamed faintly in the cold light, bolt lined up with unnerving precision. His target stood directly below.

Azriel.

Your breath stilled. The archer’s fingers flexed on the trigger.

You moved without thinking.

The branch groaned beneath your weight as you lunged forward, boots scraping against the bark. The archer’s head snapped toward you a split second before you slammed into him, both of you tumbling from the tree.

Branches tore at your clothes as you fell, the cold burn of wind biting your face. The ground struck hard, ice and dirt scraping your palms as you hit. The archer landed just feet away, crossbow forgotten, but his dagger was already flashing free.

You barely rolled in time to dodge the first strike, the blade slicing through the air so close it whispered against your skin. A flash of pain seared your arm, shallow but sharp. He snarled something vicious, lunging again—faster, harder.

You twisted, grabbed for your own dagger, but he was already there, driving you back with relentless precision. Not flawless. There was desperation in his movements, a rawness that left openings. But it was enough to keep you on the defensive. His face was young, eyes wide with fear and fury. But beneath that, there was something harder, something forged by violence and war. Just someone’s son, thrown into a conflict that had nothing to do with him. A weapon shaped by circumstance, not choice.

And you would be the one to end him.

You raised your arm to block, the dagger glancing off your forearm with a sharp, jarring impact. The pain shot up your arm, but you pushed it down, not allowing yourself to lose focus.

He came at you again, this time aiming for your side. You managed to twist away, the tip of his dagger scraping the edge of your ribs. You gasped but forced yourself into action, grabbing for his wrist, keeping him from following through.

He attempted another strike, but you had just enough time to grab the dagger at your ankle, catching his wrist with it. You twisted it just enough to disarm him, but as his blade fell away, his other hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip.

You fought against him, the cold metal of your dagger pressing against his wrist as you tried to break free. His free hand grabbed your forearm, forcing your dagger down with brutal pressure. You shoved against him with all your strength, but he pushed back harder.

Panic clawed at you, cold and blinding—but you shoved it down. You weren’t going to prove Azriel right. Not here. Not like this.

With a twist of your body, you managed to kick at his knee, forcing him off-balance for just a split-second. It was enough.

You twisted your wrist free and, in one smooth motion, drove your blade clean through the front of his neck.

His breath caught, a wet, choking sound. Blood gushed hot over your hand, spilling down your sleeve as his body jerked once, then went limp.

He crumpled forward, and you shoved him off you, breath ragged, chest heaving. The cold bit at your sweat-damp skin as you stared down at the still form beside you, at the gory mess you’d left behind.

The crunch of boots on ice snapped you back to yourself.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Azriel’s voice—low, sharp—cut through the haze. His hand clamped around your arm, and in one swift motion, he yanked you to your feet. It was like nothing, like you weighed nothing at all in his grasp. His face was tight with fury, breath still heavy from the ongoing fight.

“Saving your ass,” you shot back, yanking free of his grip.

His gaze flicked down—to the blood staining your hands, to the body still sprawled in the snow.

For a moment, his expression faltered. You weren’t sure what you saw in it. But then that cold mask slammed back into place.

“Stay out of my way,” he said flatly, and turned without another word.

You stood there for a long moment, breath still dragging through your lungs, too loud in the quiet. The cold gnawed at your skin, the wind cutting through the damp fabric of your clothes. But none of it reached you. Not past the sick, twisting knot in your chest.

Stay out of my way.

Like none of it mattered. Like you hadn’t almost died saving his life.

Your bloodstained hands trembled faintly, though they shouldn’t have. Not after so many fights, so many bodies. This wasn’t new. It should’ve been just another kill—smooth, methodical, necessary. It should have faded into the blur of every other battle, just another enemy cut down before they could do the same to you.

But it didn’t.

Because this time, your blade had landed a second before his. Because this time, the body that had hit the ground had almost been Azriel’s.

You curled your fingers in on themselves, nails biting into your palms as if you could force the memory out of your mind. But it clung to you, thick as blood, pressing in like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Because if Azriel had been just a little slower—if you’d been just a second too late—

You swallowed hard, forcing the thought back down.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand that you had to do something. That standing back and watching—watching him get hurt, or worse—would have been impossible.

You wouldn’t have been able to stop it.

And maybe that was what frightened you the most. Knowing just how badly that truth scared you.

By the time you made it back to camp, your body felt wrung out—too cold, too tired. You barely remembered walking there, barely remembered slipping inside the tent Azriel had claimed for himself. But the second you ducked under the flap and it fell behind you, his voice cracked through the air like a whip.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that was?"

You barely had time to turn before he was on you. Not close enough to touch, but near enough that the heat rolling off him made the air feel too thick. His hair was a mess of wind-tossed strands, half plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was a smear of blood drying along his cheekbone—not his, you realized distantly—and dirt clung to the battered leathers stretched tight across his frame. His chest still rose and fell too fast, each breath dragging through gritted teeth. His wings flared wide behind him, tension radiating from every inch of his body.

"Reckless?" you shot back, voice sharper than you meant. "I kept you from getting an arrow through the neck!"

"You weren’t even supposed to be there!" Azriel roared, his voice rising loud enough that you knew anyone lingering outside would hear. “You think you’re invincible? That you can just rush into shit without a second thought?”

"Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re the only person who’s capable—"

"This isn’t about being capable!" He snapped. His eyes were blazing, shadows curling tighter around him. "This is about you making a stupid, impulsive decision that could've gotten you killed."

"Oh, I’m sorry," you sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Next time I’ll just let you die so I don’t upset you."

"Don't you dare twist this," Azriel snarled, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. "You had no plan. No backup. You jumped in like this was some game—"

"I had a plan!"

"You didn’t even see half the soldiers in the trees—”

“Of course I did!”

“—have any idea how easily that could’ve gone wrong? How close you came to getting yourself killed?"

"I knew what I was doing."

"You got lucky," Azriel barked. "That's not the same thing."

"You're unbelievable," you seethed, pushing back with the same venom. "You actually think you’re the only one who's capable. That no one else can do anything without your permission."

Azriel’s rage snapped, the fury he’d been holding back unleashing when he swung around and threw his fist into the armor stand beside him with a sickening crack. "I think you’re reckless!" he yelled, eyes wild with anger and burning into yours. “You don’t know when to stop, (y/n)!”

You’d taken an instinctive step back, but before you could even think, the words flew from your mouth—

"Oh, and you do?" You let out a bitter laugh. "Tell me, Azriel, when was the last time you let anyone help you without losing your mind over it? Gods forbid anyone cares about you enough to try."

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with an intensity that felt like they could burn through you. "I don’t need you to care about me!” he snarled.

"Well, too bad!" you shot back. "Because I do!"

The words echoed between you, louder than you'd intended. Azriel's face twisted, his eyes dark and dangerous.

"If you’d gotten hurt," he said tightly, voice low again. "If I'd had to watch you die…"

He stopped, breathing hard. His hands flexed into fists, like he was fighting to keep hold of himself. The words seemed to ring in the air, cutting through the anger that had flooded the room.

