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us: crying in the club meanwhile chan: vibing ▬ hollow fanchant guide

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🇦🇺 aussie bros 🇦🇺

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MY HEAAAARRRTTTT. i really love the ending this whole series should be a movie to be honest

EVERMORE.

FINAL CHAPTER

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (23,4k words)

Author's note: Thank you so much for patiently following Evermore to its last chapter. Appreciate all the feedbacks and reblogs on this series ♡

The Bang Theory Announces Repackage Album and World Tour: “We’re Back Where We Belong” By Minho Lee | June 2, 2025 After years of silence, rock legends The Bang Theory are stepping back into the spotlight—louder, wiser, and with hearts on their sleeves. Earlier today, the iconic band, fronted by the ever-enigmatic Chris Bang, officially announced the release of a repackaged edition of their critically acclaimed album Static Bloom, along with plans for a full-scale world tour kicking off this fall. The repackage, titled Static Bloom: Ever After, features remastered versions of fan favorites, three never-before-heard demos from the band’s vault, and two completely new tracks that already have fans speculating about their emotional origin—particularly the haunting ballad “Evermore (For You).” “This repackage isn't about nostalgia,” Bang said in a brief statement. “It’s about closure. About continuation. About honoring the parts of ourselves that never stopped singing.” The Bang Theory’s label, Atlas Records, confirmed the tour will span North America, Europe, and select cities in Asia and South America, with dates and venues to be announced in the coming weeks. Social media erupted following the news, especially after fans pieced together past rumors—including a recent sighting of Chris Bang having dinner with a certain famous former muse. While the nature of their relationship remains unconfirmed, fans are convinced some of the new songs hint at rekindled emotions. The repackage is set for digital release on June 21, with physical vinyl and deluxe editions available for pre-order starting next week. “There’s something poetic about this chapter,” a source close to the band shared. “It’s like the band never broke up—just paused to live.” From grungy dive bars in the ‘90s to sold-out arenas around the world, The Bang Theory has always had a way of crawling into your bones. And if this repackage and tour are any sign, they’re not done yet.

-

The morning is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy in the air, like it knows something is ending. You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Tigerlily and Julian move in sync as they bring out Chris’s bags—one by one, like it’s any other move-out day.

Chris steps out next. He’s slower, dragging his casted leg behind him with a quiet stubbornness. Every step looks like it costs him, but he doesn’t complain. He never does, not when it matters. He stops in front of you. His eyes are tired, shadowed with the kind of weight that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. There’s so much unsaid between you and him, it hums like static in the silence.

“Thank you,” he says, voice rough like it’s been scraped raw on the inside. “For letting me stay. For... everything.”

For everything. There’s a flicker in his eyes—something held back. A truth he’s swallowing. Maybe it’s I still love you. Maybe it’s I wish this wasn’t goodbye. But he doesn’t say it and you're grateful for that.

Because you're secretly holding back too. You want to tell him you’ll miss him. That it hurt watching him heal, only to watch him leave. That part of you still wonders what would’ve happened if you and him tried again, but you don’t.

Instead, you nod once and say, “Good luck. On everything.”

It’s small, but it holds more than it sounds. His eyes search yours for a beat longer, like he’s waiting for something to change. But when it doesn’t, he offers you a small, sad smile—the kind that says thank you, goodbye, and maybe I’ll carry this with me, all at once. Then he's slowly making his way toward the car and you stay where you are, still and quiet, holding the weight of what you both never said like it’s made of glass.

Chris pauses just before ducking into the car. He turns his head toward you, and your breath catches in your throat. That look—soft, sad, full of meaning. His eyes say all the things he couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't say last night. I'm sorry. Thank you. I wish this had gone differently.

And then, he gets in. Julian starts the car. You hear the low hum of the engine as it rolls out of the driveway, as it carries him—your past—away. You stand there until the car disappears completely down the street, leaving nothing behind except the dull ache in your chest and the echo of everything unsaid.

You step back inside the house and shut the door and then it hits you all at once—the finality, the weight of what could have been, the years you waited, the pieces of yourself you stitched back together again and again. You sink to the floor, your knees buckling beneath you and your hands tremble as they cover your face.

You don't fight it this time, you let yourself break. You cry like you're mourning something that was once alive. Something you loved. Something you had to let go of. And maybe that’s exactly what you're doing.

-

Two months have passed and summer comes with a harsh sunlight that shine even on things that tries to stay in the dark. You're folding your third dress into the suitcase when Tigerlily walks into your room with a bag of dried mangoes in one hand and a suspicious look on her face. “Need help?” she asks, popping a slice into her mouth.

You smile gratefully. “Please. If I fold one more thing wrong, I’m just going to throw it all in and call it a day.”

She giggles and drops down onto the bed, reaching over to refold a top you’ve clearly mangled. “So… where are you and Hyunjin going?”

You shrug, zipping up a toiletry bag. “I don’t know. He wants it to be a surprise.”

Tigerlily pauses mid-fold, raising a brow. “A surprise? God, that man is such a romantic. It's disgusting.”

You laugh lightly, but it doesn’t quite reach your chest.

She notices. This girl has lived with you her whole life so of course she does. Her hands still for a moment before she says, “You don’t look that excited.”

You let out a soft scoff but keep your eyes away from her. “What do you mean?”

She narrows her eyes at you. “You know what I mean. You’re packing for a getaway with your boyfriend and you look like you’re prepping for a tax audit.”

You offer her a tight-lipped smile and sit beside her. “I’m just… nervous, I guess. I don’t know where we’re going, and the control freak in me is screaming.”

Tigerlily gives you a look that says she’s not entirely buying it. “You’re also worried about me, aren’t you?”

You hesitate, then nod. “You’re in your first trimester, and you’ll be home alone…”

She waves you off and puts down the clothing she's folded into the suitcase. “I’m not alone, Mom. Julian is a phone call away and I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’ll be working on the tour illustrations Dad asked for. Just me, my drawing pad, and his dramatic rockstar eyeliner references.”

You chuckle, just like she meant you to. Gently, you reach over and brush her hair behind her ear, the way you used to do when she was little and falling asleep on your chest. “Don’t work too hard, okay?”

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Please. The best part about working for my dad is that he can’t fire me and I can take naps whenever I want.”

You laugh, but your heart stutters at the mention of him. That name. That weight. Chris. You lower your eyes to your suitcase, suddenly aware of the knot tightening in your stomach. The one that’s been sitting there for weeks. Because you haven’t told Hyunjin. Not about that night. Not about the kiss, the sex, the tears, the aching truth that still clings to you like a storm that never quite passed.

And as Tigerlily folds the last of your clothes with ease and chatters about maternity leggings, all you can think about is how silence can sometimes feel like betrayal too.

-

You step into Hyunjin’s studio that afternoon, the familiar scent of clay and his favorite scented candles greeting you like an old friend. It’s warm in here, like it always is — the sunlight slants through the high windows and paints the shelves in gold.

You spot him before he spots you — tall, poised, focused. His back is to you, his buzzed hair is covered in a beanie, arms crossed as he listens intently to two sharply dressed people seated across from him. His agents, you realize. They’re mid-discussion, and from the intensity of their tone and the stacks of paper on the table, it’s not the kind of conversation that should be interrupted.

So you quietly set down your bag and walk the other way, past the bisque-fired bowls and soft works-in-progress, to the other side of the studio where Hyunjin keeps the spare apron and the neatly prepped tools. You hang your jacket and put your bag before putting on an apron.

The slab of clay is cool in your hands. Heavy. Steady. You slice it down carefully with the cut-off wire, remembering the way Hyunjin showed you how to gauge the weight with your palms — how he told you to treat the clay like something alive, something that listens if you’re gentle enough.

You set the piece on the wheel, center it with trembling fingers, and press the pedal with your foot. The wheel spins into a soft whirr, and soon the clay begins to take shape beneath your hands.

It’s like breathing again. You let your fingers dip, steady and slow, and start pulling the walls of the clay higher. The wheel sings with rhythm, and you let the sound of it wrap around you. Each motion draws your focus closer — the smooth resistance of the clay, the faint pressure beneath your fingertips, the way your breath starts to mirror the tempo.

For a while… it works. You don’t think about the trip. You don’t think about the packed suitcase. You don’t think about that night with Chris, or the silence that followed, or how you still haven’t told Hyunjin. You just shape and mold and feel the clay shift beneath you, like something you can finally control.

Even still— somewhere deep in your chest, just beneath the calm, the knot remains. Quiet, but there and you wonder how long you can keep pretending that it isn’t.

You're smoothing the walls of the bowl, carefully shaping the rim with your thumb, when you feel a warm presence behind you — so silent you don’t hear it until—

"Hey," Hyunjin says softly.

You jolt, startled, and your hand slips. The rim caves in under your touch, the once-symmetrical shape now sagging in on one side. You gasp, letting out a quiet, “Shit,” under your breath.

“Sorry,” he says with a chuckle, crouching behind you, his long fingers already gently cupping yours. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let out a sigh as you eye the ruined clay. “It’s fine. I messed it up.”

Hyunjin slides in closer, his chest to your back, his hands now resting on top of yours, coaxing your fingers to move again. “It’s not messed up,” he murmurs. “Just needs a little help. See? Like this.”

Together, you guide the clay back into shape. Slowly. Patiently. His breath is soft against the back of your neck. His warmth anchors you. For a moment, you let yourself forget the storm brewing behind your ribs, then his voice cuts through the quiet.

“Is something bothering you, mmh?”

You hesitate. Your eyes stay locked on the wheel, your hands moving mechanically. “No,” you lie, too quickly.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything at first but then you feel his eyes on you, really on you and you know he doesn’t believe you. Still, he doesn’t press. He just leans in and places a feather-light kiss on your temple, letting it linger there like he’s trying to pass comfort through skin.

With his cheek still against yours, he whispers, “Okay.”

You don’t know what aches more — the lie you told or the kindness he gives you anyway. You press your fingers into the clay, together with his. Fixing what you can. Quietly holding back what you can’t.

-

The clay is now resting on the shelf to dry, its uneven curves proof of your trembling hands, of everything you’ve been trying not to feel. In the warm quiet of his studio, both of you holding coffee mugs still hot to the touch. You stand leaning against the big wooden table with Hyunjin next to you. He’s glowing in that effortless way — soft smiles constantly tugging at his plush lips, his eyes alight with something tender and bright. He takes a sip, then sets the mug down and leans forward, his hands reaching out to cup your face.

“You have no idea how excited I am for this trip,” he says, voice low, smile blooming across his lips before he leans in and kisses the side of your face. “Can’t wait to be alone with you. Just you and me. Us.”

Hyunjin smiles, the kind that makes his eyes form two crescent before tilting his head to kiss you on the lips. It’s slow and deep, lingering with all the warmth in his chest, and between the kisses, he smiles again — a boy in love, completely unguarded. He kisses you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, like you’re the reason his heart beats the way it does.

When he pulls back just enough to search your face, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks, he teasingly asks, “How about you, mmh? Are you excited to be alone with your beautiful, younger boyfriend?”

You hesitate, just a second, but it's enough for him to notice so you quickly nod and force a soft smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

Hyunjin sees it, he feels it yet he lets it slide and kisses you again. Then he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest as if he knows that you're about to fall apart. His hand rubs slow, soothing circles across your back, and your fingers curl lightly into his shirt as you listen to his heartbeat.

It’s steady, safe and it makes you ache. You stay there, pressed into his warmth, trying to memorize the way he feels — trying to decide if honesty is selfish or necessary. But it slips out of you anyway, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it yourself.

“I have something to tell you.”

His hand stills on your back. You feel him breathe in slowly, feel his chin shift slightly as he tilts his head, waiting.

You lift your gaze to meet his and you're aware that you have no more room to run. Instinctively, you take a step back, but your hands don’t let go of his. You hold them tighter instead, grounding yourself in the warmth of them, afraid it’ll be the last time.

“I am excited for this trip,” your voice is small when you begin, barely steady. Your eyes flicking up to meet his just long enough. “I really am. I really, really do want to go.”

The next breath is jagged and you inhale like it might save you, like it might stop your heart from fracturing in your chest, but it doesn’t. Because the truth is bitter— it burns your tongue, chokes your throat, makes your eyes sting before a single word escapes.

Hyunjin sees it. Of course he does. He always sees you. His brow furrows, his hand gently lifts to cup the side of your head, thumb grazing the damp corner of your eye. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

When you let the question left unanswered for a moment, he just holds you like you’re safe and that’s what shatters you most. His gentleness feels like a mirror — one that reflects the guilt you’ve been carrying in sharp, unforgiving clarity.

“You can tell me,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything.”

Your lips tremble, heart pounding like it’s trying to rip free from your ribs. And then, quietly, finally—

“One night… me and Chris…”

The hand cupping your jaw stills and his gaze wavering just the slightest.

“We got drunk. And I don’t know what we were thinking. Maybe we weren’t. But it… it happened,” your voice breaks in between words. “I slept with him, Hyunjin.”

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.

“I’ve been keeping it from you. I thought maybe it’d be easier to pretend it didn’t happen. But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong,” you continue with a shaky voice as your fingers lose grip on his. Your hands fall uselessly at your sides.

“I won’t make excuses,” you say, the words strangled by your own tears. “There’s nothing I can say to justify it. I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as you choke back the sob in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m truly, deeply sorry, Hyunjin. But I know sorry won’t fix this. I know sorry doesn’t make it better. And I know—”

Your voice catches again when you finally look at him but he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking through you and in that moment, you see it — the way every bit of light drains from his face, the quiet devastation settling into his features. As if the warmth he’s always carried for you has been ripped from him in one breath.

You hate every second of this. You hate how you’re the one who did this to him. You hate yourself for causing all of this. You wipe your tears, ashamed to even cry in front of him. You look away, eyes blurry, heart breaking in ways you never thought it could again. “I’m sorry,” you say again, broken and hoarse. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m—”

You turn around because you don't want to anger him more by staying and this time, you don’t look back.

The steering wheel blurs in front of you. You're not even sure how you made it into the car. You don’t remember walking down the hallway, or how your fingers found the keys in your bag. All you know is that the engine is on, the road ahead is empty, and Hyunjin isn’t beside you. You gripped the wheel so tightly your knuckles ache. Your eyes sting, swollen from crying, and still — the tears won’t stop.

You didn’t just hurt him. You shattered something good. Something whole. Something warm that had wrapped itself around you like safety and softness and trust. You ruined it.

Now, you're driving through a city you don’t recognize anymore — not with this ache blooming in your chest, not with his face etched into your memory the way it looked when your truth finally reached him.

Hyunjin didn’t yell. He didn’t beg. He didn’t even ask why. And maybe that’s what hurts the most. You can handle anger. You can handle shouting, rejection, blame. But that silence? That hollow, stunned silence that crept over him like a slow, cold wind?

It told you everything. It told you that you lost not just Hyunjin. Not just this beautiful, gentle, patient man who loved you with so much of himself — but maybe you also lost your last chance at love. Real love. Steady love. The kind that shows up and stays.

You press your foot harder against the gas pedal, not because you're in a rush, but because you don’t know where else to go. What else to do. Who you are without this weight sitting in your chest. A sob crawls up your throat and slips out before you can stop it. You clutch the steering wheel like it's the only thing tethering you to earth.

“I'm so sorry,” you whisper to Hyunjin, to yourself, to the version of you that thought she could keep pretending.

-

The morning sun creeps through the sheer curtains, lighting the room with a soft glow that feels completely at odds with the way your chest feels — hollow, aching, still echoing with everything you couldn’t take back.

You sit at the dining table, a half-empty cup of coffee cradled in your hands. It’s cold. You don’t remember drinking it. You don’t remember making it. You just know it’s there— bitter and useless now— much like the silence that’s swallowed the house whole.

Your eyes drift to the suitcase by the door, zipped shut and standing tall like it’s waiting for something that won’t come. Just like you. Packed and prepared and going nowhere. Because the moment you confessed, you knew — you knew the trip was off, even if no one had said it aloud. You wish he’d yelled. Slammed a door. Called you names. Something. But all you got was silence and that’s even worse. You know you deserve this because you lied, you waited too long, you let your fear tie your tongue and rot the truth.

Now he’s gone— or at least, gone from you. And the worst part? You still love him. You love him and you ruined it.

The suitcase is still sitting there, quietly mocking you, like it knows exactly what you gave up. You finally let go of the cup. It clinks softly against the table, spilling a ring of coffee that slowly seeps into the wood. You don’t bother wiping it away because it’s already stained. Just like you.

Even so, you drag yourself up from the chair, the weight in your limbs almost unbearable and the cup in your hand feels heavier than ceramic has any right to, and you return to the table with a cloth in hand.

The coffee stain stares back at you like it’s carved into the wood — like a reminder of everything you’ve spilled and everything you can’t clean up. Still, you press the cloth to it and rub in slow, aimless circles, trying to pretend that if you just scrub hard enough, maybe it’ll all go back to before. Maybe you’ll wake up, and yesterday won’t have happened.

Then you hear it — a car pulling into the driveway. Your hand stills over the table. The cloth droops between your fingers. You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

It could be him. It could be Hyunjin. And the thought alone is enough to send your heart thudding painfully against your ribcage. But you don’t run to the door. You can’t. You’re too afraid to see the truth. Too afraid that it’s just someone else — a neighbor, a delivery, anyone but him. A disappointment waiting to happen.

Then the knocks come. Firm. Familiar. Still, you stay frozen. Too afraid that if it’s not him, you’ll break again in a way you won’t know how to fix this time. And then—

“It’s me,” comes Hyunjin’s soft, sultry voice.

Your breath catches in your throat like you’ve been underwater for days and just now found the surface. You don’t think — you break into a run, feet thudding against the hardwood floor, hands reaching for the doorknob with the same desperation that’s been coiling in your chest since yesterday. You twist it open, and there he is.

Hyunjin and he's looking at you. And he’s real. He’s really here. You don’t wait to throw yourself at him — arms wrapping around his body like a lifeline, like you’ve been lost at sea and finally made it back to shore. Your face buries in the crook of his neck, and you inhale sharply, clinging to the warmth of him, the scent of clay and something distinctly Hyunjin. You hold him like it’s the last time because maybe it is. And even if it is… you just needed one more second of him. Just one more.

To your surprise, Hyunjin holds you just as tightly. His hands press into your back, his breath shaky against your neck. It’s not just comfort he’s giving you — it’s everything. It’s the way his fingers tremble like yours do. The way his body leans into yours like he’s been aching just as long, just as hard and maybe… maybe he has.

Your tears come without permission. They sting your eyes and spill quietly down your cheeks as you clutch at him, overcome by the unbearable weight of his presence — and the even heavier knowledge that he’s here.

Hyunjin is here. Despite it all. Despite the truth you should’ve told him earlier, the wrong you can never undo, the guilt that still gnaws at your chest — he’s here. And it breaks something tender inside you.

You feel him shift, feel the warmth of his hand as it gently cups your face and lifts it. “Look at me,” he murmurs.

So you do and in his eyes, there’s pain, but there’s also something softer, something steady.

“I don’t care,” he says, his voice trembling at the edges. “I don’t care about it. I just need to know—do you want to be with me? Do you still want to do this with me?”

It’s not just a question. It’s a lifeline. Your eyes blur with new tears as you nod— once, twice, again and again— and your voice cracks when you say it. “Yes.” You say it again, and again. “Yes. I want to be with you. I want this. I want you.”

You don’t care if you sound desperate. You are. Desperate to stay. Desperate to fix it. Desperate for one more chance to love him the way he deserves.

A smile blooms on Hyunjin's beautiful, angular face and then his lips crash into yours before the next tear can fall. The kiss is hard and deep, wild with relief and longing. It’s the kind of kiss that hurts— not in pain, but in the way it fills your lungs with air you didn’t know you were missing. And in that moment — in that fierce, tender, desperate kiss — you know that this is your one more chance and you’re never letting it go.

You pull back from the kiss, just far enough to look at him. Your hands stay curled around the collar of his shirt, your breath still tangled with his, and your heart—God, your heart is thudding like it’s about to burst from your chest. And then, in a voice that shakes but means everything, you whisper, “I love you.”

Your words hang in the space between you, vulnerable and naked and true.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen—not in surprise, but like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear that. And then his smile stretches so wide it looks like it hurts. “You do?” he says, his voice breathless with joy.

You nod and smile. “I do. I love—”

Before you can finish your sentence, he kisses you and this time it’s full of pure, overflowing happiness. He laughs into your mouth like he can’t help it, and then suddenly his arms are tightening around you and—

“Hyunjin!” you yelp as your feet lift off the floor.

He’s picked you up—completely off the ground—and is holding you close like you weigh nothing, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever carried.

You giggle into the kiss, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably, like your body has no idea what to do with so much joy at once. Then he spins you and you let out a breathless laugh, head tilting back, your hair catching the light as the world twirls with you in his arms. And with every kiss he plants on your cheek, your forehead, your lips—something inside you starts to mend. Every broken piece he touches slides right back into place. By the time your feet return to the floor, your heart is whole again and it’s his. All his.

Hyunjin cups your face again, gentle and reverent as he wipes the tears still clinging to your lashes. His smile hasn’t faded—not even a little. “You should get ready,” he says with a spark in his eyes. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”

Your breath catches. “But I thought...”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “I canceled the trip? Why would I? You know how long I've been waiting for this.”

Your heart does a flip and then it flips again when you realize you’re still in your pajamas. “Oh my God—I’m not dressed!”

Hyunjin laughs, kissing your forehead. “Go get dressed. I'll wait.”

You nod quickly, stealing another peck on his lips before you bolt upstairs. But halfway up the stairs, you pause—something in you needing one more look.

You glance over your shoulder and he’s still there, standing by the door, watching you with that same unshakable smile. Still here. Still staying.

“Go,” he calls gently, a teasing edge in his voice. “Before I change my mind and carry you to the airport just like that.”

You laugh, heart swelling and this time, when you run upstairs—you do it knowing that love is still yours and he’s waiting right there for you.

Once you're properly dressed for travel, you rush down the stairs, heart racing for all the right reasons this time. The sound of your footsteps echo through the quiet house, each step lighter than the one before. Your bag bounces against your side, the back of your jacket flaring behind you, and there's a breathless kind of giddiness stirring inside you—like you're about to leap into something brand new and beautiful.

When you step outside, the sky is clear with the promise of something good. You spot Hyunjin by his car, just as he closes the trunk after loading your suitcase in. He turns at the sound of the door and when his eyes land on you, his whole face softens.

“There she is,” he says, that gentle smile blooming instantly. He walks around to the front of the car, closer to you, taking in the sight of you like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “You ready?”

You stop in front of him, the hem of your coat swaying as you catch your breath. And then, with a smile that breaks wide open, you say, “Yes. I'm ready.”

Hyunjin’s smile widens, his eyes glimmering with something quiet and sure—like he’s been waiting for those words. He closes the space between you, his hands slipping into yours. “Let’s go.”

You glance down at your joined hands, then back up into his eyes, and everything in you settles. You’ve made mistakes, taken detours, lost and found yourself along the way—but right here, right now, you’re choosing something. Someone. Hope.

He lifts your hand and kisses it, soft and reverent, then opens the car door for you like it’s second nature. As you slide into the seat beside him moments later, you glance out the window one last time—not in regret, but in gratitude for the road that led you here. Because now, you're driving away from the past and toward something new with him beside you. Together.

-

The door to Chris's studio creaks open gently, and his eyes lift from the journal he’s been scribbling into. He sees Tigerlily step in, Julian right behind her, eyes already scanning the rows of guitars mounted on the wall.

"Wow," Julian murmurs in awe, walking straight over to Chris’s 1964 Stratocaster and continues touring Chris’s studio to check his guitar collection.

Chris manages a small smile, rising from his seat. "Hey, cub," he greets his daughter as she leans in to kiss his cheek.

"Hi, Dad," she says, her voice light but observant. She holds up a thick envelope. "Just brought the final set of illustrations. For the tour."

He takes it from her carefully, nodding. "Can’t wait to see them. You always make us look cooler than we are."

Tigerlily grins, but her smile softens as she looks at him. "How are you doing?"

Chris blinks at her, surprised by the question. "I’m... Excited. Album’s out. Tour’s coming."

"You don’t look that excited," she says gently, folding her arms.

Chris shrugs, chuckling as if to dismiss the weight in the room. "I’m tired. But I’m good."

She doesn’t press. Not yet. Her phone buzzes in her bag. She fishes it out and reads the text, her smile blooming. "Oh, she sent another one," she mutters to herself.

Chris looks up. "What’s that?"

"It's Mom," Tigerlily says, still smiling as she turns her phone toward him. It’s a photo of a quiet lake surrounded by misty pine trees. "She sends me pictures of the scenery every day."

Chris swallows and tries to sound casual as he asks, "So, how is she? Your mother?"

Tigerlily slips her phone back into her purse. "She's great. She’s actually on a trip with Hyunjin."

Chris breathes through his nose, a nod the only sign of his reaction. But Tigerlily notices. She's his daughter after all. He doesn’t know what gives it away—his tightened jaw, the way he stares too long, or how he doesn’t ask anything else.

"I know about 'Evermore', Dad," she says softly.

Chris drumming his journal with the pen he's holding to hide his nerves. "What about it?"

Tigerlily subtly rolls her eyes like she knew her dad expected her to not know about this. "I know it’s about Mom."

He tries to smile, but it slips too quickly to convince anyone. Tigerlily scoots closer to him, placing a warm hand over his. "I’m going to be brutally honest with you, okay?"

Chris nods, bracing himself for anything that will come out of Tigerlily’s mouth next.

"You had your chance, Dad," she says quietly. "And you blew it."

"I didn’t know she waited for me," Chris says quickly.

Tigerlily doesn’t flinch. "No. You knew. You just didn’t have the guts to try again."

Chris feels it hit deep. Her words land with precision, sharp and true. He looks at his daughter and sees it—how much she understands. Maybe more than he ever gave her credit for.

"I was scared," he meekly admits. "Scared I’d hurt her again."

Tigerlily squeezes his hand. "I know. But...I think it's easier to let it all go, Dad."

The silence in the studio stretches after the door of the studio shuts behind Tigerlily and Julian. The air still hums faintly with the echo of her words, the weight of them hanging over him like the scent of rain before a storm.

Chris stays where he is, slouched on the old leather couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he stares at the floor. It’s not the first time someone’s told him he was afraid. But hearing it from his daughter—seeing the unwavering honesty in her eyes as she laid it bare—something about that rattled him more than he expected.

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face, through his messy hair. “You had your chance, and you blew it.” The words twist inside him, cruel in their accuracy. He did. He had you. And he let you go, convinced that was what love sometimes required—distance, silence, sacrifice. But what if that was just cowardice, dressed in romantic ideals?

His eyes drift to the guitar resting on its stand across the room. The same one he used when writing Evermore. He can still hear your voice, low and careful, telling him goodbye on the porch that day. The memory cuts deeper than he likes to admit.

Chris leans back, tilts his head up toward the ceiling. “Let it all go,” he murmurs to himself. It would be easier. Safer. He could just go on tour, sell out the stadiums, play the part of the frontman like he always has. Smile for the cameras. Hit the notes. Pretend the song doesn’t carry your name in every lyric.

But deep in his chest—underneath the bruises and regrets—something refuses to settle. That ember of defiance he’s always carried, the one that once made him believe in love enough to chase it across oceans, starts to flicker again.

He stands up slowly, walking over to his desk. His fingers find the polaroid Tigerlily left behind last week—one of the tour concept sketches. You're in it, in the background, blurred and laughing as you held a paper cup of coffee.

Chris stares at it for a long moment. Then he sets it back down with a sigh. He’s not sure what to do next. He doesn’t know if there’s still time, if you’ll even listen. But he knows this: the fear of hurting you again is real—but so is the fear of never trying. And maybe this time, he won’t let fear decide for him.

-

After the long stretch of a flight and the lull of a train winding through small towns, you watch the scenery shift from cityscapes to vineyards, to hills blooming with late-spring flowers. You’re half-asleep, leaning on Hyunjin’s shoulder when he nudges you gently and tells you that the two of you are almost there.

When you arrive, it's exactly what it sounds like in every romantic novel you used to roll your eyes at: a cozy cabin tucked in the heart of the countryside. Ivy climbs the stone walls, the shutters are painted a soft blue, and wildflowers grow like secrets around the front path. You stare at it in disbelief, and Hyunjin just grins like he’s been keeping this gift wrapped tight for weeks.

Then, with all the ease in the world, he suggests that both of you turn off your phones so the two of you can focus on each other and be present for every second of it. You agree immediately by pressing the button and watch the screen go black, not realizing until now how heavy it had all been—every noise, every ping, every pull back into the world. But now? There’s only birdsong, and the smell of rain lingering in the grass, and Hyunjin standing beside you, asking nothing of you except to be here. You didn’t know this was everything you needed until now.

It starts with the warmth of the morning light spilling into the room, soft and golden through the sheer curtains. You're tucked against Hyunjin’s chest, his arms draped around you, one leg tangled between yours like he’s afraid you’ll float away in your sleep. His breath is steady, his skin warm, and you lie there for a moment, listening to the soft beat of his heart under your cheek. It’s peaceful. Grounding. You don’t move until you feel his hand graze your back and hear his sleep-rough voice whisper, “Good morning.”

After a slow breakfast on the little patio—coffee and warm toasts with homemade jam—you both set out for a walk through the countryside. The air is crisp, the hill rising gently before you, blanketed in green and dotted with wildflowers. Hyunjin keeps stopping to point things out or to take pictures with his camera: a tree that bends like a question mark, a small shrine by the road, a patch of forget-me-nots that makes you both stop for a photo. The silence between you is never awkward—it’s soft, comforting. A kind of silence you want to live inside.

On the way back down, you stumble upon a lake—still and glimmering under the midmorning sun. Without speaking, you both step in. The cold hits your skin in a shock, but Hyunjin’s laughter—carefree, genuine—pulls one from you, too. He swims closer and cups your cheeks in his wet hands, kisses you right there in the middle of it all, tasting of lake water and something deeper. Something true.

Later, you wander through town hand in hand, picking up sandwiches and fruit from a little shop, and you find a quiet spot by the canal to sit. There’s a boat drifting lazily nearby, and the sound of the water brushing against the dock is soothing. He lays out a blanket, you set down the food, and the two of you eat with the sun warming your backs. He brushes crumbs from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, and you kiss the tip of it just to make him blush. It works.

By afternoon, you’re walking between neat rows of grapevines, glasses of wine in hand. Hyunjin pretends to be a sommelier, describing the notes of the red in ridiculous detail, making you laugh so hard you nearly spill your drink. You both choose a bottle to bring home for dinner, and he tucks it under his arm like it’s something precious.

The sun’s slipping behind the hills as you stop by the market—fresh pasta, tomatoes, herbs. He insists on picking the perfect basil and gets into a charmingly serious debate with the vendor. Back at the cabin, you cook together in a kitchen too small for two, dancing around each other as the sauce simmers and the wine breathes. He tastes the food off your fork and kisses your cheek, murmuring, “Perfect. Just like you.”

Dinner is slow. Laughter over candlelight. Feet brushing under the table. The clink of glasses and the occasional, quiet I’m so glad you’re here.

When night falls, you curl into each other in bed, the covers pulled up to your chins, his fingers tracing light circles on your arm. That's when Hyunjin pulls out his book, a collection of love letters and he would read you one before bed, reading it with his soft, melodic voice that somehow always works to slowly pull you under. But tonight, you take your turn as you have marked the one that you want to read it to him.

You're lying on your stomach with your head on his chest, one hand holding the book and the other propped under your chin. With a low, steady voice and Hyunjin’s hand resting on the small of your back, you begin reading the words on the page.

“Often as I lie awake I wonder if you are also lying awake…You drew me from the darkest period of my young life, sharing with me the sacred mystery of what it is to be an artist. I learned to see through you and never compose a line or draw a curve that does not come from the knowledge I derived in our precious time together…”

You pause to look at him and you find him staring at you with tender eyes and a faint smile that soften his sharp features, reassuring you that he's here, listening.

“The other afternoon, when you fell asleep on my shoulder, I drifted off, too. But before I did, it occured to me looking around at all of your things and your work and going through years of work in my mind that of all your work...” you look him in the eyes as you read the last lines, ones that perfectly fathom your thoughts into words, “...you are still your most beautiful. The most beautiful work of all.”

The silence hangs in the room once you close the book and Hyunjin says nothing, does nothing but runs his hand through your hair before resting it on the nape of your neck. You put the book away before leaning in and mutter, “You are beautiful, Hyunjin. You are beautiful to me.”

He smiles as he catches all of your praises and lets it seep into him. When you kiss him, he accepts the kiss like it's something precious, with such tenderness that makes your heart tightens.

When you pull away, he holds you gaze and says, “And you’re the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.” Then, he kisses you. Softly. Like a promise. Like he’s memorizing the shape of forever on your lips.

That night feels eternal. It's just you and him, lying on the bed bathed in the pale moonlight that shines through the window. He brushes your hair away from your face and kisses you once, then again, deeper this time, with the kind of patience that makes your heart ache. You cup his face as he leans into you, his body shifting to hover above yours, and the way he looks at you—overflowed with admiration.

Suddenly, it feels like words are not enough to convey these shared feelings. You both take your time taking each other clothes off until there’s no layer of barrier between you. It’s your body against his, his warmth on yours, skin to skin.

When Hyunjin pushes his cock into you, he does it slowly, carefully, and so full of emotion it nearly undoes you right away. He’s only has half of his length inside you but you already feel overwhelmed by the closeness, the connection and the intimacy of this moment.

His forehead touches yours as he uses his hips to push the remaining length into you. His eyes never leave yours the whole time his cock penetrating into you deeper and deeper until he's buried to the hilt. You both let out a gasp almost at the same time, of relief and of the sensation of becoming one once more.

Hyunjin takes your hands, lacing them together with his before he takes them, pinned them above your head. He leans in, crashing his lips onto yours again and again before placing it on any skin that entice him. Each kiss longer than the previous. Each kiss carries a weight.

When he finally moves, it's unhurried, intentional. He rolls his hips, slowly but with such intensity that allows you to feel every drag of his cock against your tightening walls. And in the softest voice, between shallow breaths, he says calls your name like it’s his prayer.

You hold him tighter. You wrap your legs around him, pull him closer, kiss him harder. And still, it’s not enough—not when it feels like he’s loving you with his whole being. It’s overwhelming, yes, but not something you ever want to escape. You whisper his name again and again like it’s the only thing that gives you air.

Hyunjin looks into your eyes as he keeps moving, making love not just to your physical being, but also to the one resides inside you. You feel it, you feel him all over you and against the the pleasure keeps building and building, you feel a wave of emotions that makes your eyes sting with tears. Before you know it, you're coming around him, your body trembles against him as the pleasure comes in waves.

He doesn’t stop, not when your legs still tightly wrapped around his waist, not letting him go until he too, comes inside you, filling you with his love and giving you all of him.

And when he finally does, his hands clutching yours, his mouth pressed against your neck, and he breathes your name like it’s the only thing grounding him to this world.

Afterward, wrapped in his warmth, your bodies still tangled under the cover and your hearts racing as one, he runs his fingers along the curve of your jaw and whispers, “I love you.”

You kiss him softly and whisper back. “I love you.”

And just before sleep comes to take you—before dreams and morning light—you send out a silent, desperate wish to the universe: Let this moment last forever. Please.

-

The morning light pours gently into the room, golden and warm, and when you blink your eyes open, it’s to the steady rhythm of Hyunjin’s heartbeat against your back. His arm is draped loosely around your waist, his breath soft and even against the nape of your neck. You stay there for a while, cocooned in the silence, the stillness, the kind of peace that feels too good to disturb.

You turn slowly in his arms just to look at him—his grown out buzzed hair, lashes fanned over his cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly as he sleeps. There’s something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and quiet and still, that tugs at the deepest part of your heart. He looks like something out of a painting, bathed in morning light, too beautiful to be real. You can't bring yourself to wake him so you press a gentle kiss to his cheek—light and fleeting—then carefully slip out of his arms and the bed.

The cabin is cool as you step into the kitchen, bare feet against the wooden floor. The first thing you do is open the window to let the fresh morning air into the cabin and then you start the coffee machine, the comforting whir of it filling the room, and as you wait, you reach for your phone, the intention simple: send Tigerlily some photos you took during the trip—snapshots of vineyard fields, sleepy canals, the lake bathed in sunlight.

But the second your screen lights up, reality rushes back in. There are dozens of notifications. Work emails. Messages. A couple missed calls and your heart stops when you see that one of them is from Chris.

Your finger hovers above his name. Your chest tightens. You don’t know why he called. You don’t know if you want to. But before you can dwell too long, you hear Hyunjin’s voice—sleepy, grumbly, a little scolding. “No phones, remember?”

You turn your head, caught. He’s standing by the doorway, eyes half-lidded as he walks toward you. You let out a soft laugh, switching off the screen. “Just wanted to send some pictures to Tigerlily.”

He hums, unconvinced, but smiling. “Mm, no more distractions. Come here.”

Before you can move, he’s already reaching you, already wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. His lips find yours—sweet, slow, warm. You melt into him, hands pressed against his chest. Then, without warning, he lifts you with ease and sets you gently on the edge of the kitchen counter.

For a moment, Hyunjin doesn’t say a word. He only leans in and drags his lips down your neck, along the curve of your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone, then a teasing one right at your cleavage. It makes you shiver—the heat of his breath, the gentleness of his mouth, the way he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He cages you in with his arms, nose brushing yours, and finally whispers, “Good morning.”

Your lips part in a quiet breath. “Good morning,” you whisper back, eyes soft, heart full.

Just like that, Hyunjin pulls you back to live another day in paradise.

-

The sun warms your shoulders as you stroll through the cobblestone street, your hand tucked comfortably in Hyunjin’s. The town is alive in the softest ways—small laughter from cafés, the clink of glasses, flower baskets swaying from windowsills. You pause at a corner and peer into the quaint little shops lined like watercolor sketches, all inviting and old-world charming.

Hyunjin slows when he catches sight of a narrow store with a wooden sign painted Art & Co. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks, already half turned toward it.

You give him a knowing smile. “Take as much time as you need.”

He laughs softly. “I might take too much time.”

You shrug playfully. “I planned for that.”

He grins, leans in to press a soft peck to your lips, and murmurs, “Don’t go too far.”

You nod and watch him disappear into the shop, the little bell above the door chiming in his wake. Left to your own, you duck into a cozy souvenir store across the street, the scent of something citrus and old paper greeting you as you walk in. Wooden shelves crowd the space, filled with handcrafted trinkets, postcards, soaps wrapped in parchment, tiny jars of honey, and miniature oil paintings.

You pick out a few things for Tigerlily—she’ll love the hand-painted bookmarks and the delicate earrings shaped like olive leaves. For Julian, a carved wooden guitar keychain. You think about your friends back home, wondering what little bits of this trip they’d treasure.

You’re holding a ceramic music box when a sound catches your ear—the quiet rise of a guitar riff through the store’s small speaker, the soft crackle of a local radio station. Then a voice follows, a voice you know too well. Chris.

The words fall into the air like pieces of something unfinished, aching with clarity and meaning:

“If I told you I waited. Would you believe me now? If I said I still hear your laugh even in the quietest town…”

All of a sudden, time stills and the world shrinks to the size of that song. The lyrics thread into your bones, the melody familiar and heavy. Your grip on the music box loosens as you listen. Every line holds something sacred. Something personal. Things he’s never said out loud, but now sings to the world. But it’s not the world that will understand. It’s only you. You.

As the song fades, the DJ’s voice rises with cheerful ease: “That was the brand-new single from The Bang Theory, Evermore—rumored to be their most personal track yet. The band’s set to begin their international tour next month…”

It’s like something in you is being pulled back—gently, but insistently. As if the universe itself is reminding you: you and Chris, whatever it is… it’s not done. Not yet.

You inhale, steadying yourself, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes. You can’t run from it. No matter how far the countryside stretches, no matter how beautiful Hyunjin’s love feels wrapped around you—Chris still lingers in the corners you haven’t swept clean. Now, his voice echoes in the air not in person, but in a song and that might be even harder to escape.

-

The warm water runs over your hands as you lean into the sink, trying to clear your head, trying to wash away the voice that’s been following you since earlier. You splash your face, the coolness biting your skin just enough to anchor you in the present. But even with your eyes shut and your breath steady, you can still hear him. Not his voice in a room, but in your head. In the song. In the way the lyrics loop like memories refusing to settle.

You reach for the towel and gently pat your face dry, careful and slow. That's when you feel it. The soft weight of a presence behind you. You lift your eyes to the mirror, and there he is. Hyunjin, standing quietly, his reflection filling the frame behind yours, his smile gentle but slightly puzzled.

“What take you so long, mmh?” he says, voice low, as if afraid to disturb something.

You hold his gaze in the mirror for a moment longer before looking down at the towel in your hands, folding it neatly even though it doesn’t need folding.

“I’m just…” You hesitate, weighing what to share, what to bury. “I’m a little sad the trip’s almost over.”

Hyunjin steps forward, his hand slipping around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You feel the warmth of his lips as he presses a kiss onto your bare shoulder, then another, then rests his chin there, against your skin, his eyes meeting yours again in the mirror.

“Me too,” he admits with an adorable pout. “I don’t want it to end.”

The words sink into your chest, soft and devastating. You nod faintly, chewing the inside of your cheek as if that’ll keep you grounded, stop the rush of guilt that builds inside you for not telling him the whole truth—for holding parts of yourself away from him, even now. For not telling him that Chris called. For not telling him what it did to you to hear that song.

You and Hyunjin stand there in silence, your bodies pressed close, your hearts somehow both entwined and distant. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that says “I see you” even when you’re trying to stay hidden.

“Hurry and come to bed, yeah?” he whispers, his voice warm, inviting. “The bed is getting cold without you.”

You turn your head and steal a quick kiss from his lips, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He lingers for a second longer, eyes flicking over your face like he wants to ask more but won’t push. He gives you a quick peck on the lips and then walks out of the bathroom, leaving you alone again, just as you asked.

You rest your hands on the cool edge of the sink and lower your head. You’ve never wanted to live inside a single moment as much as this one. But your past is still humming like a low frequency underneath it all, and tonight, it's getting louder. You close your eyes and allow yourself just one more minute. One more breath.

A moment later, you step out of the bathroom, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue across the room. And there he is—Hyunjin—already sitting up against the headboard, legs stretched out, the covers folded over his lap. His eyes find you instantly, and the moment he sees you, he shifts slightly, patting the space between his legs as he makes room just for you.

You smile—small and soft, the kind that carries more feeling than words could ever hold. You climb onto the bed, crawling into the space he’s made yours, settling your back against his chest. The moment your body meets his, something inside you releases. Like your bones remember what safety feels like. His arms come around you instinctively, enveloping you in warmth, in comfort, in the quiet promise of love. You sink into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder as he gently holds you by the neck and then places a chaste, lingering kiss on your lips.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod with an ease you didn’t know you were capable of tonight. “Yeah,” you whisper.

He smiles and rests one hand across your chest, the other reaching to the nightstand for the familiar book—a collection of timeless love letters the two of you have been reading to each other each night of this trip. He flips through the worn pages until he finds the one he marked. He holds the book open in front of you, though you can read it yourself. Still, you wait. You want to hear it from him.

“My angel, my all, my very self. We shall surely see each other soon; moreover, today I cannot share with you the thoughts I have had during these last few days touching my own life. If our hearts were always close together, I would have none of these.”

His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he reads. His cadence calm and steady.

“My heart is full of so many things to say to you – ah – there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all – Cheer up – remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. Ah, wherever I am, there you are also. Much as you love me – I love you more.”

Hyunjin takes a second to press a kiss to your temple and then rests his cheek against your head before continuing.

“Oh God – so near! So far! Is not our love truly a heavenly structure, and also as firm as the vault of heaven? My thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us.”

This time, Hyunjin pauses to simply smile, as if the words are too full for him to contain.

“I can live only wholly with you or not at all. No one else can ever possess my heart – never – never. Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together. Be calm – love me – today – yesterday – what tearful longings for you – you – you – my life – my all – farewell.”

You listen. You let the words seep into you like warmth under your skin.

“Oh continue to love me – never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.” His voice is lower now, tender. A whisper of silk over skin. “Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.”

When the words settle into the quiet air around you, he flips to the next page—and there, nestled between the pages like a secret meant only for you: a ring.

A delicate diamond glinting in the soft light, catching the moonlight through the window and sending it scattering like stars across your lap. You suddenly get quiet. You have no words, no breath—just this moment stretching out, suspended and eternal.

You turn your head slowly to look at him and Hyunjin’s already watching you. His expression is soft and open, vulnerable in a way that steals your breath.

“What do you think?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You swallow and whisper, “It’s... beautiful.”

Hyunjin smiles, not with nerves or tension, but with calm certainty—as if this has always been the answer, and he’s just been waiting for the moment to find you.

“This is me proposing to you,” he says so casually, so Hyunjin, that it makes your heart ache. “Because I want you. I want this life. I want forever with you.”

Before you can speak, he gently adds, “But you don’t have to say anything. Not now. I just want you to know that I’m ready. And wear it only when you’re ready.”