Azriel's chest heaved, fists still clenched at his sides. His face was twisted with something stark and terrible—fear, you realized. Real, unshakable fear. It was written in the tightness of his jaw, the way his voice still shook beneath all that fury.

"...Is that what this was about?" you asked quietly.

His gaze flicked away, but not before you saw the answer written clear as day in his eyes.

Azriel’s words—soft, fragile as they were—hung in the air, and for a second, you almost gave in. Almost. But then the flicker of something hot surged in your chest, a surge of frustration that you couldn’t ignore.

“No,” you snapped, voice sharp as a blade. You took half a step back, putting distance between the two of you. “Don’t do that.”

Azriel looked up at you, his expression flickering between confusion and something else—defensive, maybe. But you didn’t care.

“You think I can’t handle myself? I’m trained. I’m not some helpless idiot.” You shoved your hands into his chest, but he didn’t budge. “And why did you have to undermine me like that in front of Rhys and Feyre?” you demanded, voice thick with frustration.

Azriel’s jaw clenched at your words, his posture stiffening even further, but you didn’t stop.

“Tell me, Azriel,” you went on, stepping closer until the air between you felt suffocating. “Why do you always do that? Why do you always treat me like I’m a child, like I can’t make my own decisions, like I’m incapable of… doing anything without you breathing down my neck?”

His lips parted to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. You shoved your fists against his chest, slamming your palms into him with every word. “Do you know how it feels to have someone you trust constantly undermine you? To have someone who should know better act like you're a liability instead of a partner? I’m not helpless! I’m not your responsibility!” You slammed your fist into his shoulder, frustration building with every second he remained perfectly still, unshaken. “So stop acting like I need you to save me every damn time I breathe!”

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him, but his face remained unreadable. His eyes were still dark, but the fire in them had dimmed, replaced by something you couldn’t quite place.

“You think I’m trying to control you,” he said, his voice low, tight with frustration, “but I’m trying to protect you. Can’t you see that? I can’t lose you.”

“And why the hell not?” Your voice cracked, raw with anger and something dangerously close to hurt. “This is just a job, isn’t it?”

Azriel flinched. Just barely. But you saw it—the slight hitch in his breath, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

For a long moment, he just stared. Silent. Tension carved into every sharp line of his face, shadows curling tighter around his shoulders like living things. His wings flexed, then snapped shut.

And then, his voice—low, rough, almost unsteady.

“Just a job?” His throat bobbed, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think that’s all this is?” A bitter laugh escaped him, sharp as a blade. “You think I would be losing my mind every time you put yourself in danger if it were just a fucking job?”

You felt the heat rising in your chest, but there was something in the way he spoke, something that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked, rough with something dark and desperate. “I would burn this world to the ground for you. I would tear through armies. I would do anything—anything—if it meant keeping you safe.” His body was tense, muscles locked, as though he were fighting to hold everything in. “Because it’s not just a job.”

His hands curled into fists, like he was holding himself back. Like if he let go for even a second, he wouldn’t stop.

“I love you.” The words fell like a war drum, low and unshakable, reverberating through the space between you. “I have loved you from the moment you walked into my gods-damned life and made everything I thought I knew about myself feel… irrelevant.” His wings finally tucked in close to his back. “And it terrifies me.”

Your breath caught.

“Because if I lose you,” Azriel’s voice broke, raw and ragged. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something so unguarded, so utterly vulnerable, it left you reeling. “If I lose you, there won’t be anything left of me.”

Your breath was uneven, your mind racing to catch up with what he’d just said. But even as his words echoed through you, it was his hands that caught your attention.

They were shaking. Just slightly, but enough. His fists were still clenched, tension locked tight in his shoulders, like he was bracing for something—for you to turn away, to reject him, to tell him this was all some mistake.

The thought made something in your chest twist painfully.

Without thinking, you reached out, fingers brushing over the back of his hand before curling around his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his pulse a rapid beat against your fingertips. He stiffened, breath catching, but he didn’t pull away.

Gently, you tugged.

For a moment, he resisted, like he didn’t trust himself to move, to let go of whatever storm was raging inside him. But then, with a slow exhale, he let you guide him down onto the worn couch at the back of the tent.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, thick and charged, but not uncomfortable. His shadows curled at his feet, restless and unsure, mirroring the turmoil in his expression. You could still see it—the way his jaw stayed tight, the way his wings trembled at the edges, as if even now, even after everything, he was still afraid.

So you spoke first.

"You’re not the only one who gets scared."

His head turned slightly, his hazel eyes searching yours. The sharp edges of his features were softened by the dim light, but his gaze remained intense, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you in this moment.

Azriel swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"I know." His voice was quieter now, the anger, the desperation from before fading into something else. "I just…" He hesitated, like the words were heavy in his mouth. Then, softer, almost uncertain. "I couldn’t lose you."

He said it like a confession, like something fragile he was scared to let out into the world.

And gods, you felt it. The weight of it, the truth in it.

Because he wasn’t just saying he loved you. He was saying you were the thing tethering him here. That the thought of losing you was enough to shake even him, the unshakable.

And what terrified you most was how much you understood it.

The tension between you shifted. It was less sharp now, less like something that might shatter, and more like something inevitable. Heavy, unspoken.

Azriel stayed silent as you reached for the small first aid kit sitting on the side table. The lid creaked as you flipped it open, your fingers moving without thought—grabbing a clean cloth, uncapping a bottle of alcohol. The sharp scent filled the space between you.

Still, he didn’t say a word, even as you took his hand, knuckles torn and raw from when he’d slammed his fist into the wooden armor stand earlier. He didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch when you pressed the damp cloth to his skin.

His breath hitched—whether from the sting or from the way your fingers brushed against his, you weren’t sure. But his gaze stayed locked on you, unwavering. And gods, it was so much. The weight of his attention, the quiet intensity of it. Like you were the only thing in the world he saw right then.

“You know,” you murmured, carefully pressing the cloth against his skin, “you could’ve just said you care instead of being an ass about it.”

A quiet huff of breath left him—something almost like a laugh, but too exhausted to be anything more.

“I didn’t know how.”

It was barely above a whisper, but it sank into you, deep and undeniable.

And when you looked up, he was already watching you. Something shifted in his expression, like he had made a decision before he even realized it himself.

You barely had time to react before his fingers threaded into your hair, his touch gentle despite the urgency in his movements.

And then he was kissing you.

It was fast, a little desperate, like he had been holding this in for too long. Like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t act now. His free hand curled around your jaw, tilting your face toward him, and he was impossibly close. His warmth, his scent, the sheer presence of him overwhelming your senses.

And you—

You didn’t hesitate.

You kissed him back like you had been waiting for this just as long as he had. Like you had known, deep down, that this was always where you’d end up. Wrapped in Azriel’s arms, feeling the way he poured everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips against yours.