His words are soft and filled with grace—so like him. Always giving you space. Always honoring your pace. He takes the ring from the book and places it in your palm, curling your fingers gently around it.

“Until then, please keep it safe,” he says, his eyes on yours. “That’s all I ask.”

You nod, tears clouding your vision as you smile. It’s a bittersweet thing, this joy laced with sorrow, because you want this too—desperately. But your heart is still tangled in something you can’t quite name.

Still, you press the ring to your chest like a vow and with a breath that feels like the truest thing you’ve ever spoken, you whisper, “I love you.”

Then you turn, cupping his face in both your hands, and kiss him. A kiss that’s deep, tender, grateful. A kiss that tells him thank you—for loving you this way, for being patient, for being here.

When you finally pull back and lay your head against his chest once more, the ring still held safely in your hand, caged between the two beating hearts, you think: if this isn’t paradise, you don’t know what is.

-

The world rushes past the windows, but inside the car, time feels slower, softer. Hyunjin has one hand on the wheel and the other resting palm-up between you, waiting for yours. You slip your fingers into his, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze without looking.

Your heart aches with a bittersweet tangle of emotions. You’re sad the trip is over. Sad to leave behind the dreamy stillness of the countryside, the love letters, the quiet mornings and slow nights. But there’s also something stirring under the sadness—something like readiness. Like the promise of starting again, of stepping back into your life with something new blooming in your chest.

Hyunjin glances over, catching the flicker of something in your expression. Without a word, he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. The warmth of his lips lingers.

“Let’s take another trip soon,” he says with that knowing smile of his.

It makes you smile too. “Yes, please.”

When the car finally pulls into your driveway, the quiet is interrupted by the soft hum of the engine cutting off. You both move slowly, neither of you in a rush to mark this moment as the end.

Hyunjin helps you carry your things to the door, and the second you step into your house, it hits you. You’re home. You drop your bag near the doorway and look around as if trying to reacquaint yourself with your own space.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Hyunjin asks behind you, his voice gentle, careful not to rush the moment.

You shake your head, but before you can say anything, he’s already stepping in. His arms slip around you—one under your shoulders, the other around your waist—pulling you close against him. He kisses you. Long, slow, lingering. Like he’s trying to make this last as long as possible.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

You chuckle softly, your hands smoothing down his arms. “I can’t tomorrow. I have something I need to do.”

He doesn’t ask what. He just nods, understanding woven into the softness of his eyes. “Okay.”

He gives you another kiss—gentler this time, almost reverent—then tells you, “Go get some rest.”

“You too,” you say.

And just like that, he’s gone. You stand at the door, watching him until his car disappears down the street, until the stillness of your house wraps around you again. You close the door and lean against it.

In the silence, with your bags by the door and the memories of the trip still clinging to your skin, you know exactly what you need to do now that you’re back to reality. You turn on your phone and open your recent calls. You stare at Chris’s name, finger hovers, heart tight in your chest. It’s time.

-

When the doctor finally cuts through the wrap and casts and tells him he’s good to go—with a warning to take it easy for a little longer—Chris feels like he’s been handed back a piece of his life. He doesn’t wait to change. Just throws on something light and comfortable and heads straight to the studio.

The hallway outside the band’s rehearsal room is already humming with energy—amps buzzing, faint bits of laughter from the tech crew. Chris readies himself for a scolding, knowing he’s late. Probably going to get a full ear from the manager or the band members, about being punctual, the usual. He braces himself for it.

Instead, the manager spots him walking in, looks him up and down—cast-free—and just says, “Someone’s waiting for you.”

Chris takes his backpack off of his shoulder. “Huh? Who?”

The manager only gives him a vague shrug and steps aside. “Inside. You’ll see.”

Chris assumes it’s another industry person. Maybe another musician who happens to recording in the next studio, maybe some old fan. He opens the door to the rehearsal room casually and there, sitting on the leather couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world is you. Your hands resting over your purse, a small, gentle smile blooming across your face.

He stops in his tracks. His heart doesn’t just skip—it sprints. It punches his ribs like it’s trying to break out of his chest.

You tilt your head, pretending to squint at him. “Wow,” you say, mock-serious. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your leg cast and your shit eating grin. Who are you and what have you done to Chris?”

He laughs. A real, full-bodied laugh, cracking out of him like sunlight. “You’re kidding me,” he breathes. “You’re actually here?”

“I called you yesterday,” you say, still teasing. “Your manager picked up and told me to drop by for the band rehearsal so... here I am.”

“I—I didn’t know.” He walks a little closer, then stops, unsure if he’s allowed to be closer. Your hands are still neatly folded over your purse, like you’re holding something back. He doesn’t want to intrude if you’re not ready. But he can’t stop smiling.

“Why are you here?” he asks, softly, cautiously.

You raise your brows, pretending to be offended. “Gee, thanks. I travel all this way and that’s the welcome I get?”

Chris throws up his hands. “No! I didn’t mean it like that—I’m just…” He exhales. “I’m just surprised. You look—” He stops himself. You always make him lose words. “You look good.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “Thanks. So do you. The cast really did cramp your style.”

Before he can say more, the manager leans in through the door. “Chris, rehearsal. Let’s go!”

Chris glances back at you. “Will you wait?”

You smile, pretending to check your watch. “I mean, I came for the band, not for you.”

He chuckles, his grin returning as he backs toward the mic stand. “Right, of course. Just another fan.”

You shrug. “Exactly.”

Chris grabs his guitar, slides the strap over his shoulder. The weight of it feels right again. His fingers instinctively find the chords as the band begins the first track on the upcoming tour setlist—a setlist that is still in the works.

As the first notes fill the studio, his eyes instinctively drift back to the couch. There you are, atching him with that soft smile still there. Just like you used to, like the years haven’t passed, like you're still the girl who’d sit on a ratty studio couch and watch him fall in love with music—and with you—over and over again.

And in that moment, with the lights casting golden shadows on the floor, with the music vibrating through the walls, Chris wonders— Could he get it right this time? Could he be brave enough to try? Because you’re here and that has to mean something.

-

By the time the band calls for a break, Chris is already buzzing—not from the music, not from the adrenaline of rehearsing again without pain—but from the fact that you’re still here and patiently waiting for him. He doesn’t even need to ask. He just lifts his brows at you and nods toward the door, and you immediately get up and follow.

There’s a restaurant just around the corner. Small, tucked behind ivy-covered brick, barely marked except for a matte gold plaque by the entrance. He opens the door and greets the maître d' with a casual wave.

“We’re not open yet, Mr. Bang,” the host says gently.

Chris just grins. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

The host looks over at you, then back at Chris. “Give us five minutes. I’ll let the kitchen know.”

You glance at Chris once you’re seated. “Wow. Rockstar privileges.”

He shrugs playfully. “No. These are the perks of being a regular and tipping well.”

The restaurant is empty, but not quiet—the kitchen clatters faintly in the back, someone’s sweeping near the bar, and there’s soft, ambient music playing overhead. You settle into the booth across from him, tucking your legs under the table as you glance around.

The two of you order something simple—wine, pasta, bread—and while you wait, the conversation flows like it used to. Updates about your lives tumble out between bites and laughter. You tell him about the trip. The food. The little cabin. The view. You don't say who you went with, and he doesn't ask. He tells you about writing again, about how difficult it was with the cast, how freeing it felt to finally play without pain again.

“I felt like a kid with a new toy,” he says, gesturing with his fork. “I almost cried.”

You chuckle. “Almost?”

“Well, I had to keep my cool in front of the band. Can’t let them think I’m soft.”

“Oh, God forbid.”

He grins. He could do this all night. Just sit here and watch you smile. But then—almost like fate reaching a hand into the moment—he hears it the familiar intro. A quiet, slow strum, followed by the low hum of the bass coming through the restaurant speakers. It's his song. Evermore.

He stiffens just slightly, eyes flicking upward toward the sound system. Then, he looks back at you, almost afraid to read your face. Do you know? Did you recognize it? Did you listen to it before now?

But you’re already smiling and not just politely. It’s soft, full of something old and deep. Nostalgic. Maybe even a little bittersweet. You don’t say anything for a moment, just let the chorus wash over the both of you. Then you glance at him, eyes still on the edge of something gentle, and say, “I like it.”

Chris swallows. His pulse has picked up again. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. It sounds like you.”

His mouth tilts in the smallest smile. “That a good thing?”

You laugh under your breath. “It’s a very good thing.”

There are a hundred questions behind his eyes. Did you know it was about you? Could you tell? Did it hurt? Did it bring anything back? Do you still think about us the way I do? But he keeps them locked away.

For now, this is enough. Sitting across from you, your smile lit by the glow of the setting sun through the restaurant windows, while his song plays between you like a secret only the two of you fully understand. When the next track starts and the moment gently passes, Chris knows one thing for certain— If there’s still a way to get back to you, he’s going to find it.

The walk back to the studio is slow. Not because the distance is long, but because neither of you seems in any rush. You walk close, but not touching, hands brushing now and then like the universe is teasing him.

“So,” you say, glancing sideways at him, “tell me more. About the album. The tour. What’s going on?”

Chris exhales like he’s been waiting to be asked. “I still have a couple songs left to polish. It’s more personal this time. Rawer.” He pauses, then adds, “Maybe because I’ve had a lot to say lately.”

You nod, thoughtful. “I can tell. From the song earlier.”

Hearing that makes his heart skip and he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop himself from wanting to hold your hands.

“And the tour?” you prompt, tilting your head.

Chris gives you a crooked smile. “Kicking off in a few months. Just announced it. Big venues, long setlists, late nights. Chaos.”

You laugh softly, that warm sound he’s missed so much it almost hurts. Then he adds—too easily, carried by the soft buzz of being near you again—“Would be fun if you came.”

You look at him. Not shocked. You just smile, gentle and noncommittal. “If you bring along a chiropractor, maybe I will.”

He knows better than to expect more than that. Still, it’s enough to imagine it for a moment: you backstage again, or watching from the wings, or in the back of the tour bus listening to demos with your legs pulled up under you.

When you get to his studio, he unlocks the door and holds it open for you. It’s warm inside, a little messy, but alive. Guitars leaning against the wall, scribbled lyrics on whiteboards, an empty coffee mug dangerously close to the soundboard.

“Still smells like old amps and desperation,” you tease, stepping in.

Chris laughs. “Yeah, but now there’s a scented candle in the room. That's an upgrade.”

He pulls out another chair and pushes it close to his. He holds the back of the chair as you sit down. “Want to listen to some tracks I'm working on?” he offers.

“Sure. Why not?” You answer as you put your purse away to the side of the chair.

He pulls out a pair of headphones from the mixing board, fitting them gently over your ears. He queues up a track—unfinished, still rough around the edges—but it’s good. It’s honest. He watches you as you close your eyes, head tilted just slightly, listening like you always used to.

There’s something about the way you do it that brings everything back. All those years ago—him pacing nervously while you listened to his demos, waiting to see if you’d nod, or smile, or cry. You were always the first one to hear them. Always the one who knew what he was trying to say before he even said it out loud. And now, seeing you again like this… it makes something click inside him. Something quiet, but powerful.

You take the headphones off slowly when the track ends, blinking your eyes open. You don’t say much. Just, “It’s beautiful.”

He helps you take with the headphones, delicately—as if you’re made of something precious and irreplaceable. His fingers brush against your skin, a soft graze that lingers longer than it needs to. And then, almost without thinking, Chris lifts his hand to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it into place with such tenderness it makes his own breath catch. You smile, the kind that slips past your lips when you’re not even trying and it makes something in his chest twist.

He turns his chair toward you, swivels it closer. His knees part wide, framing you between them, and his hands find yours—warm, steady, trembling just a little. His thumbs graze across your knuckles like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again. Then he tilts his head, just enough to meet your eyes.

“I have something to tell you,” he says, low and unsure but resolute.

You nod, giving him your full attention. Always giving him your attention. That’s what he’s missed the most—the way you listen, not just with your ears but with your whole heart.

Chris inhales slowly, like the words are heavy and buried deep. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he begins, voice soft but steady. “Feeling a lot. Mostly… regrets. Regrets about everything I didn’t say, and everything I didn’t do when I should have.”

He pauses, searching your eyes, afraid of what he’ll find in them—judgment, resentment, maybe even indifference. But all he sees is quiet patience. “I know you waited for me,” he says, voice breaking slightly around the truth of it. “I knew it back then, and I know it now. You waited. And I... I let that go.”

Chris swallows, fighting the ache that crawls into his throat. “I was scared that if I came back, I’d mess it all up again. That I’d ruin the good memories we had, ruin you. I thought I was protecting you by staying away. I told myself I was doing the right thing.” He gives a shaky laugh. “But I see it now—how wrong that was.”

He lets go of one of your hands, only to run his fingers through his hair, frustrated with himself, the years, the fear. “I was a coward. And I regret that more than anything.”

A long breath escapes him as he looks at you again, eyes searching, wide open, unguarded in a way only you have ever seen.

“I should’ve kept you close. I should’ve chosen you, over and over, no matter how scared I was. I should’ve tried. And now…” He trails off, the words catching on the weight of what’s between you.

“I don’t know if I still have a place in your life,” he says quietly, “but if I do—if there’s even the smallest chance—I want to do things right now. I want to try. I want to show you that I’m not that scared man anymore.”

He swallows thickly, voice turning hoarse with emotion. “Please... Let me try. Let me do it right this time.”

The silence that follows is sacred. He doesn’t fill it. He lets it settle around you both—thick with everything unsaid, everything still hanging in the air between two people who never really stopped loving each other. His hands are still in yours, waiting. His eyes still locked with yours, hopeful. Fragile. Open. And waiting for your heart to answer.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t fill the silence. He just sits there, heart in his throat, hands in yours, quietly praying that whatever you say next won’t destroy the small sliver of hope still beating inside his chest.

When you finally speak, your voice is soft—careful, like you're walking through something fragile. “Thank you, Chris,” you say, “for your honesty.”

Chris nods once, but the air in his lungs doesn’t move.

“All is forgiven,” you continue, and your hands wrap more firmly around his, grounding him. “And you’re doing the right thing now, Chris. By owning up to it. By being brave enough to say it out loud. That matters. That’s what I see. And I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”

Something cracks in him then—just a small fracture, but deep. It hits him harder than he expected. He leans into your praise like a parched man to water. The words feel like balm, like home, like forgiveness. Then your hand lifts to cup his jaw with such tenderness.

Chris exhales. His eyes flutter closed at the touch, and he leans into your palm without hesitation. He needs it more than he can admit. Has needed it for so long.

“I would be lying,” you begin again, “if I said I didn’t have regrets too.”

Chris opens his eyes again, slowly. You’re still there. Still looking at him like that. It takes everything in him to keep it together.

“I regret what I said that day. Telling you to go. Telling you to leave.” Your voice wavers. “Because even after all of that... the truth is, I will always want you in my life.”

The tightness in his chest swells as you continue with a steady smile on your face. “You’re Tigerlily’s father,” you say, your voice more certain now. “You’re someone I cherish. Someone I trust. Someone I can rely on with my whole heart.”

The air between you feels suspended, weighted with everything that could’ve been, everything that still aches. He stares at you, frozen. And then you smile—a sad, small smile that breaks his heart all over again. “You’re a good man, Chris,” you whisper. “But… I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want.”

The words hit like a blow to the chest. He feels it physically, like his ribs have buckled inward. His lips part slightly, trembling. He doesn’t know how to answer. His voice gets trapped somewhere in his throat, tangled in the knot of tears forming behind his eyes.

And then—because you always try to ease the pain with light—you gently tease, “You know I didn’t come here for the band, right?”

Chris lets out a broken laugh, the sound shaky and thin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, blinking fast, “I figured.”

You shift slightly, both your hands resting over his in your lap now. Your fingers squeeze gently. “I came here to tell you that… Hyunjin proposed.”

You sniffle once. It’s quiet, restrained. He watches you try to hold it together, even as tears gloss over your eyes. “And I’m going to say yes.”

The world tilts a little. Chris forces himself to nod. Once. Twice. His jaw tightens, and he swallows hard to keep everything in. It doesn’t quite work.

“That’s… that’s great news,” he manages, but his voice breaks halfway through the sentence.

Tears slide down your cheeks. Still, you smile. “Yeah. I know. I’m just… surprised he even asked.”

Chris lets out a quiet sob masked as a chuckle, but a tear escapes, tracing the side of his face. “You shouldn’t be,” he says, voice thick. “You’re easy to love.”

You press your lips together, and then you whisper, “Thank you,” shakily, as another tear falls.

Then—without another word—you let go of his hands just long enough to wrap your arms around him. “I'm sorry, Chris,” you murmur with a shaky voice.

He doesn’t hesitate. His arms close around you, holding you so tightly he thinks maybe he can hold time still with it. And then—just like that—you’re both crying. Into each other. Into what was. What could’ve been. What still is.

Tears fall for the years you lost, the love you had, the dreams you once shared and still carry in different shapes. For Tigerlily. For the version of you both that still exists somewhere deep in the past, untouched by everything that came after.

In this moment, the past and present blur together. You hold each other in a silence full of everything: Regret. Gratitude. Closure. Love—still there, just changed.

-

Chris's fingers move over the strings with a practiced ease, but his heart is somewhere else—anchored to the figure sitting quietly on the leather couch at the far end of the studio, your hands resting on your lap, your smile soft and proud as your eyes follow him. You haven’t said much since your conversation. You didn’t have to. The silence is not heavy—it’s tender, like a song’s final chord ringing out in a room that still holds its echo.

You decided to stay just a little longer for him and he’s grateful for that. For this small mercy. For the way you still look at him like he matters. Even when you’ve already told him goodbye.

Chris glances your way mid-song and catches you mouthing the lyrics to him—because you know him that well, still. He almost falters. Almost. But he plays through it, letting the music carry him, letting it hold all the things he doesn’t have words for anymore.

When it's time for you to go, Chris’s chest caves in a little. He walks you down the hallway, your steps unhurried even though the world keeps spinning fast. When you reach the doors, he turns to face you, unsure how to say everything he feels with a single gesture. But you beat him to it by pulling him into a hug.

He folds into it instantly, arms wrapping tight around your body, chin resting lightly atop your head. You smell like lavender and plane rides and memories, and the way you hold him makes him want to believe—for a split second—that he still has time to make this right, but he doesn’t and he knows it.

When you pull back, your hands find the sides of his face. You look up at him, gaze steady and full of something ancient and kind—something that says: I loved you once. I always will.

Your thumbs brush gently along his cheekbones, and then you lean in and place the softest kiss on his cheek. It feels like the closing of a chapter. You step back and smile a brave yet aching smile.

“Bye, Chris,” you whisper and then you get into the backseat of a taxi, the door shutting with a quiet finality.

Chris stands at the curb, watching as the car pulls away, as the silhouette of you fades behind the glass, and eventually, out of sight. He knows—he knows deep in his bones—that this time, it wasn’t him who left. It was you and somehow, that makes it feel real.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and exhales slowly. The ache in his chest doesn’t scream. It lingers. A dull, persistent throb beneath the ribs. Not unbearable—but unforgettable. He turns to walk back inside the studio. The place where songs are born. Where some are about heartbreak, others about healing. Where maybe, if he’s lucky, he can turn this pain into something beautiful again. Because this is what love does when it’s real: It doesn’t beg. It doesn’t chase. It lets go.

-

The morning light pours in through your bedroom window—soft and golden, like a gentle promise. You open your eyes, your body still heavy from sleep, your heart a little lighter than it was yesterday. The ache from the flight home still lingers in your bones, and the weight of your tears feels like it carved a small space inside your chest. A space you didn't know you needed to empty. But it’s a new day and with it, a new chapter begins.

You sit up slowly, letting the hush of morning settle around you like a shawl. Yesterday is gone, folded away like an old letter you won’t read again for a while. You let go. You grieved. You honored what was. But today—you choose something new.

You shower, get your hair styled, pick out your favorite dress. You smooth your hands over your outfit and check your reflection, and it hits you—how calm you feel. How strong. The kind of strength that doesn’t shout. It just is.

Before heading out, your eyes drift toward the drawer. The box is still there and then you open it. Inside, the ring glints under the morning light. The ring Hyunjin placed in your palm so gently, telling you to keep it safe until you were ready. No pressure. No rush. Just love, waiting patiently.

You reach for it and hold it in your fingers, feeling the weight of it—not just gold and stone, but everything it stands for. The tenderness of his voice. The steadiness of his love. The way he never once asked you to choose, only offered you something beautiful and waited for your heart to meet him halfway.

You glance at the mirror, meet your own gaze. Am I ready?

The question floats in the quiet like mist. But deep down, you know the answer. Yes. Not because the past didn’t matter, but because it did and it brought you here.

You slip the ring onto your finger and god—it fits like it’s always been meant to be there. A promise, not just of love, but of healing. Of choosing joy after the storm. Of saying yes to the life in front of you.

You press your palm to your chest for a moment, breathe deep, and smile at your reflection. And with that, you grab your bag, step out into the world, and begin again—heart first, ring shining, ready to embrace love whatever comes next.

When you step into Hyunjin’s studio, the energy in the room is different—brighter, buzzing. Lights flash, cameras hum softly, and there's the low murmur of a crew conducting an interview. You pause by the door, quietly staying just out of frame as to not interrupt their work.

Hyunjin sits effortlessly poised, one leg crossed over the other, his blue sweater hugging his frame in a way that pulls your breath short. The color makes his skin glow, makes his presence magnetic. He speaks slowly, thoughtfully, answering questions with that graceful sincerity he always carries like a second skin, the kind that draws people in.

And then, Hyunjin sees you just for a second but it's enough to make his composure breaks. His lips part into a smile that doesn’t belong to the cameras or the crew—it’s yours. A quiet flash of warmth just for you before he returns his focus to the interviewer. Then it hits you that this beautiful man loves you and he wants to spend his forever with you.

All of a sudden the ring on your finger feel like a sun pulsing against your skin. You look at it and reminded of the fact that he chose you and you chose him back. You press your fingers to your chest, feeling it rise with every full breath. The love is there—alive, humming beneath your ribs, ready to meet his halfway.

When the interview wraps, Hyunjin barely waits for the final thank-you before he’s moving, threading through the set like a current pulled by gravity. You. His eyes are already locked on yours, bright and searching, and you start walking too, closing the distance.

The interviewer catches sight of you approaching and tilts her head curiously. “May I know who is this?” she asks, almost playfully.

Before Hyunjin can open his mouth, you step forward and offer your hand at her. “I’m his fiancée,” you say with a quiet kind of confidence that blooms in your chest as soon as the words leave your lips.

It stuns Hyunjin and you don't miss the way his gaze flickers down to your hand. He takes it gently, turns it over, his thumb brushing against the ring like he’s confirming it’s real. His eyes widen at the sight and then that slow, glorious smile spreads across his face, lifting his cheeks, softening every edge of him.

“Yes,” he says, his voice rich with pride. “She is... my fiancée.”

The interviewer offers a warm congratulations to both of you before turning to face the crew who begins tidying up their stuff around the studio.

When the two of you finally alone, the quiet wraps around you. Hyunjin raises your hand again, reverent. He leans in, lips brushing just below the band—a kiss so gentle, so full of awe. Then his arms fold around you, firm and close, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. You feel his breath when he whispers into your hair, still in disbelief, “My fiancée. Mine.”

You smile against his chest, heart spilling over with emotion. “Yes,” you whisper back, “yours.”

And in that studio—surrounded by the art he made, old echoes and new promises—the two of you hold each other like the world outside doesn’t matter. Because right now, this one moment belongs only to you, just you and him. Always.

-

The rain comes out of nowhere—sharp and sudden, like the sky couldn't hold it in any longer.

Hyunjin is still holding your hand when the first drops hit the windshield, and even as the wipers sweep across the glass, you can feel the shift in the air. The city blurs outside, streaked with silver. Inside the car, it’s quiet and Hyunjin keeps sneaking glances at your hand resting in his. Specifically, the ring.

His thumb runs over it every now and then, like he’s reassuring himself it’s real. That you’re real. That this is happening. He doesn’t say anything, but the smile tugging at his lips says enough. He’s in awe.

“You keep staring,” you tease, voice low and affectionate.

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs, not looking away. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this. And now it’s real.”

You squeeze his hand back, heart swelling just as the rain turns torrential, hammering against the roof like a drumroll. By the time he pulls into your driveway, it’s pouring.

“Ready?” he grins, slipping off his jacket as if preparing for battle.

“I have to,” you playfully answer with a soft laugh.

He throws his jacket over both of your heads, holding you tightly against his side as you make a mad dash through the rain. Still, it doesn’t help much. The rain soaks through your clothes, cold and relentless, but all you can do is laugh—loud and breathless—until the two of you stumble through your front door, dripping and shivering and wrapped in each other.

“Okay,” Hyunjin says between pants, “that was... cinematic.”

“Cinematic?” you echo, raising an eyebrow as you try to wring out your sleeves.

He steps closer. His wet hair sticks to his forehead. “Yeah. Like the part right before the characters rip each other’s clothes off.”

You burst out laughing, but he’s already tugging you gently by the hand, guiding you toward the stairs. Clothes are peeled off and left in a trail across the hallway—shirts, jeans, socks, everything—until you’re both naked, skin still damp, hair clinging to your necks.

In your bedroom, the world finally quiets.

Hyunjin pulls you onto the bed, his arms wrapping around you Your legs tangle beneath the covers, cold feet pressing together for warmth. He tilts your chin up and kisses you—slow, unrushed, like he has nowhere else to be but here, tasting the rain on your lips.

His hand cups your jaw, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek as your mouths meet again and again, softer each time. You shift closer, melting into him, slightly shivering as your skin presses to his. Warmth blooms between your bodies, gentle and unhurried, like sunlight pushing through gray clouds.

When he pulls back for just a breath, his eyes are fixed on you—so full of love, it nearly unravels you. His fingers trace down your neck, over your collarbone, until they find your hand again. He kisses your knuckles, just below the ring, and murmurs against your skin. “This… this is where I want to be.”

It’s hard to breathe with how much you’re feeling. He kisses the curve of your shoulder, the underside of your jaw, the soft spot just beneath your ear where your pulse beats wild. His hand—warm, reverent—trails down your chest, the slow drag of his knuckles along your sternum drawing goosebumps in its wake.

You want to stay in this moment, wrapped in heat and affection and the quiet thrum of his love for you, but there’s something nestled deep inside you, a thought that won’t let go. You don’t want to ruin this, but you know you’ll regret it more if you keep it inside. So you reach for him, gently cradling the side of his face, and he stills under your touch. His dark eyes meet yours immediately, searching, attentive, all in.

“Hyunjin…” you begin, softly, “are you really going to marry me?”

His brow furrows just slightly. He opens his mouth, but you keep going, needing him to hear it all.

“I’m not just talking about now. I mean everything—my age, this old body, the fact that the possibility of growing this family is… small. I just need to know you won’t look back one day and think you could’ve had more.”

The room falls quiet for a second, the kind of silence that feels full, not empty. Then Hyunjin leans into your palm and kisses it, slow and sure. He doesn’t let go of your hand when he speaks.

“And I’m young,” he says. “I’m stubborn as hell. I’m still figuring myself out. I'm inexperienced in a lot of things. I mess up sometimes.” He pauses, then a playful smile tugs at his lips. “And let’s face it—this beautiful face? It’s not gonna last forever. Gravity’s gonna come for me too. Are you okay with that?”

You huff a laugh, the tension breaking slightly. “I’ll still find you beautiful.”

He grins, boyish and full of light. “And I’ll always find you beautiful. Always.”

Your chest tightens at his words. The way he says them. So simple. So certain. So Hyunjin.

“As long as I’m with you,” he says, voice soft but sure, “I have everything I need. I don’t want more. I want you.”

And just like that, your insecurities melt away.

You kiss him again, unable to stop yourself. It’s deep and slow and full of something aching. You’re not even sure what it is—gratitude, relief, love. Maybe all of it. Maybe more.

He pulls back just slightly, lips still brushing yours. “When I said I’m inexperienced in a lot of things…” he begins, his eyes dancing with mischief, “I didn’t mean sex. I’m very, very good at that.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “Jury's still out.”

But your voice is thick with affection, and when he kisses you again, you let him. Then, with a sudden grin, he leans in and murmurs against your lips, “I think we should at least try for a sibling for Tigerlily.”

You cackle, smacking his chest. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you,” he grins, and this time, he kisses you like a promise, his mouth slanting over yours with growing urgency.

When you fall back into the bed, with his body covering yours and laughter still clinging to the air, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. The storm is behind you. The future is yours. And this—this love—is your beginning.

-

Hyunjin kisses you like it’s his devotion. Every inch of your skin, every curve, every breathless gasp you make—he treats it like something to cherish. His lips are warm and slow, trailing over your collarbone, down your chest, between your breasts, lower still. And every time he pauses to press his mouth against you, it’s as if he’s trying to tell you something in a language only your body understands.

“Hyunjin...” You whisper, a quiet plea that carries more want than words can shape. He hears it. He always does.

When his plush, red lips reach the part of you aching for him, you feel your breath catch in your throat. He doesn’t rush. His hands spread over your thighs, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment—this tenderness, this hunger. And then, when you give in, when you open yourself to him completely, he places a tender kiss right on the clit like he means to unravel you.

He opens his mouth and take your quivering cunt into his mouth. His movements are sure, gentle, yet insistent. Every lick between the fold, every flick of his tongue on your clit, every time he plants his mouth and hums against your most sensitive skin sends shivers cascading down your spine. You arch toward him instinctively, fingers gripping the sheets, your mind blissfully blank but for the sensation of his love being poured into every movement.

You surrender—body and heart—letting yourself be loved, letting yourself feel worthy of it. With Hyunjin, it’s not just pleasure. It’s worship. It’s love.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop until your body trembles beneath his mouth, until he feels you come completely undone in his arms, flooding his mouth with your sweet essence. He stays with you through it—hands holding you gently, lips pressing fluttering kisses along the inside of your thigh, then upward across your soft belly, easing you back into your breath, your body, your heart.

As he looks up at you through dark lashes with his mouth glistening wet from what he's done, your heart stutters at the sight. This is real. He’s real. And he’s yours.

By the time his lips find yours again, your chest rises with every deep, sated breath. He kisses you slowly, letting you taste the truth of his love on his tongue, letting it linger. When he pulls back with a soft gasp, his eyes are heavy, darkened with awe and wonder.

“I can’t believe,” he breathes, eyes roaming over your flushed, glowing body, “that I get to have all of this… just for myself.”

You smile at that, heart full, and slide into his lap, straddling him with the ease of someone who’s always belonged there. His arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you close like he never wants to let go. His lips find yours again, then trail along your jaw, your neck, soft murmurs escaping between kisses.

“I can’t believe I get to have you like this,” he whispers into your ear, voice low and reverent, “every day… for the rest of my life.”

Your breath hitches as he begins to kiss your neck, nibbling playfully at the sensitive skin, pulling a surprised yelp and a burst of laughter from your lips. Then his mouth trails lower again, deliberate and warm, until he buries it between your breasts. His hands slide up your sides to cup you fully, gently kneading, molding, lifting your breasts in his big hands.

You watch with a soft moan as he brings your breasts together, his mouth moving between them, tongue teasing and swirling, then enveloping your sensitive skin with aching tenderness. The sensation—his mouth, his hands, the look in his eyes—leaves you dizzy.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are red and swollen, damp with devotion. He looks up at you, gaze blazing with affection, and whispers hoarsely, “Mine.”

Then he leans in and kisses you again, deep and slow, until everything else fades but the feeling of him—warm, real, and undeniably yours.

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, deepening the kiss as your hips begin a slow, deliberate grind against his. His breath hitches—caught somewhere between restraint and desire—and when he whimpers softly into your mouth, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Do you want to be inside me?” you whisper against his lips, your voice velvet and warm.

Hyunjin’s eyes flutter open, dazed and shining with emotion. “Yes,” he breathes out, voice low and ragged. “God, yes.”

You press a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth before propping yourself up on your knees, his hands steadying you instinctively. “You can have all of me,” you murmur, looking right into his eyes. “Because I’m yours. All yours.”

His gaze softens, awe-struck—like he can hardly believe this moment is real. You lean in to kiss him again, slow and savoring, as you drag your hand down his front until you meet his hardening member. Wrapping your fingers around his length, you stroke him slowly, feeling him pulse in your palm as his head drops to your shoulder with a shaky exhale.

There's no hiding it, you want it just as much, aching to have him inside you and becoming one with him. You guide his swollen cock to your entrance, your fingers pressing into his shoulders as your body eases down—inch by aching inch.

Hyunjin's pupils are blown wide, eyes locked on yours with a kind of reverence that steals your breath. His grip on your waist tightening as he lets himself feel it all—how close you are, how warm, how utterly his. His mouth falls open with a quiet gasp, and you press your forehead to his, fiercely holding his gaze.

“I’m going to take all of you,” you murmur against his parted lips, your voice low and intimate. “Because it’s all mine.”

He nods—helpless, overwhelmed—and his hands tremble slightly where they hold your waist. You nudge your lips against his, your breath mingling with his as you ask softly, “Am I taking you well?”

His eyes glancing down to where your bodies are connected, the way his cock disappeared into you and the way you're taking all of him. He licks his lips, eyes glazed with awe and devotion. “So well,” he whispers. “Too well.”

He doesn’t hold back the sounds he makes. He never does with you. And when you finally have all of him—buried completely inside—you both exhale together, a matched sigh that feels like relief and home all at once.

You stay still, breathing him in, adjusting to the feeling of having him this close, this deep. One hand slides up to cup his jaw as you press soft kisses along his cheek, his temple, then finally his lips again.

“You have all of me now,” you whisper, smiling gently.

Hyunjin wraps his arms around you, holding you as if he’ll never let go. He presses his face into the crook of your neck and breathes you in before murmuring softly, like a prayer, “All mine.”

The rhythm between you and Hyunjin slows into something deeper, more intimate—every movement a silent confession, every touch a vow. His breath is hot against your mouth as he kisses you in between soft, breathless murmurs. You watch him with tender eyes as he trembles under you, overwhelmed by the connection, the intimacy, the sheer weight of finally having all of you again. And in that shared breath—hearts racing, bodies intertwined—it’s not just about the pleasure. It’s about the trust. The surrender. The love.

“So beautiful… all mine… you feel like heaven,” he whispers, the words tangled with sighs and kisses, his hands roaming your back, your waist, as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

You move with him, anchored in his warmth, in his gaze, in the way he looks at you like nothing else in the world matters. His kisses grow desperate as the moment builds—more lingering, more intense—until he finally buries his face in the crook of your neck. You feel every shiver, every flutter of breath, the slightest of noises escaping his lips so close to your ear that it sends goosebumps down your spine.

When he finally gives in to release, coming inside you with his arms lock tighter around you, his body trembling with the depth of it. You hold him close, your fingers threading through the back of his damp hair as his hips still against yours. Even as he’s overwhelmed, he turns his head just enough to look at you through his lashes—eyes glazed and heavy with emotion.

His hand drifts slowly over the arch of your back, fingers brushing your spine in a soothing motion as he breathes, “Take all of me…”

And you do—you stay still as you feel his hot seed spilling inside you, filling you to the brim and then you lean in, your mouth finding his in a kiss that says everything your heart is too full to express. A kiss that promises you’ll never let him question how deeply he is loved.

The world slows as you're wrapped in each other's warmth, the sound of rain now a distant murmur against the windows. You're tucked into Hyunjin’s side beneath the covers, your body still humming with the afterglow of everything you just shared. His arms wrap around you, one hand gently brushing along your back while the other lifts to hold yours. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your fingers one by one before resting them over his heart. His eyes find yours—soft, warm, filled with emotion.

“Thank you for choosing me,” he whispers, his voice still thick with awe.

Your chest tightens, not with pain, but with something deeper. Something steady. You turn slightly, facing him more fully, and brush your thumb across his cheek.

“Thank you for choosing me,” you whisper back, meaning every word. For loving you through the layers of your past. For believing in the future, even with its unknowns.

Hyunjin’s smile is soft and quiet, like a secret only you get to know. He pulls you in tighter, tucks your head beneath his chin, and plants a kiss to your forehead that feels like a promise.

“I love you,” he murmurs, the words settling into your skin, into your heart.

“I love you too,” you whisper back with eyes closed, letting the comfort of his embrace lull you to peace.

And as sleep slowly claims you both, you feel it—the quiet certainty that no matter what life brings, you’ve found your home in each other.

-

The night hums quietly outside the glass-paneled walls of the gallery, where soft lights glow like stars suspended in time. The space is quiet, sacred—paintings and sculptures standing as silent witnesses to something deeply human and timeless. It’s not a grand venue. It doesn’t need to be. It's personal, carefully chosen. Every detail speaks of you and Hyunjin.

He stands at the end of the aisle in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his dark hair brushed back, a nervous smile playing on his lips, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing that exists. You walk toward him in a simple white dress—one you found with Tigerlily just the day before. It wasn’t extravagant. It was simply… you. When Hyunjin sees you, his lips part ever so slightly, like he's breathless, stunned by the sight of the life he’s about to begin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mouthed with a tender gaze that only meant for you.

The ceremony begins in quiet murmurs and soft glances. The hush in the room feels sacred, like everyone present knows how much this means. You’re surrounded by those who matter most. And art. So much art. It feels fitting—the kind of wedding that doesn’t need to be loud, but one that breathes.

When it’s time for the vows, Hyunjin pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. You already know what it is. His voice is calm but trembling as he begins to read the love letter he wrote for you aloud, each word soaked in emotion, each phrase hitting your heart like a note from a familiar song. He doesn’t look at the paper much—he’s memorized it. His gaze is locked on you, unwavering, like the words are coming from his soul, not just his lips.

My Love, I’m writing this under the hush of midnight, when everything is quiet enough for my heart to speak. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the words to match what I feel for you, but I want to try—because you deserve every syllable, every soft confession, every unspoken truth that lives in me. From the moment you looked at me—really looked at me—I haven’t been the same. You saw me in a way no one ever has. Not just the parts I put forward, but the quiet ones, the bruised ones, the ones I didn’t know how to love. And somehow, you loved them anyway. You loved me anyway. You are the art I never knew I was meant to live inside. You are light when I feel gray, rhythm when I lose the beat, breath when I forget to breathe. Loving you doesn’t feel like falling—it feels like coming home. There are days I watch you and feel overwhelmed by the simple fact that you chose me. That you still choose me—every day, every quiet morning and every chaotic night. That you trust me with your joy, your pain, your dreams. I don’t take it lightly, love. I hold it in both hands, carefully, like something sacred. Because it is. If this world were to vanish and everything I knew disappeared, I would still find my way to you. I believe in us like I believe in sunrise. I don’t need to see it to know it’s coming. And when we’re old and gray, when our hands are more weathered but still entwined—I’ll still look at you the way I do now. Like you’re everything. I love you more than I can say. But I’ll spend my life showing you.

You swallow down tears, your chest aching in the best possible way. With every line, he’s not just reading—he’s confessing. Declaring. Loving.

And when he finishes—“Forever yours, Hyunjin.”—his voice is barely a whisper. But everyone hears it. Everyone feels it.

You murmur the same words back to him, trembling. “Forever yours.”

The rings come next. He slips yours onto your finger with steady hands, and you do the same, your fingers lingering against his. A symbol, a promise. Not just of today, but of all your days to come.

When the officiant pronounces you married, time slows for a beat—then quickens with the thrill of love. You and Hyunjin lean forward at the same time, your lips meeting in a kiss that is neither rushed nor showy. It’s deep and soft, a sealing of everything: the journey, the loss, the choice, the joy. The art of loving one another completely.

When you pull away, your foreheads press together. You smile. He smiles. And somewhere in the silence, in the gentle applause of your loved ones, in the weight of the rings now wrapped around your fingers—you know: This is your forever.

-

The rooftop is awash in golden twilight, strung with warm lights swaying gently in the evening breeze. From here, the city stretches out below like a living canvas, humming softly beneath the stars. The reception is intimate, just like the ceremony—low music, clinking glasses, and laughter shared between family and friends.

You step away from the soft chatter and into the arms of Tigerlily, who finds you near the edge of the rooftop where the sky meets the skyline. She’s already teary-eyed when she hugs you, and you feel her emotions trembling through her fingertips.

“I’m so happy for you, Mom,” she whispers, her voice catching as she smiles through her tears. “You look beautiful… really, really happy.”

Your throat tightens as you hug her back, heart full. “Thank you, honey. That means the world coming from you.”

She nods against your shoulder. For a long moment, the two of you just breathe each other in—the way mothers and daughters do when words don’t quite cover the weight of a moment.

You pull away gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and then you ask, carefully, “Your Dad… did he make it?”

Tigerlily’s smile dims just a little, replaced by something soft and apologetic. “He's busy with tour prep, but he sent his love, though. And congratulations.”

You nod, slowly. “Of course. I figured.” You offer a smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “That’s okay.”

But it stings, even if you won’t say it aloud. It’s not anger. Just a quiet sadness—a longing to share this milestone with someone who once shared a different chapter of your life. Someone who knew you then, and who would’ve understood what it meant for you to arrive here.

Tigerlily squeezes your hand gently. “He would’ve come if he could, you know that.”

You nod again, giving her a final, loving squeeze. “I know.”

The music swells softly in the background, and Hyunjin’s voice drifts from somewhere behind you. You turn and see him, standing just a few steps away. His tuxedo jacket is slightly wrinkled now, his hair tousled from the breeze, but his smile is radiant and fixed only on you.

You excuse yourself gently from Tigerlily and cross the rooftop to where he waits. He extends his hand toward you, and when you take it, he presses a kiss to your fingers. But his eyes are searching yours now, reading past your smile. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, low enough that no one else can hear.

You glance away for a beat. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Hyunjin leans in, touching his forehead to yours. “Was it Chris?”

Your eyes flicker up to his in surprise, but he’s not asking with judgment—only understanding. You exhale slowly. “I just… I wish he were here.”

Hyunjin nods, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s okay. This is still the happiest I’ve ever been.”

When you say it, you mean it. Because in this moment, under the open sky with the stars above and Hyunjin’s hand holding yours, you feel it—peace, love, and a future you chose. One that chose you right back.

Hyunjin pulls you in close, resting his cheek against your temple. “Let me make up for it,” he murmurs. “Dance with me?”

You smile, your heart blooming again. “Take me away.”

Your arms are wrapped around Hyunjin as the two of you sway to the gentle rhythm of a slow song under the open sky dipped in soft golden light, the breeze warm and sweet, and for a moment, everything fades—there's only the way Hyunjin’s hand settles on the small of your back, the way he looks at you like you’re his whole universe. You lean your head against his shoulder, eyes closed, letting the warmth of the moment soak into your skin, and then the music fades out.

A brief pause fills the air, and then—another sound begins. The unmistakable pluck of a guitar string. A familiar voice follows, raw and honey-warm, pouring into the night like a secret being sung aloud.

You lift your head and your eyes snap toward the stage—and there he is. Chris. He stands beneath the string lights, guitar in hand, wearing a suit—but in true Chris fashion, the tie’s nowhere to be found and the top three buttons of his white shirt are undone. His dark hair is pushed back, messy and deliberate, and his eyes are locked on you as he sings the first verse of your favorite love song.

A laugh breaks from your lips, thin and shaky with disbelief, and your hand flies to your mouth as tears prick your eyes. Chris is here. Your gaze shifts to Hyunjin first, finding him smiling too, gently, knowingly. “You did this?” you whisper.

“I knew how much you wanted him here,” he says, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “And how much it would mean.”

Overwhelmed, you throw your arms around him and kiss him—softly, gratefully, with every ounce of love you carry for him.

And then, with your hand in his, you turn toward Tigerlily next, and she’s already smiling at you through happy tears of her own. She mouths across the rooftop, “It’s called a surprise for a reason.”

Chris keeps singing, his voice unwavering as it fills the rooftop with old feelings wrapped in new joy. He smiles at you—not the smile of a man you used to love, but the smile of a friend who still knows you, who came because it mattered.

You and Hyunjin begin to sway again, dancing slowly to the song Chris sings. His voice carries through the night like a blessing, tying your past and your present together in a way only music can. The lights seem to shimmer a little brighter. The stars lean in just a little closer. And just like that—this wedding becomes something else entirely. A moment suspended in time. A night where love, in all its forms, is here. Seen. Felt. Celebrated.

The final chord fades into the night, and for a heartbeat, there's only silence. Then the rooftop erupts into warm applause—but none louder than yours. You clap, tears shining in your eyes, a proud smile stretched across your lips as Chris bows his head lightly, grinning.

He sets the guitar aside and steps down from the makeshift stage, making his way toward you through the small crowd of guests. And as soon as he's within reach, you throw your arms around him.

“Chris,” you murmur, voice cracking as you bury your face into his shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

You feel his laugh against your cheek. “I intentionally came late,” he says, pulling back just enough to flash you a teasing grin, “or else I would have taken you away.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, still wet with tears. “God, you’re impossible.” But even so, you shake your head and look him in the eyes. “Still—thank you. I’m really happy you're here.”

He smiles then, soft and sincere, and you reach up, cupping his jaw with one hand the way you always used to when words failed. “Thank you for coming,” you whisper again.

Chris glances over your shoulder for a moment and smirks. “I came because I owed Hyunjin.” He shoots a mock glare at Hyunjin across the rooftop, and you laugh through your tears.

“Then I guess I owe him too,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion.

Chris takes both of your hands in his and looks at you with a fondness carved deep from time and history. “You look beautiful,” he says. “Really. I’m happy for you.”

Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nod, unable to hold back the tears that rise again. “Thank you, Chris,” you say, and the weight of everything in your chest softens.

He pulls you into another hug, tighter this time, and neither of you speaks—just lets the emotion pour wordlessly into the space between you, overflowing from a lifetime’s worth of love in all its forms.

“Okay, okay, I want in,” Tigerlily says, stepping in and wrapping her arms around both of you.

You and Chris burst into teary laughter as the three of you huddle together, sandwiching her in a tight embrace. It's warm and slightly awkward and so full of love that it makes your chest ache. It’s a moment that isn’t perfect because of what it lacks—but because of what it has. Three hearts that have seen the worst, lived through the ache, and still found their way back to one another. Not as what they once were. But as what they are. Family.

You and Tigerlily slowly loosen your arms from around Chris, letting him go with a final squeeze as he makes his way back to the stage. He picks up the guitar again, and with an easy smile, steps up to the mic.

“This next one’s for the bride and groom,” Chris says, his voice echoing warmly across the rooftop.

A flutter of excitement stirs in your chest just as Hyunjin finds his way back to your side, resting his hand gently on the small of your back. You glance up at him, your heart already swelling.

Chris looks over at the two of you with a mischievous grin, and his voice drops to that playful drawl. “Gotta be honest, I’m feeling tempted to do another somersault tonight… maybe have another shot at stealing the bride from you, Hyunjin.”

The rooftop bursts into laughter, just as Hyunjin instinctively wraps both arms around your waist from behind, holding you like you might suddenly be swept away.

“Not a chance!” Hyunjin calls back, grinning so wide it lights up his whole face.

Chris laughs and sucks air through his teeth. “Well... Worth a try.”

“Don’t even think about it, Dad!” Tigerlily yells from across the rooftop, arms crossed with faux sternness.

Chris throws his head back with a chuckle, nodding. “Alright, alright, no acrobatics tonight.” He adjusts the strap of his guitar and strums the first few chords—recognizable instantly to everyone gathered.

A Bang Theory classic. The rooftop erupts. Guests shout the opening lines before Chris even sings them, and within seconds, everyone is singing and swaying, some dancing wildly to the thrumming beat of the familiar rock song. The night turns electric, laughter and music rolling like waves through the warm air.

You and Tigerlily grab each other’s hands and sing every word, voices rising over the music, the lyrics etched into your bones from years of loving this song. The two of you belt out the chorus with so much joy it almost feels like the stars are singing along.

In the middle of it all, you turn—heart pounding from the music and laughter—and find Hyunjin watching you. He’s not singing. Not dancing. Just watching. With that look. That look of pure love and disbelief, like he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re his.

The smile on your lips falters—not from sadness, but from being overwhelmed. Words dissolve in your throat, so you do the only thing you can do: you slip your arms around him and press your face into his chest.

He chuckles low, warm, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You happy?” he asks softly.

You lean back, just enough to look at him, and your eyes shine in the rooftop lights. “The happiest day of my life.”

Hyunjin’s smile deepens just before he leans in to kiss you—slow and soft, the kind that anchors you in the moment. There, in the middle of the music and lights and laughter, with the man you once loved singing a song for the love of your life, everything folds into itself—past, present, and future blurring into a single, breathtaking now. A night stitched together with art, with family, with music, and with a love so full it spills into forever.

-

A FEW MONTHS LATER

The room is quiet, bathed in the soft golden hue of the afternoon sun slipping through the hospital curtains. You’re seated in a cushioned chair by the window, a small bundle wrapped in pink nestled in your arms. Her skin is impossibly soft, her breath barely a whisper, her little hand curling around your finger as if she’s known you forever. Something about it making you can’t stop looking at her.

“So pure,” you murmur, eyes glossy with wonder. “So beautiful. Look at you, sweetheart...”

Hyunjin leans over your shoulder, watching intently with that dreamy, dazed smile he wears every time something stirs his heart, and nothing stirs it more than seeing you holding this brand-new life.

“She looks just like you,” he says softly, eyes flicking from the baby’s nose to your own, then back again.

You glance up at him, amused. “You think so?”

Before Hyunjin can answer, a groggy voice grumbles from the hospital bed, “Excuse me. I'm the one who gave birth to her. She’s my daughter.”

You both turn to see Tigerlily propped up with pillows, her hair slightly disheveled, her hospital gown rumpled, but her face glowing even in exhaustion. She’s frowning—but only half-seriously. Then she sighs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, not that I mind if she ends up looking like you, Mom.”

“She already has your lungs,” you say, chuckling, remembering the wailing cry the baby let out just hours ago.

Right on cue, Julian walks in carrying a plate of sliced fruit. “Lils,” he calls out gently, “you’ve got to eat something.”

He places the plate on her lap, then gives her a peck on the forehead before turning to you and Hyunjin. His eyes sparkle with mischief. “So… Hyunjin,” he drawls, “how does it feel to be a grandad?”

You barely have time to register the joke before Hyunjin calmly answers, “Makes me want to give Tigerlily a sibling.”

Tigerlily sputters, nearly choking on a slice of watermelon. “Hyunjin!” she gasps, wiping her mouth with a tissue. “Can we not talk about you and my mom having babies when I just had one?!”

You laugh so hard you nearly shake the baby in your arms. “Hey, be nice,” you tease, hissing playfully at your daughter, “that’s your step-dad you’re talking to.”

Tigerlily groans dramatically, leaning her head back on the pillow. “I’m never getting used to that.”

Julian raises a brow. “You might want to. Especially if you're about to get a new sibling.”

Laughter settling into soft chatter as everyone takes turns admiring the baby in Tigerlily’s arms. Julian is sitting beside her on the bed, gently brushing his thumb along their daughter’s impossibly tiny hand while Hyunjin sits beside you, fingers idly tracing shapes on your knee. Then, the door flies open with a bang, making everyone jumps a little.

Chris bursts in, completely out of breath, his hair wild like he’s been running through a wind tunnel. His shirt is slightly untucked, and he’s panting dramatically as he leans against the doorframe with one hand clutching his chest.

“Where—” he wheezes, “—where is my granddaughter?!”

You all stare at him for a beat, then burst into laughter.

Tigerlily cradles the baby closer to her chest and coos sweetly to her, “Look, baby girl, your rockstar grandad’s finally here.”

Chris straightens up, grinning as he rushes forward, hands instinctively reaching out. “Let me hold my little —”

You immediately intercept with a raised brow and a firm voice. “Chris. Wash your hands.”

He freezes mid-step, lips parted in protest, before he blinks at you and pouts like a scolded child. “Seriously? I just sprinted up three flights of stairs.”

“Then you wouldn't have any problems sprint to the sink,” you say, not budging.

Hyunjin chuckles behind you. “She’s been like this with all of us. I barely got to touch the blanket without scrubbing in first.”

Chris groans dramatically but heads to the sink without further protest. “This is cruel. I helped deliver you, remember?” he throws over his shoulder to Tigerlily.

Tigerlily grins. “You still have to wash your hands, Dad.”

Chris mutters something about being the most disrespected rockstar-grandpa in history, but a few minutes later, with freshly cleaned hands and a softened expression, he’s finally allowed to cradle his granddaughter in his arms.

The room quiets as Chris holds her—carefully, reverently—and the awe in his eyes is unmistakable. “Hi there,” he whispers. “I’m your grandad. I’m late, but I made it, my sweet angel.”

And in that sun-drenched room, with a baby dozing peacefully in Chris's arms and laughter still lingering in the air, you feel it again—that feeling of everything being exactly as it’s meant to be. A perfect, messy, beautiful family.

-

Everyone leaves the room as it's time for Tigerlily to nurse her baby. You and Chris slip away to the hospital’s small café tucked into a quiet corner. You cradle your paper cup between your palms, the warmth grounding you, and glance across the table at Chris, who’s already mid-sip.

“So,” you start, tilting your head, “how’s the tour been?”

Chris brightens instantly, that spark in his eyes returning like he’s flipping a switch. “Oh, it’s been wild—in the best way,” he says, leaning in like he can’t wait to tell you everything. “Seoul was insane. The crowd practically screamed my face off. And then Osaka—God, I forgot how good the food is there. Oh, and Tokyo. I think we were the loudest we’ve ever been on that stage.”

You smile, listening to the way his voice gets a little more animated with each city name he drops, hands gesturing just like he always does when he’s excited.

“And,” he adds with a smirk, “guess who’s tagging along now?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Riley,” he grins. “She’s officially our roadie-slash-my-personal-stylist. Kid’s getting way too into it. Told me I can’t wear ripped jeans over a certain age anymore. Can you believe that?”

You laugh, imagining it. “Sounds like someone’s getting bullied by their own child.”

“Oh, completely,” Chris nods solemnly. “And she’s proud of it.”

You shake your head, amused, and then Chris suddenly leans back, a softer grin spreading across his face as he pulls out his phone.

“And I moved on, by the way,” he says, out of nowhere.

Your brows rise slightly, curious. “Oh?”

He taps a few times on his screen, then turns the phone toward you. “Her name’s Blue.”

You expect a person. Instead, it’s a photo of a gorgeous Siberian husky sprawled across a hotel bed with one ear perked up, the other flopped sideways like a rebel.

“Her full name is Raspberry Blue,” he introduces with a sly grin.

You snort. “Wow. You really are good at creating names.”

“Look at her!” Chris says defensively, grinning. “She’s majestic. Loyal. Judgy as hell. She’s perfect.”

“She’s stunning,” you admit with a chuckle. “I might actually be a little jealous.”

Chris turns serious just long enough to say, “You should be,” before breaking into laughter again.

Then, after a sip of his coffee, he glances at you more gently and says, “You should come to one of our shows. I mean it.”

You smile, touched. “I’d love to, Chris.”

Silence settles comfortably between you, full of memories and the kind of understanding that needs no words. You look down at your cup, then back up at him. “You know,” you say softly, “you really don’t ever have to feel lonely. You’ve got your music, your band. You’ve got Riley. And now Blue.” You grin. “And you’ve got Tigerlily. And that beautiful little girl who’s going to grow up hearing stories about her grandad rocking out stadiums—and also spoiling her absolutely rotten.”

Chris looks down at his coffee, the corners of his mouth twitching with emotion. You reach across the table and place your hand over his. “And you’ve still got me. Always. Whenever you need me.”

He looks up at you then, and your reassuring smile seems to quiet something in him. He nods slowly, letting the words settle in his heart. “You’ll always have me too,” he says softly. Then, because he can’t help himself, he adds with a smirk, “Though, just putting it out there—if Hyunjin suddenly changes his mind, I’m still available.”

You smack his arm lightly, laughing. “Don’t worry. You're the first in line.”

“Glad to know.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re something.”

Chris chuckles, then after a moment, he turns serious again. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely.

“Anytime,” you reply.

There’s a beat of quiet. Not awkward—just full. Then you say it, gently but with certainty: “I’ll always love you, Chris.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, and something softens in his eyes. “I love you too,” he murmurs.

You smile at him, your chest full in the most bittersweet, beautiful way. You both know that this love is the kind that needs having, owning but it's lingering, it’s always there and always will be. And outside the window, the world keeps spinning—full of past and future and love that continues in all its forms.

-

You stand in front of the glass window of the neonatal room, arms crossed gently over your chest, watching your granddaughter sleeping peacefully in her bassinet among the quiet rows of other newborns. The soft hum of machines, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the faint scent of antiseptic—everything feels still, wrapped in a quiet lull. But it’s more than just the stillness. It’s the kind of peace that sinks into your bones.

There’s something indescribably profound about watching a new life begin—so small, so untouched by the weight of the world. It’s not just about the baby; it’s the way time seems to pause. The way, for the first time in a long time, you feel completely at ease. Like the chaos and heartache, the love and mistakes, the longing and the letting go… all of it has led to this still, beautiful moment.

As if this moment couldn't be more beautiful, a pair of arms wrap gently around you from behind, warm and familiar, pulling you in. You don’t have to look to know it’s Hyunjin—his touch is second nature by now, something you’d know in your sleep.

“I feel ignored,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice low and playful. “Now that you have a granddaughter.”

You turn your head slightly, catching his expression—a soft pout, exaggerated just enough to make you laugh. “Are you jealous?” you ask, teasing, but there’s love in every syllable.

Hyunjin nods immediately, his eyes wide and unashamed. “Terribly.”

You can’t help it—you lean forward and place a gentle kiss right on that pout, and he smiles instantly. “Let’s go home,” you whisper, and he nods as if he’s been waiting for you to say just that.

He takes your hand in his, fingers threading together like they always do, and together, you begin the quiet walk down the hallway, past sleeping corridors and glowing night lights. You talk about whether to stop for dinner—steak or pasta, maybe pick up something sweet on the way—and the conversation feels easy and soft, like an old favorite song.

As the automatic doors slide open and you step into the crisp evening air, you glance up at the stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky.

You think about everything you’ve lived through. You think about the girl you used to be—the one who loved with reckless hope and broke with silent grief. And you think about the woman you’ve become—the one who has loved again and again, and still opens her arms to the world without fear.

Here, in the quiet space between then and now, you understand something profound: Love—real love—always finds a way to keep growing.

-

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[diipsy]

love LOVE the whole series 🥹

COCKY.

FINAL CHAPTER

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“I—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Check your email. Now.”

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

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

Your breath catches. Already?

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

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

Official Product Launch Announcement – New Innovations in Health & Wellness

And there, among the listed products, is yours.

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

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

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

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

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

You groan. “But I hate public speaking.”

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold. “What?”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane raises a brow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you insist, glancing away.

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

You frown. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

You immediately shake your head. “No.”

Her smirk deepens. “You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “No. Why would I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you free next weekend?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Your face heats up instantly. “Jane!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

I’m on my way.

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

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

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

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

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

Chris hums in approval. “See you soon.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

You shift under his stare. “What?”

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

You nod. “Mexican food sounds great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Han smirks. “Exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes. “Since when?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? Where are you?”

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

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

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

Jane hums, unconvinced. “Right.”

“It is,” you insist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

His brows furrow. “Doing what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like Chris!”

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe it can.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Come to my office.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop on your track and glance back at him.

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

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

-

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

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

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

He then eyes your bag and grins, his dimples sunken into his cheeks. “I know the condom is there. In your bag.”

Your body betrays you before you can even form a response—cheeks heating, heart skipping, breath catching. You hate how easily he can do this to you.

Chris tilts his head, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You look away. “No.”

He chuckles. “Liar.”

Before you can defend yourself, he moves closer, his body inches from yours. His fingers brush against your wrist, then trail up your arm, setting every nerve alight. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, “I really like it when you get flustered.”

And then his lips are on yours—warm, slow, and deliberate. The kind of kiss that makes time irrelevant, that makes you forget you’re still in the office elevator. You sigh into it, your body melting against him as his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer.

The soft ding of the elevator chime startles you both. The doors glide open, revealing the lobby, and Chris pulls back just enough to look at you. His hand finds yours, fingers threading together, and with a knowing smile, he simply says—

“Let’s go home.”

-

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Love you better- H.JS

So, LATAM Jisung did something to my heart and I had to write something for him 🫠 I was supposed to also post uno and chill part 2 today but I accidentally fell asleep during the afternoon and since it's already late, I won't be able to finish it. Good thing I have a long holiday and only come back to uni on Thursday so wait for a lot of updates during the following days (including an Easter special fic 🤭). Nari, if you see this, please don't freak out 😚

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: smut, bros code breaking

Alexa, play Friends With Your Ex by Landon Barker

It all started the night you left Chan.

Not in a dramatic, Hollywoodian explosion. No screaming, no shattered plates, just silence. A final, tired “okay”, and the soft click of a door that didn’t reopen.

You didn’t know where to go, so you walked. It didn’t take long for your phone to buzz.

Hannie: you okay?

That was all it took.

He met you at that 24 hour diner which served bad coffee and greasy bacon slices. Han slid the booth across from you like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like you hadn’t just broken up with his best friend.

He didn’t pry, didn’t ask you why it ended, or if you were okay. He just sat there, gave you his hoodie when you started shivering and let you cry into a plate of pancakes.

And since then, he kept showing up.

You’d text each other more. Stupid jokes bloomed into real conversations. He helped you move boxes out of Chan’s place without asking questions. He made you laugh when no one else could. He gave you rides home late at night because ‘it’s not safe for you to walk'. But he never pushed or crossed a line— he just was there for you, in case you needed it.

Until the night everything changed.

You were sitting in his car parked in some random parking lot. Raindrops tapped against the windows, music playing low. You were wearing his hoodie again and this time, your knees were pulled up in the seat, chin resting on top of them.

“I don’t get it”, you murmured, staring at the blur of city lights outside, “How he just… stopped loving me”

Chan had always been a good man. A kind man. But he was never there. Always at the studio, always putting your relationship last. You didn’t break up with him because you stopped loving him— you did it because he forgot how to love you back.

Han exhaled softly, glancing at you from the driver’s seat, “I don’t think he stopped loving you”, he said quietly, “I think… he just didn’t know how to love you the way you needed”.

That made your chest tighten. You turned toward him, realizing there’s something heavy in his gaze— something he’d been trying not to say for weeks.

“Han…”

He leaned in just a little. Not enough to kiss you, just enough for you to feel the heat.

“I shouldn’t want this”, he said quietly, eyes flicking to your mouth.

“Yeah… you shouldn’t”

“But I do”

You don’t remember who leaned in first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. But suddenly, your mouths met like you’ve been starving, like every night he held back, rushed to the surface all at once. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb gently brushing your cheek and suddenly you were kissing him hard.

Messy. Desperate. The car windows started to fog with your breath, your bodies twisting in the cramped front seat. Your legs slid over his lap and his hands grabbed your waist as he tried to stop himself— but he couldn't.

“He never touched you like this, did he?”, he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“That’s so wrong”, you whispered, but you were already pulling his hoodie off.

“Then why does it feel this good? Why aren’t you stopping me, huh?”, he groaned, voice rough as his lips found your collarbone.

Because the truth was— you were not just kissing Han. You were kissing every stolen glance. Every accidental touch. Every night you wished someone saw you the way he always did.

It was messy, forbidden— everything you were not supposed to want.

But in that moment with Han’s hands under your shirt and his voice whispering your name like you owned him— you finally felt wanted again.

“You’re still not stopping me”, Han breathed, voice hoarse against your skin.

He was right, you weren’t. You should. But your fingers were already tangled in the hem of his shirt, already tugging it up, palms sliding over the warm lines of his stomach as you straddled him in the driver’s seat.

Your breath hitched when your hands traced over his inked skin— his tattoos, surprisingly familiar, mapped out across his muscles.

“God”, you whispered, brushing your fingertips over just under his ribs, “These always drove me crazy”.

Han let out a low groan, eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, “You’ve barely seen them” he said, voice rough.

“I saw enough”, you whispered, lips ghosting over his neck, “I just didn’t let myself want to. It had been three long weeks, you know”

His hands found your hips like instinct when you grinded down on his lap, head falling back against the headrest. “Fuck”, he groaned.

You kissed him again, your teeth clashing slightly. He moaned into your mouth like he didn’t care that this was sinful. Bros code? He barely remembered it existed.

His hands were everywhere— trailing up your thighs, gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt until he gripped your bare waist like he needed to hold on or he’d have lost himself completely.

“We can’t do this, Yn… Tell me to stop”, he said suddenly, breath shaking.

But your reply was a soft, “Don’t stop”, whispered into the curve of his neck. You didn’t want him to stop, not when he touched you like that.

You rolled your hips over his lap slowly and he let out the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard from him.

Han’s hands gripped you tighter, his jaw clenched. “Jesus”, he muttered, kissing down your jaw, “You’ve been in my head for weeks. Every time you looked at me like you needed me… I couldn’t think straight”

You whimpered as he slid his hand under your bra, gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples. He pulled your shirt up, just enough to kiss the curve of your chest, hot and desperate, leaving a purple stain there. Even though it was sloppy and frantic, it made you cry out his name.

“Hannie…”

That definitely did something to him. His eyes flicked up, then he pulled you back in for another kiss— this time deeper, filthier, full of tongue and need and everything he’d been holding back.

You could feel how hard he was beneath you, straining in his jeans, as you rocked down again, dragging a soft whine from his throat.

“You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last”, he growled.

“I don’t want you to last”, you whispered, “I just want you to”

He let out a harsh exhale, more like a curse, then leaned forward. “Backseat”, he muttered, eyes dark with lust, “Now”.

You crawled over, and he followed right behind, pulling the door shut with one hand and dragging your hips into his lap again. This time, it was faster, hungrier. He slid your panties down your thighs without fully undressing you, and the thrill of it made your pulse race.

His fingers slid between your legs, and he cursed under his breath. “Damn, you’re soaked”

You arched into his touch, head falling back. “This is so bad”, you pant, “So, so… ah… wrong”

“Then why…”, he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips as he sank two fingers inside you without any warnings, “Does it feel so fucking good?”

You gasped, grinding down against his hand, and he watched you unravel, like he was trying to memorize every twitch, every moan, every part of you.

He fucked you with his fingers slow at first, curling them just right, until your hips were jerking and your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Let me make you forget him”, he whispered.

And god, you did. You fell apart in his lap with his name on your lips, and when you came down, trembling and breathless, he already got his jeans undone, already guiding you on him with a look that said: ‘Please, just this once, let me have you’.

You took him teasingly slow. As you sank down on him, your fingers clutched the back of the seat, lips parted in shock at how good it felt— how right it felt even when it shouldn’t.

His hands held your hips, anchoring you as you started to move.

The car rocked, the windows fogged and the world outside disappeared.

All that was left was Han— his body, his voice, his mouth. The desperate gasps, and whispered curses.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart…. better than I ever imagined”, he groaned, head falling back.

That made you pause, “You… imagined this before?”

With eyes closed shut, he nodded, breath shaky, chest rising and falling fast. “Every time something went wrong”, he whispered, voice wrecked. “Every time he ignored your feelings cause he was at the studio. Every time you showed up glowing in a new dress and he barely looked at you before saying you looked pretty cause he had a deadline”

A choked sound escaped him— half groan, half confession— as he thrusted into you again. “Fuck… every time I thought, ‘I could be better for her. I could actually make her happy’ “.

Your eyes stung. From the overwhelming pleasure but also from him. From the way he was baring himself to you in a way no one else ever has.

You blinked, lashes heavy with tears, a lump forming in your throat. And then you kissed him. Hard. Deep. With everything— every buried feeling, every confused moment over the past few weeks.

You kissed him like he was the only thing that made sense in the middle of the wreckage you’d been walking through. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting years. Like this was a secret he was finally allowed to speak.

His thrusts started to lose rhythm, stuttering, desperate, like he was chasing the edge just as hard as you were. The windows were completely fogged now, your skins slick with sweat, your hands gripping his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.

You were so close it hurt, each grind sending heat spiraling low in your belly, pressure curling tight until you gasped, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Fuck, I’m…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I know, me too, just come with me”

And when he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, all while looking at you like you were the whole sky, that was what tipped you over. Your body tensed, then unraveled all at once— hot and shuddering, pleasure crashing over you in waves so strong you almost forgot to breathe.

He followed with a low moan of your name, hands gripping your hips as he came, pulling you down hard against him one last time.

Everything went silent, save for the sound of your panting breaths and the soft hum of the car engine.

You were still wrapped around him when he murmured, “I meant it, you know”

You blinked, heart still racing, “What?”

“All of it”, he said, voice low. “I know it is still soon, but I could be better for you. I want to be. I want to make you happy”

Your chest tightened. No one had ever said something like that after sex. Not to you, not like that.

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his, and whispered, “You already are”

Han smiled, lazily and crooked, and then he added, “Also… you definitely ruined my backseat forever”

You laughed, breathless and full of something bright and warm and real. “Worth it, tho” you say.

“Guess we’ll just have to use the front seat next time”, he grinned.

You laughed harder this time, still tangled together, still flushed and bare and glowing. And then, you realized:

You might be completely fucked up

But maybe… you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

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[diipsy]

oh this is hot

So Bitter, So Sweet. .:. SKZ [H.JS]

Genre : Smut Pairing : Han Jisung x Fem!Reader Warnings : Dom!Jisung, Sub!Reader, Hate Sex, Hair pulling, PinV (wrap it, folks), pussy spanking, bruising

Kinktober Day 5 of 10 : Hate Sex w/ Han

Word Count: 4K

This was supposed to be Day 5 of Kinktober 2024 but I had discontinued the series due to personal reasons at the time. So... Here, have it 5 months later.

“I actually have a presentation for media studies I have to work on tonight, so I really can’t…”

Chris blinks at the comment about a presentation. Media Studies? He had that class with you and he was pretty sure you didn’t have a presentation for that class. There wasn’t even class today, what were you talking about? His brow crinkles in confusion and his nose scrunches up as he looks over at you, opening his big fat mouth and blowing your cover. “I don’t think we have a– Ngh!” His sentence is cut short when your hand collides with his abdomen, knocking the wind from him enough to shut him up. It was too late, though; He’d spilled too much.

“..So… you’re lying just to get out of coming to the party.” Minho’s eyes slowly drag from where his friend is doubling over at your side to you instead. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go or are you just one of those types of people?” He knew you weren’t but he asked anyway.. You’d come to parties he had held before so what was keeping you from coming to this one? It was Halloween - Basically the biggest parties of the year, other than New Years, were held on Halloween!

“I don’t like Jisung.” Your answer is plain and simple. You hadn’t liked Jisung since you met him. He played so sweetly with the boys; Kissed their cheeks, helped them with homework, and he was all smiles and laughs when he was with them. But as soon as you came around he would shut down and his precious little eye smile would turn into a glare pointed in your direction - which led you to assume that the dislike was mutual.

Jisung blinks heavily beside Minho, brows both cocking upward as if he’s surprised by the statement. He stares down at his hands, twisting a ring to fit right on his finger. “Let me just go fuck myself,” He comments shortly after and Changbin shifts on the other side of him, eyeing the younger man as if silently trying to get him to back down. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Jisung looks directly at you then, not shying away from the heavier conversation.

You scoff as if finding it ridiculous that he doesn’t know. Is he playing dumb, or is he actually an idiot? “You’re an asshole every time I’m around you. You won’t even look at me half of the time and when you do you just sit and brood. And either way - I don’t need a specific reason to dislike someone. Maybe I just hate your face.” That was… one of the biggest lies you had ever told. Jisung was far from ugly; He has big round eyes, soft cheeks, soft features in general really and he looked like a prince who had stepped right out of a Disney movie. He was gorgeous, actually, but you’d never say that to his face given his ugly personality. All of that, all of his behavior towards you, had simply ruined his image for you. “Remember last week?”

“Last week? Oh, God - You’re still whining about that?” Jisung’s eyes narrow over in your direction, his glare as heavy as your own. 

You scoff once more, anger bubbling in your chest. Chris reaches to rest a hand gently between your shoulder blades, ready to guide you away if the situation turns left. “You poured alcohol on me just because you could - right after I said I was going to talk to a guy I like. That was a dick move, Han!” You point a finger at the man and he smirks at your heated demeanor. Chris’ hand becomes guiding, giving a gentle push to steer you away from the three men before Jisung had a chance to bite back at you. 

He offers a shaky smile to the three, keeping his eyes directed towards Minho and Changbin in hopes he can clear this up at least a little while Jisung calms himself down. Or… tried to. “I’ll.. figure something out with her, okay? Expect us to be there.” Chris chuckles, his voice wavering with uncertainty before he fumbles quietly with the last bit before he walks away with you. “There’snopresentation.”

Minho gives a heavy sigh as his eyes draw to Jisung who seethes between himself and the third, blinking slowly at the younger. Jisung glances up and glares, his snarl looking almost like a pout on plush lips. “She drives me crazy sometimes-! I never poured anything on her on purpose.”

“I can tell,” Minho’s eyes rolled. “You need to tone it down. There’s no reason for you two to have this bad of a relationship with each other. Maybe you should’ve just explained that to her when you had the chance?”

“She never gives me an opportunity to clear it up,” Jisung scowls. “She’s ridiculous.”

Changbin claps a hand on the younger’s back before moving it up to grip at the nape of his neck, giving a subtle squeeze as he pushes Jisung forward to keep walking. “You almost laughed at her anger - right in her face. Don’t think you’re making the best impression.” When Jisung turns to bite back at that comment, Changbin forces him to face forward and keep walking by the grip he had on the other’s neck. “Ah; Keep walking. We’re not having this discussion right now. You two need to talk it out. I’m not involved.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to tie a tie.” Your fingers laced carefully through the small knot you had created with the carefully sewn fabric, pulling it through and tightening it with care. The tie sits neatly against the white button up Chris wore, contrasting so perfectly yet matching with the long coat he had on over top. “Aren’t you like twenty five or something?”

“Twenty-six.” Chris smiles, his lips forming a straight line and quirking up at the corners that makes his cheeks dimple heavier than normal. It makes you smile as well, the sight of his face squishing of its own accord. “And I do know how to tie a tie; I just wanted a pretty girl close to me.” His eyes drop from where they had been looking over your head to peer right at you instead. You sigh out a soft laugh through your nose and give a small shake of your head. Ever the flirtatious one, you knew Chris meant nothing by it; He was always calling you pretty, always sticking close to your side, always protective. You were his best friend so of course he was always going to be showering you with compliments; You did the exact same thing. 

As you take a step back and pivot on your heel to look, Chris lets his head tip in the mirror. “What exactly are you supposed to be, again? A businessman?” Your eyes drag over his choice of clothing and he giggles at the assumption, shaking his head in a manner that makes his hair fall down into his eyes. The one white contact made him a little scarier than usual.

“I’m a sexy vampire!” Chris exclaims as if it should be obvious. He turns to look at you, extending his arms and then giving a little turn just to show off. He giggles shortly after when he realizes you’re laughing at him, one hand pressed over your mouth in adoration. You had the stupidest yet cutest best friend in the world. “Can’t you tell?”

Your giggles subside as you answer him, keeping one hand pressing to your lips while you look him over. “Aren’t vampires usually wearing, like, Victorian era clothing or something? The shirts with the ruffles, the high waisted pants… I’ve never seen a vampire in a suit before, I don’t think.”

“Okay, well then I’m a sexy vampire in a suit.” His head turns back to the mirror and he smiles, pushing the little fangs he wore over his bottom lip with a grin. Stupidest yet cutest. “You’re ripping on my outfit but what are you?”

You had just tugged your jacket on as you looked over, listening to him question your own outfit. “A sexy nun; Duh.” He should’ve been able to tell by the veil you wore but apparently that one white contact took away some of his vision. Which also explained why he nearly walked into the doorway on his way out of your dorm, smoothing his hair back to play it off while you laughed. “Go, go.” You shoo him out into the hallway, turning to shut and lock the door behind you as you took your leave.

The drive to the party is short, given it’s only on the other side of campus - but Chris insists on driving you two because he doesn’t want you walking in the chilled night air wearing that outfit. You’d be cold even with your jacket and he can’t subject you to that! So he hops in the car, heats the seats and carefully navigates his way down a few blocks before finding a parking spot across the street. The two of you peek out the driver’s window to look at the house the party is being held in. Minho had snagged one of the nicer, smaller places on campus and all he had to do to get it was find three willing roommates to move in with him; Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung.

The windows of the house are flooded with lights colored orange, red, white, and green while music pounds at the walls and threatens to bring them down. The outside is decorated with Jack-o-lanterns and leaf bags colored orange with faces on them, a skeleton dressed in red lingerie sitting in a lawn chair (by Hyunjin’s doing) and a fake Ghostface from Scream sitting on the steps leading up to the door just to scare away any kids who might want to approach. The front door is covered in Caution tape in a rather messy manner but… you have to admit, the decoration job isn’t horrible. From afar, that is; As soon as the two of you approach the house you end up finding out that someone had shoved a fleshlight between the legs of the skeleton in the lawn chair, and you aren’t sure if that makes the decorating job better or worse.

Stepping into the house, you shrug off your jacket to carefully drape it over a chair nearby that has clearly been taken over by other jackets, hoodies, and even a few blankets people had just wrapped around themselves and ran in. Chris keeps his on because he swears it’s a part of his costume and important to the outfit - and after a small bicker back and forth about it you decide to give in and just go get a drink to start off the night. You end up meeting up with Changbin and Jisung in the kitchen, Changbin’s hand holding a solo cup full of a clear liquid on ice while Jisung’s double fisting two different beers and sipping from them continuously as they talk. 

“Oh look, it's a discount Rob Zombie. Glad to see you here.” You greet with a sarcastic smile, looking away from Jisung to Changbin who chuckles at your comment on Jisung’s outfit. He’d worn a black and white striped long sleeve under a black tank top that hung off his body and proved to be someone else’s he had stolen and cut up for the costume. His jeans were a bit flashy with their belt chains hanging off of his hips, clinking together any time he moved where he stood. He even threw on a choker and a longer necklace with a pendant hanging off of it. And the stupid, pretty black gloves he wore with the rings all over his fingers… 

“I need a drink. Something, anything.”

Jisung’s gaze lowers and he glares as you already shit on his outfit when you’d only just arrived. “I’m a rockstar, actually? Jesus fuck,” He growls out the last bit, turning away and leaving the kitchen. He rounds the island and wanders off to find other people to talk to, seemingly no longer interested in conversing with Changbin when you are around.

Changbin extends his arm with a small smile, one corner of his lips perking upward. He watches as you take his drink right from him and take a few large sips, grimacing at the taste. “It’s… sour.” 

And Changbin nods, chuckling at your realization. “Yeah, it’s made with sour. That’s the whole point.” He holds out his hand to take it back whenever you feel like you’re done with it, your expression less than pleasant as you click your tongue and hand it back to him.

Yet every time you returned to the kitchen, you found yourself mixing Whiskey and Sour into a cup together to get another feeling of that sweet, sweet buzz. It fucked you up fast and that’s how you liked it, even if you were being cautious and pacing yourself. Though you’d spent the last few hours dancing with Changbin, chatting with Minho in a quieter corner and even finding Hyunjin on the couch and sitting in his lap during a small game of Truth or Dare, you managed to always come back to Chris.

Minho had retired for the night and gone upstairs to his room, Hyunjin was still sitting on the sofa now talking to a rather pretty little blond in a black cat costume that hugged him just right, and Changbin was… well, he was somewhere - all over the place, if you were honest. Chris leaned back against the counter as he watched you sip from the fourth drink. You looked pretty well-off despite having so much alcohol in your system. “You came in here kind of hot earlier.”

“Thank you.~” You coo against the rim of your cup, sipping again from the drink as Chris bursts into laughter.

“No - No. I meant coming in hot as in coming in fiery. You ripped into Jisung right away, you know.” He comments, clarifying his statement with a small shake of his head and a bright, gummy smile that showed all of his teeth. He’s always so smiley around you and he really can’t help it.

Your smile falls. “Oh.” You deadpan the reply and Chris almost regrets even talking about Jisung at all. Though, now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen him since you had first arrived - and roasted him like an oven roasted chicken when you walked into the kitchen. “Yeah. He deserves it, though! His costume isn’t even that cool - He just looks like himself. You know, an emo twink.” You set your cup down on the island behind you and sigh out, turning away with a lazy tip of your head. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom.”

“Don’t fall in,” Chris quips with a smile as you walk away from him, unable to help the corny line of goodbye.

Your walk to the bathroom is short, given that it’s right around the corner and just before the stairs. Your hand finds the doorknob after a bit of tipsy fumbling and as you push it open, you’re met with a sight you’d never expected before in your life.

Jisung stood leaning back against the sink, his jeans pushed down to just above his knees while one hand jerked at his cock - hard and leaking and slick with precum that he’d already smeared over his length. His face is flushed and only grows deeper in color when he sees you push open the door to the bathroom, his lips popping apart - slick with spit and drool dripping down his chin as he looks over. “Either get in or shut the fucking door.”

You’re quick to step in - mostly because you panic. Even if you don’t care for him, it’s a little ridiculous to expose his entire cock to the world outside. So you enter the bathroom with flushed cheeks and lingering eyes. Your state of slight intoxication refuses to let you pull your gaze away from the way his hand still strokes over his cock even with you in the room. Your weight shifts to one side and the moment you pull your eyes away he decides to open his mouth. “Fuck, I hate how sexy you look in that stupid costume.”

His comment makes you squirm, your thighs pressing together to try and hide the way your pussy drips at the sight of him alone. And now he was admitting that he thought you looked sexy? You shift against the door and Jisung reaches out to gently pull you closer with his free hand, laying it against your waist while you take the few steps to reach him. He looks you over up close before sighing out, his thumb sliding over his tip just to tease himself a little. “You want it?”

Jisung chuckles at the way you nod feverishly at his question. Yeah, he was fucking annoying, and yeah his face made a bit of anger swell in your chest even if he was really fucking hot in the moment - but he was just straight up offering his dick to you and you couldn’t say no to a guy with big glossy eyes and a leaking cock. He shifts away from the counter and steps in behind you instead, pressing your hips forward to the edge of the sink. You gasp out and reach out to support yourself, your hand laying on the mirror to leave prints behind as Jisung flips up the bottom half of your dress to lay it over your back. He sighs out in admiration at the sight of the black lace that hid beneath it, hooking one finger into it to tug it aside and see what he really wanted to get a look at.

You peek up into the mirror just in time to see Jisung dipping down behind you and a rush of excitement shoots through your veins. You’re under the assumption he might eat you out a little before he gets to the main ordeal - but Jisung isn’t that nice and he still dislikes you even if you look damn sexy in that tight dress and cute little veil. He spits directly onto your pussy after using his thumbs to spread your lips for him, leaning in soon after to use his tongue and make sure you were plenty wet for easy access as if you weren’t dripping already. Jisung stands back to his full height to look down at your hole, both of his hands gripping at your hips as he lines himself up. His spit clings to your clit before dripping onto the floor between your heels just as his cock slips into you with ease.

You sigh out in admiration at the feeling, eyes rolling back into your head with the way he fills you up. It’s unfair how fucking hot he is considering he’s an asshole to you any time he has the chance. Your hand pushes heavier on the mirror as he starts up a steady rhythm, his cock sliding against your gummy walls with the most sinful sounds bouncing off of the bathroom walls; The wet squelch of your pussy forming to his length as he pushes into you harder when he realizes you can take it - that you want to. “Fuck – Mnh, Ji –”

Jisung glances up at you through the mirror, his hair clouding his vision as it fell into his eyes. He peeks down almost immediately after however, reaching down between your bodies to pull up his shirt as it kept falling down and getting in his way from feeling your skin on his own. He tucks the fabric of the striped shirt between his teeth before he chuckles, his eyes turning back down to where the two of you connect - and as you look at him through the mirror you swear you’ve never seen something so fucking hot in your life. His skin was slick and glistening with a thin layer of sweat which meant his hair was beginning to stick to his face, and with his shirt tucked between his teeth his mouth had formed a small scowl. You could’ve swore you heard a couple quiet growls coming from his throat, too, while he fucked into you harder than before.

Your body rocks against the sink as you hold onto the wall to keep yourself steady, moans flooding from your lips that spur Jisung on to fuck you harder, faster. He reaches with one hand to grab onto your shoulder, pulling you with every thrust so you met him halfway and you whined as you felt his tip prodding at your walls, pushing further each time he pushed into you. Jisung used his free hand to grip at your hip, bruising his fingerprints into your skin as evidence he had been there - been in you. His hand slips lower until he can hoist your thigh up, pushing your leg onto the counter so he can stand even closer to you and sink his cock further into your walls. 

“Ohh - Fuck! Fuck, ‘m gonna come –” Your stutters of release make Jisung glance up, dark eyes staring through his hair as he watches your expressions in the mirror; Your eyes closed, head tipped back, fingers curling against the mirror as your orgasm hit. Jisung’s eyes darted back down to watch you squirt around his cock, slowly pulling out before pushing back into your pussy just when you had thought he’d called it quits. He huffs out, his movements rapid but messy now as he chases his own release. He slumped forward a bit and ended up moving his hand from your shoulder to your hair, his fingers tangling in that thin veil to keep a tight grip on you. Well - that, and he’s always wanted to pull your hair when you got on his nerves.

His breathing is labored and ragged as he lets go of his shirt, the fabric falling down while he spills ropes of cum into your walls to claim you as his own. That’s how he thinks of it in the moment at least. Jisung pulls out shortly after, his cum leaking from your slit and dripping down onto the tile flooring of the bathroom. He reaches down, using two fingers to push it back into your cunt while you whine at the feeling. “God, you’re so noisy,” Jisung huffs out, straightening up and glancing at you as his hand meets you again with a slap to your pussy. 

You jolt the first time and relax the second, his hand stilling against your entrance to carefully rub against you and get you to ease up, your body slumping against the countertop in exhaustion. 

He peeks down and watches as both his cum and your slick cling to his fingers as he pulls his hand away, strings connecting his skin to your own. He usually wouldn’t even think to come inside of someone, but with you it was just another form of proof he’d been there. Something for you to think about when he pissed you off in the following days.

And Minho usually wouldn’t care that people had fucked in his bathroom as he often found evidence of it after the parties he held, stumbling tiredly into the room to piss and find meds that would hopefully cure his hangover migraine; But handprints on his mirror? Really?

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna

[diipsy]

sweet angel | h. hyunjin

pairing: demon!hyunjin x angel!reader (fem)

genre: fantasy, angst (some comfort ig)

synopsis: you’re an angel who escaped the heavenly palace from your extremely possessive guardian angel, only for you to stumble into a forbidden territory of a demon who finds you a little peculiar.

cw: MDNI (putting this warning here just to be safe), abusive relationships (not with hyunjin), descriptions of abusive behavior (also not with hyunjin), captivity, manipulation, not everything is religiously accurate, hyunjin's lowkey an asshole but also not really lol.

let me know if i’m missing anything

wc: 2985

———————————・❥・———————————

Your feet were tired. Your legs were burning, and air was constantly forcing itself in and out of your lungs rapidly. Your head was spinning, and your wings hurt from resisting the pin so much. You just wanted to fly instead of run, but you couldn’t. You didn’t even know where you were going. You just wanted to be as far away from the Heavenly Palace as possible. It didn’t matter where you were. You just needed to be out of any angel’s sight.

Suddenly, a scream escaped your throat as you tripped over one of the larger roots of the trees. You fell face-flat onto the grass. Your nose burned from the rough landing. You groaned and tried to get up. You winced a little, noticing the trail of blood coming down from your knee. You then took a moment to see how your perfect white dress was now torn and covered in dirt.

You tried to get up, but you were exhausted. How long have you been running for, you had no idea. You didn’t even know where you were. You panted heavily and looked around to take in your surroundings. Turns out that you ran into some deep forest. The trees were tall and lively, most of them were growing delicious fruits. The sunlight was glimmering through the branches, and the water was flowing peacefully. The flowers were even blooming. Everything in the forest was beautiful. But everything in Heaven was beautiful. It’s so beautiful that no one could see the darkness within.

No one knew what living in the Heavenly Palace entailed. At least for you. Every angel around you found pleasures in the littlest things in the palace: all the wine, fruits, music, and holy books. You wondered if they ever had to go through the same things as you. There had to be something wrong in their lives at least. Or maybe you were just so naive that you never knew of some test you had to pass to achieve great success. Did they ever have a Guardian Angel like him?

You wondered so many things, but you didn’t have the time to think about it all. You only needed to run and run and run until he couldn't find you. You tried to get up, but your legs were so tired. It was like they gave up on you. Or maybe you were paralyzed, you didn’t know. You wanted to just lie down and rest somewhere, but your mind was screaming at you to keep going because if you don’t…he’ll find you.

I have to keep going….God, please let me move….

“Oh my…I didn’t expect to see an angel around here.”

You stopped, and so did your heart. The voice was unfamiliar, but if it was a fellow angel, there’s a chance that he’s found his way close to you. You looked around frantically, wondering who could be nearby. Your eyes then met those of a man dressed in all black: a black sheer button up with intricate maroon patterns, black trousers, and black pointed shoes. His hair was a little long, dark, and luscious. His lips were full and red like a very ripe plum, and his eyes were a deep crimson, mischief brewing in them. His dark wings were spread out, and his thin and pointed tail was wailing around like a whip. A demon?!

“Who are you?!” you asked, your voice shaking.

“What does it look like, Angel?” he laughed a little, “Don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with my kind.”

He stepped closer to you, and you couldn’t do anything about it but brace your arms for anything. Your legs were still not bothering to move, and your wings were a lost cause. The demon was finally standing right before you. He was tall, and he looked at you with curiosity. It’s not every day he sees a battered angel. Normally, angels are well-kept, and their wings are never pinned and clipped. A smirk crept up his lips, and he crouched down to meet you at eye level.

“So this angel is rather…unfortunate,” he said, his voice had a little dryness, but there was something a little melodious about it. “What could have you possibly done to get you looking like this, sweetheart?”