And when he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven, he didn’t let go.

Like he was still afraid to lose you.

Like he never would.

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic

226 notes · View notes

lockefanfic · 9 months ago

Text

Truth

The following can be considered an alternate ending to the Business Trip series - although it can just as easily be read on its own. :)

---

The first few weeks together as an official couple were wonderful. Honeymoon phase and all that. Moving in together, domestic bliss. Fucking like rabbits, of course. But problems arose - became noticeable, and then unavoidable. Two of them, actually.

Problem 1: Your job.

Problem 2: Her job.

---

Problem 1: You’d thought business trips were a thing of the past. They weren’t.

You were happy to put the little adventure you’d had in Seoul and Tokyo behind you. Since then you’d done your best to decline any opportunities to engage in similar trips - feigning illness, sending underlings in your place, handling as many meetings as you could remotely. These days your life consisted of long, sometimes draining days at the office - a far cry from the brushes with danger and law enforcement that characterized your most recent trip overseas. Your days at work were boring and mundane now, but you were at home, and that was what mattered.

Home, after all, was where she was.

Regardless, the allure of another trip still came calling every now and then, tempting you, enticing you into spending a couple of weeks or months overseas where anything could - and sometimes did - happen.

Sometimes that allure took physical form. Sometimes it came waltzing into your office wearing a tight blouse and a pencil skirt. Sometimes it was named Shin Ryujin. Other days it was named Hwang Yeji, or Lee Chaeryeong. Today, as with most days, it was named Shin Yuna.

“Ryujin and Yeji are on-site in Busan, and Chaeryeong is in Seoul, waiting for her flight to join them. Lia sustained injuries in our last operation and isn’t medically cleared for this one, but she’s recovering well. Ryujin has begin surveillance on our competitors’ teams - codenamed New Jeans and Le Sserafim - and she is ready to proceed with next steps once you arrive,” Yuna says, eagerness evident in the tone of her moderately Korean-accented english. “Shall I make travel arrangements for us to join them?”

For the first time since she walked into your office you look up from the reports on your laptop. You don’t miss the small bite the young woman is giving her lower lip, nor the way she has crossed her legs and begun leaning her wide hips against your desk. It takes more restraint than you were willing to admit not to steal a glance at her long pantyhose-clad legs and the tight charcoal pencil skirt they led to. You find the self-control to keep eye contact with your eager young executive assistant, even if her body language and tone of voice made her intentions clear and easy to read.

“Give me a second to finish reviewing Ryujin’s report,” you answer, returning your full attention to the screen in front of you. “I’ll confirm whether I need to be on-site by end of day, and if so you can make the necessary arrangements then.”

Despite her best efforts, Yuna can’t hide the small twinge of disappointment that makes its way across her soft features. She’d been looking forward to the thirteen hour flight with you and the opportunities it would present.

“Oh, and…” she begins, her tone a little less upbeat now that you’d at least temporarily dampened her excitement. “You have a visitor. It’s Detective-”

“Let her in,” you interrupt. Yuna frowns, offers a short bow - a lingering habit from her Korean upbringing - and steps back toward the door to your office. She swings it open, and you catch the look of disdain on her features when she waves in your visitor.

Im Nayeon pushes past Yuna and into the office. She gives Yuna a sharp look as she passes the younger woman, and even from your chair you can sense the venom in it. The detective sits down in the chair opposite your desk, legs and arms crossed. She is dressed plainly, in a short denim skirt and a leather jacket, the glimmer of her badge on a chain around her neck the only clue as to her profession. She drops a large paper bag onto your desk.

“Please let me know if you need anything else, sir-”

“That will be all, Yuna,” you answer.

Before your executive assistant has a chance to close the door, Nayeon turns her head and squeezes in one last shot.

“Cancel his next hour, Miss-”

“My name is Yuna,” the young woman at the door answers, crossing her arms, scowl painted on her lips.

“Whatever,” Nayeon retorts, flatly. “Clear his schedule for the next hour. Oh, and do be a dear and lock the door.”

Out of the corner of your eye you catch two things - the barely restrained scoff on Yuna’s lips, and the satisfied sneer on Nayeon’s. With one last look of scorn directed at the back of the detective’s head, the younger Korean woman closes the door with a little more force than was necessary. The click of the lock engaging follows shortly after, as does the heavier than usual click-clack of her heels as she stomps away in obvious irritation.

“You have a thing for executive assistants with hips,” Nayeon observes. “Although this one’s much more of a brat than the last one.”

“Be nice,” you say, although you can’t keep the smirk from appearing on your lips as you continue to scroll through the report on your laptop. “She grew up in Korea, so she’s useful whenever I’m in-country. And she’s not a bad person.”

“I know,” Nayeon relents. “But the more of a cunt I am to her, the more she gets off on being a little fucktoy for you. I bet she gets off on thinking that you’re fucking her without me knowing. I bet it makes her so wet.”

Your smirk turns into a slim smile, and it becomes difficult to keep your eyes on the report in front of you.

“Am I wrong?” she contests.

“No,” you admit, finally turning to give her your full attention. “In fact, I’m about to hop on a plane with her to Korea in a couple of days. I expect it will be an… eventful flight.”

“Good,” Nayeon states, satisfied. “I bet she’ll be a good little girl for you, now that she’s received another reminder of how much you need some time away from your queen bitch of a girlfriend.”

She smiles - this one warm, soft - the smile that caught you in its clutches all those years ago and never let go. She turns momentarily to face the door.

“Oh, yeah, baby, fuck, you’re so big in me, fuck me! Fuck, this is the best dick I’ve ever had!” she exclaims in faux-pleasure, ensuring she was loud enough for the exasperated executive assistant sitting just outside your door to hear. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“We can fuck at home later. I just wanted to piss her off,” Nayeon admits, a sly smile on her lips. “Anyway, pull up House of the Dragon?”

“Already on it,” you answer, swinging your laptop screen around so you can both watch. Nayeon pulls containers of take-out sushi from the paper bag.

She swaps your salmon for her tamago.

She leans over your desk as she passes you your chopsticks. She gives you a warm kiss, and the smile she leaves on your lips stays there for the rest of the day.

---

Even after all these years, she never tired of the collar and its leash.

It was showing signs of wear, of course - the bright fire engine red had faded into a softer, paler shade, the chain was no longer as shiny, and there was more than one set of her teeth marks on it from particularly frisky sessions - but she never missed a chance to put it on when the mood struck, and you never missed a chance to put it on her.

For now you are content to let the chain dangle freely in your left hand, watching the light streaming in from the open window as it plays on its metallic links. The chain glimmers in the morning light against her pale, creamy skin, swaying and occasionally bouncing along with her movements.

The chair you are sitting on protests with the weight and movement the both of you make atop it. Her soft sighs and gasps - a far cry from the loud shouts and moans you knew she was well capable of - happily cancel out the furniture’s squeaking protests as she rides you atop it. Soft, sensual, slow. The perfect fuck for a perfect morning.