You didn’t look at him. Meeting a demon was the last thing you needed to deal with. Your whole life, you have been told to avoid demons in whatever way you can. They are evil, they encourage nothing but sin, they come from a place of constant torture and endless pain, and they try to corrupt as many angels and humans as they can to take them away from the righteous path. To meet a demon is the equivalent of meeting your demise.

“Not that much of a talker, huh?” the demon asked. “I thought angels loved to talk and talk. But again, angels don’t get their wings clipped and pinned like a treasured bird.”

He laughed a little. You couldn’t say anything about it because he was, in fact, right. You aren’t like other angels. The demon circled around you like you were some zoo animal. If you had any strength or energy to run, you would’ve been far away from him by now. Shivers were sent down your spine when you felt his fingertips glide across your wings. 

“Very pretty and soft wings,” the demon purred, touching your feathers like it was a cat’s back.

You couldn’t help but think of the many times your Guardian Angel sat you in front of the mirror, your bare body fully on display. Your skin was warm and rosy, and he held you close, kissing your neck softly while touching your wings. He did it with the same kind of gentleness, whispering soft praises into your ear of how good you’ve been for the whole day, right before he brought out the long and sharp golden shears. You quickly cowered away from the demon’s touch, shaking and hiding behind the large tree that was closest to you.

“Don’t touch me,” you said.

The demon raised his eyebrows, becoming even more curious. He then smirked once more.

“So the angel can talk,” he said. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s rich coming from a demon,” you spat out.

“And you know what I am. Good, good. I was beginning to worry that you didn’t. Oh, silly me, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin bowed his head toward you like a gentleman. You just stared at him while he looked deeply into your eyes. If you were being honest with yourself, something stirred deep within you from his gaze. You weren’t so sure why. Maybe it was just his intimidating presence or devilishly handsome face.

“Well, I’m no one…” you said, finally feeling your strength return to your legs. You got up and turned your back to him.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Hyunjin said, “I thought angels couldn’t lie.”

“Your perception of angels is skewed.”

You crossed your arms and started walking away from him. You didn’t hear anything from Hyunjin for a moment. Maybe he was pondering your words. You kept walking, and you felt something cold and scaly slither up your leg. Your eyes widened, and you jumped, letting out a squeal. The black snake quickly wrapped itself around your arms and waist, keeping your body still, and Hyunjin was suddenly standing right in front of you.

“What do you mean by that, Sweet Angel?” he asked, “You're telling me that all the angels up in Heaven are truly not the God fearing divine beings they claim themselves to be? Has my whole life been a lie?”

He asked with such a sarcastic tone, like it was laughable that angels are capable of being anything other than God fearing and perfect. You wanted to slap the demon before you, but you couldn’t because of the snake wrapped around you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, irritated, “Let me go!”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. The snake immediately disappeared, turning into a red smoke, and you were free to move again. Well…mostly. Your wings were still pinned. “Come on, Angel, I was simply asking a question, and you haven’t given me an answer.”

“Why should I answer to a demon of all things?”

“Because you ran into my territory.”

You stopped for a moment. His territory? You looked around, and the forest around you seemed clearer than before. Sure, it was beautiful on the surface as you thought, but the wind was cold—very cold. The sky changed from blue and bright to dull and gray. The trees were slowly decaying, and all the cute animals you’d normally see in Heaven were laid dead, decomposing on the ground. This place didn’t feel like Heaven to you.

“Oh…the poor angel doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into,” Hyunjin teased. “Well, to be fair, it did look like you were running away from somewhere. It’s only unfortunate that you bumped into me.”

“Am I in Hell?!” you asked, a little panicked.

“I’d say the In Between. One step closer to me, and you, Sweet Angel, will end up in Hell.”

“I can’t be here!! I have to leave…”

“Leave? And go back to Heaven so soon?”

You froze a little at his response. You couldn’t go back to Heaven. Not after running away for so long. You couldn’t bear to imagine the look on your Guardian Angel’s face once he sees you crawl back to him. The punishments he’d give you for being a disobedient angel, or the humiliation you’d feel if he forced other angels to see you looking so broken and ruined, making an example out of you for why angels shouldn’t disobey their Guardians and God.

Hyunjin looked at your conflicted expression. He didn’t understand why an angel would be so torn about returning to Heaven. It’s their safe haven, is it not? But he then looked at your state once more: your clipped wings, held together by a golden pin, your torn up and dirtied white dress, the bloodied scrape on your knee, and the red marks on your wrists, ankles, and neck. Not to mention, the scars on your skin that looked like the aftermath of severe burns.

“You were running away from Heaven, weren’t you?” he asked.

Your silence was enough of an answer.

“Let me guess,” Hyunjin continued, “You disobeyed your God, and you’re dealing with the consequences—”

“I didn’t disobey Him,” you said, “I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh really? Well, what else could’ve happened?”

It was clear Hyunjin didn’t believe you.

“Fine. You wanna know the truth?” Your patience was wearing thin, and your hands were trembling. “My Guardian Angel did this to me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just existed, and he punished me for it. He claimed that he was protecting me from the cruel Hell demons and whatever sinful things were lurking around. I was too precious to him, he said. But then it got to a point where he just locked me up in his home and then later his room and then eventually a cage….”

The memories were flooding your mind once more: from the beginning where your Guardian Angel gave you a beautiful smile with the words “I will keep you happy and safe” to the many times he clipped your wings and pinned them together, the many times he kept you in a gilded cage, your wrists, ankles, and neck bound by golden chains, and the most recent memory of running away from him the second he opened your cage to check on the burns he left on your skin with hot iron.

Your heart clenched, and even while thinking about it all, nothing made sense to you. The number of times he said he loved you more than anything and how lucky he was that God put you into his life. His kisses, his embraces, his hands tying the strings of your dress together and putting your hair up. They were so soft and gentle, unlike his harsh grip and his loud, haunting voice. Your Guardian Angel was meant to love and protect you, but he instead tortured you for even thinking of stepping outside. Tears streamed down your cheeks and landed on your ruined white dress.

Hyunjin watched as you were crouched on the ground, sobbing your pain away and feeling weak and helpless. He’s seen and done many cruel things in his lifetime, but he’s never seen anything like this. An angel all broken because of another angel. He didn’t even believe that it was possible. All he’s ever known was that angels were incapable of doing anything heinous, let alone lying. But here you are, crying because of your Guardian Angel’s abuse. He wasn’t sure why, but Hyunjin felt something stir within him. He couldn’t exactly define it, but he wanted nothing more than to have you in his arms.

“Oh, angel,” Hyunjin said. He lowered himself to your level. His dark demon wings spread out and covered you like a blanket. You couldn’t see anything except for him. His hands gently reached for your face, his crimson eyes staring into yours. “It’s awful that you had to go through that.”

“Are you pitying me?” you cried, “I don’t need it.”

“No, no, I’m not pitying you. It’s just….They don’t deserve you. How could anyone be so cruel to their own?”

You sniffed, feeling so confused yet comforted by Hyunjin’s words. His touch was surprisingly gentle and not threatening. You had a fuzzy feeling in your stomach, and you didn’t understand why. Why was a demon comforting you? Demons are supposed to be evil and heartless, aren’t they? Hyunjin’s expression and embrace, from both his arms and wings, reminded you of something. You remembered the night your Guardian Angel scolded you for even thinking about walking to the Garden of Eden by yourself.

It was dark outside, and you read a lovely poem about the Garden of Eden. Your Guardian Angel was finishing up his nightly prayers to the Almighty. You innocently asked if you could go to the Garden, and he firmly said no.

“Why can’t I go to the Garden?” you asked, “Every angel gets to see it so why can’t I?”

“Because demons can still lurk there, Y/N,” your Guardian Angel said, his tone very annoyed. “They’ll give you an apple, and your lovely wings will disappear. Besides, we have a garden of our own, and it’s just as beautiful as Eden.”

“But—”

“No buts. My job is to protect you from harm, and I can’t afford letting you walk out there into any demon’s trap.”

“This is Heaven though, and I never hear anything about a demon lurking around from other angels.”

“Yes, but demons are still going to find an excuse to be here.”

“You’re acting like I can’t protect myself.”

“That’s because you can’t!!” he yelled, his voice booming through the whole room. “Look at yourself. You’re too naive, too pure, and too innocent for this universe! You don’t understand just how different you are from other angels, Y/N. If any demon gets its hands on you….I won’t ever forgive myself. God wouldn’t forgive me.”

Silence was between you both, and your Guardian Angel’s hands were clenched into fists. Meanwhile, you were twiddling your thumbs, your whole body slightly shaking. He looked deep into your eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel weak for just how scared and guilty you looked. Your Guardian Angel sighed and approached you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said calmly. “You know how protective I am of you…I’ll go to the Garden tomorrow and pick out something for you. I’ll get you anything you like.”

You were completely enveloped in his arms and wings. His hand was gently gliding on your smooth, silky hair, and your warm face was right up against his defined and soft chest. His scent was so strong that it made you dizzy. You weren’t so sure how to feel within that moment, but the thought of having anything from the Garden of Eden seemed like a good compromise.

“Anything?” you asked.

“Anything, Love,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You opened your eyes once more, and Hyunjin looked at you with such sincerity. Maybe this was some demon’s trap like your Guardian Angel said many times. Hyunjin was holding you so tenderly, and his wings were not like anything you’ve ever seen: so dark, sharp, and leathery, unlike your soft, fragile, and feathered. His tail was one of a kind. It could pierce through anything, but it probably wouldn’t hurt as much as the hot iron staff your Guardian Angel pressed against your bare skin more than once.

“Will you protect me?” you asked.

Hyunjin looked into your eyes, and without thinking, he leaned in close. His lips pressed against yours.

“Yes, I will,” he said, “I’ll treat you better than any angel has in their lifetime.”

He held you close, gently kissing you just like your Guardian Angel did many times. However, this time, you felt the urge to kiss him back. You kissed Hyunjin back, and his hands traveled down to your waist. You weren’t so sure if this was his demon magic or if you were severely starved for love. But you melted into his touch anyway. Maybe your Guardian Angel was right. You were too naive, too pure, too innocent for this universe, but at that moment, you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. If Hyunjin’s so bad, then what makes him any different from your Guardian Angel? If losing your wings meant never having to be in endless pain and suffering ever again, then you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———————————・❥・———————————

a/n: here's a new fic to take a small breather from the LADS AU lol. this type of fic isn't what i normally write, but the idea was killing me, so i had to get it out there. also, happy birthday, hyunjin. love you to pieces, pookie bear :333 comment down your thoughts, and ofc reblog/like if you enjoyed it. see y'all in my next post hehe <3

masterlist | taglist

[diipsy]

𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1

Stray Kids - Non-Idol! Hyunjin x Reader

Twilight Inspired Fic (but major differences such as age)

Word Count (so far): 33k

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: When you move to Forks for college you run into a group of friends who are out of the ordinary.

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 5, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 6, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 7, more to come!

-September-

“Mom, seriously, I’m already settled. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You sigh for what feels like the hundredth time on this phone call. Your mom is overprotective, even when you’re across the country.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You shift the phone to your other ear, staring out the window at the endless drizzle of Forks, Washington. 

You were born here and lived here until you were three. That’s when your dad, Charlie, and mom, Renée, divorced. You have been living with your mother since. Sometimes you would visit Forks in the summer, but haven’t in recent years. But once your mom married Phil, her new husband, you wanted to leave their house. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Phil, but he was a major-league baseball player. So, he traveled a lot and wanted to bring your mom. So, to save trouble you moved in with your dad. 

Your mom hums, unconvinced. “But are you happy, sweetheart? You can always come back, you know that. You don’t have to stay there just to make your dad feel better.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “It’s not like that. I wanted to come. For college.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

Another thing about your mom, she was stubborn and immature. You stayed with her for the longest time because there was no one else to take of her. Now, Phil can help clean the house and feed her. No more struggling to keep her happy.

You hear the distant sound of Phil talking in the background, something about a flight schedule. Your mom’s sigh filters through the speaker. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be there if it’s not what you really want.”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, softer this time. “It’s not sunny, and I might actually freeze, but Charlie’s trying. I’ll be okay.”

Another pause. Then, “Okay.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but she’s relenting. “Just promise me you’ll call if you need anything?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

You end the call and drop your phone onto the bed. Outside, the rain continues its steady rhythm, a dull gray mist shrouding the towering evergreens. The air is damp and heavy, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones. You pull your sleeves over your hands, staring out at the familiar yet distant landscape.

This is home now.

The thought is strange. You’ve visited before, but living here is different. The house is quieter than you’re used to, filled with the scent of coffee and old paper from Charlie’s endless police reports. No laughter from your mom’s soap operas playing in the background. No constant conversation. Just the occasional creak of the floorboards and the sound of the rain.

A knock on your door breaks your thoughts.

“Hey, kiddo,” Charlie’s voice is gruff but gentle. “Everything okay?”

You turn to face him, offering a small smile. “Yeah, just Mom being... Mom.”

He nods as if that explains everything. And maybe it does.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he says after a beat. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You hesitate. Cooking isn’t exactly Charlie’s strong suit. “What is it?”

He clears his throat. “Steak and potatoes.”

Your lips twitch. “Is that all you eat?”

He shrugs. “Gotta stick to what I know.”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

The morning air is crisp as you slide into the truck. Charlie had insisted his old truck was reliable, though the way it groaned when you turned the key made you doubt that. You let it idle for a moment, watching the windshield wipers struggle against the fine mist of rain clinging to the glass.

Your first day of college.

It still doesn’t feel real. Moving to Forks was one thing, but starting fresh in a completely new environment? That’s something else entirely. You’ve done your research, of course. But, it was still nerve-racking. 

The truck’s heater sputters before kicking in, and you take a deep breath before pulling out of the driveway.

The drive was nice. Tall evergreens lined the road, their branches dripping with rain, mist curling around the trunks like something out of a dream. The roads are slick, but you take your time. Despite the nerves twisting in your stomach, there’s something almost peaceful about the drive.

By the time you reach the college parking lot, the nerves return in full force. You pull into a spot and kill the engine, gripping the wheel for a second longer than necessary.

You can do this.

Grabbing your backpack, you step out into the damp morning air, the scent of wet pavement filling your lungs. Around you, other students hurry toward the buildings, some huddled under umbrellas, others pulling their hoods tight against the drizzle.

There it was. Forks College.

Your thoughts were cut off by a voice behind you, “Yo! You’re the Sherrif’s daughter, right?

Great.

“Yeah-”

The flash of a phone camera straddles you. 

Blinking against the sudden burst of light, you take a step back, caught off guard. The guy holding the phone grins, looking way too amused with himself. He’s tall, wearing a faded hoodie and a backward baseball cap, his sneakers splattered with mud.

"Sorry, had to document this. Sheriff Swan's kid, stepping into college like a total badass," he says, tucking his phone into his pocket.

You exhale, already regretting every life choice that led you to this moment. "Right. And you are?"

"Tyler," he says easily. "My dad’s on the force with your dad. Figured I’d say hey before you got totally lost in this place."

You glance toward the looming brick building ahead, students streaming through the doors. It’s not huge, but big enough that getting lost isn’t off the table.

"That obvious?" you mutter, adjusting the strap of your bag.

Tyler smirks. "A little. First-day nerves?"

You shrug, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he jerks his head toward the entrance. "C’mon, I’ll show you where the main hall is. Unless you wanna keep standing in the rain looking like you just saw a ghost."

You hesitate for a second, then fall into step beside him. It’s not like you know anyone else, and as much as you hate being recognized for your dad’s job, at least Tyler doesn’t seem annoying. Yet.

"Any idea where your first class is?" he asks as you weave through the crowd.

You pull out your schedule, glancing at the printout. "Uh… Building C. Room 204."

Tyler lets out a low whistle. "Professor Anders. Tough one. Hope you like essays."

"Perfect," you mumble. 

Tyler grins. "You’ll survive. Probably."

You shoot him a look, but he just chuckles, leading the way through the crowded hallway. The air inside is warmer, filled with the scent of coffee, wet jackets, and something vaguely like old books. Students mill about, some laughing in groups, others hunched over their phones or scanning their schedules with the same lost expression you’re probably wearing.

“So, what’s your deal?” Tyler asks, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets as he guides you toward Building C. “What are you studying?”

“Uh, English,” you say, gripping your backpack strap a little tighter. “Well, technically undecided, but… probably English.”

“Cool, cool. I’m doing journalism. Figured someone’s gotta report all the exciting Forks College news.”

You arch a brow. “Is there exciting Forks College news?”

He smirks. “Not yet. But hey, if you do anything Sheriff’s Kid-worthy, I’ll make sure you get the front page.”

You groan. “Please don’t.”

Tyler just laughs, and for the first time since arriving, you feel your shoulders relax a little. 

By the time you reach Building C, the hallways are thinning out as students shuffle into classrooms. Tyler stops outside the door to 204 and jerks a thumb toward it. “Here you go. Welcome to the lions’ den.”

You sigh, shifting your bag. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem,” he says, already taking a few steps backward. “Catch you later, Sheriff’s Kid.”

Before you can tell him to stop calling you that, he disappears down the hallway. You shake your head, then take a deep breath and step into the classroom.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

You had time before your next class that day so Tyler invited you to go to a local diner with his friends.

The diner is small, tucked between a hardware store and an old bookstore. The windows are fogged up from the warmth inside, and as you push open the door, the scent of coffee and fried food lures you in.

Tyler leads the way, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the checkered floor. A group is already gathered at a booth near the window, laughter spilling over the hum of conversation.

"Guys, this is-" Tyler pauses, turning to you. "Wait, do you prefer your actual name, or should we stick with Sheriff’s Kid?"

"You know the answer."

He grins before plopping into the booth. "Alright, alright. This is-" he says your name, waving lazily in your direction. "New recruit to Forks College. Be nice."

A girl with dark curly hair resting in a loose ponytail gives you a friendly smile. "Hey, I’m Angela." She gestures to the guy next to her, who’s busy stirring way too much sugar into his coffee. "That’s Eric. And across from him, that’s Jess."

Jess, who has been scrolling through her phone, looks up and gives you a quick once-over before nodding. "Nice to meet you," she says, sounding vaguely distracted.

You slide into the booth next to Tyler, the worn vinyl creaking beneath you. 

Angela offers you the basket of fries, and you take one. "So, first day at Forks College," She says, propping her chin on her hand. "Surviving so far?"

You shrug, chewing thoughtfully. "So far, so good. No catastrophes yet."

Eric snorts. "Give it a week."

Tyler elbows him. "Come on, don't scare the newbie."

Jess finally tucks her phone away and sips her drink, eyeing you over the rim. "So, what brought you back to Forks? Thought you lived with your mom.”

"Yeah," you say, swirling your straw through your water. "She got remarried, and her husband travels a lot for work. I figured it’d be easier to move here instead of being left alone all the time."

Angela gives you a knowing smile. "That makes sense. Forks is… different, but it grows on you."

Tyler leans back, stretching his arms across the back of the booth. "And hey, at least you've got us now. We’ll make sure you don’t die of boredom."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Good to know."

The conversation flows easily from there. They fill you in on campus life, which professors are worth their office hours and which ones will drown you in readings. Tyler and Eric get into a heated debate over whether the diner’s fries are better than the ones at a food truck near campus, with Angela and Jess rolling their eyes at the familiar argument.

The bell above the door chimes softly, and an odd hush seems to ripple through the diner. You glance up instinctively, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

Two guys step inside, shaking the rain from their jackets. There’s something almost unreal about them, like they’ve stepped out of a painting rather than from the rain.

The first one has features that are sharp and defined. His hair is dark and tousled in a way that seems both effortless and deliberate. There’s a certain elegance to him, an almost ghostly stillness in the way he surveys the room. His eyes, a strange and shifting shade, flicker across the diner until they meet an open booth, where he walks. 

The second one is just as striking but in a completely different way. This one is softer and more inviting. His skin is fair, almost luminous in the diner’s dim lighting.

You aren’t the only one staring. The diner has gone subtly quieter, conversations dipping into murmurs as a few heads turn in their direction. Even Tyler and Eric, mid-argument, pause just long enough to exchange a glance.

"Who are they?" you ask, voice low.

Angela follows your gaze and sighs. "Minho and Changbin. They’re a part of The Strays."

“The Strays?” You ask

"Yeah," Tyler says, leaning in slightly. "These group of friends moved here a couple of years ago. No one really knows much about them. They kind of… keep to themselves. That’s why we call them The Strays. They all live together in a house near campus.”

The bell chimes again, and three more figures step inside You don’t need Tyler to tell you they’re part of The Strays. There’s something distinct about them.

Angela talks again, “And that’s Han, Seungmin, and Jeongin.”

As they settle into their booth, it’s like the diner resumes normal function. 

"They always come here?" you ask, unable to stop watching them.

Angela shrugs. "Every now and then. Never with anyone else, though. Just them."

"They don't talk to people much," Tyler adds. "Not rude, exactly, just... distant."

Jess scoffs. "Minho’s rude."

Angela sighs. "You bumped into him once."

"Yeah, and he glared at me."

"That’s just his face," Eric offers, stirring his coffee.

You can’t help but glance at their booth again. Unlike the other customers, who chat and joke around, The Strays are quieter, their conversations low, spoken only amongst themselves.

Lastly, two more boys come rushing in. Their group of friends glares at them as they seem late. The taller one ruffles his already messy dark hair, grinning sheepishly as he slides into the booth. The other slightly shorter one just shrugs unapologetically at the glares they’re getting from their friends.

"Hyunjin and Felix," Angela murmurs before you can ask.

Hyunjin has the kind of presence that demands attention, sharp angles, and effortless grace. Even as he drops into his seat, there’s something undeniably fluid about his movements, like he doesn’t quite belong in the same stiff world as everyone else. His long hair falls in front of his face, but he doesn’t seem to mind, already deep in whatever conversation The Strays are having.

Felix, on the other hand, is different. He’s warm in a way the others aren’t, his freckled face lighting up as he says something that makes the rest of the group relax.

"They look like they belong in a damn movie," Tyler mutters, stuffing a fry into his mouth. "It’s almost annoying how cool they are."

You hum in agreement.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

A couple of days later, it was time for your first class in the morning. The rain had barely let up since you arrived in Forks. You pulled your jacket tighter around you as you stepped into the building.

The room was already half full when you walked in. Students milled around, some chatting, others scrolling through their phones. You scanned the room, looking for an empty seat, only to pause when your eyes landed on him.

Hyunjin.

He was sitting alone at the lab table near the window, fingers idly tapping against the tabletop. His long hair fell slightly over his face as he stared out at the rain-streaked glass window, lost in thought.

Something about him felt wrong. Not in a bad way, but… off. Like he was on edge. His posture was too rigid, his jaw tight. And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes snapped to yours.

The moment your gazes met, something in his expression shifted. You froze in place, gripping your bag strap tightly. Slowly, almost unwillingly, Hyunjin turned away. 

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you’d walked into something you weren’t supposed to.

"Hey," the teacher's voice broke through the tension. "New student?"

You nodded quickly.

"Great. You can sit there," the teacher gestured, right next to Hyunjin.

Of course.

Grounding yourself, you moved toward the empty seat beside Hyunjin. As you slid into the chair, you couldn’t help but notice the way his posture remained unnaturally stiff, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.

Hyunjin was actively trying not to look at you.

You wanted to break the tension, “Hello?”

Then, finally, he turned his head just slightly, enough for his dark eyes to meet yours. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. There was no warmth there, just something raw, something unreadable.

“…Hi,” he said at last, but the word was clipped, barely audible.

And then, just as quickly, he turned away again, his jaw tensing like he regretted even speaking.

Okay.

You hesitated, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Had you done something wrong? You were pretty sure you’d never seen him before, so why was he acting like you’d personally offended him just by existing?

The teacher started lecturing, and you forced yourself to focus, but it was impossible to ignore the way Hyunjin sat. He was completely rigid, angled as far away from you as he could without actually moving his chair.

And for the rest of the class, you didn’t say another word.

The second the class was dismissed he stood up and practically ran out of the room. 

You barely had time to process before he was gone, disappearing through the doorway like he couldn’t escape fast enough.  

"Well, that was weird," you muttered under your breath, gathering your things.  

A chair scraped beside you, and when you turned, Angela was there, giving you a sympathetic look.  

"Don't take it personally," she said, shouldering her bag. "Hyunjin… he’s always been like that. At least, with people outside of his group."  

You frowned. "Did I do something to offend him?"  

Angela shook her head. "No. That’s just how The Strays are. Especially him. Though I’ve never seen him have a physical reaction. Normally, he just ignores people.”

You glanced back toward the door as if you’d catch a glimpse of him still lingering in the hallway, but he was long gone.  

The whole thing left a strange feeling in your chest, and you had no idea why.

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

You walked into the scheduling office later that day to ask about your schedule when you saw him. 

Hyunjin stood at the counter, fingers pressed against the surface like he was barely keeping himself grounded. His head was slightly bowed, his long hair obscuring most of his face.

"I need to change my schedule," he said, voice clipped.

The receptionist, an older woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose, barely looked up from her computer. "Which class?"

"First block," he said immediately.

Your stomach dropped.

The receptionist sighed. "And why do you need to change it?"

Hyunjin hesitated, his fingers curling into a fist on the counter. "It’s… not a good fit."

"Not a good fit?" she repeated, finally glancing up at him. "That’s not exactly a reason, dear. If you’re struggling, I can get you tutoring-"

"No." His voice came out sharp enough to make her pause. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if trying to physically shake something off. "Just… is there another class I can take instead?"

The receptionist clicked around on her computer and then shook her head. "Unfortunately, all the other sections are full. You’ll have to stick with the one you have."

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel, only to freeze the second he saw you standing in the doorway.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, it looked like he might actually say something. But instead, his lips pressed into a thin line, and he pushed past you, walking out of the office without looking back.

What the hell was his problem?

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

The weather was sunny for the first time since you moved to Forks. Jess invited you to go window shopping together and enjoy the warmth. The sun cast a rare golden glow over the small town, making everything feel just a little less gloomy than usual. You were starting to get used to the constant overcast skies, but the warmth on your skin was a welcome change.

Jess looped her arm through yours as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk, peering into store windows. For someone you had met two weeks ago, she was clingy. “See? You were worried you’d hate it here, but now you’re spending a sunny afternoon shopping with me. Progress.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You act like I’ve been locked away in some dark tower.”

Jess gasped dramatically. “You have! The tower of brooding and confusion. Especially when it comes to a certain Stray”

You groaned, nudging her with your elbow. “Can we not?”

“Oh, come on,” she teased, tugging you toward a boutique window. “You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious about why he acted like you were some kind of-” she waved her hand vaguely, “-cursed object in that classroom.”

You sighed, avoiding her gaze as you pretended to be interested in a display of jewelry. “I mean… yeah, it was weird. But it’s not like I can do anything about it. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m not going to chase him down for answers.”

Jess huffed. “That’s boring. I would.”

You gave her a look.

She grinned unapologetically, “He is kind of hot.”

“You’ve got it bad, huh?”

 “I mean, can you blame me? He’s got that mysterious vibe.”

You rolled your eyes again, though you couldn’t quite shake the thought of Hyunjin. It was impossible not to wonder why he’d reacted the way he did in class, but chasing him down for answers felt... wrong. You barely knew the guy.

“So,” Jess continued, clearly not done with the topic, “what’s your type, then?”

You laughed. “You’re really going to make me answer that?”

She grinned. “I just wanna know if I’m totally off base with my matchmaking attempts. You’ve gotta have some sort of ‘type,’ right?”

You paused, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess it’s less about looks and more about someone who doesn’t make me feel like I’m walking on eggshells.”

Jess snorted. “So not Hyunjin, then.”

“Exactly.”

She sighed dramatically, pushing open the door to a nearby shop. “Well, I tried. Come on, let’s actually buy something. There’s gotta be something here that’ll make this trip worth it.”

The shop was a bookstore. Clearly Jess didn’t know this before opening the door.  She froze in the doorway, blinking at the rows of bookshelves as they had personally offended her.

“Oh,” she muttered, visibly deflating. “Well, this is not what I expected.”

You bit back a laugh. “What, disappointed they don’t sell designer handbags?”

Jess sighed dramatically, stepping inside anyway. “I mean, yes, but we’re here now, so we might as well look around.”

You smiled, running your fingers over the spines of the books as you wandered further in. The store smelled like paper and ink. It was quiet except for the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional murmur from the cashier at the front desk.

Jess followed you reluctantly, dragging her fingers over a display table of hardcover books. “So, you’re one of those people, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “One of what people?”

She smirked. “The kind that actually enjoys reading.”

You gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know books are great company.”

Jess made a face. “I prefer company that actually talks back.”

Then, a deeper voice spoke behind you too, “Books can talk. Audiobooks.”

You froze mid-turn, the voice hitting you like a memory brought back to life. It was teasing with a familiar lilt that sent you straight back to childhood.

Slowly, you turned the rest of the way, and there he was.

Bang Chan.

He stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his face. He looked older, obviously, his features sharper, his frame broader. But the glint in his eyes was the same.

“Chan?” you breathed, barely believing it.

His smirk widened into a grin. “Took you long enough.”

Jess glanced between you two, brows raised. “Uh, hello? Someone wanna fill me in?”

You let out a breathless laugh, still caught in the disbelief of seeing him here now. “Jess, this is Chan. We grew up together. Our dads are friends.”

Chan’s grin didn’t falter. “More like she followed me around like a lost puppy.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his arm lightly. “You wish.”

Jess watched the exchange with growing interest. “Huh. So this is the childhood bestie. Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about Chan, but life had pulled you in different directions. You had stopped coming to Forks in the summer when you were thirteen. You assumed the distance had settled between you for good. But now, standing here, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Chan didn’t seem bothered by the question. He just shrugged, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “It’s been a while, that’s all.”

You nodded, still unable to fully believe he was here. “Are you going to college here?

   He shook his head, “No. I took a gap year to help out the family.” That explained why you hadn’t run into him sooner.

Jess, sensing the shift in mood, clapped her hands together. “Okay, well, I suddenly feel like the third wheel in a heartfelt reunion, so I’m gonna go pretend to care about books elsewhere.” She shot you a knowing look before wandering off toward the back of the store.

Chan watched her go, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “She’s got good instincts.”

You snorted. “She probably thinks you’re my long-lost soulmate or something.”

“Am I?”

“Don’t start.”

His laughter was warm, familiar. It was strange. It felt like no time had passed at all. But at the same time, everything felt different. He wasn’t the same boy you used to know. He had definitely grown some muscle.

You tilted your head. “So, what exactly are you doing with the family? Besides, you know, ‘helping out.’” 

Bang Chan has a BIG family. All of them lived in cabins near La Push. You remember making sand castles with him on the beach.

Chan hesitated for just a fraction of a second before answering. “Just… community stuff. Helping my dad, looking out for people.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s vague.”

He grinned. “It’s a vague job.”

You weren’t buying it. There was something he wasn’t saying, but before you could press, he nodded toward the door.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go grab something to eat. We need to catch up.”

“Fine. Jess was getting bored anyway. I’ll go tell her.” you said, sighing dramatically. “But you’re buying.”

Chan laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

[diipsy]

been in an angst trope phase lately. why do i do this to myself

[diipsy]

it's getting better and better oh my goshhh

Dolly V

~ part 5 of the Dolly series

pairing: yang jeongin x afab!reader

genre: smut, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: always used to getting everything you want and spending as much money as you can; after a little night out with your girlfriends, in your drunken state you order an expensive sex doll. he likes to dress up, just like you do. what could go wrong?

wc: 8.5k

warnings: oral (m), masturbation, self-denial, self-ruined orgasm, cum eating, slight pain kink, sub!reader, reader is a little bratty, unprotected sex, creampies, a bit of degradation, choking, light bondage, spanking, edging, slapping

~ divider by @bunnysrph

With all the alcohol in your system, the loud music booming from the speakers and the warmth of the body dancing behind you, you celebrated, swaying your hips and grinding back into the nameless man who gripped your sides harder.

It was just another regular Saturday night for you; putting on an expensive dress and jewelry, doing your makeup, spending your evenings in fine restaurants with your girlfriends and your nights in prestigious clubs with all kinds of hot men you'd lead on and then leave.

You didn't have a care in the world. Anything you wanted, you got at the snap of your fingers, your father made sure of that, spoiling you rotten since you were his only daughter. You knew he had a soft spot for you and you weren't afraid to use that to your advantage.

"You wanna go somewhere more quiet?" the man whispered in your ear and you turned around, feigning disappointment and putting your sweet voice on.

"I'm sorry darlin', but I have to go now. It's been a pleasure dancing with you, though." you gave him a quick peck on the lips, just enough for him to taste your cherry lipgloss for a split second.

Before he could even answer, you slid away, disappearing from his eyesight between all the dancing bodies as you looked for your friends.

"Are you leaving, y/n?" you found Crystal by the bar. "The night is still young."

"I already texted Benjamin. He's on his way here." you giggled, swaying a little and she chuckled, grabbing your wrist, her manicured nails grazing your skin.

"Girlie, are you drunk?" she laughed.

"Just a little." you laughed with her, usually you weren't a lightweight, in fact you were the one carrying Crystal outside and holding her hair while she throws up. "I mixed up a few different drinks."

"Want me to wait out there with you?" she asked and you shook your head, making the room spin a little.

"Benji already arrived." you said but she still insisted on walking you to the car.

A sleek black limo waited for you, your family driver Benjamin rolled the window down before stepping out with a knowing smirk.

"You okay, miss?" he asked, opening the door for you.

"Perfect." you said, even though the fresh air made you even more dizzy than the stuffy club.

He shrugged as you plopped down in the seat, waving to Crystal who decided to stay a bit more with two of your other friends. Your stomach was churning a little as the vehicle started moving but Benjamin didn't bug you about it. He knew how you were, everyone did except your father who turned a blind eye to anything 'bad' you did. You are his perfect little angel who can do no wrong, so your driver bit his tongue more often than not.

You were home in no time, escorted right to the door. It was pretty late so the house was dark and quiet as you made your way upstairs, bumping into furniture and tripping over stairs, cursing quietly. Your room was huge, a queen sized bed with a canopy above it and a spacious walk in closet, your own bathroom and balcony where you'd often lay down and tan when it's sunny.

You kicked your heels off and walked to your big mirror, checking yourself out. You didn't look drunk though the room was still spinning just a little. You realized your phone turned off so you walked over to your desk and turned your laptop on, checking out who saw your insta stories from the fun night out. You left it open as you took it to your vanity, sitting down and taking off your diamond earrings.

The stories kept rolling and an ad came on between them right as you looked at the screen.

"What? Sex dolls?" you chuckled. Feeling intrigued, you clicked on it. It took you to a site with eight human looking dolls, all of them a 10 in your eyes. "I want them all." you whined, noticing some of them were already sold.

"Not fair." you pouted as you scrolled, stopping when you got to 'Jeongin, the fashion doll'.

"Oooh, fashion huh? I like you." you giggled, clicking on the purchase button without even looking at the price. After putting your info in, a message popped up. 'Thank you for purchasing our fashion doll! We hope you have fun dressing him up!', with a little winky face emoji added at the end.

You chuckled, closing your laptop and forgetting all about it as you got ready for bed and fell face down into your soft pillows, drifting off immediately.

Exactly a week later, when you got home after your beauty day which included a trip to the spa, a manicure and pedicure and of course some shopping, you almost jumped out of your skin, tripping over a huge box in your room.

"What the fuck is this?!" you gasped, and immediately your security guard, Jack, ran in, his hand already on the holster.

"What's wrong, miss?" he looked around before noticing the huge box and another suitcase next to it.

"It had your name on it. Benjamin and I brought it up together, I-I thought you had ordered something like- like always." he said cautiously.

Something rang in your mind.

"Oh. I did. You can leave now." you said, your face heating up. The man nodded shortly before retreating back outside.

You slammed and locked the door, letting out a breath of relief. You completely forgot about ordering a literal human sized doll. And now here he was, in the box. At least you hoped he was in the box, not in the suitcase because you did not want to spend your afternoon putting doll parts together, in your head it was too morbid and too much work.

You put your bags on the floor before cautiously walking over to the box. Taking a deep breath in, you opened it up and gasped. Your doll was even more handsome than what you vaguely remembered from that night.

Hello,

my name is Jeongin (or Innie) and I am your fashion dolly.

I love to dress up and take pictures, especially with you. I like seeing new places and doing new things so I hope you'll take me out on lots of dates.

Please treat me well always, even though I seem cool I can be sensitive so don't forget to hold my hand.

Hope you'll come to love me as much as I love you.

Obviously, someone put a lot of thought into this doll, you noted after reading the letter and looking more closely at his face. His eyes seemed warm and it looked like he was smiling just a little, a shy dimple on his cheek. He looked so cute. You checked out his outfit, satisfied with what they put him in and you noticed another little paper in his jeans pocket. You took it out and read it.

My princess!

I chose this outfit for our first adventure together.

Hope you enjoy me as much as I will enjoy you.

Princess. How fitting, you thought as you giggled.

You turned your attention to the suitcase, deciding to open it up before doing anything else. When you did, a gasp left your lips. It was filled with clothes and jewelry for the doll.

"I could make myself a dress out of this." you picked up one of the shirts, inspecting it. The clothes smelled like fresh fabric softener and they felt pretty expensive. You turned to look at the doll again. How much did you even pay for him?

You didn't care. All you cared about was taking the doll out of the box but that proved to be a bigger task than you first thought. You tried picking him up but since you weren't keen on working out, it was impossible to move him.

You groaned and grunted, your heels almost sliding on the polished wood as you pulled your Jeongin dolly by the wrists. That was the last trick you had up your sleeve.

"For fucks sake! I can't even move you properly. I don't know how much money I spent on you but you better wake up and move by yourself 'cause I'm not breaking my nails!" you stomped your foot in annoyance but the dolly stayed still.

"Do you have a button somewhere?" you started rummaging on his body, it felt like he was heating up the more you touched him. You retracted your hands and studied his face for a moment.

"Ugh." you unlocked and opened your door, finding Jack in the hallway. "Can you come help me?" you batted your eyelashes sweetly.

"Sure thing, miss." Jack nodded and followed you to your room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Jeongin, but then he sighed, probably not even surprised by the things rich people spend money on.

"Is that alive?" he asked and you barked out a laugh.

"I don't think so. Look, I need you to move him to that chair." you pointed to your gaming chair. Since it had wheels, your thought process was that it'd be easier to roll around the doll than to carry it.

"Okay." the security guard nodded and lifted Jeongin up as if he weighed nothing. He placed him where you ordered. "Anything else, miss?"

"Get that box out of my room, I hate trash." you said, completely skipping that the manual for the doll was inside the box.

After Jack left, you locked the door again.

"Now, it's just you and me, dolly." you said, taking your heels off before you stalked towards Jeongin. Your palms rested on the chair as you leaned in closer, observing the doll. He smelled so good, so intoxicating. Your nose brushed against his cheek before you leaned back.

"Well let's see what I paid for." you nodded to yourself, stripping the doll out of his jacket with a bit of a struggle.

"Motherfucker." you cursed, throwing the jacket behind you. "If I could just find a button and turn you on, you'd do this by yourself." you frowned, gripping his shirt and struggling again.

Briefly, you thought about calling Jack back in but you quickly dismissed it, thinking how weird it would be to ask your security guard to strip your sex doll naked. Suddenly, you had another thought.

Isn't there supposed to be a manual?

The box. The stupid box. You quickly ran out of your room, looking for Jack and finding him downstairs.

"Where's the box?" you asked breathlessly.

"Box?"

"Yes, the one I told you to throw out."

"Ah, it's in the trash."

Your eyes narrowed. Jack gulped. His palms got clammy.

A minute later, Jack became a victim as he dug through the dumpster to find the manual.

"Found it yet?" you yelled at his body, half submerged in trash.

"Almost there." he gagged a little and you made a disgusted face as he finally pulled it out.

"Found it." the poor security guard looked defeated, probably repeating the amount of money he'll be paid by the beginning of next month.

"Great. You're a champ." you sprayed a little bit of disinfectant before pinching the manual between your fingers and looking through it. You skimmed quickly, frowning when you found nothing about a button that makes the doll come to life.

"Well, this sucks." you sighed, tossing the manual back into the dumpster as Jack rolled his hands into fists. 'Paycheck is coming soon. Paycheck is coming soon.', Jack chanted in his mind.

You were already back to Jeongin, deciding to just strip him completely and then think of what to do next. His shoes and socks came off quicker than the previous garments, his pants gave you another struggle but you managed to take them off somehow. Your face heated up when you noticed the bulge in his boxers.

Even though you kissed a lot of men, you never went further with them. You liked to tease and feel like you were the one who has the upperhand, when in reality you just needed someone who knew how to take care of your needs. None of the men you met gave you the impression they could handle you. Your ex boyfriend thought he could but he was way in over his head so you dumped him and moved on.

Taking a deep breath in, you finally took the last piece of clothing off.

"Oh." your Innie dolly is hung. "Well, that was definitely worth paying for." you snickered.

Your face started heating up the more you stared at it, biting on your lip and debating if you should just touch him.

"Miss y/n! Lunch is ready!" you heard the housekeeper yell.

"Coming!" you yelled back, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over Jeongin's naked body. You slipped your dress off before grabbing a more comfortable shirt and shorts, all under the watchful eye of the doll. You didn't mind that he was there because he is just a thing. And things can't come to life, can they?

You shrugged and went downstairs to eat lunch with your father.

"How was your outing, sweetheart?" he asked as the two of you ate, the sounds of utensils clattering and scraping against the plates was like a cacophony disturbing the peaceful classical music in the background.

You briefly glanced at the empty chair your mother used to occupy.

"It was fun. How was work?"

"As usual." his tone was flat. "You need to come in tomorrow, at least for four or five hours."

Right. You were an intern at your father's company, more so you were learning from him so you could take over the empire one day. It bored you to death to sit in an office full of people with sullen faces and serious suits, flipping papers and typing on the computer. You hated it but you had no other choice since you're an only child, everything naturally belongs to you.

You didn't say anything, just glanced towards the empty chair again.

-

When you got back to your room, you almost shrieked but quickly covered your mouth so you don't alarm Jack. You definitely didn't want him to come in and see this.

You turned the key in the door, checking twice if it was locked properly as your heart started beating fast. You turned to look at your dolly in disbelief. The blanket you had carefully covered him up with was on the floor, pooling by his feet. But what captured your attention was his cock, hard and red, standing proudly and taunting you. Your mouth opened and closed a few times.

Why did the dolly get aroused all by itself? You gulped as you observed him but his chest wasn't moving, in fact he looked kind of like a statue. A beautiful, perfect greek statue.

Your legs pressed together. The sight of his leaking cock made your insides stir. But at the same time, it felt weird. You tried to rationalize it in your head, he is a doll, he's not alive and he was made to be used and maybe it just got hard on its own sometimes. Hell, you didn't really know or care about the technology behind it.

All you knew is that something pulled you to him. So you slowly made your way towards Jeongin, hesitating just for another moment before you gently placed your hand on his thigh. Fingertips brushed his soft skin and you gasped at how warm he felt. You slowly slid your hand up towards his core, wrapping your fingers around his throbbing member and dipping your thumb into his slit experimentally.

An overwhelming thought of tasting him crossed your mind. So you slipped your thumb into your mouth, licking at the pre-cum that you had gathered on it. A muffled moan escaped your lips, he tasted so sweet that you couldn't believe it.

You slid down to your knees, nails digging into his thighs a little before you adjusted his legs so you can move comfortably between them. You didn't even do this for your ex, only once and it wasn't too fun. But you were so curious, and the doll was here, yours. And you had the upperhand.

Your tongue caught a drop of pre-cum as you stuck it to the underside of his tip before you started swirling all around it. Your eyes fluttered as you lightly sucked on the head, milking the pre-cum out of it and swallowing the sweet taste, something akin to vanilla. Your senses heightened as you sucked lazily, sliding down on him just a little more, your hand wrapped around his base and the other pushing your shorts down.

You had on your lacy underwear that barely concealed anything and it was already damp with your arousal. You slid the pads of your fingertips over your clit down to your wetness before coming back up to your sensitive nub. You didn't move your underwear in favor of teasing yourself. You loved it so much, the torture of it, the denial of it as you slowly circled your clit teasingly.

A whimper left your lips as your fingertips grazed against Jeongin's balls, your mouth sliding down further while you drooled around his cock. He twitched inside you so you cupped his balls, massaging them while you kept sucking on him faster, making yourself gag when his fat tip hit the back of your throat.

Your pussy was throbbing and clenching as you ran your fingers over your clit and folds haphazardly, only making yourself more wet and keeping yourself on the edge. You needed more, your hips grinding against your hand desperately as you moaned around Jeongin's cock. You wondered how long it will take for the doll to cum, noting that you read something about his balls being extra sensitive in the manual. But you were too embarrassed to read that in front of Jack even though he wasn't even looking at the manual, in his mind he was in Hawaii with his wife, and not rummaging through a dumpster of a stuck up rich girl.

This is not the time to think about your security guard, not when you're choking on Jeongin's cock. You focused on the dark on hand, squeezing his balls more as you sucked harder, your eyes fluttering shut as you pressed on your clit.