You do your best to just sit there and savour the moment, letting Nayeon do all the work as she grinded back and forth on your lap. As much as you enjoyed watching her bounce up and down atop you, taking your full length in and out of her body - taking special delight in the delicious bounce it gave her breasts and thighs - there was something to be said for the intimacy of the way she was riding you now, slowly and softly. It gave her a chance to grind her slick, swollen clit against your crotch, and while it only let a third or so of your cock slip in and out of her hot, slippery cunt with each entry and exit, each movement nonetheless caused a warm spike of pleasure to course up your spine as your cock moves around inside her.

She was so beautiful, so utterly ethereal and intensely erotic all at the same time - clothed simultaneously in perfect golden sunlight and slick sweat, saliva, and other fluids. She was ethereal beauty and dirty sex. She wore both, was utterly enrapturing in both, was equally comfortable in both.

You watch each movement of her body - a body you knew well, knew every peak and curve and valley of - and you never tired of it. You watch as her round, full thighs flex and work, as her tight core drives her lower body back and forth, as her small, perfect breasts sway and bounce. Her face is immaculate, soft features twisted and wracked by pleasure. Sweat glistens over all of it. It makes her perfect skin glisten and glimmer in the sunlight.

You take a moment to look over her shoulder at the dressing mirror behind her, relishing the sight of her back - the beautiful curve of her spine and the sweat dripping down that delicious valley; the round cheeks of her ass and the muscles beneath them as they work to fuck herself on your cock; the short glimpses of your balls as she moves back and forth, takes you in and out of her body. Even her hair, having started the morning pulled into a messy bun, has become disheveled and loose - but in a way that is enticing and alluring, glued to the back of her neck and upper shoulders by perspiration.

Your right hand, resting on her thigh, snakes a path up her body - up her chiselled abs, cupping a soft breast and delighting in the tightness of her nipple as you capture it with your thumb and index finger and give it a pull, a twist, a pinch. Her pussy pulsates in response around you. She is sighing and moaning her pleasure when your hand continues its journey, sliding up a sweaty neck until you reach the side of her face.

Her eyes, shut, drift open at your touch.

You give the chain a jerk forward.

Her entire upper body crashes against yours at the sudden pull at her neck. Your lips find and capture hers, and for a few moments you share a passionate, heavy kiss. As your tongues duel you give her a slight thrust upward with your hips, timed to meet the apex of her grind - and she sighs into your mouth at the movement, eyes shutting again, nails digging into your shoulders.

Spurred by her reaction, you continue to thrust upward as best you can given your sitting position. Her cunt, already so wet and slick and hot, clenches around you with each thrust, welcoming you, taking you.

“Oh god,” she sighs, the first full words either of you have spoken in a while. “Oh god, I’m close-“

Her sentence breaks into a moan, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure as you continue your thrusts upwards into her body. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, burying your face against her warm, moist chest. You lick the sweat from between her dangling breasts. You savour each moan that leaves her mouth, heavy and hot, directly into your ears.

The chain drops from your left hand, its end falling with a soft clink onto the hardwood floor of your apartment. Forgotten for now, because the faux, pretend-ownership it represented was no longer needed, was perhaps never necessary.

She orgasms around you - pussy clenching, lungs emptying of breath as she cries her pleasure into your bedroom. Your hands find themselves clutching at her moist, sweaty back, hugging her to you, bringing your bodies as close together as possible.

“Your cum, inside me,” she hisses, her voice soft and almost vulnerable in your ear, still at the height of her orgasm. “Please, I want, I need it, please.”

Im Nayeon knew you - knew every part of what made you tick. She knew what you wanted to hear, knew when you wanted to hear it.

You thrust upward into her clenching, creamy cunt one last time. Every part of her body surrounds you, wraps itself around you: she buries your head into her chest, fingers interwoven into your hair, cradling you with her arms and legs as her cunt clenches and tightens around your cock.

Your shaft spurts warm, thick cum into her. She lets a sigh leave her breathless lips with each pulse of your cock inside her, knowing each one was another rope of cum that would bind your bodies even further together.

Your fluids mix inside her, eventually sliding out between the pussy lips stretched tight around the base of your cock. It drips down your shaft, your balls, and onto the chair. You are sticky everywhere - on your sweaty chests, your slick thighs, but especially where you are joined together, your shaft still embedded hilt deep inside her. You are glued together, made one.

You sigh into her chest, and the nails that had dug furrows into your scalp now stroke it softly. The exhaustion hits you both at once, and for a few wonderful moments the only sound either of you can hear is the sound of heavy breathing.

Her hands eventually slide from your scalp. Her turn now to cradle your face in her hands. Your faces hover in front of each other, noses barely touching, half-lidded, pleasure-ridden eyes locked on one another.

For a moment her left hand moves to her neck, where she undoes and releases the clasp of the red leather collar. It slips from her body and falls to the floor.

“I belong to you,” she says, breathless, not needing some scrap of leather around her neck to convince you of it - not that she ever needed such a thing to begin with. Her hands cradle your face, palms on each cheek, like you are the most delicate thing in the world. Your arms wrap themselves even tighter around her soft, trembling torso. Your foreheads touch, your eyes close.

“I know,” you answer. “I always have.”

Later that morning, when she is snoring peacefully, you slip out of the bed. Your flight to Korea wasn’t until later that afternoon, and so you had some time to spare before you had to leave the house, and her, for god knew how long. Every part of you wanted to lie there in bed with her and savour every moment of it, not knowing when you’d next be able to do so - but you had decided the night before that something needed to be done, and there was no better time to do it.

You fire up the coffee maker - you’d both settled into specific domestic roles since moving in together, and you were almost immediately appointed Minister of Caffeinated Beverages - and take a seat at the kitchen island with your laptop.

A few minutes later, and you’d begun an email to JYP informing him of your intention to resign your position following the end of your next business trip.

Distance had taken her from you once, and it wouldn’t do it again.

---

“Is she being a good girl?”

“Yes, Nayeon,” you say, your answer somewhere between a sigh and a hiss as you press your phone close to your ear, ensuring only you could hear the voice on the other side of the call. You made sure to use her name, as she’d previously suggested, knowing what hearing it would do to the young woman you were currently sharing a hotel room with.

Between your legs, Yuna gives the tip of your cock a swirl with the end of her tongue. Those large doe eyes glance up at you, the mention of your girlfriend’s name giving the topless young woman a small spike of wicked delight. You watch with a measure of your own satisfaction as she pumps your cock with one hand, the other fondling her own small, round breast and the tight nipple atop it. After a moment her hand drifts down her body, between her legs - and soon after she begins to sigh and moan around a mouthful of your shaft as she begins to pleasure herself.

“Good,” Nayeon continues. “I told you she would be. Did you fuck her on the plane, too?”

“Yes, we’ve started the operation. And yeah, Korea’s hot this time of year,” you say, keeping up the false pretence you both agreed upon.