Suddenly, he twitched when you gripped him harder, your pussy clenching almost painfully as you were close to release. Your eyes opened up and you looked at him, his beauty, and you moaned around his length before you felt spurts of hot cum hit the back of your throat.

You choked a little, almost cumming yourself but you pressed your fingers on your folds, pushing the lacy fabric inside your wetness as you swallowed Jeongin's cum. You suckled until you were sure he was empty, sliding off of his now limp cock. You slumped against his thigh, puffing and panting as you enjoyed the feeling of ruining your own orgasm, your pussy swollen and wet, begging to be touched but you ignored it, instead you left kisses on Jeongin's soft thighs.

You got up when your breathing got even, grabbing the blanket and covering him up again, your hand tucking away a few strands of his hair and squeezing his hand.

"Sleep well, my pretty doll."

It was fun, having a human sized doll in your room. The last few days, whenever you weren't at your father's office or out, you'd play with Jeongin.

Dressing him up was a tedious task but still you wanted to try out all the pretty outfits they had sent together with the doll. One of the outfits added in a crop top, his toned muscles on display for you to touch. You smirked, getting an idea and running on your tippy toes to your walk-in closet.

Earlier, you had called in Jack to put Jeongin on your bed which the security guard did, without asking any questions but you could see him rolling his eyes. You didn't care though, you were home alone (except for the staff) and you wanted to have a good time before going out later.

You had put some music on, turning the volume all the way up as Madonna's Material Girl started playing, the speakers booming loudly in the big house, making Jack sigh in annoyance. Paying off debts, he thought. Just a bit more, he nodded to himself.

Inside your room, your mood went up as you sang along, you were a pretty good singer and usually the star of karaoke night so it was enjoyable to listen to you. You started moving along to the music as you rummaged through your clothes, the led lights installed in the shelves illuminated all the pretty colors and shiny glitter of your expensive collection. Your doll's eyes lit up but you were too busy looking at yourself in the mirror, trying to pick out the perfect dress for tonight.

One of them caught your eye the most; it was a brand new dress you haven't had the chance to take out yet, black with pretty glitter patterns and slits strategically placed to show skin on your cleavage and then also on your sides. You shrugged and stepped out of your pjs to put on the dress, deciding not to wear a bra under it.

"Damn." you spun around in the mirror with a smirk. "What do you think, Innie?" you asked your dolly as you made your way towards him. He looked as if he was blushing, his cute cheeks rosy.

"I think you like it." you giggled, covering your lips.

You kept dancing and swaying your hips, singing along as Jeongin's eyes followed you, it was almost unnoticeable as they moved ever so slowly.

You sat down in front of your mirror to put some make up on and in the reflection, you thought you saw Jeongin's head move a little. Quickly, you turned to look at him with a gasp but he was quiet and still. You felt a shiver run down your spine, an unnerving feeling appearing in your stomach.

"I'm crazy." you chuckled and turned back to your mirror so you could continue getting ready, glancing at your dolly every so often.

After you were done, you decided to take a fun little picture. Smirking, you grabbed your phone and made your way to your bed. You sat down next to Jeongin, making yourself comfortable as you put one leg over him, your dress riding up and exposing your thigh. You put his arm around you, making it look like he was holding you and then put your arm around his shoulders. You took a few selfies before choosing your favorite and then you posted it on insta with the caption 'bf'.

It didn't take long for the comments to start flooding in, he looked like a real person in the picture. You laughed in delight as you sat between your dollies legs and read all the reactions. Your closest friends knew you were just messing around as you have told them about purchasing the doll but other naive acquaintances really thought Jeongin was your boyfriend, a living human being.

You finally got up after some time and when you looked at your pretty dolly, you noticed a prominent bulge in his pants.

"You like my dress so much?" you giggled, shaking your head. You still had some time before your friends arrived to pick you up.

"Now, what do I do with you?" you sighed, wishing he was alive so he could take care of you properly, do all the things you fantasize about and touch yourself to. You wished he'd take control over you, treat you like you were the doll and not him.

You had no choice though so you decided to make the best of it and slowly slid his pants down. You didn't bother putting any underwear on him earlier so his cock sprung out, slapping against his abs deliciously. With a quiet giggle, you pushed your panties aside and hovered over him. He was already oozing pre-cum and you gathered it on your fingers, bringing them to your clit.

A moan left your lips as you smeared the liquid on your pussy, getting yourself wet and even more turned on. Your other hand roamed on his abs, down to his cock as you played with it. Wrapping your fingers around him, you scooted closer and ran his tip on your throbbing core.

"Mm. You're so big." you whimpered as you pushed his tip between your slick folds slowly, your tight pussy barely taking him in. You closed your eyes, fantasizing about Jeongin tying you up and pushing it in all in one go to make you take it, use you just for his pleasure and you whimpered, spreading your pussy with your hands and forcing yourself down on his length. You gasped, struggling and tearing up as you took all of him in, taking a moment to adjust.

You gripped at his shoulders and slowly started fucking on him. Your quiet whimpers filled up the space along with the slick sounds of your wet pussy as you clenched around him. Jeongin's cock twitched and throbbed inside you and you dug your nails into him, moving faster. The pain you felt melted into pleasure the more you took him in and the harder you slapped your hips on his.

You felt so close, your orgasm building up and right before you reached that high you slid off of him, stopping yourself and plopping down into his chest as you breathed hard. Clutching at his arms, you buried your face in Jeongin's neck and started kissing his soft skin.

"Come to life, please." you whined as you dragged your sensitive pussy over his hard length. His tip slipped in and you pushed down, taking him in again and moving on top of him. You angled your hips right on accident, a moan ripping out of you as his tip pressed right into your sweet spot. You whined loudly as you fucked on him desperately, chasing that feeling again and again.

On the brink of your high, you had stopped again, clenching around him.

"Fuck." you gasped as you phone started ringing.

You reached for it blindly as you held onto Jeongin.

"Hello?"

"Girl, we're here." it was Crystal and you groaned on accident.

"Having fun with your boyfriend?" she snickered, and you could hear your friends chuckling along in the background.

"Always." you smirked, still a little breathless. "I'll be down in a sec." you added and hung up before she could answer.

You weren't gonna be down in a second and they knew it. You didn't care though, you wanted Jeongin to cum. So you slid off of him and grabbed his cock with one hand and put the other on his sensitive balls. You jerked him off skilfully, twisting your hand at the top and massaging his balls, pulling on them just a little. When you felt him twitch you quickly buried his tip into your pussy, feeling him cum inside you and against your warmth as it slipped out, making a mess.

"Ugh, sorry." you whispered to no one in particular as you brought your fingers down and pushed his cum back inside, pulling your panties over your core. You licked the rest off your fingers before quickly cleaning Jeongin up and covering his lower region with your blanket.

"I'll be back, pretty dolly." you squeezed and kissed his hand with a smirk.

-

Though you were tipsy and there was a hot man grinding on you, you couldn't stop thinking about your dolly. God, were you horny.

You imagined that the guy behind you was Jeongin so you let him grope your ass. You didn't mind as he held you against him possessively, you just wished it was your dolly. Your beautiful dolly.

You leaned your head back on the man's shoulder as you closed your eyes and bit on your lip. He took that as an invitation, his lips brushing against your neck before he left kisses on your heated skin. In the darkness, no one saw or cared when he put his hand under your dress and touched your wet cunt. You never went so far with a random man but something about imagining it being your doll made you relax when he pushed his fingers inside you. You felt so dirty, letting a stranger finger you in a club, when you had no idea what his name was or even looked at his face long enough to remember what he looked like. But in your mind he was Jeongin and that was enough.

As always, before you could cum, a kind of clarity washed over you and you tore away from the man abruptly, startling him a little.

"You okay? Did I hurt you?" he seemed concerned and sweet.

"Fine. I just have to go. Sorry, love." you gave him a smile and a peck before running off.

You felt diabolical.

And it felt so good.

It became a routine. Dressing Jeongin up, stripping him down and playing with him. It's been one month since your dolly arrived, observing your daily movements as you went out often, coming back either tipsy or with a new manicure and shopping bags.

Saturdays were reserved for parties as always but lately they excited you less and less. Even the new clothes you bought felt somewhat disappointing. You couldn't pinpoint what exactly was making you feel so disgruntled, until you realized you were thinking about Jeongin all the time.

You wondered how his voice would sound, his laugh. How it would feel when he hugged you. How his lips would move against yours. How he'd make love to you. Were you falling in love with a doll?

You wished he was human. It angered you that he wasn't so one day, you picked him up, accidentally knocking his arm against your nightstand.

"Sorry." you muttered as your eyes teared up. He was too heavy. You dropped him on the floor on accident, a loud thud echoing off of the walls.

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" you panicked. Why are you apologizing, it's a thing - you thought to yourself.

You had no other choice but to grip his wrists and pull him towards your closet where you left him in a corner, like any other toy you got sick of playing with.

It's time to find a real man.

-

Darkness. Jeongin took a desperate breath as he clawed at his throat. No matter how many times he blinked, all he saw was darkness. In a state of panic he crawled on the floor, his hands touching the soft carpet underneath him, searching for any kind of switch, any source of light.

"Ow." Jeongin muttered when his head collided with something sturdy.

He touched around it and realized it was a shelf with clothes, the fabrics expensive and soft as he ran his fingertips on them. They all smelled like you.

Why have you left him? Why don't you want to play with him anymore? He thought you liked him. At least it seemed so ever since the day you got him. Finally his hand found a switch and when it turned on, he was almost blinded by all the shine and colors.

You left him in your closet. Jeongin stood up on wobbly legs and opened the door that lead to your room. He saw a water bottle on your vanity and quickly grabbed it, chugging all of it down. He knew where you kept a stash of snacks, next to your bed in a shelf, so he sat on the mattress and ate everything you had. His stomach still growled, he was starving.

When are you coming back?, Jeongin thought.

-

Two weeks had passed since you left Jeongin in your closet, and even though he wasn't even real, no other man excited you like he did. You wondered how that was possible since he was just a doll, an object.

Maybe you were crazy, who knows?

Shaking your thoughts off, you walked into your room, darkness enveloping all your favorite things. But before you could reach for the switch an arm wrapped around your middle, a hand pressed against your lips as you tried to scream.

You kicked your legs as your eyes widened in fear.

"It's me, Jeongin. Your dolly. It's okay, don't be afraid." you heard a sweet voice in your ear and you frowned, repeating his name but it was muffled behind his hand.

"Please don't scream or hit me." he said and you nodded as he let you go and flipped the switch on at the same time. You turned around and backed away, a gasp escaping your lips as he stood in front of you.

"W-what? Am I- Is this a hallucination?" you blinked.

"No, I'm here."

"How is that possible?" your lips trembled.

"I - I could hear you, see you and feel you the entire time. I answered in my head and willed myself to talk but I couldn't, not without breaking out of my state." he explained and you stared at him for a moment.

Tears of frustration built up in your eyes and you slapped your hand on his chest.

"Why did it take you so long? Why? Why?" you cried as you kept hitting him and Jeongin grabbed your wrists, pulling you closer.

You went quiet immediately as he looked at you.

"I'm here now."

"You're real." you smiled after a moment.

"I'm real." he whispered with a smile, his dimple making an appearance and making you melt against him.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked and you nodded slowly.

Jeongin leaned in and pressed his lips sweetly on yours.

He tasted so good. Jeongin. Your Jeongin. Your dolly was alive.

You threw your arms around him, holding him tightly and he returned the hug, gripping you and pushing you up against his warm body.

You stayed like that for a moment, Jeongin reveling in the fact that he can finally hold you, touch you, feel you like he wanted to. And you were estatic that your wish came true.

"You remember everything I said or did?" you gulped as you face burned.

"Yeah." he smirked and you whined, burying your face in his neck. "It's okay, princess. I'll take care of you." he whispered with a kiss to your head.

"You will?" you looked up at him and he nodded.

"But first, I really need to eat a proper meal. I - um ate all your snacks." he grimaced and you gasped, smacking his arm.

"My stash is gone! Ugh, fine, I'll ask Donna to cook something for us." you grabbed his wrist, dragging him towards the door.

"Wait! What about your dad?" Jeongin asked.

"He's on a business trip anyways. I don't have to explain anything to him." you shrugged and led him downstairs.

Jack's eyes widened when he saw the doll that came in a box alive and he was alarmed instantly but you were quick to dismiss him. Donna didn't ask any questions, just prepared a tasty meal for the two of you.

"So, do you remember anything from before you got here?" you asked.

Jeongin pursed his lips and furrowed his brows, staring into the bowl of rice before him.

"I can't... I can't remember." his frown deepened.

"Nothing?"

"Not a thing." he shook his head.

"You don't remember the other dolls?"

"No." Jeongin shook his head again.

You grabbed your phone and pulled up the site, showing him the rest of the collection.

"I have no recollection of them." he said in a frustrated tone, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "I've never seen them in my life."

"That's strange." you shrugged. "Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

"No and honestly," he paused. "I don't know if I want to remember. All I want is to be with you."

You smiled, putting your phone aside and cradling his cheek in your palm.

"Me too."

-

After the delicious dinner, you led Jeongin back up to your room. It was him who locked the door this time as you approached your vanity to take your jewelry off.

"I have one question, princess." Jeongin stood behind you, and your eyes shifted to look at his.

"Yeah?" you gulped at his intense gaze.

"Why did you leave me in the closet?" he asked.

Your necklace almost slipped out of your hands before you turned to look at him.

"I was sad that you weren't coming to life." you said.

"So, you abandoned me?" he said, his eyes darkened but a little smirk started playing on his lips.

"I didn't- I didn't mean to. I swear I would've-"

"Shh, princess. I get it. I know exactly what you need." Jeongin stepped closer to you, his body hovering over yours as you backed up into the vanity, making it clatter.

"Y-you do?" your eyes fluttered.

"Remember I heard and saw everything. The fantasies you described to your friends. What you did to me. To yourself." his smirk grew wider. "Do I have your permission, doll?"

Your knees almost buckled right then and there. Your dolly came to life and called you his doll.

How ironically sexy.

"Yes." you said quietly and he let out a breathless chuckle as he leaned in closer to you. His strong arm encircled your waist, his free hand sliding up on your body to your neck as he wrapped his fingers around you. Your breath got stuck in your throat as he held you in place like that.

Jeongin pushed his thigh between your legs roughly, pulling them apart and pressing against your heated core, making your dress ride up. You whimpered, eyes wide in surprise and he squeezed your neck a little.

"You always act like a desperate little slut. Don't be shy now." he said lowly and you gasped, your hips moving almost automatically as you started grinding against Jeongin's thigh. He flexed the muscle as he squeezed your neck harder, cutting off you air supply while looking you right in the eyes. You gripped at the vanity, your pussy gushing with arousal as Jeongin manhandled you.

He released your neck at just the right time and you gasped, taking a deep breath as he removed his leg.

"W-why?" you whimpered, looking at his thigh and he chuckled darkly.

"I thought you liked being edged and denied." he smirked.

"I- I do." you licked your lips. You were finally getting exactly what you always wanted.

"I think you deserve to be punished for leaving me in the closet." Jeongin stated, his large hands sliding your dress up just a little.

"Mhm, I think so too." you said, your heart beating fast and pussy clenching in excitement.

Swiftly, Jeongin turned you around and pushed your upper body on top of the vanity. You gasped, wiggling a little as he looked at your barely covered ass in the dress. The first slap came unexpectedly over the fabric, only the tips of his fingers making contact with your soft skin. You whimpered, shutting your eyes tightly.

"I think that's not enough." Jeongin shook his head before pushing your dress up, leaving you exposed in your little thongs.

"Tsk. Walking around dressed like a whore." he smirked, landing a strong smack on your ass.

"Ah!" you whimpered and jolted, your nails digging into the wood underneath you.

"Bad girl." Jeongin whispered before landing a series of smacks to your flesh.

"Fuck." you whimpered, wiggling your ass a little.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Jeongin asked, smacking your ass again and you moaned, opening your eyes and looking at his reflection in the mirror.

"Well, are you?" he gave you a few more hard smacks.

"I am! I am!" you whined as Jeongin massaged your already sore asscheeks.

"Then it's not really punishment, is it?" he smirked, his palm colliding with your heated skin again.

"Mm. Do it harder." you groaned.

"Harder? Are you sure?" he asked, pinching your flesh a little and making you moan as your arousal soaked your little panties.

"Yes, I'm sure, please punish me Innie." you whimpered and he started smacking you harder, without even stopping for a moment to give you time to breathe. You moaned and gasped, grabbing desperately at your vanity as your legs trembled, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. Jeongin held you down, his hand splayed on your upper back.

"M-more." you cried.

Jeongin smirked and stopped, making you whine loudly.

"Shut up." he said before giving your pussy a hard slap.

"Ah!" your eyes widened as you almost came. "S-stop."

"Hm? What's wrong?" he leaned over you with a little smirk.

"I don't - don't wanna cum yet."

"Oh you won't, don't worry." he chuckled lowly before lifting you up. Your knees buckled a little, the throbbing pain on your abused backside made you so horny that you wanted to cry.

"Get on your knees, doll." Jeongin ordered, his fingers tangling in your hair and you obeyed without questions. He thought you looked so adorable with your innocent eyes and pouty lips, so ready to do what he says, to please him.

He took his pants off, grabbing his hard cock and stepping closer to you. A wave of excitement ran through your body, your mouth watering.

"Open up." he smirked at your already fucked out state.

You decided to be a little bad. So you pressed your lips together and shook your head 'no'.

"No?" Jeongin raised an eyebrow.

You shook your head again, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"Are you being disobedient?" he asked and you giggled before shutting your mouth again.

Jeongin wasn't having it, his hand came up to grip your hair as he brought your face closer, slapping your cheek with his hard cock.

"Do as I say." he growled and you whimpered quietly but still disobeyed.

"You made me do this." he said, pinching your nose and you tried to take it but you had to open your mouth to breathe at some point. He took that chance to push his cock inside you, releasing your nose at the same time so you could breathe.

You choked a little but still took it, your hands curled behind your back as Jeongin gripped your hair and started fucking into you. You moaned and gagged around him as he snapped his hips into you mercilessly, pushing deeper in with every thrust.

"You love having your dirty mouth used like this, don't you princess?" he smirked at you as you cried and drooled around him.

"I asked you a question." he slapped your cheek lightly with his fingers and you moaned around him, gagging as he pushed in deeply.

"I know you do." Jeongin whispered and pulled out abruptly, making you gasp for air.

Before you could come to your senses, your vision still blurred from the tears, you shrieked as you realized you were being lifted up. Jeongin threw you on the bed, stripping you out of your dress.

You were in a daze, never this turned on in your life as he took off your panties and stuffed them into your mouth, making you whimper.

"It's your turn to be my doll." Jeongin snickered, grabbing his belt and tying your hands up to the headboard. You arched your body as you spread your legs, begging to be touched.

"You want me to use you for my pleasure?" Jeongin asked and you nodded frantically, your whimpers muffled by your panties as you tasted yourself.

"I'll use you like the toy you are." he said, pressing his cock against your folds and gathering the wetness before he pushed it into your tight pussy, making your eyes roll back as you cried. It hurt so good as he bottomed out, your pussy clenching around his length and sucking him in.

Your cries were muffled by the lacy fabric in your mouth as Jeongin started pounding his hips into yours.

"No cumming unless I say so." he hovered over you, his cock splitting you apart deliciously as his hands squeezed your breasts. You lost yourself in the pleasure of being fucked so fervently by him that you almost came. Your eyes shut tightly as you willed yourself to hold it in but it was so hard as Jeongin pressed right into your sweet spot every single thrust. Tears of frustration spilled out of your eyes as you clenched.

"Look at me while I fuck you." he said, slapping you lightly. Your eyes snapped open and you looked into his darkened ones.

"Good girl." he praised you, making your insides spin. "Now, take my cum." he added as he squeezed your hips and fucked into you with even more vigor.

You moaned pathetically around your gag, your hands squeezed into fists as you held your orgasm back. You felt like your insides would burst with how much you needed to cum.

You felt Jeongin's hot cum fill you up and your eyes rolled back, having no more control over it, you came with him as he moaned loudly, fucking his seed deep into you.

Your body trembled as you cried and he quickly pulled the makeshift gag out of your mouth.

"You okay?" he asked breathlessly.

"Water, please." you whimpered and Jeongin untied your hands before grabbing a bottle of water as you sat up.

"So, was that exactly how you wanted it?" he asked.

"Mhm. But you shouldn't have let me cum at the end." you smirked and he chuckled.

"I'll punish you for that next time." he smirked before leaning in to kiss you as you reached for his hand.

"I really am sorry I put you in the closet." you whispered against his lips and then kissed his dimples when he smiled at you.

"It's okay, I forgive you." Jeongin kissed your forehead.

"Just so you know. You're my boyfriend now." you giggled and Jeongin laughed, giving you another kiss.

You had to come up with a cover up for your father. You had bribed Jack to stay quiet as your first move and then you and Jeongin made up some story about him being your boyfriend who came to visit you from another city so that's why he had to stay with you. Your father eyed Jeongin suspiciously, asking him a few questions about his parents and what college he went to, and after some lies that you both practiced before, he gave Jeongin a pat on the shoulder.

"Treat her well, son." your father's eyes narrowed. It was not just a statement, it was a threat.

Jeongin gulped and nodded. "Of course, sir."

Your father nodded curtly before leaving to his office.

"Phew, that was close." you giggled, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

"I'm sweating bullets." Jeongin shivered and you laughed, throwing your head back. You were finally happy.

-

Your days were filled with Jeongin. Your shopping mall visits became visits to the cinema, your fancy restaurants became the places where you'd take him out on dates, your nights out in clubs were replaced with nights in, dancing in your room with your precious dolly.

You took him out to play golf with your father and Jack, to your country club, even to a little trip to one of your favorite resorts.

Your days were beautiful. Your nights, however, were something completely different.

A long white corridor. Distant muffled voices. A ringing in Jeongin's ear. Gloved hands grabbing at him and wheeling him off into a huge room with tall ceilings. The sound of whirring and the sight of the shiny androids working on top of him. He couldn't move or speak.

"Try the left side again." a painful prod at his side.

"He's unresponsive."

"Type this in." sounds of a keyboard clacking.

"It's like his vitals are lighting up but there's a bug somewhere."

"I know there's a bug! Let's get the other one. He seemed to respond to him better than us."

Jeongin couldn't see who the voices belonged to. Silence. The door clicked open. Then footsteps.

His angel appeared by his bedside.

"Hey, can you hear me?" he spoke in a deep, warm voice, a sunny smile gracing his freckled face.

"Look! It's happening now. He can hear him. Keep talking to him, number six."

"Just listen to my voice." the angel spoke again. "I'm here. I'll always be here." it echoed.

The room started spinning and turned into a cozy office. Gone was the angel and the androids. Jeongin was sitting in a nice leather chair, his body free of pain. He looked up, almost blinded by the sunlight coming from the window, when she appeared, her soft features comforting.

"Don't worry, Innie." the older woman said, coughing a little. "I won't let them hurt you." she said, but her voice was weak and her hands trembled.

"Mother?"

Jeongin sat up with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat, tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Innie?" you whispered, alarmed as you sat up too, your hand grabbing his. "Another nightmare?"

"I think these things happened to me." he said, breathing hard as he panicked.

"Oh?" you urged him on and he told you the entire dream.

"Wait. What did you say this 'angel' looked like?"

"Blonde. Freckles. Plump lips."

"Is this him?" you quickly picked your phone up, showing him the dolls he couldn't recognize before.

"That... yes, but he looks a little different there."

"Different how?" you asked.

"Like... More finished?"

You shivered. What the hell were they? And who made them? Most importantly, why?

"That's Felix. He's another doll like you."

"They called him number six. They called me number eight. But the woman at the end of the dream, she called me Innie." he gulped.

"I wish I could buy Felix so we could ask him what he remembers. But he is already sold out." you sighed. "Do you remember any of the other dolls? Did you dream about them?"

"No... I can't... I can't remember them." Jeongin shook his head. He was getting visibly upset.

"Hey, hey, Innie it's okay. Drink some water, yeah?" After he gulped down on the cool liquid, you pulled him into your arms.

"Let's sleep. We'll get to the bottom of this. Me and you." you pecked his lips as he searched your face.

But the next day, as you opened your eyes, your dolly was gone. You searched frantically for him, asking everyone in the house if they saw him leave but nobody did.

With tears blurring your vision, you found a note stuck next to your pillow.

'I'm sorry, I had to find out.'

Jeongin stood in front of the familiar building that loomed above him threateningly. How did he remember where to go? He had no idea. But he got there somehow, his eyes roaming all over the concrete walls and the bars on the windows. A shiver ran down his spine, an uncomfortable itch clawing inside his stomach. His eyes moved up and he stopped in his tracks.

There in one of the reflections in the glass he saw his angel, tears running down his freckled cheeks as he stared out the window.

He had to get in.

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[diipsy]

i love this so much i think i'm losing my mind

Chan's NSFW Alphabet

A=Aftercare; what they’re like after sex?

He’s soft in the aftermath, softer than you ever expect. As intense as he can be in the moment, after, it’s like he’s rewired for gentleness. His first instinct is always to pull you close, arms wrapping around you as if he needs to feel your heartbeat against his to come down, to remind himself you’re real, that you’re here. His hands slow, smoothing over your skin like he’s memorizing you all over again. Kissing you wherever his lips can reach—your forehead, your jaw, your shoulder. It’s instinct. Care. Protection. He holds you like he’s afraid the world could take you away if he lets go too soon.

He’s the type to guide you gently to the bathroom, turning on the shower and making sure the water’s just right before pulling you in with him. His hands roam, but they’re softer now—more reverent than hungry. He’ll wash your hair, fingers massaging your scalp, and the way his thumbs brush against your temples feels like a silent apology for every rough moment that left you breathless. His hands on your body are slow, tender, tracing over marks he left behind with a mixture of pride and guilt. Too much? he’ll murmur, eyes searching yours, needing to know you’re okay, that you wanted all of it as much as he did. And when you tell him you’re fine, that you loved it, the relief in his eyes is always soft and a little shy.

But it’s not just about you. Aftercare is his grounding, too. He needs to feel safe in it, in you. Sometimes you’ll catch him quieter than usual, thoughtful, his fingers brushing over your skin like he’s reminding himself you’re still with him. Because for him, sex is never just physical—it’s emotional, consuming. He gives so much of himself, and sometimes afterward, he needs you to hold him just as much as he holds you. He needs that reassurance. The kisses. The softness. The slow heartbeat of comfort between you.

He loves those moments in bed when you curl into him, legs tangled, your head tucked beneath his chin. When his hand is resting on your hip, fingers tracing slow circles against your skin. When you whisper soft things, simple things, that make him smile against your hair. He loves feeling like this is the safest place either of you could be. Because it's not just about soothing sore muscles or soft kisses—it’s about being seen, wanted. Being cared for. And needing you to know that he would do anything to make sure you feel that, every time.

B=Body part; their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s.

He's always been proud of his arms. Maybe it's vanity, or maybe it’s just the satisfaction of seeing the results of all those hours in the gym. The way his muscles flex when he lifts, when he holds himself up, when he holds you up. There’s strength there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s the way you look at them. The way your eyes drag over his skin when his sleeves are rolled up, the way your hands instinctively find their way to his biceps when you kiss him, like you need something solid to anchor yourself. And when he's got you pressed against the wall, hands gripping your thighs, your back arching as he pushes deeper—he feels it then. The way you cling to him, fingers digging into his arms, trusting him to hold you there, to keep you steady, trust messes with his head. Makes him want to hold you tighter, lift you higher, fuck you harder. He wonders if you notice how his grip gets firmer when you moan, when you beg him not to stop. He wonders if you know how much power you have over him in those moments.

But it's your hips that ruin him. Always has been. The shape of them, the softness of skin beneath his hands. The way they curve under his touch, perfect, made to fit his grip. He loves how they feel when you straddle him, how they rock against him slow and teasing, driving him insane until he’s gripping too hard, holding you still so he can thrust up into you, deep and rough. Loves the way they look when you're bent over, jeans hugging you tight, shirt riding up just enough to tease him with a glimpse of skin. It makes him want to drag you back against him, hands gripping your waist, pulling you close until you can feel exactly what you're doing to him. And when you’re bare, nothing between his skin and yours, and his hands slide over your hips, thumbs dipping beneath the waistband of your panties, he feels like he could lose his mind. Like he wants to.

There’s something addictive about the way your body moves under his hands. The way you react when his fingers grip tighter, when his teeth graze your skin. How you arch into him when he presses closer, how you whisper his name when his hands slip lower. And when you catch him staring, when you smirk and ask him what he's thinking, he never knows how to answer. Because the truth is, he's always thinking about you. About your skin, your hips, the heat of you beneath his palms. About all the ways he wants to touch you, mark you, claim you. It's constant. And you know it.

C=Cum; anything to do with cum, basically.

He's not particular about where he finishes, but the first time he came inside of you? That was different, unforgettable. The way you gasped as he pushed deeper, filling you completely, the slow drag of his cock as he spilled inside you, thick and warm. The way you moaned, soft but wrecked, like you could feel every drop. And when he pulled back, watching it drip from you, sliding down your thighs, soaking the sheets—it did something to him. Something primal. It wasn’t just about the release, it was about the claim. The fact that it was him, that he was the only one you'd let do this, ruin you like this, mark you from the inside out. The thought of it made his head swim, made his hands grip tighter, hips stutter harder, made him groan low and rough because it was messy, intimate, his.

It’s the possessiveness that undoes him the most. The knowledge that when you walk the next day, you’ll still feel it, still feel him. That you’re carrying the proof of how deep he was inside you, how hard he came for you. And it makes him want to do it again. Want to keep filling you until you’re too full, too sensitive, until you're begging him to stop but still pressing closer, still asking for more. It’s a dangerous game, the way it messes with his head, how much he craves it, how much he craves you.

And when you cum around him, it’s almost worse. Better, but worse, because feeling you fall apart like that—tight, pulsing, clenching so hard around him it makes his vision blur—it's addictive. It makes him chase it every time, makes him desperate to feel it again. He’ll work you with his fingers, his mouth, his cock, anything to pull those sounds from you. The ones that tell him you’re close, the ones that tell him you trust him enough to let go. He remembers how you told him you liked it, how you liked his fingers circling your clit just like this, how you liked the stretch of him filling you slow, deep, until you couldn't take it anymore.

And when it happens—when you cum so hard your whole body trembles, when you bury your face into his neck and moan his name like it’s the only thing you know—he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, slow and deep, wanting to feel every second of it, wanting to draw it out. And later, when he pulls his fingers from you, slick and wet, he won’t be able to resist tasting you. His tongue dragging over his skin, slow and possessive, before he presses it to your lips. He loves when you kiss him after, when you taste yourself on his tongue, when you look at him like you know exactly what he’s done and exactly what it means. Like you know you're his, and you're not running.

D=Dirty Secret; pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs.

He touched himself to the thought of you way more than you think when you first started seeing each other. More than he'd ever admit. It wasn’t even about the things you'd done—because back then, there wasn’t much to go off of—it was about the things he imagined. The way you laughed, the way your lips curled when you teased him, the way you’d glance at him with eyes that made him wonder what it’d be like if you looked at him like that in bed.

It was the accidental brushes of skin that haunted him the most. Your hand on his arm when you laughed too hard, the way your thigh pressed against his when you sat too close, the scent of your perfume lingering on his hoodie after you borrowed it one night. Those small moments would burn into his thoughts long after you’d left, the ghost of your touch lingering like a temptation he couldn’t shake. He’d close his eyes and imagine what it would be like to have you under him, gasping his name, fingers tangled in his hair. He wondered how you'd sound, how you'd move, how you'd fall apart for him.

There were nights when he couldn’t sleep, thinking about you. Nights when he'd give in, fingers tight around himself, groaning your name under his breath, imagining it was your hands, your mouth, your body pressing him to the edge. And sometimes, it wasn’t even about the sex. Sometimes it was the thought of you smiling at him, soft and sweet, the thought of your lips brushing his, slow and hesitant, until it wasn’t. Until it was deeper, messier, until you were pulling him closer and begging for more. Those were the moments that undid him the fastest.

And now? Now that he knows how you sound when you fall apart, now that he knows how you taste, how you feel, how you look when you're bare and breathless beneath him—those thoughts still haunt him. Because no matter how many times he has you, the memory of wanting you like that, aching for you in secret, lingers, and maybe that's the dirtiest part of it. That even now, when you’re his, he still remembers how it felt to crave you in silence.

E=Experience; how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?

He's experienced, but not in the careless, shallow way that comes from chasing numbers or meaningless encounters. His experience is deeper, layered with intention. It's not about how many bodies he’s touched, but about how deeply he’s learned to understand them. He pays attention—not just to the obvious reactions, but to the subtleties most people overlook. The sharp inhale when fingers trace too close to a sensitive spot, the way your breath catches when he kisses somewhere unexpected, the tension that curls in your body when you’re holding back a sound you don’t want to let slip. He’s learned to listen, to read bodies like language, every sigh and shiver telling him a story. For him, it’s about presence. About being there in every second, in every movement, watching, learning, adapting. He doesn’t rush, never assumes, every encounter is a slow conversation, and he’s fluent in the language of skin and breath, touch and pause.

But with you, it feels different. You strip away his confidence in ways that are as thrilling as they are terrifying. No matter how much he knows, how much he’s learned, you still manage to undo him. There's a hunger in him when it comes to you, but it's not reckless, it's patient, intense. It’s the kind of hunger that makes him want to learn you in ways that don’t stop at the surface. To figure out how your body responds to the slowest kind of teasing, how it breaks when he pushes you just a little harder. He’s observant, but with you, it’s more. He craves knowing every inch of you, every weakness, every trigger. He wants to figure out the exact pressure it takes to make you arch into him, the exact pace that makes you lose your breath, the words that make you tremble and fall apart.

And the best part? You're still a puzzle he hasn't quite solved. He loves that. Loves the thrill of discovery, how there’s always something new to learn about you, something he missed, something he could try again, slower, deeper. Like the way you gasp when his lips find that one spot behind your ear, how your fingers clutch at his shoulders when his hands stray lower, how your hips roll up when he takes his time kissing across your stomach. He loves that you keep him on his toes, that you're not easy to figure out, how every time he thinks he knows you, you shift beneath him, tease him with another secret he's desperate to uncover.

And maybe that’s what keeps his desire for you sharp, burning. It’s not just about the physical—it’s about the connection, about knowing you on a level that feels like more than just touch. Like emotion, like trust, like you’re letting him peel you open slowly, layer by layer, and find something new every time. And God, the way that keeps him wanting. The way it makes him crave you, again and again, like it’s the first time, every time.

F=Favorite position; this goes without saying.

There’s something about you straddling him that undoes him completely. The way you settle over his hips, confident but still soft beneath his hands. He loves how your body feels beneath his fingertips, the way your skin warms under his touch as his hands roam your thighs, your waist, gripping just enough to feel you shiver. The view from beneath you is one that stays with him—how you move, how your head tips back when he thrusts up into you, how your fingers press into his chest or clutch at his shoulders when the pleasure spikes. And when you lean forward, lips brushing his ear, whispering what you want, it’s like setting fire to him. He’ll groan low, hands tightening, hips pushing up to meet yours, chasing every sound you make. He loves how you take control but still melt for him, how you ride him slow until he can’t stand it and flips you over, mouth hungry, hands rough.

But there’s a part of him that craves the other side of it too. The rougher edge. The way it feels to bend you over, to grip your hips tight and fuck you hard, just how you like it. Kitchen counter, edge of the bed, a wall he’s pressed you against too fast to think—anywhere. There’s something primal about it, how his hands grip, how your body yields to him. He loves the way you lose yourself in it, the way you moan his name when he’s deeper than you can handle. When you reach back, your fingers brushing against his arms, scraping down his thighs—it’s an unspoken plea for more, for harder, and he’s helpless against it. The sound of your gasps, the way you tremble, the heat of your body pressing back into him—it all sticks with him, stays under his skin, replaying in his mind for days after.

But more than anything, it’s the way you look when you're lost in it that he can't shake. He loves watching your face shift when pleasure hits, seeing your eyes darken as you fall apart for him, loves when you're beneath him, legs parted, taking him deep while your hands clutch his shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you grounded. He loves holding your hips steady, fingers biting into your skin just enough to leave marks you'll feel the next day, a reminder of him long after he's gone. And when he’s got you from behind, one hand gripping your waist, the other tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, it drives him to the edge. You like when I fuck you like this, yeah? he'll ask, voice low, rough, and the way you whimper, body trembling under his, is enough to break him.

But it’s not always rough. Sometimes it's slow. Sometimes it's you on top, moving at your own pace, guiding him with the roll of your hips and the press of your hands. He’ll just lie back, eyes locked on yours, worshiping every sound you make, every flush of your skin. His hands will rest heavy on your hips, grounding you, guiding you, letting you take him exactly how you want. And when you fall apart for him like that—when he feels it in the shake of your thighs, sees it in the way your head tilts back, lips parted—it’s like nothing else. That’s when he feels it the most. That hunger, that need. That’s his favorite. Watching you fall apart because of him.

G=Goofy; are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc?

He’s not always serious. There are moments where he’ll break the tension with a smirk, a teasing comment. Like when you're so breathless you can barely speak, and he leans down, lips brushing your ear to murmur something that makes you laugh, even if you're gasping for air. Didn’t know I could make you sound like that,he’ll tease, grinning against your skin.

But his humor is never careless. It's light, intimate, a way of easing you deeper into comfort. A way to remind you that even when things are intense, it’s still him. The man who worships you, who wants to make you feel good, who wants you to laugh in his arms as much as you moan.

I=Intimacy; how are they during the moment, romantic aspect.

For him, intimacy isn’t just about sex. It’s about the moments before and after. The lingering touches, the way his hand finds yours under the sheets, fingers interlaced as he kisses your temple. It's about the silence that feels comfortable, like you’re speaking without words, it's about brushing your hair out of your face, or kissing the crease between your brows when you frown. It’s about whispering, it's okay, even if you didn’t realize you needed to hear it.

During the act, he’s all about connection. His eyes on yours, his hands exploring every inch of skin like it’s the first time. His voice, low and soft, murmuring, fuck, baby... 's so good, as though it’s still a surprise to him. Because with you, it always feels new. Always feels deeper.

J=Jack Off; masturbation headcanon.

He thinks about you when he touches himself. Always. Even when you're not there, even when it's been days since he last saw you, it's still your name on his lips, still your face behind his eyes. It's the way you look when you're beneath him, flushed and gasping, your lips parted and body trembling. It's the memory of your skin, how it feels under his hands—soft, warm, responsive. He imagines the curve of your back when you arch into him, the sound you make when he thrusts just right, the way your nails dig into his skin when you're close. Sometimes, he closes his eyes and pictures the exact way your mouth feels on his, the heat of your breath, the desperation in your kiss. Other times, it’s less about the physical and more about the ache of missing you. About wanting, needing, about how empty his hands feel compared to the feel of your body.

And sometimes, it's not even about release. Sometimes, it's about remembering. About trying to trace the shape of you with his fingers, to mimic the way your hands move on him, slow and teasing. To recall the rhythm of your hips, the way you guide him inside you with a breathless gasp. It’s about holding onto that feeling, keeping you close even when you're miles away. There are nights when he’ll lay there, hand moving slow, not for the rush of it, but just to think of you. To keep you in his body, to feel you in some small, fleeting way. There’s a frustration in it too, in knowing it’ll never be enough. That no matter how tight his grip, no matter how good he imagines it, it’s nothing compared to you.

And he’s not ashamed to admit it. If anything, he wants you to know. Wants to say it low, rough, right against your ear. I thought about you last night, he'll whisper, voice heavy and dark. had my hand around my cock, but it wasn’t enough. ’s never enough when it’s not you. And there’s a look in his eyes when he says it, one that makes it impossible to ignore the pull between you. The hunger. Because when you hear that, when you know he's been aching for you, craving you, it’s impossible not to feel the same heat curl low in your stomach, to not want to be the answer to his need, the thing that undoes him completely.

K=Kink; one or more of their kinks.

He likes control, but it’s deeper than just holding you down or pinning your wrists. It’s about understanding you, about knowing you so well that he can read every shift in your breath, every tremor in your body. He loves figuring out what makes you tick—what makes your pulse race, what makes your back arch, what makes you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know. He loves edging you close, pulling you back, drawing out every second of your pleasure until you’re trembling and begging for more. It’s not cruelty, it's worship. It's about showing you how good it can feel to give in to him, to let him take control of your body, your pleasure, until you're coming apart in his hands.

And it’s not just physical restraint, either. It’s the way he looks at you when you're already falling, that sharp, heated gaze that makes your skin feel too tight. It's the soft commands, the hold still, or don't cum yet, hold it for me, baby said with a voice so low and certain that you can't help but obey. It’s the way he loves tying your hands, not to restrict you, but to intensify everything. To make every kiss, every brush of his fingers, feel like it's lighting you on fire. When you can't touch him back, when you're left to feel every single sensation without distraction, it hits harder, deeper. And he loves watching you lose control beneath him, trusting him to take you apart, trusting him to know exactly how to piece you back together. That trust is sacred to him. It’s what makes it all feel so raw, so intimate.

And marks. God, does he love marking you. It's almost a ritual. The way his teeth sink into the soft curve of your shoulder, the way his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises that bloom the next morning. There's something about knowing his hands were there, that his mouth left its claim, that drives him insane. The marks are for him, but they're also for you, a silent promise, a lingering touch that stays long after he’s gone. Sometimes, he’ll catch you off guard, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt just to feel the faint outline of a bruise. His thumb brushing over it gently. And when he kisses them, it’s soft, reverent. A murmur of mine pressed against your skin like a prayer, a vow.

It’s possessive, yes—but not in a way that cages you. It’s deeper than that. It’s about connection, about knowing that you chose him, that you trust him enough to let him leave pieces of himself on your skin. It’s about the quiet intimacy of carrying his touch with you, even when he’s not there. And it’s about you knowing exactly who you belong to when you catch a glimpse of that mark in the mirror and feel your stomach twist with the memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice. Because every mark is a reminder. That you’re his, that he’s yours.

L=Location; favorite places to do the do?

Anywhere with a door that locks. That’s his baseline. It’s not about the thrill of getting caught—it’s about the freedom of knowing you’re his, completely, without interruption. The privacy of a locked door gives him the space to be selfish with you, to take his time or take you fast, depending on the moment. Dressing rooms, dimly lit and narrow, where he can press you up against the mirror, his hand firm over your mouth, muffling every gasp. The backseat of the car, windows fogged, his hands spreading your thighs wide while you arch into him, gasping as the engine hums beneath you. And hotel rooms... there’s something about that anonymity. A different bed in a different city, where it feels like you can be reckless, where he can press you against cold windows overlooking dark streets, where he can pull you into the bathroom and have you against the counter with the mirror watching every move. The urgency of it is intoxicating. The rush of getting lost in you somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere that doesn’t belong to either of you, makes it feel sharper, hungrier. Like something forbidden, something stolen.

But nothing compares to his bed. His sheets, his scent on the pillows, the way the walls feel like they know every secret you’ve whispered to each other. It’s not about the location. It’s about what it means. His bed is where he can worship you without distraction, without hurry. Where he can take his time pressing kisses along your skin, learning the way you breathe when his tongue traces down your stomach, the way your fingers curl into the sheets when he slides inside you slow, deep. There’s a quiet intimacy there, the kind that feels almost sacred. The way he can feel you fall apart beneath him, trembling, breathless, soft. The way he can lay you back and touch you until you're shaking, until you're saying his name like it’s a prayer. That’s his favorite, because it’s not just sex there. It’s something deeper, closer. It’s knowing he can take you apart and hold you after, gather you into his arms and press a kiss to your temple, feeling you safe and warm against him. And nothing—no car, no hotel, no shadowed corner—compares to that.

M=Motivation; what turns them on, gets them going?

You. Always, endlessly, you. It doesn’t take much, not with you. Sometimes it’s just the way you look at him—like you know exactly how you affect him, like you're already imagining the things you want him to do to you. The way your gaze lingers on his mouth, the way your breath catches when he touches you, when his fingers trail along your waist or his thumb brushes against the soft skin of your neck. The sound of his name on your lips, soft and wanting, is enough to set his pulse racing. And when you tease him—when you sit just a little too close, your leg brushing his beneath the table, when your fingers trace slow, meaningless patterns on his arm, when you look at him like you’re daring him to do something about it—that's all it takes. Suddenly, he’s picturing your legs wrapped around his waist, picturing his mouth on your skin, picturing you gasping his name into his ear. It’s fast, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

But sometimes it’s the simplest things that hit the hardest. The way you laugh, bright and careless, and the curve of your mouth when you smile at him like he's the only one who matters. The way you bite your lip when you're nervous, soft and hesitant, and all he can think about is ruining that lip, making it swollen and sensitive beneath his teeth. Sometimes it’s the curve of your hip beneath your shirt, or the way you stretch, unaware of how much skin you’re showing. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear, or the way you glance at him when you think he isn’t looking. It’s the smallest, quietest moments that undo him completely. And once the thought is there, it sticks. Suddenly, he’s craving you, needing to touch you, needing to hear you gasp his name. Needing to see you fall apart beneath his hands, his mouth, his body. And you? You never even realize the effect you have. That’s what makes it worse, or better, depending on how long he can stand waiting.