“Let me guess - she’s on her knees? Are you fucking that pretty little mouth of hers?”

“Not yet,” you answer, “I think I’ll let the team continue to observe before we move.” Your eyes drift closed as the pleasure begins to build. You lean your head back slightly as the young woman between your knees increases her pace. What Yuna lacked in experience and technique, she more than made up for with enthusiasm.

On the line, you hear a soft sigh. A moment later, the sigh turns into a barely audible moan.

“What about you?” you ask. “Are you busy? How’s work?”

“Fine. I’m… alone. In a squad car.”

“On a stakeout?”

“We prefer the term ‘distanced surveillance,’ but yes, a stakeout.”

“You miss me?”

“Fuck,” you hear, followed by a soft hum. “Yes, I miss you,” she admits.

A thousand miles away, you smirk. The image of Nayeon alone, in her car, in an alleyway, a hand down her pants, touching herself to the sound of her boyfriend getting head from another woman - it aroused you more than the young woman between your knees, truth be told.

“Do you… miss me?” she asks.

You reach out with your free hand, cradling the side of Yuna’s head, running your fingertips through the bright red strands. She redoubles her efforts at your touch - she quickens her pace, her hand squeezing tighter around your shaft as her head continues to bob up and down its length.

“Fuck, I want you right now, Nayeon,” you hiss, knowing what repeating her name would do to the younger woman filling her mouth with your shaft. “I wish you were here.”

Between your legs, the moan Yuna lets out around your cock sends a delicious pulse of pleasure up your spine. On the line, Nayeon lets a similar moan escape her lips.

“Tell me what you would do to me,” Nayeon says, tone low and deep, the way it was when she was desperate, needy. “I bet she’d do it for you.”

You bite your lip for a second - listening to Nayeon’s increasingly breathless sighs and picturing her becoming a writhing, wet little mess in her car, watching Yuna try and fail to wrest your attention away - taking it all in, savouring every second of the two women, a thousand miles apart, each doing their best to pleasure you in their own way.

“I’d pull your mouth off my cock,” you say, gripping the base of Yuna’s ponytail and easing her off your shaft. She looks up with you with those large doe eyes of hers, momentarily confused, temporarily disappointed at the sudden emptiness in her mouth - until she quickly catches on to your intentions.

“Mmm, more,” Nayeon says, on the verge of a plea.

“I’d tell you to strip, and get your cunt on my cock like a good little girl.”

And just as she predicted, Yuna does exactly that - peels off ridiculously short denim shorts she wore, along with the flimsy scrap of string beneath it that passed for a thong. She climbs atop you, straddles your waist, reaches between your bodies, grasps your slick cock and spends just a second rubbing your head against her dripping, slick lips.

And then she takes you inside her. On the line, Nayeon hears that unmistakable gasp you made whenever you entered her own cunt, and it drives her crazy. Her fingers work quickly between her legs.

A thousand miles away, you watch as Yuna bounces her young, tight little body on your cock - up and down, up and down, up and down. She is rough, fast, impatient, with little technique but plenty of need.

Your free hand grips a thigh before snaking up her torso, gripping a soft, bouncing breast and pinching the taut nipple between two fingers and giving it a slight slap from the side that elicits a yelp of pleasure from the young woman. Your cock stretches her tight little cunt with each entry, filling her up, making her need more, want more, making her lose her control over her senses - not that she had much to begin with.

She is enthusiastic, needy - but she is clumsy in her movements, inexperienced, drunk on the idea of being used and fucked and not possessing the control to savour the moment, make it anything more memorable than a messy, quick fuck.

She sighs and moans. “Daddy,” she gasps, uncaring now of being heard on the line, forgetting that you were supposed to be fucking her on the down low, under your girlfriend’s nose. “Daddy please, I need… Daddy please, your cum, inside me, I want-”

You remind her of her place by closing your hand around her throat. Not enough to cause pain, but enough to remind her of what she was - a fucktoy. Something to warm your cock while you were apart from the woman you really wanted. A substitute for a woman a thousand miles away.

“Is she… is she good for you?” Nayeon asks, voice betraying the fact that she was bringing herself to the edge. She’s wet and squirming and sighing - but she’s alone, in her car, far away.

Her fingers aren’t you.

Yuna continues to fuck herself on your cock, recklessly and wildly, her orgasm doing little to slow or stop her. You watch as she bites down hard on her lower lip, enough to draw blood, doing her best to keep herself from vocalizing the pleasure coursing through her body and only partially succeeding. You knew she’d be especially loud once you’d ended the call. You consider pretending to end it but leaving the line open, just to give Nayeon the satisfaction of hearing what Shin Yuna sounded like when she was being bent over the bed and having her tight little pussy pounded full of cum.

Your fingers tighten around Yuna’s neck as she bounces with an increasingly wild pace atop your cock. It forces her to slow down, forces her to submit to you and your needs. It reminds her of her place, reminds her who she was. It was necessary.

A makeshift leash.

“She’s good, Nayeon,” you admit. “But she’s not you.”

---

“Alright, I have to admit - she’s pretty fucking perfect for you.”

“There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say,” you admit, looking up from your laptop and the report on it to give Shin Yuna a look. The young woman is lounging about on her stomach your hotel room bed, picking away at a plate of room service french fries. She’d taken a shower, but hadn’t bothered to put her clothes back on after you’d bent her over the bed and fucked a load into her.

“She’s a bitch, don’t get me wrong,” she continues, tone casual, as though she weren’t naked on her boss’ hotel room bed with his cum still warm inside her. “But she’s really fucking pretty, and she’s a cop? Man. That’s a dream girl for most guys, you have to admit.”

“I suppose,” you say, flatly. “Where are you going with this, Yuna?”

“Nowhere,” she answers, popping another fry into her mouth. “I was just curious, I guess.”

“About?”

“About why you’re not married yet. About why there aren’t little hellspawn baby versions of her running around in your life.”

The thought is finally enough to wrest your attention from the report for good. You give the young woman atop your bed a look.

“Listen, I think it’s hot as fuck to be some exec’s fucktoy,” Yuna continues. “I just want to make sure I’m not the thing that’s keeping him from marrying the love of his life or some shit.”

“You’re not stopping anything, Yuna,” you state, clearly, ensuring that she didn’t form any wrong impressions. You certainly didn’t want her to overestimate her role in your life. “Trust me,” you add.

“So then what is stopping you? You’re in love, aren’t you?” Yuna continues. “I’ve heard all about your past with her from the company grapevine, and Dahyun filled me in on the rest. College sweethearts finding each other again in a foreign land after so long apart - that’s cute as fuck. So why isn’t there a ring on her finger and a baby in her belly?”

You are struck temporarily wordless by your executive assistant’s forwardness, but the answer comes to you eventually.

“We’re not ready yet,” you state.

Yuna seems satisfied with your answer - or at least, isn’t curious enough to pursue it further. She gives you a shrug before she picks up her phone and begins to scroll on it. “Whatever you say, boss,” she says.

You return your attention to your laptop, and the resignation email to JYP that was sitting in your drafts. Sending it would mean leaving a career that, in many ways, had defined you. Yes, it had played a major role in bringing Nayeon back into your life, but were you really ready to give up the adventures in distant lands, not to mention all the romance and intrigue and excitement said adventures brought with them?

Your cursor hovers over the send icon.

—

Problem 2: Her job.

As it turned out, JYP was more than happy to do whatever it took to keep you with the company - even if it meant giving you a tidy little promotion along with a promise to make any further business trips entirely optional. That was Problem 1 solved, then - leaving only Problem 2.

For the most part, Nayeon did a good job of keeping her work at work and not taking it home with her. Every now and then she’d vent about a particularly hard case she was on, or tell you about how something an actor did in a movie or tv show was wildly inaccurate compared to standard law enforcement procedures in the real world. By and large you could almost forget that she was a senior detective who regularly found herself in situations the average person might consider dangerous.

This was all to say that you only rarely gave Nayeon’s profession any thought, had you not noticed the breaking news report playing on the large TV screen in the JYP lobby on your way back from lunch one afternoon.

A reporter, apparently on scene, is speaking into the camera - but the TV is muted, and the captions are not turned on. Behind him civilians flee from a building under the guidance of two understandably anxious-looking uniformed police officers with their sidearms drawn. “Active hostage situation underway at downtown bank,” read the ticker. “Multiple hostages and casualties reported.”

You were ready to give it no further thought aside from a passing sense of disappointment at the general state of crime in your country, had you not caught a fleeting glimpse of her on the screen.

In the background, behind the reporter, Nayeon steps into frame, her back to the camera - but it was unmistakably her. She flashes the badge around her neck to the two uniformed cops nervously holding the bank entrance door.

You watch as she draws her sidearm from the holster at her hip, racks the slide to chamber a round, and rushes into the building.

To say the next few hours were absolutely nerve wracking would be an understatement.

Yes, you’d known that danger and the possibility of being hurt were part and parcel of being a member of active law enforcement. You were in the room when she was quite literally shot at close range in Seoul - a few layers of kevlar being the only thing that kept her from bleeding out on a dirty apartment floor.

You’d done your best to avoid having to deal with the reality that your girlfriend had a relatively dangerous profession. Maybe it was a subconscious thing - maybe your brain knew that living every day in fear of your girlfriend losing her life was not exactly conducive to a healthy relationship - or a healthy mental state.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t really hit home until that day. You’d never been so worried in your life, staying glued to the TV and your phone and news sites, pacing nervously alone in your apartment, grasping for any snippet of an update that would confirm she was okay, that she was safe. Needless to say she wasn’t picking up her phone, and a call to her precinct lieutenant went unanswered.

You’d learn later that she was never in any actual danger - the gunfire she’d heard turned out to be warning shots fired into the ceiling to intimidate the bank staff. Nayeon, who’d been passing by the building randomly on her lunch break, had decided that civilians were in immediate danger and entered the bank on her own volition, cleared out the remaining customers from the bank lobby, and held down the hallway leading to the safety deposit boxes where the suspects were holed up until SWAT arrived.

As the first responder to the scene, protocol demanded she remain on-site until it was resolved, explaining the length of her absence. She wasn’t actually in danger for very long, she’d later insist.

But she knew none of that when she rushed into the building, gun in hand. For all she’d known there could have easily been a suspect pointing an assault rifle down the hallway, finger on the trigger, just waiting for an eager young detective to stray into his sights. Moreover, her nine millimetre sidearm and lack of kevlar would’ve put her in a precarious position had they decided to make an escape using force.

Nonetheless, you were more relieved than you’d ever been in your life when she finally called to tell you she was on her way home - eight hours and forty-nine minutes since you’d made your first unanswered call to her cell phone (the first of thirty).

Your heart let out the breath it had been holding for nine hours.

---

When she finally got home it was a lot, all at once.

It was relief, mostly, and then reassurance, and comfort, followed shortly by an irresistible, intense lust. Danger never failed to get Im Nayeon going.

Within seconds of bursting through the door she was already on you, arms wrapped around your neck as yours wrapped around hers, lips searching for and quickly pulling yours into a deep, passionate kiss. Her leather jacket quickly leaves her body, her fingers immediately going to work on your button-up. While this hurried undressing was happening, when your lips parted long enough to draw in a breath, she’d tried, in broken sentences, to fill you in on what had happened.

You pieced enough together from her jumbled words to get an idea of how her day went, and how she wasn’t allowed to contact you until the incident was resolved. You wanted to ask her more, wanted to know more about what exactly happened, but she was in no mood for talking. Her lips and tongue stole the words and questions from your mouth before you could give them voice.

You are naked before long, stumbling into the bedroom and leaving behind a trail of haphazardly discarded clothing. She pushes you onto the bed with more force than you were ready for - silencing any objections by quickly climbing atop you, straddling your lap as you sit on its edge. Your mouths find each other and your tongues continue their frantic duel. Before long you slip from her lips to kiss a rough trail down her neck and to her chest.

You capture a breast in your mouth, closing your lips around her taut nipple. “Fuck,” she gasps, her hands quickly burying themselves in your hair, nails digging almost painfully into your scalp as you suckle from her tight bud.

A small part of you wants to slow down - perhaps even stop altogether - and tell her how damn worried you were for her, how the last nine hours were the longest nine hours you’d ever had in your life. But she steals your words again, this time with some of her own.

“Hard,” she hisses between gritted teeth, “I want it hard.”

She reaches between you, points your tip at her dripping entrance, and takes you inside her.

The long, hot sigh that escapes your lips finally rips them from her nipple. For the next few minutes you are powerless to do more than breathe heavily between her breasts as she rides you - those toned, full thighs of her working to throw her body up and down your shaft, taking you in and out of her tight, warm little cunt.

“Nayeon, I-” you begin, finally finding the wherewithal after a few minutes to look up at her.

She silences you with a finger to your lips. Her eyes are half-lidded, but hungry.

“Shut up,” she spits. “Just shut up.”

You were not one to argue, not when you were balls deep inside the most beautiful woman you’d ever known. And so you content yourself with watching as Nayeon took her pleasure from your body, using your cock like a toy, impaling herself with it over and over again until she became a mewling, moaning mess atop your lap.

You grasp her thighs, squeeze her bouncing breasts and tease the nipples atop them, slide your hand up her chest and up her throat and to her jaw before sliding your thumb between her lips for her to suck as you cradle the side of her pleasure-filled face - and throughout it all she rides you, pace relentless, merciless, hard.

Soon she is cumming - and she shows no sign of stopping, fucking herself through her orgasm even as her body is wracked by pleasure. She trembles, shakes, and quivers atop you - but it doesn’t stop her, doesn’t come close to fulfilling her immense need. She wants more. She needs more.