N = NO; something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs.

He’s open-minded, always willing to explore, but some lines are absolute. Anything that risks hurting you beyond what’s safe, anything that lingers longer than pleasure allows, is off the table. He’s protective by nature, sometimes to a fault, and the idea of pushing too far, of leaving marks you don’t want or doing anything that makes you hesitate, sits heavy in his chest. He doesn’t want you flinching when you remember his touch. He doesn’t want you pulling away from him, even in your mind. Pain, discomfort, fear—those things don’t belong in the space he’s created for you, for both of you. And if something feels like it could risk that, he stops. Without question, without hesitation.

But it’s deeper than just the physical. It's about trust. It's about knowing that you feel safe with him. That no matter how dark or intense things get, you trust him to take care of you. And if he senses even the slightest doubt—if your body tenses, if you hesitate for even a second—he notices. His hands still, his eyes searching yours. Is this okay? he’ll murmur, voice low and soft, his breath ghosting against your skin. He’ll ask as many times as it takes, because more than his own desire, what he wants most is for you to feel safe. To know, with absolute certainty, that you can say no and it will be heard, respected, accepted without question.

Because t’s not just about pleasure, but connection. About building something that feels unshakable, where you're free to fall apart but never expected to hold more than you can. Where you can trust that every mark is one you want, that every boundary is one he’ll honor. And if there’s ever a line you don't want to cross, it won’t even be a conversation. It’ll be understood. For him, the only thing worse than not having you is hurting you, and he’ll never let it come to that.

O=Oral; preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

He loves giving more than receiving, loves it in the way a man loves knowing he’s unraveling you with his mouth. There’s something about the intimacy of it, the rawness. The way he can feel you shake against his tongue, the way your thighs clench when his mouth is relentless, and the sound of his name gasped in the dark. That’s worship to him. That’s where he feels most connected.

And he doesn’t do it just for the sake of it, he does it to ruin you. Slow, deliberate, patient. He loves making you wait, pulling you back from the edge until you’re begging, until you’re panting his name, eyes wide and glassy. And when you cum, trembling under his hands, he doesn’t stop. Not until you’re gasping, pushing at his shoulders because it’s too much, too good. That’s when he finally looks up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark. And he always kisses you after. Lets you taste yourself on his tongue, because he wants you to know what you do to him.

Receiving? He loves it, but it’s not a need. It’s a reward when you want to give it. When you sink to your knees and look up at him like you want to worship him the same way he worships you, and when you do, he let's you know how it feels. Low groans, whispered curses, his hands threading into your hair, he’ll tell you how good you feel, how perfect your mouth is, how close you’re driving him to losing control.

P=Pace; are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?

He can be slow, excruciatingly slow. The kind of slow that drives you mad, that has you gasping and begging for more. He loves that, stretching out the moment until you’re trembling. Until every stroke feels deeper, heavier, until you're so desperate you’d say anything for him to speed up. He likes hearing you beg, your voice soft and wrecked, like it’s breaking you apart.

But when he’s rough, he’s relentless. Hard, fast, like he can’t get enough of you. Like he needs to feel you clench around him, needs to hear you cry out his name with every thrust. There’s something about that pace that feels like losing himself completely, letting his desire take over until neither of you can think, and when he’s in that mood, he holds nothing back—hands gripping your hips so tight you’ll feel it the next day, teeth biting at your neck, words rough and ragged in your ear.

But it’s never just one or the other. Sometimes he starts slow, teasing, making you feel every inch of him. And then, when you’re already on the edge, when your nails are clawing down his back, he speeds up, brutal, until you’re falling apart beneath him.

Q=Quickie. their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.

He loves them. The way they ignite a spark inside him, making everything feel more intense, more urgent. It’s like every touch, every glance, is a silent command to get closer, to not waste another second. Quickies are thrilling, a kind of madness that he can’t get enough of. Whether it’s in the dressing room at the mall, your body pressed up against the cool tiles of the wall with his hand slipping under your skirt, his lips hot against your neck as he whispers your name, or at his place, when the door barely closes behind you and he’s already got you pinned against it, tugging at your clothes in a frenzy. It’s fast, desperate, as if you’ve both been waiting far too long for this moment, and it can’t wait any longer.

There’s a rush to it, a sense of danger, of living in the now. Every time feels like a stolen moment—like you’re grabbing time by the throat, demanding it not slip away too soon. It’s reckless in a way, but it never loses its sense of purpose. He never lets it be careless, never just rushing through it without thinking. Even in the heat of the moment, he still wants you to feel the weight of his desire for you. He wants you to unravel for him, to let go in his arms even if there’s no time to savor it. He wants to hear you gasp his name, even if it’s muffled against his shoulder, your hands clutching at him desperately as the world around you fades away.

But afterward, no matter how rushed, there’s always a moment of softness. It’s like the calm after the storm. He’ll pull you close, his lips tender on yours as he deepens the kiss, as if trying to remind you that the rush was only a small part of what he feels for you. His hand will brush over your hair, or gently cup your face, his thumb softly tracing your skin as he murmurs, you okay? It’s not just about the physical; it’s about making sure you feel wanted, needed, cherished. Even when it’s messy and wild, even when it’s quick and urgent, he wants you to know that you’re always his priority, that no matter the speed of it, you’re never just a moment. You’re everything to him, and he needs you to feel that.

R=Risk; are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc?

He’s not reckless, but there’s an undeniable thrill he gets from pushing boundaries. It’s not about throwing caution to the wind; it’s about exploring the edges, testing the limits of what you can handle, and what you’re willing to give. He loves the idea of pulling you deeper into his world, showing you new sides of himself—and of you—that you didn’t even know existed. There’s an intensity in it, an almost magnetic pull that drives him to keep finding those lines, those sweet spots where desire and fear blur together. Every time he asks have you ever thought about this? his grin is teasing, playful, but also laced with something far deeper. Something that says he’s serious about this exploration, about what’s possible between the two of you.

And when you respond, when you say yes, it’s like an unspoken agreement between you both, a silent promise to dive headfirst into whatever it is he’s suggesting. It could be a new position, a new place, or even a new way to touch each other. His mind starts racing with ideas, with ways to make it happen, to give you the experience you didn’t know you craved but can’t wait to try. But he doesn’t rush, not when it comes to this. If there’s hesitation in your voice, a flicker of doubt in your eyes, he slows down. He talks you through it, taking the time to ensure that you’re comfortable, that you feel safe in every sense. His words are gentle, calming, designed to reassure you that no matter what, he’ll be there, guiding you through every moment. And when you’re ready, when he knows you’re ready, he takes you to the edge.

For him, the risk isn’t about danger. It’s not about throwing yourself into the unknown without a safety net. No, it’s about trust. It’s about the two of you discovering new facets of pleasure together, creating new experiences that bring you closer. He loves the challenge of learning what you need, how to push you just enough to make you surrender to him, to make you fall apart beneath him in a way that feels new every single time. It’s the dance of knowing when to push and when to pull back, and how to make every moment feel like a deep exploration into uncharted territory.

S=Stamina; how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?

He can go for hours if you let him, no question. He’s not in any rush—slow and steady, or hard and relentless—he’s built for both. But what really gets him going is the challenge of endurance, the intoxicating repetition of taking you to the edge, over and over again, until you're trembling beneath him, spent and gasping for breath. He loves the power of it, the way your body reacts to him, how your need builds with each round. He’ll push you until you think you can’t go any longer, only to start again when you’re just beginning to catch your breath, ready for more. The stamina is a game to him—one he loves to win, even if it means making you beg for him, make you ache in the best way possible.

It’s not just the physical stamina that drives him, though. It’s the emotional aspect too, the way you cling to him, the way the connection between you both deepens with every touch. His hands caress you in ways that speak volumes, his lips trailing soft praises as your bodies sync, becoming one in a way that has nothing to do with time. For him, it’s about the journey—the buildup, the moments in between when he whispers your name into your skin, when he kisses you slow and deep, making sure every single second counts.

U=Unfair; how much they like to tease?

He’s a tease, the kind who knows just how to get under your skin. He loves making you want, loves seeing the way your body reacts to the smallest touch, the way your breath hitches when he’s close but not quite close enough. His hands will skim over your skin, just enough to make you ache, but never enough to truly give you what you need. His fingers will trace the waistband of your underwear, dipping into places that make your pulse race—but he’ll stop just before you beg for more. It’s maddening, but that’s exactly what he thrives on—the sound of you, desperate for him, the way you gasp his name when the tension in your body hits a breaking point.

But he’s not cruel. When he’s teased you enough, when he sees the way your body trembles and your mind loses control, he gives in. And when he does, it’s like a release, a reward for your patience. When he finally pushes you to that edge and lets you fall, it’s worth every second. Because by then, you’re already undone, and he’s the one who made it happen. He loves knowing that, loves that he’s the one who can bring you to that point of no return and hold you there, just long enough to make you ache for him even more.

V=Volume; how loud they are, what sounds they make?

He’s vocal, and not just a little. There’s a rawness to him that comes out when he’s with you, a deep, guttural groan that escapes him every time you clench around him, every time he pushes you closer to the edge. His breathing is ragged, shallow, and each time he moves inside of you, each thrust is met with a soft curse—words that spill from his lips like a prayer, praising you in ways that make your head spin. He tells you how good you feel, how perfect you are beneath him, how much he needs you. He doesn’t care who hears—he wants you to know exactly what you do to him, how you make him feel.

But when you fall apart, when you’re gasping for air and your body trembles with release, he wants you to hear him too. His breath hitches in his chest, his groan turning into a low, broken sound, like it’s being ripped from deep within him. It’s like an echo of your pleasure, a conversation between your bodies—a back and forth of moans, gasps, and soft words exchanged in the heat of the moment. With him, sex isn’t something silent, something to be hidden. It’s a loud, messy exchange of sound and feeling, a testament to the way you both fit together in every sense.

X=X-Ray; let’s see what’s going on in those pants;

He knows exactly what he’s working with—and he knows the effect it has on you. There's a quiet confidence in the way he moves, the way his eyes meet yours when you catch him looking, when he's half-dressed and you can't help but stare. It’s not cocky, it’s just knowing. He’s thick and heavy, the kind that makes your legs shake just from the thought of him, and he relishes in that power. There’s a sense of satisfaction in the way he watches your breath hitch when he presses against you, just to feel you squirm. And when you reach for him, his hand catching yours before you can go any further, he’ll warn, low and dark, you know what that does to me, his voice rough with desire.

But it’s not just about the size. It’s about the effect he has on you. The way you react to him, the way your body responds to his every movement. He can tell when you’re thinking about him, imagining the way he feels inside of you, the way your body trembles just from the thought of him. And when he slides his hand down, brushing over the outline of his cock in his jeans, he sees the way you bite your lip, the way your fingers twitch, wanting to touch him. He knows exactly what you want, and he knows how to tease you until you can't think about anything else but him.

Y=Yearning; how high is their sex drive?

His sex drive is high, but it’s not just the physical need that drives him—it’s the need. The deep, emotional desire to feel you close, to have your body pressed against his until neither of you knows where one ends and the other begins. It’s not about quick satisfaction; it’s about the craving for closeness, for intimacy that goes beyond just skin on skin. He wants to make you feel wanted, needed, cherished. His desire for you is insatiable, not because he needs release, but because he needs you. Every part of you—your body, your voice, the way you make him feel like he’s the only one who could bring you to that point.

And when he’s away from you, when distance stretches between you, it gnaws at him. He craves your touch, your warmth, the taste of your skin against his lips. Late-night calls become whispered confessions, teasing words shared in the dark, thoughts of what he would do to you if he were there, what he wants to do to you. When he's not around, the need for you only intensifies. And sometimes, he sends you a picture—damp from the gym, a shirtless tease, sweat glistening on his skin, sweatpants hanging low, and nothing else. Miss me?, he’ll ask, voice low, knowing full well the answer. Because he knows you do. And he can't wait to come home and make you show him just how much.

Z=zZz; how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?

Afterward, he never falls asleep right away. He needs to soak in the afterglow, to hold you close, to breathe you in and remind himself that you’re real, that this moment is his, that you’re his. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles across your back, his lips grazing over your shoulder, your forehead, wherever he can reach. He’s not distant; he’s there, grounding himself in the softness of you, in the way your body rests against his. It’s a quiet connection, a moment of peace after the storm, and he savors it.

And in those moments, when the room is dark and the only sound is your breathing, he’ll murmur things into your skin—soft words, whispered like secrets, things he doesn’t always say aloud. Can't believe you're mine, you know this?, or I could stay here forever, his voice low and warm, like a soft, tender promise. It’s his way of letting you know that even in the quiet aftermath, he’s still there. He’s still with you, and he always will be. Only when he knows you’re settled, safe, warm, and content in his arms, does sleep finally claim him. But even then, he’s not far—his body curled around yours, his arms wrapped around you like a promise that he’ll never let go, even in his dreams.

[diipsy]

oh my gosh this is insane (positive) 😭 i love the black mirror-ish vibe, ah, SO GOOD!!

Between these four walls

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

genre: thriller/sci-fi, smut, fluff

synopsis: lee felix is your 89% match. please proceed to the house assigned to you where your relationship will be subjected to various tests. if you manage to complete all objectives and get your match to 100% you may proceed to leave. sex is strictly prohibited. remember, they're always watching.

wc: 13.4k

warnings: desc. of drowning, illness, drugging, tripping (psychedelics/stimulants), mention of needles, paralysis, gutting a fish (yes that's a warning), some blood

nsfw warnings: fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, spanking, cumshot

a/n: felix always inspires me for these kinds of concepts. i hope you enjoy💜

~ divider by @anitalenia

~ masterlist

Lee Felix. 89% match. Congratulations!

You stared at the device in your hand, your heartbeat picking up speed. Finally. Finally you had someone you matched with. The last time you tried a similar, underdeveloped program like this, it only led you to more disappointment and heartbreak.

But, everyone you knew was raving about Cupid Corp. and how they found the love of their life after participating in their program. You asked questions, curious about why they stayed so long in the Cupid Corp. village, what they had to do to get their match to a 100, to walk out with them hand in hand.

Their faces would change from the happy expressions and shiny eyes into something dull, drained of color.

"We signed a document that prohibits us from revealing anything." they'd answer.

It all sounded so mysterious and a little alarming but you were so damn tired of being lonely and seeing all these people walking out of Cupid Corp. with big dumb smiles on their faces.

So, after doing some thinking, you applied.

It was a long process, to say the least. There were tests you had to take, all of them online. Starting with a psychological test, then an IQ test, then a personality test. It took them a month as they asked for everything, from your family disease history to your hopes and dreams for the future.

The more data they gathered, the more detailed your profile became. You even had a few online interviews with a woman named 'Cherry' whose face you couldn't see as she was wearing some sort of mask, only her cherry red lips were visible to you.

"We will take your data into consideration and calculate the best match. Thank you for applying at Cupid Corp. We hope you find your dream lover." the woman talked in a monotone voice.

You didn't wait for too long. Only four days later, you got a package from them, inside it a round device with a screen and one button. You pressed it and when it came to life you were greeted with your match. Just his name and the percentage.

With it, you got a document that stated the location of the village as well as your house number, 14B and a ton of rules, most of them prohibiting you from talking about the activities and 'tests' inside the village as well as a 'no cellphone' rule. You thought it was kind of weird, but you didn't want to back out now. Not when you had a match with such a high number.

It can't be so hard to get it up to 100, right?

You read through all the rules, coming up to the last one.

'You and your partner are not allowed to engage in sexual activites during your stay in the village. Kissing and physical touch is fine unless it is erotic or stimulating in that sort of way. After you sign this paper, you have agreed to all the rules above and are aware that you will be filmed and monitored 24/7.'

You gulped, some kind of unease washing over you as you stared at the document. The little cupid drawing that was the company's logo looked so sweet and innocent but it didn't help the churning of your stomach. Taking a deep breath in, you grabbed you pen and signed the paper.

There is no going back now.

As soon as you entered the village through the gate, it felt like you walked right into a fairytale. The houses were all pretty pastel colors with white picked fences and gardens full of all sorts of beautiful flowers. Everything looked perfect.

The only weird thing was that you didn't see another person anywhere as you walked. It was eerily quiet, only your footsteps were echoing on the pavement and the sounds of your suitcase being dragged behind you. The village was far away from the bustling city so you couldn't hear any sound for miles.

Then you saw it, 14B, a pretty pastel blue house and you smiled to yourself, it looked so cute and cozy. Your heart suddenly skipped a beat when you noticed someone standing outside by the fence.

It was a guy close to your age, and as soon as he noticed you coming towards him, a big smile spread on his face. He waved awkwardly and you waved back as you neared him, your heart hammering in your chest. When you got closer to him, your stomach did a little flip.

He is so beautiful!, you thought as you observed his smiling face, his warm chocolate eyes, his plump heart shaped lips and all the pretty freckles adorning his skin.

"I'm Felix. Nice to meet you." he said, pleasantly shocking you with his deep voice.

"Y/n. Nice to meet you too." you smiled, your face burning up. You hoped you didn't look like an awkward tomato in front of this beautiful man, who was your match! You were already swooning over him as he helped you get your suitcase inside, dragging both of your luggage together while you looked around the garden.

"I guess this is our house." he said as the two of you walked in. You noticed right away that it was decorated in the way you wanted to decorate your dream house, a question you had to answer in one of the tests they gave you. You also noticed some knick knacks you didn't recognize, they were probably something Felix wanted to have in his house.

"They really went all out with the decorations." you said as the two of you made your way to the kitchen and Felix chuckled.

"They did." he nodded, the air between you a little awkward.

"Oh. What's this?" you noticed an envelope adressed to the both of you on the kitchen table.

You picked it up and opened it as Felix peered over your shoulder.

"Dear Felix and Y/n. Welcome to our Village of Love! We hope you enjoy your stay, no matter how short or long it is. You'll find everything you need inside your house, we hope you find it cozy and that you settle in well. Take your time to get used to your surroundings and learn a little about each other before you move onto the next phase. Tests will begin shortly. Have fun!" you read out loud before looking up and seeing a camera staring right at you, the red dot blinking.

"Tests, huh? Doesn't sound too fun." Felix said and you nodded.

"No, it doesn't." you shook your head. "Do you know anything about what happens here?"

"I have no idea. I asked a few of my friends and no one would tell me."

"Isn't that kind of suspicious?" you asked and Felix chuckled nervously, looking up at the camera.

"Aren't they like listening to us right now?" he whispered.

"I'm sure everyone who came here wondered about the program." you shrugged.

"I guess we will find out." Felix said, still being somewhat quiet as he kept eyeing the camera.

You walked over to the fridge and opened it, finding all sorts of groceries inside it, mostly your favorite food and probably Felix's.

"Hungry?" you looked back at him and as if on que, his stomach growled.

You giggled and he laughed, the sound filling up your ears and tugging at your heart.

"I'll take that as a yes. Do you wanna cook together?" you asked and he nodded eagerly.

"I'd love that." Felix answered with a sweet smile so the two of you pulled your sleeves up and washed your hands, getting ready to tackle dinner together as you maneuvered the unknown space.

"What made you decide to apply to this program? You don't seem like you'd have a problem finding a partner." you started the conversation and his cheeks became rosy as he chuckled.

"Well, I tend to fall for the wrong people. The ones who use my kindness against me. And I really don't wanna hurt anymore or just experiment and 'try' again. I want to know that I have the real deal, you know? To be sure that the person is my ride or die."

The honesty in his answer took you by surprise.

'I want my partner to always be honest with me, to tell me the truth even if it is painful.'

You remembered the line you wrote when you were asked to put down on paper everything you wanted in a partner. They had probably looked at Felix's personality test as well as yours, and the things you had written down as your dream partner, putting the two of you together that way.

Your cheeks burned as you remembered how high your percentage is. He must really be the man from your dreams which would make you the woman of his. Butterflies swarmed your stomach.

"What about you?" Felix snapped you out of your thoughts as you continued cleaning the meat.

"Oh, same. I was disappointed many times before. I just want to find someone that will feel like home." you smiled at him.

"Exactly." he agreed. "So, what do you think the tests will look like? Do you think they'll be similar to the ones we had to do while applying?"

"My guess is as good as yours. Though, I must admit I do feel a bit uneasy with all the people not being allowed to say what happened while they were here..." you trailed off, before sighing.

"Then again, they all looked so happy with their partners." you finished. "And I want that."

"Yeah, I feel a bit uneasy myself but we'll go through this together, right?" Felix gave you a shy smile and you nodded as your cheeks warmed up.

After cooking dinner and eating, you had learned a bit more about each other, finding it incredibly easy to keep the conversation going like you've already talked many times before, sharing similar viewpoints and interests. It seemed too easy and you knew that you didn't have to necessarily agree on everything or love all the same things to be a match.

There was definitely something deeper there than the superficial stuff like hobbies and favorite colors when you've already gotten to 89% without even interacting with each other.

"Should we do a tour of the house?" Felix asked when you finished cleaning up.

"Sure, let's do it." you smiled and one by one, you visited all of the rooms starting with the living room that was next to the kitchen.

"Oh, we have a tv." you pursed your lips. "I thought we weren't allowed any kind of electronics."

"I guess they thought having movie nights at home is a date we'd both enjoy." Felix pointed to all the dvds on the shelves around the tv. "We have a good collection of every genre. Skipping horror though, I'm not a fan of scary things." he visibly shivered and you chuckled a little.

"I'm fine with those." you said and Felix gasped a little.

"Well if you want us to watch horror movies together just be prepared that I will be hiding behind like five blankets and probably crying my eyes out."

"Aw, it's okay, we don't have to watch them if they scare you so much." you smiled at him, making his heart skip a beat.

"I'll watch them for you. Well, kinda watch them since I'll be under all those protective blankets."

You chuckled together before you made your way upstairs. Your heart immediately skipped a beat and a shiver ran through your entire body when you saw the bed. Of course, you were meant to sleep together in it.

Felix noticed you staring at it, both of your faces red.

"I can sleep downstairs on the couch." he said, as if reading your mind.

"No!" you said a little too quickly. "I mean, I'd feel a lot safer if you were here with me." you admitted sheepishly.

"Oh." his smile was shy. "Then I'll be here with you."

Gosh, he is so sweet!, you thought, feeling overwhelmed that such a sweet person was your very own match. Not even a day with him and he already checked so many of your boxes. You hoped he felt the same for you.

"We have separate bathrooms." Felix noted and you looked to the right to see a door labeled with your name and on the left his name.

"I think there are no cameras in there, so that's why..." he trailed off and immediately you felt your stomach doing flips. They were really making sure you don't do any funny business which was kind of understandable since everything was being filmed. But then again, why wouldn't they make a special room for the two of you? You had so many questions and any possible answer created even more questions.

The two of you then decided to unpack, the sounds of opening and closing drawers filling up the space.

"We have a backyard." Felix said as he stood by the window in your room. "And a pool."

"It looks cozy except the pool. I don't know how to swim." you confessed, shivering a little.

"Really?" Felix looked a bit surprised. "Well, I love swimming so you can sunbathe while I swim?" he added with a giggle.

"I can." you nodded. "The entire house and the neighborhood looks so nice. Which brings me to this, have you seen another person since you got here?" you asked and Felix shook his head no.

"Neither have I. Weird, huh?" you said.

Felix opened his mouth to answer but the sound the doorbell ringing frightened you both.

"Is that... someone at the door?" he lifted one eyebrow.

"Let's go check together." you stood by his side as your heart hammered in your chest.

Felix walked first and you followed behind him, peering over his shoulders as he slowly opened the door.

You were greeted by a smiling woman and man, standing somewhat similarly to you and Felix.

"Hello, sorry to bother you. I'm Gina and this is Ethan. We were paired up today and noticed we were neighbours so we just wanted to say hi."

"Oh." Felix chuckled and you visibly relaxed, now standing beside him.

"This is y/n, and I'm Felix. Nice to meet you." you all shook hands, deciding to meet up tomorrow for breakfast since the program encouraged couples who were paired up at the same time to become friends.

"You okay?" Felix asked after closing the door.

"I just can't shake off this weird feeling." you shook your head.

Felix bit on his lip, his eyes raking all over your form gently as you hugged yourself. Tentatively, he reach out and brushed his knuckles on your cheek.

"I'm sure you just need time to adjust." he smiled, and you shivered from his gentle touch, your eyes fluttering.

"Yeah. Maybe a good night's sleep is all I need."

"There you go. Positive thoughts." Felix smiled brightly, warming you up instantly.

You got ready in your separate bathrooms and you came out first, claiming your side of the bed as you sat, leaning your back against the headboard and fidgeting with your fingers. Felix came in after a minute or so, smiling at you slightly as he hesitantly lifted up the covers and slid in.

"You sure you're okay with this?" he turned to you, his deep brown eyes looking big and doe like.

"Yes, I'm comfortable." you nodded. "You?"

"Of course. Just making sure you feel okay." Felix then smiled sweetly, making your stomach flip again.

"I am." you whispered. "Um, it's just weird not to have my phone to play with before sleeping." you looked around, noticing a stack of books on a shelf.

"Tell me about it. I'm like chronically online, it's a problem." Felix shook his head with a chuckle. "Or like playing videogames. My computer will be so dusty when we get out of here."

You giggled at him as he scrunched up his face and made a cute whiny sound.

"I like videogames too. We should play together soon."

"Wow, you really are the girl of my dreams." Felix looked at you, wiggling his eyebrows and you laughed, your entire body on fire from the giddiness he made you feel.

He slid down then, getting comfy on his side and you followed suit, relaxing between the clean sheets and melting into the soft pillow.

"How long do you think it will take us to get out of here?" you whispered after a few moments of silence.

"I hope not too long." Felix whispered back. "Sweet dreams, y/n." he added after another pause.

"Night, Felix." you smiled before turning on your side and closing your eyes.

You were nervous for what's to come but Felix's presence gave you a sense of comfort and safety you didn't know you needed. Just the sound of his breathing calmed you down and slowly lulled you to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open and for a moment you were completely confused. You blinked a few times, rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes as you took in your surroundings.

Right. You had come to the Village of Love yesterday, with your match. Which made you turn around quickly and gasp when you noticed the other side of the bed was empty.

"F-Felix?" you said, your voice a little raspy from sleeping. For a moment, you felt the dread creeping in but then you heard clinking, followed by a few curses coming from downstairs.

Upon arriving to the kitchen you were greeted by a frantic and disheveled Felix. You had to supress in a laugh, but it still seeped out in small giggles.

"Oh, y/n!" he exclaimed, turning around with his eyes slightly widened and his pink lips parted. "I barely slept last night so I got up like at 6am? I wanted to make myself useful so I tried making pancakes? I swear they taste better than they look! It's just that I'm usually not a morning person so-"

"Felix." you stopped his rambling, coming closer to him as you chuckled into your palm, your other hand gently placed on his arm to soothe him.

"Felix, it's okay. I'm sure the pancakes are delicious." you looked down at the half burned scraps of pancakes. "It's the thought that counts." you added with a giggle. "Aren't we meeting our neighbors for breakfast anyways?"

"Oh. That's right, we are. I'm silly." he sighed, turning the stove off with a defeated pout.

"You're cute." you said without thinking, your cheeks warming up as soon as those words left your mouth.

"You think so?" Felix chuckled, a little smirk forming on his lips and you nodded as he stared at you intently. "You're cuter." he leaned in, his breath hitting your face and you almost dissolved right then and there.

"Oh, shut up." you chuckled, making him laugh. "Let's go get dressed."

You got ready in your separate bathrooms, wondering how everything will play out for however long you'll be here. You decided to wear a dress with a floral pattern, something comfy and flowy. You hoped Felix would like it as much as you did.

And he seemed to be stunned the moment you walked out of the bathroom, giving you elevator eyes as he gulped visibly, his cheeks becoming rosy. You stood there nervously as he seemed to be lost in a trance.

"Felix?"

"Oh." he looked up at your face, the redness creeping up on his neck. "You look really pretty."

"Thank you." you giggled, your heart rate picking up while he smiled at you.

"Shall we?" he asked, reaching his hand towards you. You nodded, sliding your hand into his, your palms pressed together and fingers entwined.

They fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle that were waiting to be completed forever.

You met up with Gina and Ethan who were also holding hands, waving at you enthusiastically.

"Morning, neighbors!" Ethan smiled at the two of you.

"Good morning." you smiled back as everyone greeted each other.

"Did you get the map of the village?" Gina asked and Felix nodded.

"Found it in the living room this morning."

"Us too. Isn't it crazy having all these cameras around?" Gina chuckled and you looked around, noticing that all over the neighborhood there were cameras on every lamp post, every driveway, every front door.

The uneasiness settled in your chest again and you squeezed Felix's hand. He looked at you, squeezing back and giving you a small, reassuring smile. The restaurant wasn't too far away, it was a garden with lots of big trees giving shade to the tables, the sweet smell of colorful flowers mixed with the nice smell of food being cooked, making you even more hungry than you were. Finally, you saw other couples, chatting at different tables and you felt much more at ease. It felt normal.

There was soft music playing from the little building where you presumed the kitchen and servers were situated. The four of you found a table near a koi pond, excitement taking over you as you looked at the pretty fishes swimming around.

"I was about to reach for my phone and take a picture." Felix chuckled and Ethan nodded.

"Same." he said and you shook your head, thinking about how you'd probably do the same thing.

You stared at the koi fishes, who seemed to be mindlessly floating back and forth, confined in such a small pond. You wondered if they ever wanted more freedom, a bigger pond or was this all they knew so they could never think about having more space. Maybe they felt safe in a familiar, tiny enviroment.

One of the servers came to your table with a pen and notepad, writing down your orders and snapping you out of your thoughts.

The four of you made small talk before your food arrived.

"At least these pancakes look better than mine." Felix noted when the plate was placed before him and you chuckled.

"So, what do you guys think the tests will look like?" Gina asked suddenly while you ate. You looked up at the camera above your table and swallowed nervously.

"Isn't it kinda like a video game? We got a map of the place, we will have objectives or tests, we got our 'safe room', like our house where we have supplies..." Felix started and Ethan chuckled.

"I just hope there are no zombies or such. Or like damage." he added and the four of you laughed.

"I'm sure it can't be that bad." you said.

"How high is your percentage?" Gina asked.

"89%." you answered and she gasped a little.

"Ours is 74%. I guess we'll be here longer than y'all." she pouted.

"Well, we can't know that. When we have no idea what awaits us." Ethan said. He was right, you had no idea what Cupid Corp. planned out to put your connection to the test. Your eyes fell on the pond again, the koi fishes spinning around and around in circles, the repetitive motion almost making you dizzy.

~

"Do you wanna take a walk around the village?" Felix asked after you parted ways with the friendly couple next door.

"Yeah, sounds good. I need to get some blood flowing in my legs, we sat for so long."

"We did, I think we clicked with them too. Could it be they put us close to each other so we could become friends?" Felix asked when the two of you started walking, your hands entwined again, making your heart beat faster.

"Probably. I have a feeling nothing is random here." you pursed your lips.

"Me too." he agreed.

The village was really something out of a fairytale book. Not only were the houses cute but there was a cute bakery, a gallery, a flower shop, a cafe and a few other stores for groceries and such scattered around. There was even a little park for picnics and a forest to ride your bike or take a walk there. You saw other people working in all the buildings and couples walking around or sitting in the cafe or riding their bikes. It looked different than yesterday, when everything seemed eerily quiet and abandoned.

You and Felix talked about your families and job, getting to know some random facts about each other as you walked around, the sun warming your bodies up. It felt like you knew each other forever.

That evening, you decided to have your first movie night date. After a short debate since you were both indecisive, you settled on Clueless, a classic, and prepared some snacks and blankets to make the viewing more cozy.

Felix seemed a little nervous and fidgety as you got comfy on the couch, some distance created between you. He played with his fingers and the blanket, picking on it as you clicked play on the tv.

"You okay?" you asked and he nodded quickly, grabbing the bowl of popcorn.

"It's just... I like to cuddle while watching movies. Or um, I like to cuddle whenever, a lot. Physical touch is definitely one of my biggest love languages. I hope you're okay with that." Felix confessed, redness covering his freckled cheeks.

You sighed in relief, a giggle escaping your lips as you scooted closer to him, making his breath hitch.

"Okay? I'm estatic. I'm a big cuddler, it's one of my top love languages too." you nodded and Felix smiled sweetly at you.

"Right. I keep forgetting we matched so well and start feeling nervous. I don't wanna do something wrong, you know? And with the cameras watching, it adds to the awkwardness." he explained.

"I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable with anything, okay? And you tell me too. Open communication is important." you said and Felix nodded, agreeing. "And forget about the cameras for now. I'm trying not to think about them supervising us the entire time. Let's just enjoy the movie."

"You're really sweet, y/n." Felix smiled cutely, his eyes shining as he stared at you, tongue darting out to wet his plump lips.

You followed the movement for a second, your heart fluttering.

"Says you." you chuckled, poking his cheek and he giggled, relaxing next to you and scooting even closer so that your legs and shoulders touched.

Pretty soon, both of you were relaxed, forgetting that you were being filmed as you enjoyed the movie, laughing and repeating the iconic lines. Your head ended up on Felix's shoulder at one point and his heart started beating fast instantly, his hand reaching for yours. He caressed your skin with his thumb as you giggled at the tv. You've never felt this comfortable with someone you just met.

The entire day was filled with positive experiences that you almost forgot about the weird dread gathering in the pit of your stomach.

You felt a huge attraction towards Felix, your body craved to be in his warmth and when you laid in bed next to him that night, you wanted nothing more than to roll over and hold him. But maybe it was too early for that, you thought as nervousness washed over you.

"Good night, y/n." his warm voice was quiet in the darkness of the room.

"Good night, Felix."

~

The man in the chair leaned over his computer, typing in the log of the day. The two of you were perfect subjects for this village, both of you sweet and kind, ready to welcome each other into your lives. He looked at all the screens that filmed your quiet house, eyes lingering on your calm, sleeping forms. Soon, everything will change.

A whole week has passed by perfectly. It was a little too quiet, too perfect for your liking. You wondered when the actual tests would start, when you were gonna get an envelope with some objective you have to fulfill. It made you feel uneasy the entire time and you had always trusted your intuition so you knew your gut feeling was right.

You had expressed this to Felix and even though he was nervous about the whole experience too, he tried to reassure you that it can't be that bad. That maybe the test had already started by just watching the two of you interact with each other.

It sounded plausible so it calmed you down just a little bit.

At the same time, you couldn't deny the connection building between you and your match. Felix was everything you ever wanted and more, kind and thoughtful, funny and sweet, he listened to you with interest, happy to know every little detail about you; his heart was pure and full of love, not just for you but for everyone. He made you melt on the spot with just one look and smile.

Every time you cuddled while watching movies, you got a little closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, messing with your senses. You loved being close to him like that and he loved being held or holding you, it didn't matter as long as you were embracing each other in any way.

"It's such a beautiful sunny day. We could have a date by the pool?" Felix suggested one morning, batting his eyelashes at you and pouting cutely.

"Oh, sure. But I'll be watching you as I sunbathe because well, you know." you shrugged.

"Are you scared of the water? I could help you, teach you how to swim. It's good to face your fears." he smiled encouragingly and you chuckled, grabbing his hand.

"Maybe it is. I'll think about it." you smiled.

"Great! That's progress." Felix leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek and it was enough to make your heart burst.

For some reason, you didn't think about how the two of you will be almost naked by the pool and that thought crossed your mind only after you put your bathing suit on in the bathroom. A little gasp escaped your lips as your cheeks became completely red.

You decided to throw a little dress over your frame before you walked into the room. Felix was already waiting for you, dressed in swim trunks and a t-shirt. You blushed at the sight of his legs, mentally scolding yourself and trying to calm down your heart.

Felix didn't hesitate to throw his shirt off as soon as you got to the pool. Your eyes immediately went to his abs and chest, a warmness spreading within you as you shifted. He noticed your look, his face and ears warming up. He smirked a little, enjoying the fact that he made you squirm.

"Ugh, I- I left my sunscreen upstairs." you whined.

"I'll go get it for you." Felix said. "Is it in the bathroom?"

You nodded and thanked him as he made his way into the house. After you took your dress off, your attention was grabbed by a sloshing sound of water inside the pool. Your brows furrowed, there was no wind. You gulped, coming closer to the edge of the pool, staring at your distorted reflection as the water kept sloshing.

It was just a milisecond, you couldn't react or realize what was happening, it was as if something invisible had pulled you into the water. With a loud splash your body was submerged under the surface as you started flailing your arms and legs, bubbles coming up where you were desperately trying to breathe. You managed to pull your head above water for a second, panicking as you tried to grab onto the edge of the pool, turning around just in time to see Felix running towards the pool with a terrified expression on his face. You couldn't keep yourself above water but just before you were completely submerged again, a pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you up to the surface.

You gasped, trying to catch your breath as you clutched onto Felix and he pulled you close, pressing your body into his.

"You're okay, love. I got you. I got you." he kept repeating as he caressed you, holding you tightly as he led you to the shallow part of the pool.

Tears spilled out of your eyes as you sobbed, wrapping your arms around Felix's body, your face buried in his neck.

"It's okay. I'm here. Shh." he tried to soothe you as your body shook against him.

Neither of you noticed the shadow moving away from the window inside your kitchen.

"Let's get you out." Felix led you towards one of the chairs and you sat down as he wrapped a towel around you. He caressed your hair shortly as he grabbed another chair, pulling it closer so it was facing you. He sat down and grabbed your face gently.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I- I don't know." your lips trembled.

"I was just standing there and next thing I know, I'm underwater."

"Maybe you slipped?" Felix wondered, his brows furrowed.

"No, it was like something pulled me in." you swallowed and Felix looked back at the calm water.

"Well, whatever it was I am not leaving you alone by the pool anymore. I won't let this happen to you again." he promised, pulling you into a hug, your cheek pressed against his chest. You shivered as you held onto him, but this time it was because you felt his skin against yours. Sure, you held onto him in the pool but you were in such a state of panic that you didn't even feel your body let alone his.

You leaned back a little and looked up at Felix. His eyes travelled down to your lips and he licked at his. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies as your face neared his. Felix held you tighter as your hot breaths mingled, before he pressed his plump lips on yours. You melted instantly as you started moving together, kissing gently and savoring every second of your lips touching like that.

It felt like it was meant to be, like you were made to kiss his lips and he was made to be yours. Felix licked at your bottom lip and you parted them, letting his tongue touch and play with yours. Pressing your body against his even more, you almost forgot about Cupid Corp., the cameras, the pool. But when he bit on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, his hands squeezing your waist, you had a moment of clarity and pulled away with a gasp.

"We can't get carried away." you panted and Felix nodded, swallowing as his dark eyes lingered on your lips. His cheeks were red, his hair messy and his lips looked even more pink after kissing you.

"Sorry. I couldn't help myself, love. I'm really attracted to you." Felix said, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Me too. I like you a lot, Lixie." you smiled and he chuckled sweetly, pressing a few kisses on your lips and cheeks.

"I like you a lot too. I'm so glad I signed up for this program." he said, pulling you into another hug.

"I'm glad to be here too." you tangled your hands in his hair, caressing him and he sighed happily.

"Do you still wanna stay by the pool or you wanna do something else?" he asked and you looked at the water.

"I'll sit here and you go swim." you smiled.

"Are you sure?"

"100%." you nodded and with that, he pecked your lips again and practically skipped towards the pool. You giggled to yourself, knowing he really wanted to swim so you were content with sitting by the pool and just watching his beautiful form in the water.

Goosebumps rose on your neck and you turned to look at the house, feeling like there was some kind of presence there. You tried shrugging it off as you turned back to Felix, watching him having fun and waving at you cutely.

When he got out of the water, you couldn't help the admiration in your eyes as they raked all over his naked wet body, the droplets of water sliding from his chest to his abs and disappearing under the waistband of his swim trunks. Your throat was very much dry in that moment, but your panties were not. Felix smirked at you as he walked slowly, probably trying to seduce you even though you already folded.

He leaned over you, his hands on the armrests of the chair, the water from his body dripping onto yours.

"Enjoyed the view?" he asked as you looked up at him.

"Very much so." you smirked back and he leaned in to kiss you.

"I'm glad you did." he kissed you again. "Let's get inside, it's getting dark." Felix added and the two of you made your way into your house.

As soon as you walked in, a loud beeping noise scared the both of you. You covered your ears as Felix looked around.

"What is that?!" you asked.

"I don't know." Felix yelled over the piercing noise. He followed it with you trailing behind him and holding onto his back.

"Oh. Look!" he exclaimed, grabbing the round device you had gotten in the mail.

As soon as he clicked the button, the loud sound stopped, the screen lighting up.

90%. Congratulations, Felix and Y/n!

"D-did we get a point because of me drowning in the pool?" you shivered.

"I think we got a point 'cause I saved you." Felix bit on his lip, his expression turning into one of worry. You looked up at the camera in the kitchen, your eyes wide. Just what kind of sick game were Cupid Corp. playing? And what did they have in store for you?

~

"You think they really tried to drown me on purpose?" you asked Felix when the two of you got under the covers.

"It seems so." he said as he chewed on his lip.

"I think they could escalate things." you gulped and Felix looked at you, scooting closer to your side.

"What kind of test is that? Who wouldn't jump in to save someone they love? And even someone they don't know. I'd jump in anyways." Felix got upset.

"I know, I don't understand either."

"At least we are closer to 100%." Felix said, reaching out for you. You got closer to him and he smiled sweetly, his arm wrapping around your waist.

"Will you let me hold you like this?" he whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours.

"Yeah, of course." you whispered back, kissing his sweet lips.

"I'll keep you safe, love." he smiled.

"I hope they don't hurt you."

"They can try. I'm stronger than I seem."

"I belive that." you nuzzled into him as you wrapped around each other. It felt so good to be in his embrace, like nothing bad could ever happen to you.

When Felix opened his eyes the next morning and saw you sleeping so soundly in his arms, he almost melted into a puddle. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear, caressing your face as his sleepy eyes observed you.

It didn't take long for you to wake up too, seeing that Felix was already looking at you made you whine and shut your eyes tightly.

"Don't look at me." you said.

"Why?" Felix chuckled as you tried hiding your face with your hands.

"Because I don't look the best when I wake up."

"What are you talking about?" Felix gently moved your hands away. "You're beautiful." he added and leaned in to kiss you but you blocked him quickly with your hand.

"Morning breath."

"Do I look like I care?" he giggled against your palm, grabbing your hand in his and kissing you despite your protests.

"So beautiful." he rasped.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a sweet talker?" you smirked.

"No, but I'll take that as a compliment." Felix giggled. "Mm. Let's stay like this." he pulled you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"I'd love to. But don't we have a brunch with Gina and Ethan?"

"Ugh. We do. Five more minutes." Felix said and you giggled, pressing your lips into his pulse. You heard his breath hitch and felt him tremble as your lips brushed against his skin.

"Don't make it harder for me to resist you, love." he whispered and kissed your head, making your cheeks warm up instantly.

"Sorry." you leaned back and he gave you a lazy smirk as he played with your hair.

~

"Ethan is sick." Gina whispered to the two of you after you rang the doorbell.

"Sick?" your brows furrowed as you noticed her eyes being shifty, darting left to right like she was on high alert, looking around to spot danger.

"Yes. High fever. Tremors. Headache." she craned her neck to look behind the two of you and you followed her eyesight, not noticing anything out of the ordinary.

"I have to go. I have to go. They're watching, you know? They're watching." she murmured before disappearing into the darkness of her house and closing the door, the clicking sound indicating she had locked it.

"T-that was weird." you swallowed.

"Very weird." Felix backed away, pulling you with him. "You wanna go to brunch still?"

"Yeah." you nodded as the two of you walked away from your neighbor's house.

You kept throwing glances back, noticing the curtain on one of the windows moving as a figure disappeared behind it.

You couldn't stop thinking about the state Gina was in and what the hell was happening inside her house?

Sitting by the koi pond, you couldn't help but think that all of you were just koi fishes and the village was just one small pond that was being observed by a bigger creature.

"You okay?" Felix put his arm around your shoulder, his other hand placed on your knee.

"Just worried about Gina and Ethan. And... us."

"Us?"

"What if the same happens to us. Or worse." you swallowed, your eyes becoming big as you looked at Felix, fear bubbling up inside you.

"It won't."

"How do you know that?" you asked, your eyes filling up with tears.

"I'll keep us safe, I promise." Felix pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your stomach churning.

Something was wrong.

~

"Y/n, do you trust me?" Felix held you as the two of you stood in the shallow part of the pool.

"I do. It's just-"

"You're scared, I know. If it becomes too much, we'll get out immediately. But I'd love it if you at least tried. I'll hold you the entire time, okay? I won't let you out of my sight."

His reassuring words chipped away at your fear, replacing it with warmness and safety. You've never met someone like Felix, someone who was so invested in helping you get over your phobia.

"Okay, we'll start walking first." he pulled you in, holding you against him as you clutched at him.

"Relax." he tried soothing you as his hands caressed you and slowly but surely you started feeling relaxed.