Even as her orgasm radiates throughout her body and turns her into a wet, writhing mess, you hold her tight to you as you turn her over, putting her on her back atop the bed while you rise to your feet next to it. You wrap her legs around your waist, pull her hips onto yours, and continue to fuck her - hard, fast, rough.

She sighs and moans and cries and you are content to let her, content to let out some of the frustration and worry and fear you’d held inside you for most of the day on her tight, helpless little body. Her breasts bounce deliciously atop her heaving chest. Her fingers are claws, finding purchase wherever she can - on the bedsheets and your forearms, mostly. Eventually she reaches down and fingers her own clit, even as your cock pumps in and out between the lips of her cunt, just beyond her fingertips. Her eyes spur you on - telling you to keep fucking her, keep using her, all without saying a single word.

Your hands leave her hips, pulling on her legs until her calves are atop your shoulders. You continue to pound into her all along, this new position leaving her cunt open and exposed, rendering her helpless to do anything but take each hard, fast thrust you make into her body. It is almost callous, the way you fuck her, as though she were some whore and not the love of your life. You use her cunt. You make it yours, remind her who it belonged to.

Her moans build, rising in volume and signalling another impending orgasm. You want to join her, and are about to give in, about to fill her-

“My ass,” she gasps. “Fuck my ass.”

She pulls her sweaty, still trembling body off you, denying you the warm slickness of her cunt. Her pussy drips onto the bedsheets as she wastes no time, getting atop the bed on her knees, upper body pressed against the bed. She reaches back with her hands, palming the cheeks of her ass, spreading them apart, showing you what she’d been keeping inside her.

And there it is, red silicone, glistening and slick with lube.

The sight of it takes your breath away. You let an unexpected sigh of pleasure leave your lips as you grasp the toy with your fingers, easing it out of her body slowly. She moans as it leaves her, perhaps in pain or pleasure or both. Soon it’s finally out. Every molecule in her body yearns to replace its absence.

Grasping your cock, slick and wet with her juices, you press the tip against her open, gaping hole - and begin to slide inside her.

You’d had her ass before, but never after she’d had a plug inside her, and it is sublime. Her ass immediately closes and tightens around you, and you think right then and there that you might cum. Your hand clutches her ass and left hip, fingers digging deep into the soft, yielding flesh, relishing the pleasure coursing through your veins but fighting it before it gets too intense, wanting to prolong this moment. She sighs and moans as she adjusts to your size. She trembles at the feeling of her ass being filled.

“Mmmm,” she hisses into the sheets, evidently having lost the ability to form words. She reaches back as far as she can with a free hand, her long fingers clutching your thigh. She pulls you toward her, and you oblige, pressing yourself as deep as you can until you are hilt deep.

“Do it,” she spits from between gritted teeth, “Fuck my ass. Hard.”

And so you begin - fucking Im Nayeon’s ass with hard, long strokes, using her tight, hot hole with the same tempo and speed as you did her cunt just moments earlier. She moans and shrieks and gasps into the sheets, the side of her face pressed against the bed, saliva dripping from a slack mouth. Her fingers are claws, digging into the sheets or your thighs or both, searching for something, anything, to ground herself amidst the constant pounding into the most vulnerable part of her body.

“Fuck, Nayeon,” you say, your brain unable to form much more than a curse and her name. She is so tight, so very hot - and she’d ensured the toy was well lubed before it entered her, so she was slick enough to make every entry and exit so delicious, so utterly sublime; a perfect cocktail of pleasure and pain all mixed into one irresistible sensation.

For the first time in a while Nayeon lifts her head from the bed, sweat pasting dark strands to the side of her face. She opens her mouth to say something-

But you reach forward, grasping her by the back of her neck, and slamming her back down onto the bed. She shrieks - partially in surprise, mostly in pleasure - as you resume pounding her.

“Shut up,” you spit. “Just shut up.”

The thick cotton bedsheets can do little to hide the long, deep moan of pleasure that leaves Nayeon’s lips as you impose yourself on her. She continues, not stopping for a moment, letting a drivel of wordless pleasure leave her mouth with each thrust you make into her body. She reaches a hand down, plays with her wet, slick clit even as you pound relentlessly into her ass - pleasuring her, hurting her - either way, making her yours.

The hand at her neck doesn’t leave her - it merely moves to her upper back, still keeping her pinned to the mattress, making sure she could do nothing more than take you. She lets you. She gives herself to you, lets you do what you want to her, because this - a rough, hard fuck - was what she wanted, what she craved.

It doesn’t take her long to orgasm, with her fingers on her clit and your cock pounding hard into her asshole. She tightens even more around you. She screams her pleasure into the bedsheets.

She clenches around your cock when she cums. It sends you over the edge, and you push yourself as deep as you can into Im Nayeon’s ass before you cum, filling her depths with thick, hot semen. Her moans turn into whimpers and then sobs, and you think for a moment that she might be crying.

You want to stay there, as you often did after you came inside her. You want to relish the moment and the sight of your cock embedded inside her ass and the feeling of her body wrapped around yours. But the accumulated physical and mental exhaustion of the day hit you all at once, and you collapse atop her, your arms only barely keeping you from crashing onto her back as you land on your elbows, still hilt-deep inside her.

You find the strength to bring your mouth to her ear. Filthy sex and dirty fucking aside, she had to know.

“I belong to you,” you say.

“I know,” she answers. Beneath the sweaty, messy hair and heavy breaths, Nayeon smiles.

—

The next morning, while you are still asleep, she wakes up early to make breakfast. She rarely cooked - every food delivery driver within a ten mile radius knew how to get to your apartment by heart - but when she did it was for special occasions. Or, in this case, a form of apology for making you worry so much the day before.

She’s stumbling towards the kitchen - she was understandably more than a little sore in places that made walking difficult - when she catches a glimpse of her old criminology textbooks on the hallway bookshelf.

She was a fairly sentimental person, and despite your efforts she wouldn’t get rid of the old, heavy texts. She insisted that they were a part of what made her who she was, and wanted to keep them as a reminder of how far she’d come in her career; privately, she kept them to remind herself of those hard months when you’d left to join JYP all those years ago, and how much she missed being away from you. Those months were difficult, and she’d turned to her career as a way of coping. Those months were instrumental in putting her on the path to becoming a detective, but they were also part of what drove her to Seoul to find you.

A thought strikes her as her eyes take in titles of the texts. She reaches out and lets her fingertips graze their worn covers, seeing in them a way to ensure her career would never worry you so much again.

---

And so the problems were solved. All it took was a few uncomfortable emails, a few months of occasionally stressful worrying and intense interviews, and two new job offers. Easy peasy.

You’d taken a job at a branch office of JYP that promised travel would be completely optional. Nayeon had quit the PD and become a professor in criminology at a local college. You’d moved out of the small downtown apartment that had been the home you’d shared for the past five years, and into a slightly more comfortable townhouse in the suburbs.

Time passed. Good days and bad days. She was there for all of them, making the good days sweeter and the bad days more bearable. She was home. Safe harbour and north star for each other.

You are both sitting in a cafe on a lazy Sunday morning - you’re reading a book and nursing a coffee while she’s grading some papers on her laptop. You loved many things about your relationship, but one of the things you appreciated the most was how comfortable you both were in silence. The years had given you both a familiarity that had often transcended the need for speaking. Most of the time, you knew what the other was thinking, even before they spoke.

Your presence was enough, and there was no need to fill the space between you with words for the sake of it.

After awhile you look up to her to find that she’d been watching you, apparently for some time.

“I think we’re ready,” she says, a warm, soft smile on her lips.

She says no more, returning her attention to her laptop, but you know what she means.

You smile as you return to your book.

---

Im Nayeon could always surprise you.

You’d had her more times than you could count, but this night was different - it was important, special in a way none of the in-shower quickies or weekend-long marathon sessions were. Just when you’d thought sex and lovemaking could hold no more surprises, you are proven wrong.

“It’s you,” she sighs into your ear, her voice soft, still filled with pleasure, but with an undercurrent of emotion that you’d never heard in her before. One of her arms wraps itself around your back, the other buried into the hair at the back of your neck as you thrust in and out of her body.

“Cum inside me,” she continues, breathless, words spilling from her lips in a long, drawn out hiss. “Fill me up. It has to be you. Breed me, put a baby in my belly. I want it- I want you. It has to be you. It’s only ever been you.”

“Nayeon,” you say into her ear, and when she replies with your own name you think it is the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard in your life.

She is tight, wet, hot - she feels every bit as good as she did when you were teenagers fumbling awkwardly in an old dorm room, or when you were reunited old flames brought together by fate in Seoul, or when you moved in together and decided to build lives together. But it means more now. It means more now than it ever did.

“Give me a baby,” she says, half-moan, half-sigh. “Breed me, make me yours.”

Words you’d heard before, from the same lips, on many another night. But none like tonight, not when she meant them more than she ever did - this wasn’t pillow talk, an act meant to spice up a risqué encounter; no, this was much more. She meant every word, without pretence or facade. She meant it all.

“Nayeon,” you repeat, unable to say much else. The sound of her name on your lips draws a sigh from hers, sends a quiver up her spine that is pure pleasure and love.

“It has to be you,” she whispers into your ear, the most intimate words she has ever spoken. “It was always you - I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, every molecule of your body shouting the words, even if they left your lips as little more than a light gasp.

You thrust between her spread legs, and she wraps her thighs and arms around you, making the two of you into one.

You fill her. She sighs, moans - and when your cheeks press against each other as you both lie there, breathing heavily - you can feel her cheeks pull her lips into a smile.

---

“It was always going to be you and me, wasn’t it?”

You are caught a little off-guard by her words - truth be told your mind was solely fixated on the humble sign outside your favourite sushi restaurant and the familiar but delicious culinary delights that awaited you. It’s a Friday night, and you were looking forward to a quiet dinner with her following a long, draining week of work.

The choice of dining establishment was a foregone conclusion, and you had nothing on your mind other than settling into a simple but comforting meal with her. Grand statements of destined love weren't exactly on your mind - not this early in the evening, anyway.

But when you turn to her and find a soft, warm smile on her lips, you couldn’t help but agree. She doesn’t even turn to look at you - her gaze, like yours, is locked on the old, dingy, familiar restaurant sign.

“Yes,” you answer, the word leaving your lips quickly, almost on instinct, almost on reflex, as though your body knew the truth - knew what you felt, in your innermost core. “It was always going to be you, Nayeon.”

She doesn’t turn her head to look at you. There is a slight deepening of the smile on her lips, a slightly deeper blush on her cheeks, but that’s it. She doesn’t need to read your face to verify or discern the truth in your expression. She is confident enough - in the years you’ve spent together, in the trials and tribulations borne at each others’ side, to know the truth in your words.

She feels it in the way you clutch her hand, the way you hold her close in your most intimate moments, the way you brush stray hairs away from her forehead when you kiss her good morning before heading out the door to work.

She sees it in the slight swell in her belly, and the family you were building together.

She knows all this. She feels it all, deep inside herself where nothing else exists except you and her and the home you’ve built with shared memories. She knows it is all true, always will be.

When you enter the restaurant you are greeted warmly with a smile and hug by the waiter - he’s become a good friend in the years since your escapades in Tokyo and Seoul. From behind the counter, Jisoo looks up from her prep work to wave and smile widely. She leaves the counter for a moment to greet you both, revealing the full roundness of her belly. She waddles awkwardly over, exchanging hugs, confirming plans for next week’s gender reveal dinner party for their child.

With one hand, Nayeon cradles Jisoo’s full belly. Perhaps unconsciously, her free hand hovers over her own, a warm, thoughtful smile on her lips.

Eventually, Jisoo shuffles adorably back to the counter to finish her vegetable prep, promising to come back later to chat. The waiter shows you to your table, leaving you both two cups of tea.

He doesn’t leave a menu, because he already knows your order.

You tap the chest pocket of your jacket as you take it off and drape it over the back of your seat, making sure the small box and the engagement ring within were still there.

Nayeon cups her tea in both hands before taking a small sip. She finally locks eyes with you, although she doesn’t say anything. She knows she doesn’t have to. She’s content just to smile, content to reach her hand over the table, palm up, wanting nothing more than to feel your hand in hers.

Maybe she knew what was coming. Maybe she caught a glimpse of the box in your nightstand drawer, or noticed an open tab on your browser for a local jewelry store. Maybe she read it in your face at some point today, in the way you moved or the words you chose. She was a former detective and current professor of criminology, after all. She’d made a living out of reading people, and to her, you were an open book.

But it didn’t matter whether she knew it was coming or not, whether she would be surprised at all when, at the end of your meal, you got down on one knee in this restaurant where your relationship began and asked her to spend the rest of her life with you.

Because you both already knew, on some level had always known. It was always going to be you and her. And every trial and tribulation, every painful relationship with long-gone lovers, every day apart - it had all led to tonight.

Nayeon’s hand finds yours and your fingers intertwine.

Your heart warms at her touch.

---

Author’s Note: Good to be back ^^ Excuse any writing rust that was evident in this fic :( I actually had this alternate ending to BT mostly written awhile ago, but I'd been thinking about coming back to writing again and Nayeon's comeback gave me all the inspiration I needed to finally finish it.

Shoutout to @capslocked, whose work played a part in getting me back into writing. A special shoutout to his Tzuyu fic, which is probably one of my favorite smuts of all time - and I might have borrowed the phone sex idea from it. Love ya bud. Mimosa fic next pls k thx.

Stories and posts will be few and far between, but you’re always welcome to leave an ask. Thank you all for the love and support you've shown me over the past year. <3

#twice #nayeon #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

807 notes · View notes