"I'll hold you and swim. You try to move your legs like I told you, okay?" Felix guided you and you struggled a little at the beginning but the more he smiled at you and reassured you, the more confident you felt.

"Just stay close." you said.

"Of course, sweetheart." he smiled and your heart leaped out of your chest as your face warmed up.

Soon, you didn't even realize you were moving on your own, with Felix hovering next to you.

"You did it, y/n!" he laughed, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into his body.

"All thanks to you, Lixie." you giggled, turning around in his arms so you could look at him.

"Well, you had the will to try so it's on you too." he said, pecking your lips. His kisses were addictive, whenever he'd press his lips on yours, it was hard to stop as the two of you clung onto each other like you've been glued together.

The kisses escalated as your tongues massaged each other, your hands roaming on his freckled back. Your legs wrapped around him and he pulled you in closer, chest against chest, his hands on your butt.

"F-Felix." you stuttered, nails digging into his shoulders when you felt his erection brushing against your core.

"I'm sorry." his arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in your neck, lapping at the droplets of water dripping down your skin. "I can't help it. You're so delicious, sweetheart." he nipped at your sensitive neck.

"T-the cameras." you looked around at the five different cameras in the backyard.

"I know. I know." Felix kissed your lips with a huff before he swam you both back to the shallow part.

"You can get out if you want. And give me a second to calm down." he looked at you sheepishly.

"Okay." you giggled, wrapping your body up with a towel.

Felix swam a little more while you made some lemonade, keeping an eye on him from the kitchen window.

He got out just in time as you brought the refreshing drink outside. He wiped his body with the towel quickly, throwing it aside as he pulled you closer, making you squeal, the two of you losing balance. You ended up in his lap as he sat in the chair and you chuckled as he squeezed you tightly, rubbing his cheek against your back.

"Are you sure this is a smart position right now?" you asked and he smirked at you.

Before he could answer, the familiar beeping sound blasted next to the two of you. Your heads snapped towards the device you brought everywhere, hoping the percentage would go up.

"Felix! 92%!" you gasped when you grabbed it.

"92? How did we get two points?" he stared at it.

"I have no idea! But we should celebrate. Just 8 more. And then we can leave together." you smiled as you turned you body towards him.

"I can't wait, my love." Felix smiled, leaving kisses on your arm.

You wondered why you got two points. And if it was really that easy.

~

That night, Felix was clingier than usual, completely wrapped around you as he spooned you. His lips kept pressing gentle kisses on your neck and shoulder, making goosebumps rise on your skin, heat erupting inside you.

Felix couldn't help it anymore, his own body betrayed him as he got excited again, being so close to you, feeling you pressed against him, he craved nothing more than to be even closer to you.

"L-Lix." you felt him against your backside.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. Don't worry about it, it'll go away." Felix whimpered quietly, and you squeezed his wrist as he pressed into you tighter, unable to contain himself.

"It's okay." you guided his hand down to your panties, feeling desperate for his touch too.

"Y/n." he whispered. "What about the camera?"

"It's dark. And they can't see under the covers. As long as we stay quiet and don't move too much, we should be fine." you whispered back, pushing his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear.

"That's a test within itself." Felix joked and you giggled.

"Please, Felix." you begged as he hesitated.

"Fuck, baby. You don't have to beg for me. You have me always." he bit on your shoulder, his fingers exploring until they pressed into your clit when you spread your legs just a little so he can have more access. Felix started drawing slow figure eights on your sensitive clit, dipping his fingertips into your heat to gather some wetness and smear it around.

Your breath hitched and you gripped onto the cover, bringing it closer to your lips so you could muffle the little sighs coming out. His tongue darted out to lick at you neck as he played with your clit, moving slower but pressing hard. Felix sunk his teeth into your neck, sucking on it and creating a purple bruise marking you as his. You moaned quietly and he shushed you, teasing your little clit and making you clench around nothing.

"Felix." you said quietly.

"Yes, baby?" he whispered between kisses.

"I wanna touch you too." you said, so quiet so that only he could hear it. Felix's cock twitched against the back of your thigh.

"Okay." he said and you turned around, sliding your panties off and pushing them aside. Felix did the same with his underwear and grabbed your leg, putting it over his so he could spread you a little.

His hand was back between your legs, now without any tight obstacles and you had to bite back a moan as your eyes flitted towards the red dot blinking in the corner. You gripped the cover and pulled it up, only leaving some space for air and so you and Felix can kind of see each other.

You sneaked your hand down his chest and abs, fingers playing with his happy trail leading down to his leaky cock. The tip was already wet with pre cum and Felix almost groaned when you touched him, smearing it around as your fingers massaged him.

"B-baby." the tip of his nose touched yours and he leaned in to kiss you as your hand wrapped around his length. He sighed into your mouth and you swallowed it, breathing in his air while he slowly pushed his finger inside your welcoming heat.

You bit on his lower lip when he pushed in deep, your pussy clenching and begging for more. Felix groaned quietly, pushing into your hand while you moved it slowly, giving him gentle pleasure. Both of you moved in sync with each other, keeping the slow and torturous pace that was somehow sweet. You were both lingering on edge, wanting more.

Felix pulled his finger out and before you could protest, he started pushing two fingers in. The entire time you were making out, swallowing each other's moans and breaths.

"God, faster please." Felix whispered and you looked at the direction of the camera again, excitement rushing through you at the thought of getting caught. You sped up, pumping his cock as he fucked your pussy harder.

"Shh, quiet down love." he said when you started moaning silently.

"Sorry." you whispered and leaned in to kiss his neck. Felix immediately threw his head back, a quiet grunt escaping his lips as you attacked his skin with bites and kisses, flicking your wrist.

"I- I- can't." Felix groaned quietly. "Y/n." his fingers stilled inside you as he came, spilling his hot cum on your thigh, hand and the sheets. You helped him ride his high, kissing his lips and whispering quiet praises against them.

"Bring your legs up." he said, pressing your legs together, sliding his arm under your knees and lifting them towards him.

"Wh-what..."

"Shh. Trust me, sweetheart." he said as he leaned over you a little, his fingers sliding on your wet slit. He slowly pushed them back in, the position of your legs lifted up and pressed together like you were in a fetal position added to the pressure between your legs, his fingertips pressing right into your sweet spot.

"F-Felix!" you whimpered and he pressed his free hand against your lips, shushing you as he started fucking his fingers in and out of you.

You feared that this was definitely visible on the camera, the movement of his hand was too frantic under the sheets. Your muffled whines made Felix lean in and leave sweet kisses on your face.

"Shh, it's okay, just relax and let go, sweetheart." he cooed at you, his tongue licking at your ear.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he removed his hand from your face and pressed his lips on yours, his fingers ramming into your sweet spot repeatedly.

"Lix." you whined against his lips as he licked at them.

"Cum for me love." he encouraged and your pussy clenched around his fingers, your heart beating out of your chest as you let go, spilling your release on his fingers, some of it ending up on the mattress below you.

"Shit." he cursed quietly, caressing your wet pussy.

You clutched onto him, kissing him again like you needed it to breathe.

"You okay?" he asked, his hand searching around for his boxers.

"Y-yeah." you answered. "You?"

"More than okay." he smiled as he grabbed the boxers and cleaned both of you up as much as he could. "Um. We can't really change the sheets now, it would look suspicious." he added, throwing both of your underwear sneakily on the floor next to his side, where the camera wouldn't see.

"We can sleep on your side?"

Felix smiled and pulled you over, making you giggle quietly as the two of you settled against each other. He buried his face in your neck, his hand gently caressing your figure as you played with his hair, running your fingers through his soft locks.

The man in the chair smirked. Bingo.

When your eyes fluttered open the next morning, you were greeted with the cutest sight. Felix was still sleeping, his face smushed against the pillow as he drooled a little. Overwhelmed with your growing feelings for him, you leaned in and bit at his cheek.

Felix groaned quietly and you giggled, kissing where you had bitten him before you went lower, biting his neck and then his shoulder.

"Y/n." his deep voice made you shiver and you giggled against his soft skin again before sinking your teeth into his arm. His eyes fluttered open as he smacked his lips and looked at you.

"Interesting way to wake me up, not gonna lie." he smirked a little before grabbing you and making you squeal as he suddenly flipped the two of you, him being on top.

"Felix!" you chuckled when his fingers ghosted on your sides, tickling you slightly.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he smirked, burying his face in your neck and teasing you with little licks and kisses.

"D-don't. It's daytime, the camera-"

"I'm just gonna bite you a little. Return the favor." he blew on your neck before biting into your skin and sucking. You had to bite on your lip to stop yourself from moaning. Isn't this prohibited too?

"F-Felix, you have to stop." you whined.

"You're lucky the cameras are here. Otherwise, nothing would be able to save you from me." he wiggled his eyebrows and you chuckled, playfully pushing him away.

The morning started beautifully and you completely forgot about the rules whenever Felix smiled at you. You were both walking on cloud 9 and you couldn't wait to get out of this place so you can go anywhere with him by your side.

"Do you think they saw us last night?" Felix asked while the two of you munched on your food.

"I hope not." you said, your cheeks becoming red as you looked away from him.

"Getting shy on me, sweetheart?" Felix smirked, fingers brushing against your cheek.

"A little." you confessed, biting on your lip as your heart sped up.

"Don't be." he smiled wide as he leaned in, pecking your face with kisses. You started chuckling before you grabbed his face and kissed his lips.

"There. Better?" you asked and he nodded.

"Much better." Felix said and stood up to put his plate away. You took another sip of your coffee before a loud crash made you jump.

You turned around instantly to see the plate broken into pieces and Felix grabbing at his stomach.

"F-Felix?" you stood up abruptly, your chair flying on the floor.

Felix struggled to open his mouth and speak, he struggled to breathe as he clutched at both his stomach and chest.

"Oh my god! Felix!" you cried, grabbing at him as his face got red and his eyes watered.

"W-what is happening?!" you panicked, not having any kind of phone or knowing what to do in that moment. You turned to the camera in the corner.

"Help us, you fucking assholes!" you yelled at the camera as Felix shook and heaved in your arms.

A moment passed and his breathing started getting more normal, his face becoming paler in contrast to the redness that appeared before. His eyes were glassy, hands shaking as he slumped against you, falling to his knees. You quickly wrapped your arms around him as he gripped at you, seeking comfort from you. Heat radiated from his body and you touched his forehead, realizing he was burning up with a fever.

"Oh, Felix. Can you hear me?" you held his face in your hands as he looked through you.

His lips opened and closed a few times and he blinked before focusing on your eyes.

"I-it hurts." he rasped, his fingers desperately digging into your arms.

"What hurts, baby?" your body filled up with fear and anger. They did this.

"Everything." Felix sniffled and you helped him get up as he leaned on you.

"Let's get you to the couch." you led him to the living room before making him sit down. He looked horrible, a 180 from just a few moments ago when everything was normal. He was sweating profusely, his skin pale, his breathing heavy.

The doorbell suddenly rang, making you jolt.

"I'll be right back." you said, covering Felix up with a blanket as he was shivering even though he was burning up.

You had no idea who to expect at the door, maybe a paramedic, maybe a savior, maybe an explanation.

But you didn't expect Gina.

"G-Gina?" you eyes widened.

"Here." she shoved a box in your arms.

"W-what is this?" you asked.

"Medicine. They said... I had to deliver it to you. He'll be okay like Ethan. Just be careful. Be careful. They watch, you know? They know everything. They know." she looked a little panicked before she turned around, murmuring to herself and repeating how they watch and they know.

You opened up the box and sure enough there were different vitamins, medicine and bags of tea inside it.

You turned to look at the camera with a scowl on your face before you rushed off to Felix.

"Y/n." Felix whimpered, his bottom lip trembling as he looked up at you with teary eyes.

"It's okay, baby. You'll be okay." you tried to calm him down even though you were panicking too. You quickly fluffed up the pillows and helped him lie down.

"Are you comfy?" you asked.

"C-cold." he shivered, clutching onto the blanket.

"I'll bring another blanket for you." you said.

"Don't leave me!" Felix looked panicked as he gripped at your wrist.

"I won't, I'll be right back, I promise." you leaned down to kiss his burning forehead. He made a little noise but still let you go, albeit reluctantly. After finding another blanket, you tucked him in, taking it upon you to make him some tea, give him medicine and try to get his fever down however you could. You say next to his legs and placed a wet cloth on his forehead making him whine as he threw his arm around your thighs.

It was weird. The way he suddenly developed a high fever was unnatural. He wasn't sneezing or coughing, just shaking and sweating. You racked your brain, spinning different scenarios in your head and ways of how they could make him sick.

Then it clicked. The food.

But, how did you not get sick, just Felix? You couldn't understand how it was possible for these faceless and nameless individuals to play god with your health and safety. And what the hell did that have to do with you being a good match?

You wondered if the two of you could leave before you get to 100. You've never heard of such cases but surely there was a way? Maybe you could run away? Who could stop you, right? You have free will and you can leave whenever you want, you're not a prisoner.

"Y/n." Felix said weakly, his eyes fluttering open.

"Lixie. How do you feel? Any better?" you asked and he nodded.

"A bit." he said.

"I'll make you some soup." you said, knowing you have no other choice than to trust that not all your groceries were laced with some kind of virus.

"Okay." he said and you caressed his face shortly before standing up.

"Call me if you need anything. I won't be long." you said and he nodded again.

As the soup boiled, so did your anger. First they try to drown you then they make Felix sick? What's next on the menu? You looked up at the camera for the nth time.

"Hurt him again and I'll find you." you said quietly but the man behind the screen heard you, typing away on his laptop. He felt a bit bad for you but there was nothing he could do, he was just tasked to watch and report the progress.

"Can you sit up?" you asked Felix after you brought the warm soup to the living room.

"Ugh. Help me." Felix whimpered and you wrapped your arms around him as he held onto you, pulling him into a sitting position.

"I feel weakness in my arms and legs." he muttered.

"You'll be back on your feet in no time." you tried to soothe him as you sat next to him. "If they don't lace more of our food with a virus."

"How are you so sure?" Felix gulped.

"Because I'm taking care of you. And if they try something again I will burn this fucking village down." you made sure the camera picked up what you said and Felix let out a pained chuckle, grabbing at his side.

"Feeling protective over me?" he asked and your cheeks reddened instantly.

"I- I mean... Yes." you nodded and he smiled.

"If I wasn't in so much pain, I'd be really turned on right now." he said and you giggled, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Shut up and eat your soup."

"Feed me?" he pouted.

"Sure." you chuckled, shaking your head a little as he acted cute. Well cuter than usually.

"Will you cuddle me?" he asked after you managed to feed him the soup without making too much of a mess and you nodded, scooting closer to him and covering yourself up with the blanket too.

"Come here." you whispered and Felix leaned in, pressing his forehead into your neck. He was still warm but less than before and you hoped that the worst had passed.

"I don't think it was the food." he whispered suddenly, making goosebumps rise on your skin. The tv was loud enough to not let the camera hear what you were whispering about and after glancing at it you glanced down at Felix's sleepy face pressed against your chest.

"What do you mean?" you whispered into his hair.

"Look at my arm. Very carefully." he whispered back and you pretended to caress him until you uncovered his sleeve, acting nonchalant for the camera. Your brows furrowed as you stared.

"Is that a needle mark?" you asked.

"I think so." he looked up at you and you covered him up and held him tighter against you.

"You think they snuck in while we were sleeping and put some kind of virus into your body?" you asked and he nodded against you.

"That's sick. That's really sick. I- I think we should leave."

"We can't, not until we get to a 100." Felix said, rubbing his cheek against you and squeezing you tighter.

"B-but what if they do something worse?"

"It'll be okay." he muttered as he drifted off.

You sighed, running your hand through his hair soothingly as you stared at the tv absentmindedly, a random movie from the dvd collection playing on it.

You looked at him occasionally, admiring his cute sleeping face. Did you really have to wait until 100 to start your life with Felix?

Over the course of the next two days, you had been by Felix's side the entire time. The medicine worked perfectly and pretty soon Felix was back to his old self, healthy and full of energy.

"Y/n. Love." he held you tightly. "Thank you for taking care of me." he stared at you with sparkly eyes before he kissed you like his life depended on it, stealing your breath away.

"Of course." you smiled as you parted.

The loud sound of the device startled you both. Felix neared it, picking it up and looking at the screen.

"95." he scoffed.

"For what? Almost killing you." you said. "This is some sick game to you, isn't it?" you turned to the camera then, furious.

"Sweetheart, don't. We're almost done." Felix pulled you into him. "I have a plan." he whispered into your hair and you nodded.

You were going to escape the village.

~

That night, you got ready for bed as usual, your hands reaching to open the covers so you could get in. Before you could even touch the blanket, you were grabbed as Felix wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up, almost making you scream.

"Come with me." he pulled you into his bathroom.

"Felix we can't-"

"We're leaving anyways." he said, closing the door before pinning you against it. His hands held your wrists gently but firmly as he pressed his body against yours, nudging your legs apart with his knee.

"Felix." you let out a little gasp when his thigh pressed against your warmth.

He couldn't wait anymore, one hand still pinning your wrists and the other gently holding your chin as he crashed his lips into yours. Both of you whimpered quietly into each other's mouth as your tongues collided. Your mind became fuzzy instantly and Felix was becoming impatient, his hand wrapping around your neck and squeezing ever so slightly as his other hand slid down towards your chest.

"It's hard to keep my cool around you. I just want you so much." Felix talked lowly, both of his hands grabbing your breasts and massaging them. You whimpered, grinding against his thigh on instict.

"I want you too, Lixie. I can't wait anymore."

"Yeah? You want me to take you right here, against the door?" he smirked and you gasped as he leaned back with a smirk, pushing your panties aside and touching your clit.

"Y-yes." you whispered and he chuckled, hands on your waist as he swiftly turned you around to face the door. Your palms slapped against it and you dug your nails in as he slid fingers over your wet pussy.

"I think she's ready to take me." he leaned over you, lips brushing your ear as he pulled his boxers down. You swallowed when you felt the tip of his cock pressing against you. Warmness washed over you and you clenched in anticipation.

"Tell me if it's okay. Or do you want me to prep you?" he asked, his hand sliding down your back.

"J-just fuck me, Felix." you begged and he chuckled darkly.

"My baby has a dirty mouth, hm?" he slid his tip between your folds, back and forth, slowly, teasing you and torturing you.

"Please." you whimpered again and his own desperation got the best of him, he couldn't tease you and himself anymore so he slowly pushed in.

You moaned while he filled you up, your eyes fluttering shut as your knees buckled.

"Fuck. So tight." he groaned, bottoming out.

"L-Lix." you whimpered and he gripped your hips, moving slowly at first, letting you adjust.

You pushed back into him, meeting his thrusts as you let out moans of pleasure, your voice getting more high pitched every time his tip pressed into your sweet spot.

"You take me so well, baby. You really were made just for me." Felix moaned, fucking harder into you, his hips smacking against you.

You were a mess, not even able to answer as he got you drunk on his cock instantly.

"Fuck." Felix groaned as he looked at your ass, his hand coming down on your flesh, spanking you and making you whine out loud.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he smirked behind you and spanked you again.

"Y-yes!" you moaned and he sped up, his hips unforgiving as he shook your body, his hands gropping and slapping. He felt you clenching around him, his arms wrapping around you, hands on your breasts as he pulled on your nipples and played with them.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby? Make a mess on my cock?" Felix fucked into you harder.

"Yes, ah!" you whimpered, your legs shaking as you spasmed and came all over his length.

"Good girl. You make me so proud." he groaned, chasing his high.

"Y-you have to pull out, I didn't take the pill... Since I got here." you moaned, feeling overstimulated.

"S-shit!" Felix whimpered, pulling out of your pussy and giving himself a few tugs, exploding behind you, his cum landing on your ass and back.

"So pretty." he gripped at your ass. "Mine."

"Yours." you whined back when he spanked you again.

He let out a low chuckle and wrapped his arms around you, turning you so you were facing him.

"That was absolutely not how I imagined our first time." Felix said, pecking your lips.

"How did you imagine it?" you held onto him with a smile on your face.

"Dinner, flowers, you know the whole thing. You put on some pretty lingerie for me and then we make love the entire night." he pressed his forehead against yours.

"Aren't you romantic?" you giggled, kissing him gently.

"I am. A lot." he grinned, pulling you into a hug.

"We can do all that when we get out of here. Which is what we should be doing right now."

"Yeah. You got your bag ready?" he asked and you nodded.

"Let's clean up then."

~

The streets were dark and empty, the only light that was coming from the lamp posts was dim and barely illuminated your path. It must've been around 3am. Dead silence filled up the space, every house was dark and quiet. No one was awake. The two of you stalked towards the gate, knowing the cameras are watching you.

There was no blind spots, they thought of everything. You didn't give a damn anymore. They can come and stop you themselves instead of playing these sick games.

Of course, the gate was locked.

"Felix?" you swallowed and his head snapped towards you. "That wasn't there when we got here, right?" you pointed and he gasped.

Electric fence.

Everywhere you turned to look, there it was.

"What the hell?" Felix frowned. "Are they crazy?"

"Obviously they are." you stated. "What should we do now?"

"How about the forest? Could be connected to like a main road? There's no way they put this electric fence all around." Felix looked frustrated.

"We could try." you nodded, your hand reaching out for his. With fingers entwined you hurried the other way.

Suddenly, a loud alarm pierced through the calm night air, making you both scream out as you grabbed at your ears, the sound pounding inside your head, making you want to pull your hair out.

Your vision became blurry and you tried to stay close to Felix as the sound became even louder and in the corner of your eye, you saw shadows moving.

Everything went black.

~

You woke up in your room, drenched in sweat. It was still dark out and you looked around, noticing Felix was still sleeping and the device on his night stand was blinking.

"Lix." you shook him gently.

"Hm."

"Lix." you repeated, leaning over him to look at the little screen.

"98?" you frowned. "Why?"

"What?" Felix sat up slowly. "What is it?"

"We're up to 98. Because we tried to escape?"

"I- I don't know. Ugh, I feel weird." Felix said and as soon as those words left his lips, you felt lightheaded yourself.

"I can't feel my legs." he gasped.

"What's happening to us? What did they do?" your eyes watered as you felt the same paralyzing feeling.

"T-they drugged us." Felix tried to grab at you but his arms weren't listening to him no matter how much he willed them to move.

"Felix." you whimpered, feeling some kind of tiredness washing over you. "I love you."

"I love you." he whispered back before everything went black again, neither of you noticing the device was now blinking with 99.

The light was barely coming in through the branches, the sun not being completely up yet. The air was damp and smelled of the earth, rain and trees. You took in a deep breath, wiggling your fingers against the ground, feeling the texture of moss under your fingertips.

You felt as if you were floating even though you were very clearly touching the ground. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you gasped. Everything seemed distorted, like you couldn't focus your eyes on what's in front of you. Weird sounds filled up your ears, ones you couldn't recognize or understand. One moment they seemed like distant shouts and the other it was as if someone was talking gibberish right into your ear.

You lifted your shaky hands towards your face as you felt hot tears sliding down your cheek and into your hair splayed on the earth. Your hands. You were looking at them but it was as if they were separated from your body, like you weren't in control of them. You stared for however long, not being able to conceptualize if it was 10 seconds or an hour.

When you finally sat up, your head started spinning and you saw shadows moving in the corner of your eye, hiding behind the trees and melting into the ground. You blinked a couple of times but your sight remained blurry even when you got up. Your legs buckled for a second and you almost fell, grabbing at a tree next to you.

Find him. Find him.

Something whispered and you felt a buzzing sensation spreading all over your body. You grabbed at your ears as the whispers kept getting louder until-

FIND HIM!

A yell, a dark screeching voice echoed inside your brain.

Felix. You have to find him.

You had no idea how you even ended up in the forest and what was wrong with you while you were walking, your limbs felt like they were disconnected, your head pounded with a headache and your forehead was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You heard a smacking sound on your right, like something hit the wet ground and you turned to look but couldn't see anything there.

"Felix?!" your voice came out weak, your throat burning. "Felix!" you whimpered, more tears spilling out your eyes.

The whispers and the smacking sounds became louder, closer, more of them surrounding you. You started freaking out, panic building up within you. The sound of cracking caught your attention and you screamed out when the trees started growing in towards you, their branches becoming longer and reaching out to grab you. You kept screaming as you squatted down, covering your head up and crying.

"Please, stop!" you cried. It was silent. You lifted your head up slowly and the trees were exactly how they were before. No menacing branches hovering over you, reaching to take you.

You quickly stood up, your sight a little less blurry as adrenaline from the fear kicked in. Your legs reacted faster than you could anticipate as you started running, small twigs snapping under the weight of your feet.

The smacking sounds were back and now you could see what they were. All around you, koi fishes wiggled and smacked against the floor, trying to breathe in the dry air. You gasped, wondering how the hell was this happening.

You must be tripping.

The rational part of your mind reminded you that whoever was behind Cupid Corp. didn't hesitate to use all sorts of methods to execute their 'tests'.

They probably drugged you and everything you were seeing right now was a hallucination.

With that realization in mind, you carried on through the forest as it got thicker, ignoring all the voices around you and the fishes seemingly falling from the sky.

Things lurked in the bushes and behind trees, shivers running up your spine as it got darker. You thought you heard Felix calling for you among all those distorted voices.

"Felix?!"

"Y/n!" you heard a distant sound.

"Felix? Where are you?" you hurried up, almost slipping on the moss.

"I'm here!" the voice was clearer now, to your left and you ran and ran until you were stopped in your tracks. A huge koi wish wriggled on the ground where Felix should've been.

"Felix?" you were perplexed as you stared at the sight before you.

"Get me out of here."

Is he... inside the fish?

You noticed a knife on the floor next to it. You blinked and the next thing you knew you were standing in front of the fish with the knife in your hand. You stabbed into the flesh, blood oozing out as you started cutting up the fish like a maniac, guts spilling from the inside until Felix emerged, covered up in all of the fish goo, the stench of it making you nauseous.

"What the fuck?" you swallowed and then everything disappeared, pulling you into the darkness again.

~

The loud piercing sound of the device you prayed to every single day shook your entire body. You jolted up, realizing you were in bed and Felix was waking up next to you.

No fishes, no guts, no forest, no whispers.

100%! Congratulations and have a safe departure from our Village of Love!

"Village of love? More like village of horror." you said as Felix leaned in to look at the screen. A loud sound scared you again, a masked voice following after it.

"Thank you for participating in our program. You've proved your love to each other, built up devotion and trust in just a month. You are now the perfect match. We apologize for any discomfort you felt here and offer you The Juice of Oblivion so you may forget about the... less fun experiences you had here. You can choose not to drink the juice, but remember after you leave through the gate, you're obligated by law to not talk about our tests here. Enjoy the rest of your life together!"

You glanced at the night stand, seeing the suspicious blue liquid inside a bottle.

Felix suddenly started laughing next to you and you looked at him. Laughter bubbled up from your throat too and the two of you cackled for a good minute, until you were heaving for breath and wiping tears away.

"This was fucking insane." he said.

"Were you really stuck inside a fish?" you asked and Felix looked at you like you were insane.

"Was I what?"

"I had to gut a koi fish to get you out, in the forest." you explained and he shook his head.

"You were tripping. We both were, I figured that the moment I stepped foot on the pool. Like on the water. And you were under it, trying to get out but it was as if there was some kind of barrier keeping me from you. I had to find a spot to pull you out. The amount of anguish it gave me..." Felix licked at his dry lips and you reached out to grab his hand.

"Do you wanna drink the juice?" you asked.

"I just wanna get the hell out of here." he said and you agreed.

You were pretty sure this was illegal, all of the stuff happening here; them not disclosing the use of psychedelic stimulants or whatever the drugs were in the contract was also illegal.

But at the same time, if you never participated, maybe you would've never met Felix.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked as you approached the gate with a few other couples, including Gina and Ethan.

"How I'm glad I met you. But I'm gonna need therapy." you said and Felix laughed.

"We'll go together. This is just the first day of the rest of our life." he smiled, kissing your forehead and squeezing your hand.

The man in the chair watched all the couples leave. His lips turned upwards into a smirk as he saw new cars approaching the village.

He wondered what kind of sick tests they had in store for the new inhabitants of the Village of Love?

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @eastjonowhere @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter

[diipsy]

i love this 🥹

DOTING.

Han x reader. (f) SFW

Synopsis: Han doesn’t believe that a dating app would bring him love but at the same time, he got tired of being lonely. After a few tries, he gets more cynical because none of his matches is you.

Star stuff playlist

For a long, long time Han feels like he doesn't belong anywhere by himself, like an alien who tries to blend in with the earthlings.

He speaks the same language, but no one seems to try and hear him when he says something.

No matter how much he smiles, he feels lonely.

Would it make him a pathetic person that he sought emotions, sparks, that tingle you feel when your eyes first set and meet in that one fated second where you know did you cross paths for a reason?

He still wants to believe that one day, he'll find that magical moment.

But he is lonely and he got tired of waiting.

And time made him a little more pliable, a bit more broken, made him eventually give in to the last chance of getting, at least, what it feels like to be in someone's company.

He is just so lonely, he wants someone to reach out and hold him. 

He has been staring at the notification on the app that tells him he just found a match.

He is not obligated to respond, but he promises himself to start putting himself out there and with a sigh, he braves himself to compose a message.

He doesn't wait for a reply, he closes the message box and continues his day, trying not to think so much.

From this day and forth, he'll stop thinking and just do.

-

It's called the Dot app.

It's available exclusively for the students of the university, it was made by a team of students and is still in development.

The app is a social media that students can use to find friends who share the same interests with them.

Or that is what the original plan was.

When two students are matched and decide to be friends, they can go on a "hangout", in their preferred time and space.

And all that changed when students started using it as a dating app, from there "hangout" turns into "doting", hence the app name.

At first, Han was skeptical about it. He can't even trust the date his friend set up for him, how can he trust an app would find him a better date through a computer algorithm?

He has a hard time wrapping his head around it but desperate time calls for a desperate measure.

He witnessed a lot of his friends find their partners from the app and their relationships still going like any other normal relationship.

Maybe the app just shortened the search and maybe he shouldn't oppose the idea without trying it first.

So here he is, sitting alone waiting for his date in a cafe on a Friday afternoon. He comes just a little early, the appropriate time according to him: fifteen minutes before the appointed time.

And he has been sitting at the table drinking cold water for almost an hour and still can't decide if it's appropriate for him to order or if should he waits for his date to arrive first.

As the ice cubes on the bottom of his glass have melted into water, you come pushing through the door with your hair messy from the windy day.

You hurriedly comb your hair with your fingers, putting the stray hairs covering your face behind your ear and that's when he can see you.

A face that he had never seen but at the same time, peculiarly familiar to him.

In contrast to the cloudy sky, your smile is so bright, your eyes offer warmth like a good cup of tea on autumn days.

Your eyes scan the whole room and look just as clueless as him, could it be that you are looking for him?

He secretly waits until your eyes meet his and when it happens, he got a little disappointed for not getting that tingle he so badly wanted to feel.

You smile at him and start to walk slowly but confidently, making your way toward his table.

All of a sudden, he feels the need to act normal, so he holds his breath and balls his hands on his lap, sitting straight on his chair.

He doesn't even know if you're his date but if you are, he wants to give a good first impression.

You hold your hair from curtaining your face and hold it there, then your mouth opens and a word

falls out of it, "Hi!"

Your voice sounded so welcoming and open, like a friendly hug.

"Hi!" He says back because he yearned to be held and to hold.

You smooth down your skirt with your palms and smile again at him, clearing your throat before speaking again which makes him suddenly aware of his whereabouts.

"Please, sit down!" He says to you, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Your fingers fiddle with the strap of your bag and ask him, "Are you Park?"

His heart deflates in a second and he feels stupid for not asking you first, he sheepishly smiles and answers, "No, I'm not."

Your mouth is open once again but no word comes out of it, "I'm sorry," you apologize.

"No worries!"

"This is my first doting," you explain and uneasily gripping the bag strap on your shoulder.

"This is my first time too," he says if that's anything that would comfort you.

You smile while nodding at him, "I'd better find my match then!"

"Sure!" He says that even though he was reluctant to let you go and has to wait again until his match arrives.

"Good luck!" You say to him before leaving his table.

"You too!" He says, watching you make your way to the table in the corner occupied by a guy who reads a book by himself.

He tries not to look but he can't help himself, it seems like that guy is indeed the one you are looking for and as much as he hates to say it, you look great together.

When he sits back on his chair and looks straight ahead, a girl is standing by his table.

"Are you Han?" She asks.

Finally! He says to himself.

"Yes!" He answers with an enthusiastic grin.

-

He wouldn't say his first match is a disappointment.

Han shares a lot in common with her, they're both music majors but she studies the business, she has an eclectic taste in music and she also watches anime even though she prefers the English subbed one instead of reading subtitles but he appreciated her honesty.

Apart from her habit of playing with her hair a lot, Han likes her.

Something feels strange though, he shares a lot of common with her but she feels so distant.

Let's say there's no chemistry and maybe love doesn't come on the first try.

He thought of taking a few days to recover from his first 'alright' doting experience until his phone chimed with a new notification of a new match as he holds it up above him.

He stares at his phone screen for a good minute as messages fill his inbox, it feels new to him that his match is the one who messaged him first.

He isn't complaining though, it's easier for him when he isn't the one who initiates it.

Because when things don't go as he expected, he wouldn't feel burdened to cut the strings off.

Or maybe his expectation will meet reality and love comes on the second try.

So he comes to the same cafe on time hoping that his date would be already there, he looks around and found you instead.

You are drawing something on your napkin looking bored then glance up at him like you notice he is looking at you.

He doesn't know why but his hand raises to wave at you and fortunately, you wave back at him.

He can imagine how embarrassing he would be if you didn't.

"Doting?" You ask.

He nods and opens his mouth to speak, a girl waves her hand at him two tables away from yours.

"Good luck!" You mouthed to him before he leaves for his table.

The girl observes him the second he is seated and the more she looks, the more apparent the disappointment drawn on her face.

"Did you wait long?" He asks with a smile for a good first impression.

"I'm sorry but I can't stay long," she says with a grimace, "I have somewhere to be in 30 minutes."

The first thing she said is very unwelcoming and from there everything feels rushed, Han keeps dissociating the entire time she talks about herself.

And when she doesn't talk, she keeps checking the time on her phone screen which only hints that she doesn't want to stay long.

"If you're in a hurry, you can leave," Han says to her with a thin smile.

At least, now he

knows that there's something worse than a bad date and that is being on a date

with someone that doesn't want to be there in the first place.

She got caught by

his words and uneasily glances at him, "it was nice meeting you," she

stammered while gathering his phone and wallet from the table.

"Likewise!"

Han says back to him with another smile.

The girl leaves

without saying anything else and is pretty much as relieved as him when the

date ends.

Turns out love

doesn't come on the second try, or you know what? Maybe love doesn't come that

easily.

He let out a long

breath as he gets up from his chair, he turns his head in the direction of your table and sees you still sitting alone.

"You're date is late?" He asks when he arrives at your table.

You glance up but still have your hand propped under your chin, the soft glow of twilight kissed

your face and makes you appear mystical to him.

"He said he's not coming because something came up," you answer and gesture for him to sit.

He looks down at the drawings of patterns on your napkin.

"Or a nice way to say that he wanted to bail on me," you said with a scrunched nose and a smile.

That is enough to make his heart flips in a second and a chuckle escapes his mouth, "well, it's better than seeing your date want to flee at any second," he says.

You chuckle and put down your pen, "No way?!"

You lean forward, "Is that why the date was so short?"

Han nods then shrugs.

You snort, "we shouldn't be laughing, our dates are ditching us!"

But as your eyes locked in a gaze, you both burst out laughing almost at the same time. He didn't know that he can easily share a laugh with a stranger like this.

"Can I get you a coffee?" 

"I don't drink coffee," you reply, "but I would like tea, please?"

"Sure!"

Han returns to the table with the drinks and carefully puts them down on the table. You are drawing another pattern on the napkin, a circle, and inside it, are smaller triangles and so on.

"What are you drawing?"

"Geometric pattern!" You answer nonchalantly.

It feels weird that he feels comfortable around you despite he knows nothing about you, not even a name. This reminds him to introduce himself first.

"I'm Han."

You introduce yourself back and Han suddenly feels seen at how you look at him with two wide eyes full of curiosity.

He clears his throat and pulls his coffee mug, starts blowing on the hot beverage.

You drag his coffee mug away, "Don't do that!"

"Huh?"

"Blowing on it will only release carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide, they will react with the water particle, resulting in the formation of carbonic acid. So when you take food after blowing on it, you tend to take more amount of carbonic acid and the

unwanted carbon monoxide," you pause to take a breath.

"In conclusion, this unhealthy practice will mess with the alkali in your body and cause metabolic imbalance!" You finish then put your hand away from his mug.

Han blinks and tries to process your words into his head "And what is your major?"

"Astrophysics."

Han swallows because science is not something he can bravely dip his feet into, "That explains."

"That also explains why my date is ditching me," You say while wrapping your hand around your teacup to absorb the heat.

"No, I mean, that explains why I have never seen you," he quickly adds.

"Shouldn't have explained the second law of thermodynamics to him on the first date," you shake your head, half-laughing.

Han doesn't know anything about physics in the first place but he wishes he can have anything to say about that.

You softly laugh at the perplexed look on his face, your finger trailing the rim of your teacup, "have you ever heard of 'arrow of time'?"

He shakes his head, confused but purely curious at once.

"We live in a spacetime that is 4 dimensional but space and time differ in some fundamental ways."

Han nods, intently listening to your words.

"In space, we're free to move as we wish," you take your pen and move it around in the air, "we can go back, forward, side to side."

You put the pen down and then stack your hands together on the table, "but when it comes to time, we're stuck. We grow older, not younger. We remember the past, not the future. Time, unlike space, has a preferred direction."

His brain pops a question, "time only flows in one direction?" He asks as baffled as the question itself.

You nod with a smile, "why do you think?"

Han takes his time because he wants to give the best answer, "I mean... if you know about the future then it wouldn't be exciting anymore, don't you think?"

You nod at him.

"Also, if you know everything, both the past and the future, wouldn't it be too much?"

You slightly tip your head to the side, intrigued.

"A person can't have that much knowledge," he concludes.

A smile rises on your face, "see? I don't need a smart answer, I just need an honest one."

Han can't help but smile in satisfaction knowing that you acknowledged his answer.

"Can we drink now?" He hesitates as his finger is hooked on the handle of the coffee mug.

"Sure!"

It's dark when you both get out of the cafe and dried leaves litter the pavements, your feet making crunching sounds as you step on them.

"I forgot to ask you what your major is?" You ask, shoving your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

"Music production and engineering," he answers also putting his hands into the pockets of his jackets since the wind is getting cold toward the end of autumn.

"Ah, music. Is that something you are passionate about?"

Han sucks air through his teeth, he doesn't expect this kind of question that indirectly dig through his personal life.

"My father was in a band and he used to write songs so I think that influenced me a lot to learn music," he answers.

"And you write music?"

He awkwardly laughs at how you casually ask him but he understands that you are merely curious, "well, yeah."

"What kind of music?"

"I'm always open to trying any genre," he replies.

"I only listen to classical so I don't know much about music," you admit then fire another question.

"Do you play any instruments?"

"Guitar and piano."

You gasp in awe.

"Why? You must be able to play at least one musical instrument too, right?"

You stifle a laugh,

"I played clarinet in the school band. Does that count?"

"Of course, that counts!" He assures rather too passionately.

"But I kind of got kicked out on the second practice because I was always behind the tempo," you add with a grimace.

You both stop at the intersection and look at each other.

"Come on! You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

You shake your head, "I wish but I'm just so bad at it."

Han can't accept the fact that someone as fascinating as you do have a flaw, not when the streetlight shines down on you and form a halo glow above your head.

"Anyway, I'm going this way," you point to the way behind you, heading east of the

intersection.

"And I'm going that way," he points the opposite way.

You stand on your tiptoes for a second and smile, "bye then!"

"Bye!" He flashes another smile before you turn around and leave, he watches you until your figure disappeared, engulfed by the dark of the night then he turns his way.

-

Han can't believe that the only common thing he has with the girl he's having a date with now is through a book he read once in his teen years.

The girl is pretty, she wears glasses that emphasize her beautiful brown eyes and shiny dark hair that would pass a shampoo ad. And she's very soft-spoken.

He doesn't have a certain type to begin with but she is close to what he wanted.

The only thing that gets in the way is she's just as awkward as he is, from the two hours he spent on the date an hour was spent in silence.

The date ends on a nice note with her nervously saying that she isn't actually in need of a significant other and agrees to be friends with him instead.

It isn't a loss if he gained something from it, right?

He walks out of the cafe alone and finds himself at the intersection where he parted with you that night, which was two weeks ago.

He hasn't seen you again ever since.

He got tempted to go to your faculty building but was afraid that would make him seem pretentious and he doesn't know anyone from any science majors.

He walks in the direction of the university complex where a festival is held, he decides to come since the date finishes earlier than he thought.

His friends must be somewhere and he plans of finding them even if that means he would be the only one without a plus one.

He stops by a game tent to play a game of ring toss and pays for a round.

He got 5 rings and he successfully put the first one but missed the next two rings.

He heavily sighs seeing that he only got two rings left, the best he can get is three out of five and that would only win him a silly little keychain as a consolation prize.

With a deep breath and confidence he got, he throws the fourth ring. He groans as it misses too far back and hits the wall instead.

"Your posture is wrong!" Someone says.

His head snaps to the source of the voice and finds you standing next to him.

"You lean your body forward so you should balance it with a leg to the back, not bending your knees."

Han hesitates to do it as you instructed him, he looks at you again and you blink at him, waiting if he will do as you say.

He caves in and does as you instructed, throwing the last ring he got as it successfully lands in one of the little traffic cones.

"Well, you should have come earlier and I would have won one of those food coupons,"

he says out of embarrassment as he takes the keychain as his consolation prize.

You crack a laugh and pull out money to play for a round, "it's all about the angle and how you throw the ring," you say and take a stance to start throwing.

The first ring seamlessly lands on the closest traffic cone and you confidently throw the remaining rings, effortlessly putting everyone else who is also playing to shame.

You receive two food coupons to exchange at selected food stands.

"Are you always this cool?" He asks with mouth agape.

"There's a scientific way to do almost anything," you say while laughing.

"So, what do you want to eat?" You ask for a suggestion from him.

"Huh?"

"Aren't we going to exchange the coupons?"

It takes him a moment to realize that you want to share the coupons with him, "are you sharing it with me?"

"Well, I have two coupons!" You show him and look around the row of food stands in the crowded place.

"I just thought—"

You cut him off with a question, "How about pizza?" 

Han stifles a nod.

He voluntarily brings the pizza on paper plates with both hands while you're carrying the cans of drink, walking together to the garden near the university library where it's less crowded.

You both sit on the picnic table instead of on its bench and set the food in the space between you and him.

"Pineapple pizza for you and cheese pizza for me!" He says while handing you your slice of pizza.

"Cola for you and juice for me!" You place his can of soda in from of him and open your can next.

Han follows suit, opening his can and clinking it with you for a toast.

"Cheers!" You both say in unison.

The faint music from the festival still can be heard but he can also hear the rustles of leaves as the wind blows in.

"One question!" Han suddenly says with his cheeks full of food.

"Why pineapple pizza?"

You sigh while rolling your eyes and finish chewing, "I know there's a whole debate out there whether it's okay to put pineapple on pizza or not," you explain.

"So you know?"

"I'm not living under a rock!"

Han chuckles in response and continues chewing.

"But at the end of the day, it's just food. I love pizza, I love pineapple, it's basically two things that I love in one!" You defend your argument with a nonchalant shrug and take another bite of your pizza.

He nods in agreement, "that's valid!"

He puts the trash away into the nearest rubbish bin and returns to the picnic table, watching you looking up at the night sky like you're sunbathing under the moon.

He sits next to you and does the same thing, propping his hands behind him, head tilting up looking at the bright, almost full moon.

"Did you stop doting?" He asks.

"Not really."

"I haven't seen you in the cafe anymore," he says, turning his head at you and watching your face bask under the moonlight.

"I was sick with flu last week," you reply.

"That sucks!" He comments and back to looking up at the stars dotted in the night sky.

"Are you still doting?" You ask.

"I did one today."

"How was it?"

"It was nice but we decide to be friends," he puts his hand up to figuratively pinch the moon between his thumb and forefinger.

"That's cute!" 

Han hesitates to ask you the question he's been meaning to ask but his curiosity always gets the

best of him, "May I know why you decide to start doting?"

He hears you hum

and shift on the table and turns slightly to face him with your legs stacked

against each other.

“I’m not trying to find someone to date,” you answer

with a soft smile, “let’s start there!”

“I think you know by now that I have a very unquiet mind,” you let out a low laugh.

“I just want someone who wants to listen.”

He can relate to your answer because oftentimes, he finds himself filled with ideas that he gets the urge to share with someone.

You are larger-than-life but what you want is something as simple as that. You don’t necessarily need someone who can comprehend your ideas and thoughts, you just want someone who listens.

“What about you?”

Han doesn’t expect you to ask him back but he must return the favor.

He doesn’t know how to give you a proper answer when he, himself, doesn’t know the answer, “I honestly don’t know,” he answers with a dry laugh.

He tries his best to accumulate his thoughts and focus on the question, deep down he knows what his heart wants.

“I just want to know if I deserve love,” he finally admits.

He looks at you looking at him with the moon reflected in your eyes, sparkling and bright.

Suddenly, he gets so aware of his too honest, lame answer and gets embarrassed.

“Well, now you know how pathetic I am!”

You take a long breath and hold your hand up to connect one star to another to form a constellation, “do you know that we are made of star stuff?”

“Star stuff?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you confirm and come up with the explanation.

“Our solar system is formed from a supernova and that’s including earth. Over billion of years, the matter within earth coalesced into life forms of ever-increasing complexity.

"So the particles in our bodies like the nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood and etcetera have been in existence for billions of years.

"And they will persist for billions of years after we move on.”

You pause to turn your head at him with your eyes staring straight into him.

“And these particles were all forged in the nuclear fusion fires of stars.”

You lean in close enough that he can see those glints in your eyes, the lively glints of when people talk about something they’re passionate about.

“Whenever you feel pathetic, just remember that we are made of star stuff.”

He instantly looks up at stars scattering above him, he suddenly feels small as he gets hit by the realization that the universe is so vast, but at the same time, he feels big because he is a part of it, and he doesn’t know how is that possible.

For the first time in his life, he feels larger than himself, that he deserves love and more.

He turns his head at you, “star stuff…” he sighs.

“Star stuff!” You say back.

You stare into each other's eyes as if there we star collapsing on them and the chime comes from Han's phone to defuse the explosion.

"Seems like you get a new match!" It's a very familiar sound that anyone in the university can easily recognize.

Han pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket and turns the notification off, pushing it back inside the pocket without checking.

When it's getting late and you announce it's time to get back, Han insists on walking you back to

the intersection.

"Thank you for the pizza!" He says, kicking a twig to the side of the pavement so you wouldn't trip over it.

"No worries!"

"I owe you one!" He says, in hope that he gets to treat you something someday.

"Can I have that keychain then?"

"The keychain?" He gropes the pockets of his jacket because he can't remember which pocket he put it in and finds it in the pocket of his jeans instead.

He holds the keychain with a miniature penguin dangling from the end of the chain.

"I'll take this," you say and take the keychain looping around his finger, "so now we're even!"

Han gets a little disappointed but what else can he do, "do you know any fun facts about penguins?"

He playfully asks.

"I actually do!"

Han laughs in response, he shouldn't try to tease you because you're very knowledgeable. He wasn't serious about his question but now he's curious to know.

"When a male penguin falls in love with a female penguin, he searches the whole beach to find her the smoothest, most perfect pebble to present to her as a proposal," you elaborate while continue walking next to him and your hands

brushing with his as you walk.

"If she approves, she puts the stone in her nest."

"What if she doesn't?"

"I don't know," you answer, "throw it at his face maybe?" You guess while looking at him.

He looks back at you and at the same time, bursts into laughs.

"That's cruel!" He comments while still laughing.

The intersection is closing in and oddly enough, he doesn't want to part with you yet. He still finds it strange to find comfort in a person he knows so little about, but maybe it's you that is so fascinating to him.

"Here we are!" You say as you walk on your way home, standing a foot away from him while fixing your hair from the raging wind.

"Goodnight!"

He holds his hand up and waves at you, "Goodnight!"

After a few steps, he can hear your phone dinged with the familiar tone of the dot app notification sound. It seems like you too just got a new match.

He doesn't need to question the app on why he never matches with you, it's obvious that the two of you have nothing in common. From your two different majors, how you don't drink coffee, you only listen to classical and you're really, really smart while he's far below average.

The algorithm knows better to never match you with him, an alien roaming the earth.

-

"Don't blow on it!" Han snaps at his date when she's about to blow his hot cappuccino.

The girl's eyes widen in confusion, "Uhm... why?"

Han gets conscious of his actions and immediately retracts his hand from covering the poor girl's drink.

"I don't know the scientific explanation but it's an unhealthy practice," he meekly explains with an awkward smile.

The girl reclines in her seat, "what are you majoring in again?"

"Music!"

The girl shoots him a weird stare and then pushes her coffee mug away.

The date is surprisingly going well until that happens.

She shares a lot in common with him, she listens to the bands he listened to and reads so many of his favorite comics and movies that he watched one too many times.

This should be convenient because he can talk about so many things, right?

But after the date, he finds himself under the streetlight where he parted with you.

It feels somehow melancholic looking up at the night sky while listening to the track he made last night through his earphones and he closes his eyes, putting the world on pause.

After a moment of detaching himself from the world, he opens his eyes to find you standing next to him.

His loud thoughts must have called out for you to appear right in front of him. like the universe heard his subconscious desire. 

You speak to him but he can't hear you with the earphones on, he quickly takes them off.

"Sorry, what are you saying?" He asks again.

"What are you listening to?" You ask, your hair is messy from the wind even though you tied it into a bun.

"Uh... just a track I made," he stutters, a bit embarrassed to say it because he doesn't want to give the impression that he was bragging.

"Can I listen?" You ask, taking a step closer next to him.

The request takes him by surprise but he hands you his earphones, "but it's not done yet," he says.

You shrug then put the earphones on, "It's not like... I'm Mozart," you say with a sly smile.

Han replays the track he listened to and watches you listening to it, it's slightly nerve-wracking because he is the one who made it.

He sees you flash him a smile before closing your eyes and the wind starts blowing your way,

shaking the leaves from the tree above, sending them falling on both of you.

A leaf caught in your hair and he reaches to remove it, his hand pauses just right on the side

of your head the moment he realizes the proximity. The first thing that crosses his mind is to look at your face, beautiful and still.

At that moment, he wishes time would stop flowing so he can admire you for as long as he wants.

Then your eyes snap open and you take the earphones away, giving them back to him.

"It's still rough so I'm sorry if it's... bad," Han starts to blabber although you didn't say anything about it.

"I want to listen to it again once you finish it," you say, not giving him a comment on the piece of music he wrote.

He puts his phone away and nods, he doesn't know why he agrees without thinking.

"I guess you just did another doting?" You suddenly ask.

He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets to hold the urge to put your hair away from covering your face, "Yes."

"How did it go?"

"We're going on a second date next Friday," he answers with a shy smile.

"That's good!" You beam while hoisting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder.

"Yeah," he isn't sure if that's the right response to your positive comment, he should be excited since this is what he wanted and he is close to getting it.

"Where are you going?" He asks since meeting you here is so coincidental.

"Home!" You shortly reply at the same time a strong gust of wind blowing in and you stagger to the side.

Han immediately grabs your elbow to steady you and helps you fix your hair, "Are you okay?"

Your eyes locked for a second and in that one second, he believes his heart skipped a beat too.

"Yeah, thank you!" You respond with a low laugh and start clutching your trench coat together.

"I'd better get home fast, I have to study for an exam tomorrow!"

Realizing that you said you needed to get home, he lets go of your elbow almost immediately and says, "yeah, you'd better!"

You grip your bag strap and head in the direction of your way home, "anyway, nice meeting you here!"

He nods in response and watches you walk away until your figure forms a dot in the distance then nothing. And he doesn't know why he feels so sad about it.

-

The girl smiles at him the moment she sees him entering the cafe and he takes it as a good sign.

"I'm sorry for being late," he says and sits across his date.

"That's okay!" She replies with an easy smile.

It doesn't hard to talk to her because she knows everything about his favorite things and conversations keep flowing, there's no way he doesn't enjoy this.

A moment later, you come into the cafe with your eyes scanning the room and it seems like you're coming for doting as well.

He thought you intentionally avoid his eyes until you walk past his table and mouthed, "she's really pretty!"

He sheepishly smiles in return and watches you walk to the empty table in the corner where he first met you.

It's funny that ever since you come through the door, he can't focus on the conversation going on with his date and all he can think about is how he doesn't get the same comfort as when he talks with you.

Han often thinks that the ultimate way to find love is to find someone who shares a lot in common with him, shares a lot of likes and dislikes, someone who is similar to him in some ways.

But maybe he is wrong.

Maybe love isn't about finding someone to share his silly little hobbies with.

Maybe love is a space where he can truly be himself and be comfortable doing it. Maybe it's not about sharing things he already knows, maybe it's about learning new things from each other even to the strangest of ideas.

He turns in his chair to see you as you start drawing on the napkin again with the afternoon sun so softly bathing your face in a warm glow.

The more he looks at you the more he feels that invisible force that pulls him in attracts him to come close and stays close to you.

And he wanted to gravitate towards you, no one else, but you.

He let out a series of laughter out of the blue, feeling foolish that he trusted an algorithm to find him love instead of his own heart.

"Are you okay?" His date asks.

He stops laughing and looks at her, "you're really lovely!"

The girl gets taken aback by the compliment, "oh?"

He thinks of a way to put things gently, "I'm sorry but... I think I'm not the right one for you."

"Oh?" She says again but in a mix of slight shock and pity.

Han feels bad of course, but it's better than letting her hope grows and wasting her time, time that she can use to find someone far better than him.

And he knows that he needs to do the right thing.

"Now if you excuse me," he says and gets up from his chair.

He sees your date is coming to your table which means it's late for him to get to you first.

He stands there between the options, to take his shot or not.

This must be what people called as a life-altering decision, one decision that has an effect strong enough to change his life path.

So he strides to your table, against all odds.

You were talking with your date and he seems nice, he doesn't know if he's nice enough for you but he is willing to try.

You glance up to find him looking at you, "hey, can I help you with something?" You ask.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" He blurts out without thinking, ignoring your date who is looking completely stunned by the scene that unfolds in front of him.

"All of a sudden?" You ask with an awkward laugh and propping a hand under your chin to look at him.

He can't tell the reasons behind this impulsive action so he settles on something that crosses his mind, "isn't there a theory where an object will not change its motion unless a force acts on it?"

Your plain expression turns alive followed by giggles spilling out of your mouth.

"That's not a theory, my friend!" The nice guy says to him with a condescending laugh.

"You mean, Newton's first law?" You guess.

Han jerks his head back, trapped by his own smart-ass words which makes him wish that he didn't say that.

"Well, I wasn't planning on... I was trying..." he stutters and eventually gives up on explaining.

He takes a deep breath, sensing that he's about to start blabbering around like he always does when he's nervous.

"Yeah, I want to go on a date with you!" You say ever so casually, shocking both him and the nice guy sitting across from you.

You gather your coat from the chair next to you along with your bag, "we're going now, right?"

Han quickly gets ahold of himself and nods, "yes!"

You get up from the chair, "It was nice meeting you!" You say to the nice guy then follow Han out of the cafe.

A soft, pleasant breeze welcomes you both as you push the door out of the cafe and you hurriedly put on your coat while Han is still trying to get a grasp of what just happened.

Did you just agree to go on a date with him?

"So, where are we going?" You ask, fixing your hair and taking it out of the collar of your coat, slinging your bag across your chest.

Han doesn't think this through because it's so unlike him to act on the spur of the moment therefore he has no plans on what to do after.

"Uhm..." he hums long enough that it starts to sound like a buzzing of a mosquito.

You notice that he has no ideas in mind and laughs, "how about movies? What do you think?" You offer one.

He lets out a breath of relief, thankful that he gets a way out of it, and smiles, "yes!"

Again, he doesn't think through that being in a darkened room with you will be a good idea.

He steals a glance to his side and sees your face illuminated by the light from the screen, fully focusing on the movie, unlike him who keeps looking down at his hand that rests so close to yours 

He just needs to reach it yet it feels like his hand suddenly turns heavy every time he tried to do so.

He licks his lips and inaudibly inhales air, mustering up the guts to lift his hand to grab yours.

He aborts his plan when all of a sudden you draw your hand away from your lap to wipe your nose.

A sigh escapes his mouth, unintentionally loud.

"You don't like the movie?" You ask.

He vigorously shakes his head, "No!"

Then looks back straight ahead and tries not to think about holding your hand, wiping them down his thighs instead because apparently, his palms are sweaty.

Then out of nowhere, your hand grabs his on his lap.

His head automatically turns at you and in the dark, he can see your smile and he can feel the warmth it is emitting.

"Your hand is so cold," you say in a low voice and with that being said, you slip your fingers between the spaces of his fingers and intertwine them together.

"Is it warm enough?" You ask again.

Luckily you can't see how flushed he look at that moment, how so many thoughts rushing into his head that he can't sort out his feelings anymore.

But yes, it is comfortably warm.

"Yes."

He wanted so much to give you the best date that he can come up with, if only he come prepared and planned everything, he believed he can give that to you.

He can do so much better than eating fast food in the park at night.

"Tonight's weather is exceptionally nice!" You chime in as if you heard his weary thought and assure him you're enjoying the moment.

Maybe Han shouldn't be too hasty to conclude that the date is an utter disappointment when the universe is in his favor.

The cold, raging wind is replaced by a pleasant, cool breeze that blows so softly which reminds him of spring and how he wants to skip winter altogether.

"Did you finish the song?"

He chews on his food fast to answer your question, "No, not yet," he answers.

"I don't even know if I'll ever finish it to be honest," he corrected, unsure of his answer as well.

You drink your orange juice through the straw, "are you working on another track?"

He shakes his head.

"That's the only thing I've been making so far," he honestly admits.

Han is insecure about a lot of things but not his passion, music.

Once he entered college and learned more about it, and met a lot of people who share the same passion, better than him, he got a lot insecure.

He believes in the notion that his insecurity will shrink as he gets older, but that was a childish thought, that was before he realized that a lot of people are better than him.

"Why?" You ask.

It's such a simple question but it demands more than just a simple answer in return. The question asks more than the reasons why but also what led him into this, stuck in the forest of anxiety.

"Creative block, I guess," he vaguely answers.

You both start to walk around the park as the quiet of the night is masked by the sounds of the rippling water of the lake.

"You wrote the music and I think that's remarkable already," you say to him.

Han softly smiles and to hear a compliment from you is enough for him.

"It's not like I'm Mozart," he says, poking fun at your past remark 

You respond with a laugh, "well, did you play songs on harpsichord at four years old and compose simple music at five?"

"Nah, I'm not that great!" He replies with a playful laugh.

"I don't think I'll ever be that great!"

He doesn't want it to end, yet again.

As you both walk the same pavements that lead to your way home, he knows that the night is about to end and that he is about to part with you soon.

At least, he gets to walk you home to the front gate of your student housing.

You both stop as you entered the pin to unlock the gate then hold it ajar.

He takes it as a sign to step back, "I'm sorry for the disappointing date," he meekly says.

You turn around with your hand still holding the gate door open, "aren't you coming upstairs?"

He stops right as he was about to take another step back, scares if he misheard you.

"To your...... place?" He asks for confirmation.

You replace your hand and hold the gate open with your foot, "it's not big but... I think it fits two people."

Isn't it obvious that his knowledge about dating is lacking but he knows what this means, you invite him to your place even though it's only the first, proper date.

"Is it okay... if I...?" He stammers, hands awkwardly swaying in the air.

"I wouldn't ask if it's not allowed," you say while laughing.

Han doesn't have anything against this, he wants to spend the night with you if not more.

Turns out, it's gender-inclusive housing from the crowd gathering in the lobby of the building but in one look, he can tell that everyone living in the building has a higher IQ than him. A few people greet you on the way to your room and you politely greet them back, they can't be bothered with him following you from behind and you briefly introduce him to your peers.

You pull out a key with the penguin keychain from his consolation prize dangling from it, jiggling as you turn the key and push the door to your room open.

He already expects that there will be a lot of books inside but not that they'll be stacked like they're on a garage sale.

"Beware of the books!" You tell him.

And he carefully picks where he steps on or else he'll nudge one of the stacks and sends it collapsing down the floor.

You lead him to the spacious part of your room and probably, the most private part of your room.

There's your bed and study desk, more books on the bedside table, and a record player in the corner of the room.

He got curious to know what music are you listening to, he turns it on and then put the needle on the record.

Music starts filling the room with a classical tune, one that Han never heard before.

"It's Tristan und Isolde by Richard Wagner," you tell him while taking off your coat and putting down your bag on the desk chair.

He nods and is suddenly aware that he's in your room now, with you.

Doesn't want to seem awkward, he starts to look around the room but one that catches his attention is the wallpaper on the ceiling of your room.

He looks up at the drawn stars as they form visible constellations that he doesn't know the name of.

"My sister put them up for me!"

"That's lovely!"

You head for the switch and turn the lights off, he hopes for total darkness but something lights up above him. The stars on the ceiling glow in the dark just like real stars out there in the night sky.

You walk up to him and stand just right in front of him, tilting your head up.

"What is your constellation?"

"Virgo."

You look around and point at the thirteen stars that formed a constellation, "Virgo is between Leo and Libra there!"

Han sees the constellation that forms a lazy Y shape.

"It's the second largest constellation in the sky," you add with an enthusiastic smile.

He stops looking up and looks at you instead, the stars reflected in your eyes, mesmerizing, hypnotizing.

Notice that he is looking at you, you look back at him and it's the closest you've ever seen him.

Then he feels it, the sparks that light up his heart and are about to burst out of him, he can't control it anymore.

So he leans in and kisses you so tenderly, with soft lips and warm breaths, his heart melts as the kiss softens his edges.

The kiss is nothing but something that he's been looking for in his life.

It makes him feel embraced, welcomed, comforted, everything that is good in this world that he doesn't know if he deserves it.

He lets go with a gasp as his lungs burns from running out of oxygen.

But he doesn't want to stop yet, he holds your face with both hands and it assures him that he had chosen the right path.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers because that moment feels so sacred and he is afraid that he will ruin it by speaking.

You softly smile and his thumb wipes over your lips before pressing his lips on you again.

He lets his arms open to hold you like he always wanted, close.

And kisses you more under the stars.

If humans truly are made of star stuff, he believes you are made from the brightest star in the universe because he refuses to believe that he's made of the same thing.

As he lays next to you on your bed and stares up at your starry ceiling though he has a change of mind, he thinks that maybe you are made of outer space and he wants to explore.

He has been staring at you and when you turn your head at him, your eyes find him almost immediately.

Your eyes, your eyes pull him in like a pair of black holes that gets him curious about what lies behind and inside that beautiful head of yours.

"Want to know something?" You ask.

"Yes?" Because he wants to be the one who listens to you.

You stare up at the ceiling again and softly sigh, "When stars die, they don't just fade away."

You put your hand on your side from resting it on your stomach.

"Their lives end in the most spectacular and most luminous explosions that we know."

He feels his hand nudges yours on the bed but this time, he doesn't hesitate to hold yours.

"For weeks they can become nearly as bright as a whole galaxy," you finish.

He turns your hand up and interlaces his hand with yours, "that's fascinating!"

You flash him a smile, "I believe we are just the same," you pause to lock a gaze with him, "that before we die, we will make the most spectacular and luminous explosions!" 

"So, don't ever say that you'll never be great," you say to him in an incredibly low voice it's almost like a whisper.

"Someday, you'll shine as bright as a whole galaxy." You say with a gentle squeeze on his hand.

He doesn't know if it's in how you use the metaphors or how you smile at him or the way you hold his hand back that gives him the confidence to believe in that too.

He stares back at you, "because we are made of star stuff?"

You nod with a smile, "yeah."

"Star stuff?" he sighs.

"Star stuff," you say back.

At that moment, he thinks that love is finding his universe in a person.

And he's no longer an alien cause he finds it in you.

All the while, you find a different answer to one of life's mysteries, the one thing that transcends dimensions of time and space: Love.

You can't find any scientific explanation for that but then again, the universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.

-

Support my works by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

[diipsy]

oh my oH WOW

COCKY.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (23,6k words)

Author's note: One order of extra large Chris is here. Hope you enjoy it and pls share what your thoughts on it after ♡

Working at a company that specializes in sexual health products isn’t exactly dinner table conversation, but it’s your job—and you take it seriously. As one of the lead researchers in product development, you’ve spent months working on a specialized condom for individuals with extra-large sizes. And now, it’s time to pitch it to the board.

You take a deep breath, tugging at the hem of your blazer before stepping into the conference room. A long, intimidating table stretches before you, lined with executives who look way too serious for a meeting about condoms. Behind you, the screen glows with the first slide of your presentation, the product name in bold letters.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "Today, I'll be walking you through my research on a new condom designed specifically for those who find standard sizing... insufficient."

A few executives glance at each other. Some raise their brows, others nod with mild interest. You press on, clicking to the next slide. Graphs, charts, and anatomical studies fill the screen as you explain the glaring gap in the market and why this product is necessary.

"Our research shows a real demand for this," you continue. "Current options on the market are often too restrictive, uncomfortable, or prone to breakage. This design addresses those concerns by enhancing durability while maintaining a natural feel."

You move through the slides with confidence, breaking down the materials, elasticity testing, and the competition. But as you reach the last slide, you sense the shift in the room. Mr. Kim, the head of the board, leans forward, fingers steepled together.

"Your research is solid," he says. "The product has potential. But before we approve production, we need real-world testing."

You pause. "Of course. We're already in the process of recruiting participants—"

"Expedite it," another executive interrupts. "We need actual user data before we move forward. Bring us results, then we’ll talk."

You nod, maintaining a professional expression, but frustration bubbles beneath the surface. Finding participants for something this specific isn’t exactly a quick task. But without those test results, your project is stuck in limbo.

As the meeting wraps up and the executives file out, you exhale, already running through possible recruitment strategies in your head.

What you don’t realize is that one of your participants might already be in the room—watching you with quiet interest.

-

Back in your lab, you slump into your chair with a sigh, letting your head fall back against the headrest. The sterile, fluorescent lights hum softly above you, a stark contrast to the high-stakes tension of the conference room. You kick off your heels, rolling your chair toward your desk just as the door swings open.

"So? How'd it go?" your friend and co-worker, Jane, saunters in, her lab coat barely hanging onto her shoulders.

"Ugh." You rub your temples. "It went as expected. They love the concept, but they won’t approve production unless I bring them real-world test results. And fast."

Jane lets out a low whistle as she strolls over to the shelves lined with various prototype models and sample products. Without hesitation, she picks up one of the dildos—one of the many you use for testing elasticity and fit—and spins it in her hand like a baton. "So basically, you need to find guys with huge dicks willing to help out?"

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But yes. And I haven’t found a single participant yet. Screening takes time, and I don’t have much of it."

Jane smirks, tapping the tip of the dildo against her palm. "Maybe you should try a more direct approach. Put up a ‘Now Hiring: Well-Endowed Men’ sign in the break room."

You shoot her a deadpan look. "Oh sure, that’ll go over great with HR."

She laughs, setting the dildo back with the others. "I’m just saying, desperate times call for desperate measures. You’re working against the clock, and if you don’t find someone soon, all that research goes to waste."

You exhale, staring at the mess of paperwork and sample prototypes on your desk. You know she’s right. You need a participant—fast.

Jane heads for the door but pauses before leaving, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, maybe you should start looking for participants here in the office. You never know who might be hiding a big secret."

She winks before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you groaning into your hands.

What you don’t know is that the solution to your problem is much closer than you think.

-

Lunch break couldn’t have come at a better time. You needed to step away from your desk, from the research, from the stress of finding participants. But Jane’s words from earlier linger in your head, much to your dismay.

Because now, as you sit in the company cafeteria, sipping on your drink, you catch yourself doing something utterly mortifying—unintentionally observing every single man who walks by. Or, more specifically, their crotches.

You aren’t trying to. Really. But Jane had planted the thought, and now, your brain has decided to betray you. Your eyes flicker over a group of IT specialists at the salad bar. Then to the finance associate adjusting his belt. Then to one of the marketing interns stretching in line for coffee. You don’t even realize you’re doing it until Jane elbows you with a wicked grin.

"Oh my God, you’re actually doing it," she laughs, nearly choking on her sandwich.

Your face heats instantly. "I’m not! I mean—not intentionally. I was just—oh, shut up. Let’s go."

Jane, still giggling, follows you out of the cafeteria, coffee cups in hand. She chatters about some office gossip as you make your way back to your lab, but you barely register her words. You just need to get back to work and shake this subconscious habit before you embarrass yourself further. But the moment you step into the lab, all coherent thought screeches to a halt.

Because standing in the middle of your workspace, examining a row of sample products with a curious yet unreadable expression, is Chris.

His fingers hover over one of the prototype models, but when he notices you, he straightens and offers a polite smile. "Good afternoon," he greets. "I came to speak with you."

Jane arches a brow, glances between the two of you, then smirks. "I’ll leave you to it," she says before slipping out, leaving you alone with Chris.

You turn back to him, slightly puzzled. "How can I assist you?"

He hesitates for a moment before nodding toward your desk. "I would like a more detailed explanation regarding your product—its functionality and how far in development are you."

You blink, pleasantly surprised by his interest. "Of course." You proceed to outline the design, materials, and the challenges in securing participants.

Chris listens attentively, though his expression remains unreadable. He appears to be weighing something in his mind but ultimately checks the time and exhales. "I have a meeting to attend, but could you come by my office later? Around four?"

You nod, though curiosity lingers. "Certainly. May I ask what this pertains to?"

He offers a small smile. "We’ll discuss it then."

And with that, he heads out, leaving you wondering what exactly he has in mind.

-

Chris Bang is a name everyone in the company knows. As a product manager, he’s known for his reliability, innovative ideas, and ability to bring projects to life. He’s respected, well-liked, and a natural leader. A social butterfly who effortlessly navigates through the office, friendly to everyone he meets.

You, on the other hand, have only ever interacted with him in passing—polite nods, brief greetings when you cross paths in the hallway. So when you receive an invitation to meet him in his office, you can’t help but wonder why he suddenly wants to talk to you.

A few minutes before four, you find yourself lingering outside Chris’s office, nervously shifting on your feet. You check your watch, heart thumping. A little after four, Chris finally appears, offering an apologetic smile.

"My apologies for the delay," he says. "Please, come in."

You follow him inside, settling into the chair across from his desk as he takes his seat. He folds his hands on the desk, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Thank you for coming. I wanted to discuss something regarding your research."

You nod, trying to keep your curiosity at bay. "Of course. How can I assist you?"

Chris watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. The slight shift in his posture draws your attention—just enough to make you hyper-aware of the space between you.

“What specific criteria are you looking for in a participant for your product test?” His voice is even, measured, but there’s something in the way he asks that makes your breath hitch for just a second.

You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “The main requirement is that participants need to have a genital size above average.”

His lips quirk up slightly, though his expression remains composed. “And what qualifies as above average?”

You’re certain he already knows the answer, but you respond anyway, keeping your tone professional. “Anything more than 5.5 inches when fully erect is considered above average.”

A beat of silence stretches between you. Chris doesn’t say anything immediately, just sits there, tapping a finger lightly against the desk, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes the air feel heavier.

Then, finally, he exhales, tilting his head slightly. “I may have a solution to your participant problem,” he says, his voice lower now. “I would like to volunteer.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “You… what?”

“I want to be a participant.”

You blink, your mouth opening slightly before snapping shut. Your grip on your pen tightens as you try to process what he just said.

He nods. "I see potential in your product, and I believe in its success. More importantly, I want to contribute to the company’s innovation."

You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around it. "How exactly are you going to be a participant?"

Chris leans back slightly. "I ask that my involvement remains anonymous."

Your throat feels dry as you nod. "Alright. But how are we going to conduct the test if you want to remain anonymous?"

He watches you carefully before answering. "We can arrange to do it outside of the office, in secret."

Without another word, Chris pushes himself up from his chair and moves around the desk. He stops right in front of you, leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you, waiting. And that’s when it happens.

For the first time, you really look at him—not just as a well-respected product manager but as a man. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, the way his fitted white dress shirt does absolutely nothing to hide the definition underneath. How had you never noticed before?

Your eyes trail lower before you can stop yourself, a fleeting glance—until you realize exactly where you’re looking. The bulge against his dark slacks.

Heat floods your face as you snap your gaze back up, praying he didn’t catch that momentary lapse in professionalism.

Chris doesn’t comment on it, but there’s something almost amused in the way he tilts his head. He extends a hand toward you, expectant.

“So? Do you agree to this arrangement?” he prompts.

“Yes,” you regret for answering too quickly, making you sound way too eager. When in fact, you're just glad to finally solve the problem but also, yeah, okay, you can’t lie, you're a bit curious about something, about Chris.

Your fingers wrap around his, and as you shake hands, you feel it. The shift. The undercurrent of something you can’t quite name just yet.

-

The next day, work starts as usual. You and Jane are in your lab, reviewing reports and planning your next steps. This time, she’s not interrogating you about Chris—at least, not yet. Instead, she’s too busy grumbling about her own research troubles.

“I swear, if I have to go through one more round of reformulations, I’m going to lose my mind,” she complains, tapping her pen against the table. “And to make matters worse, the participant who had the reaction was the best one in the trial. Great responses, perfect for data analysis, and now she’s out.” She rubs her forehead. “I need to find a replacement ASAP, or the timeline’s screwed.”

Hearing that, you can’t help but think about your own situation. At least Jane had a participant—even if it went south. Meanwhile, you were stuck—until yesterday.

Your thoughts drift back to Chris. To the conversation in his office. To the way he leaned against his desk, arms crossed, waiting for you to respond to his offer. To the handshake that sealed the agreement, his grip firm and unwavering.

To the fact that you somehow, in the middle of all that, had managed to glance down—

Nope. Not going there.

“Hey!” Jane’s voice snaps you out of it. You blink at her.

“What’s with that face?” she asks, squinting at you suspiciously.

“What face?”

“The one that says you were just thinking about something you don’t want to admit.”

Damn it. You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Just work.”

Jane narrows her eyes. Then, suddenly, her gaze flicks past you—to the glass window overlooking the lab.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t even have to look to know what—or rather, who—she’s seeing. Still, against your better judgment, you glance up.

There he is. Chris is standing outside, observing another team of researchers working on their project. His hands are in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he listens to someone explaining something.

Jane lets out a low whistle. “Well, hello, product manager Bang.”

You close your eyes briefly. “Jane. No.”

Jane ignores you. “You know, I never really paid attention before, but now that I’m looking at him properly… Damn. You’ve been sitting on gold this whole time, and you didn’t even realize it.”

“I am not sitting on anything,” you hiss, horrified.

Jane grins, enjoying this far too much. “Not yet.”

You gape at her. “Stop.”

But your attention betrays you because the longer Chris stands there, the harder it is to ignore the way he looks. The rolled-up sleeves. The way his dress shirt fits just right. The way he listens so intently, brows furrowed in concentration.

Jane leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “You have to wonder, though… With a body like that, what else do you think he’s got going on under there?”

You suck in a breath, scandalized. “Jane.”

She smirks. “I mean, you would know better than me now, wouldn’t you?”

You nearly choke on air. “I—excuse me?”

Jane just winks. “Just saying. You’re in charge of a very… specific study. And he’s very… qualified.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond because, at that exact moment, Chris shifts—and his gaze lands directly on you. Your heart stops. For a second, neither of you moves.

Then, as if sensing the sheer panic flooding your system, Jane casually takes a step back and hums. “Welp, have fun processing that. I’ll let you get back to work.”

And with that, she strolls away, leaving you to deal with the mess she just made in your brain. The worst part? You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to look at Chris the same way again.

Especially when, minutes later, Chris finishes his observation and starts walking past your lab.

Your body tenses as he nears the doorway, but when he glances in and sees you, his expression remains calm—pleasant, even.

“Good morning,” he says, voice as smooth as ever.

“Good morning,” you manage to reply, keeping your tone neutral.

He offers a brief nod before continuing down the hall, leaving you exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

But just as you think the encounter is over, your phone buzzes. You glance down, unlocking it. A new message. From Chris.

Meet me tonight. Hotel Mira. 8 PM.

There’s no explanation. No context. Just the time. The place. And the undeniable fact that your life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

-

The sun is beginning to set, casting a dim orange glow through the windows. Most of the other researchers have already packed up and left, giving you just the moment of solitude you need.

With one last glance around, you reach for the shelf where your prototype samples are stored. Your fingers hover for a second before you carefully pick up a small box of the condoms—the very ones you’re supposed to be testing.

You hesitate only for a moment before swiftly slipping the box into your bag, ensuring it's hidden beneath your notebook and other miscellaneous items. Your pulse quickens. It’s not like you’re doing something wrong, but if Jane sees…

Yeah. You’d have a lot of explaining to do. You zip up your bag, moving as casually as possible, just in case—

“Hey.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Snapping your head up, you see Jane standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised.

Your heart pounds as you quickly compose yourself, forcing your shoulders to relax. “Jesus, Jane. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

She shrugs, stepping into the lab. “Didn’t know I had to make an announcement before entering.” She leans lazily against the doorframe, completely unaware of the miniature panic attack she just induced. “Anyway, my car’s still in the shop. Can you give me a ride to the station?”

You blink, still recovering. “The station?”

“Yeah. You know, where trains exist.” She gives you a look. “It’s in the same direction as your place, isn’t it?”

Your fingers tighten around your bag strap. The station. Which just so happens to be on the way to Hotel Mira.

You nod, keeping your voice neutral. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Let me grab my stuff, and we can head out.”

Jane disappears for a moment, giving you time to let out a slow breath. That was way too close.

-

The drive to the hotel feels longer than it should, your mind running in circles despite the fact that this is nothing more than a professional meeting. A business matter. An agreement you both shook hands on.

And yet, as you pull into the parking lot and step out of your car, there’s an uneasy flutter in your stomach that you can’t quite suppress.

Inside, the hotel lobby is polished and pristine, dimly lit with a warm, intimate glow. You walk past the front desk without sparing a glance, heading straight toward the restrooms.

Once inside, you take a moment to steady yourself. You set your bag down, gripping the edge of the sink as you look at your reflection. Your face betrays you. You don’t look like someone heading into a purely professional meeting. You look… nervous. Almost like—

No. You shake your head, breaking the thought before it can go any further. With a quick breath, you smooth out the creases in your shirt, adjust your hair, and dab a cool drop of water against the back of your neck. You look fine. Presentable. Professional.

And then, without giving yourself any more time to overthink, you grab your bag and leave the restroom.

The elevator ride is quiet, save for the low hum of the machinery as you ascend. The numbers above the doors blink steadily—six, seven, eight—each one making your pulse tick higher. By the time you reach the tenth floor, your grip on your bag is tight.

Room 1003.

You walk down the hallway, the carpet swallowing the sound of your footsteps. The walls are lined with identical doors, each one leading to a private, undisclosed space. Your destination is at the end of the hall.

You stop in front of it. For a moment, you just stand there. The number on the door gleams under the soft glow of the overhead light. 1003. The right room. The right place.

Then, shifting your bag in front of you, you lift a hand—

And knock. A pause. Silence. Then, the sound of movement from the other side. A slow, deliberate click of the lock and then the door begins to open.

-

The door clicks open, and you swear your heart stumbles over itself. Chris stands before you, his usual professional image softened by the undone top buttons of his shirt and the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. He looks relaxed—too relaxed. And that only makes your nerves spike even more.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You force yourself to move, slipping past him and into the room. It’s a standard hotel suite, sleek and modern, but your attention flickers to the small bar cart near the TV. Chris follows your gaze.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks, walking toward it without waiting for an answer.

You shake your head, gripping your bag a little tighter. “I’m good. I’d rather get started with the test.”

Chris chuckles, glancing at you over his shoulder. “You’re all business, huh?” He picks up a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a small amount before holding up another glass. “Come on, just one drink. We’re going to be working closely together. Shouldn’t we at least loosen up a little?”

You hesitate, knowing this isn’t what you came here for. But the way he’s looking at you—warm, patient, but with an undeniable sense of control—makes you cave just a little. You sigh, finally moving toward the sofa. “Fine. Just one drink.”

Chris smiles, a pleased glint in his eyes as he pours your drink. You watch him quietly, noticing how different he seems outside the office. The polished product manager is still there, but here, in this dimly lit hotel room, he seems more at ease, more himself. He hands you the glass, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. You swallow before raising it slightly.

“To… professional courtesy?” you say, trying to keep this neutral.

Chris chuckles again, lifting his own glass. “To a successful product test.”

You clink glasses and take a sip, the burn of the alcohol trailing down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the drink or something else entirely, but suddenly, you feel a little hot.

You set your glass down on the table after a single sip, straightening in your seat as you slip back into work mode. Clearing your throat, you open your bag and take out your notebook. “Alright. Before we begin, I need to outline the process.”

Chris raises an amused brow, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Go on.”

You nod, focusing on your notes. “The test requires me to take measurements—both in a flaccid and an erect state. This includes length, girth, and width to ensure the condom’s fit and elasticity.”

You glance up, expecting him to react professionally. Instead, Chris chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. You frown. “What?”

He smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink before meeting your eyes. “You’re so serious about this.”

Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the comment. “Well… it is a serious matter. This is research.”

Chris hums as if considering your words. Then, with a teasing lilt, he tilts his head. “Or are you just impatient to see me naked?”

Your body locks up. “What—? No! That’s not—”

But Chris only chuckles, leaning back against the sofa, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

You exhale sharply, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Without thinking, you grab your glass and take another sip, hoping the drink will calm the sudden fluster in your system.

Chris watches you with a knowing glint in his eyes, then lifts his own glass. “Alright. Once we finish these, we’ll start.”

You nod, trying not to overthink how nonchalant he is about all of this while you’re barely holding it together. This is just research. Just a product test. You tell yourself.

A few more sips and the glasses are emptied, the clink of crystal against the table sounding much louder in the quiet room.

Chris exhales, setting his drink down with ease before rising to his feet. Without thinking, you follow suit, standing just as he does—an instinctive reaction, though you’re not sure why.

The two of you find yourselves facing each other, the space between you charged with something unspoken. His gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable, and you realize you’re gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.

The silence stretches just long enough to make your pulse tick faster. Then, Chris breaks it with a low, amused murmur. “So… should we get started?”

His voice is smooth, casual, but the weight of the moment makes it feel heavier than it should.

You swallow, forcing a nod. “Y-Yes. We should.”

But your feet stay rooted in place and Chris notices. The corner of his mouth twitches—something between a smirk and a knowing smile. He tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s waiting for you to make the next move. Or if he’s simply enjoying watching you hesitate. Either way, you need to snap out of it.

Clearing your throat, you tighten your grip on your notes and take a steadying breath. “Let’s begin.”

Chris hums in agreement, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze as he finally moves. And suddenly, it feels as if the real test is not just the one you came here for—but something else entirely.

He moves first, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his shirt with practiced ease. The fabric slips from his shoulders, revealing toned muscles beneath—broad chest, defined abs, and a confidence that makes the entire act seem effortless.

You keep your expression neutral, or at least you try to. “This is strictly professional,” you remind yourself silently.

Chris glances at you, catching the way your gaze flickers before you quickly refocus on your notes. “Do you need me to undress completely?” he asks, his tone smooth, almost teasing.

You press your lips together before answering. “For accurate measurement, I need access to the necessary area. So… yes.”

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound. “Straight to the point.”

You don’t respond, instead focusing on preparing the measuring tape and recording sheet. Anything to keep yourself occupied while he finishes undressing.

A moment later, you hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of a belt unfastening, the subtle shift of movement. You don’t look up until Chris speaks again.

“I’m ready when you are.”

When you finally lift your gaze, your breath catches for a fraction of a second. You do your best to maintain your professionalism—but the moment you see it, all thoughts momentarily leave your head.

Chris stands before you, bare from the waist down, his body relaxed yet radiating a quiet confidence. He doesn’t shy away, doesn’t fidget—he simply waits, watching for your reaction.

You knew he had to be on the larger side to even qualify for the study, but seeing it in person is something else entirely. Bigger than you expected. Definitely bigger than you imagined.

You barely catch yourself before audibly reacting, but your throat betrays you as you swallow air, a reflex you hope he doesn’t notice.

Chris, of course, notices everything. A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Something wrong?”

You snap out of it, quickly shaking your head as you reach for your measuring tape, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up your neck. “No, nothing at all. Let’s just get this done.”

Chris chuckles, but thankfully doesn’t press further. For now. You quickly move to retrieve a pair of latex gloves from your bag, slipping them on with practiced precision.

Chris raises an amused eyebrow. “You really came prepared, huh?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Of course. This is an official product test.”

His lips twitch in amusement as he peeks into your open bag, catching a glimpse of all the testing materials. “What else do you have in there? A microscope? A lie detector?”

You ignore his teasing and pull out the measuring tape, standing straighter to compose yourself. “Alright. Let’s begin with the flaccid measurement.”

Chris doesn’t move, doesn’t make it easier for you. Instead, he watches—patient, unreadable—as you kneel slightly, positioning the measuring tape against him.

Your fingers brush against his skin through the latex, and you swear you feel the slightest twitch beneath your touch. You pretend not to notice. But Chris does.

And as the test continues, you realize that maintaining professionalism might be the hardest part of all.

You keep your focus steady, guiding the measuring tape along the length of Chris’s flaccid state. Your gloved fingers work efficiently, noting the exact numbers as you move on to measure his girth, wrapping the tape around the thickest part before finally noting the width calculation.

Chris watches you work, amusement flickering in his eyes. “How do you measure width, exactly?”

You don’t hesitate as you jot down the numbers. “You divide the girth by 3.14.”

Chris lets out a short laugh. “Huh. I used to think I wouldn’t need math in real life.”

You smirk, a little too focused on your notes when you reply, “Well, here’s a practical use of Pi for you.”

His chuckle is warm, and you don’t notice how his eyes linger on you as you make quick calculations in your notebook.

Once you’re done, you lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Alright, now I need to measure—” You stop mid-sentence as realization sets in. His fully erect size.

The complications of that request hit you all at once. Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly catching your hesitation. And for the first time, you’re at a complete loss for words.

You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound casual. “I need to take your measurements when you’re fully erect.”

Chris tilts his head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement. “And do you have any idea how to get me there?”

You keep your expression neutral. “You can look at pornographic images or watch an adult film. That should help.”

At that, Chris grins, a small chuckle escaping him. He shakes his head, clearly entertained by your clinical suggestion. “That’s one way,” he muses. “But I have a better idea.”

You don’t like the way his eyes darken ever so slightly, the playful glint in them laced with something else. You try to stay calm, but your fingers tighten around your measuring tape. “And… what’s that?”

He stalls, watching you carefully before answering. “You can help me with it.”

Chris must notice your reaction because he quickly adds, “I won’t touch you unless you give me permission.” His voice is smooth, patient, almost reassuring—but his gaze stays locked onto yours, watching your every move.

You know he’s waiting for a response but all you can think about is the weight of his words. And the heat in the way he’s looking at you. You take a steadying breath before nodding. “Okay.”

Chris’s eyes flicker with something unreadable before he speaks again, his voice firm yet gentle. “If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop.”

You nod again, not trusting your voice. He takes that as his cue, stepping closer. You hold your ground, determined to remain professional, but the moment he stops in front of you—so close that your bodies are only inches apart—you feel the heat radiating from him. And then, when you think this is where he’ll stop, he takes another step forward.

Your pulse quickens as the space between you disappears. He doesn’t touch you—not yet—but his presence alone is overwhelming. He tilts his head slightly, his mouth hovering near your neck, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Chris stays there, simply breathing you in, dragging out the tension until your mind starts to blur. Then, in a low, hushed voice, he asks, “Can I hold you?”

You look at him, startled by the rawness of his request. His gaze meets yours, unwavering, intense. “I just need to hold you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something about the way he says it—like he’s asking for permission but also making a promise—makes you nod before you can second-guess yourself.

Chris doesn’t waste time. He closes the remaining distance, his arms slipping around your waist, drawing you fully against him. The contact is intoxicating. His body is warm and solid, firm in all the right places, and you feel every inch of it pressing against you.

His breath is hot against your skin as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. The tip of his nose brushes against you, and then, slowly, his mouth follows, dragging lightly across your skin.

“You smell good,” he whispers, his voice deep, laced with something that sends shivers down your spine.

You could say the same about him. His cologne, a mix of something woodsy and subtly sweet, blends with his natural scent in a way that makes your head spin.

He’s not even doing anything—his hands remain on the small of your back, respectful, unmoving—yet the moment feels unbearably intimate. Dangerously intimate. And the worst part? It feels good. Too good.

Chris lets out a soft, teasing hum. “You know, I don’t bite.” His voice is low, velvety. “You can put your hands on me if you want.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes even as you keep your hands hovering near his shoulders. “I don’t want to.”

He chuckles, a knowing sound. “Mmm. Sure.”

And yet, as if magnetized, your hands eventually land on him. First, just your fingertips brushing against the fabric of his shirt, then your palms pressing gently against his broad shoulders. He’s solid beneath your touch, his warmth seeping through his shirt and into your skin.

Chris stays buried in your neck, breathing you in, his chest rising and falling against yours. Then, just as your heartbeat starts to slow, he leans in further, pressing his mouth to your ear.

His next words are a whisper. “Even if I did bite…” He pauses, his voice dipping lower, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I think you’d like it.”

You keep your head turned away, refusing to acknowledge the way his voice alone sends heat curling through your stomach.

Chris chuckles, the sound deep and rich, vibrating against your skin. You’re not sure if it’s the heat of his body or your own rising temperature, but you feel warm all over. Your first instinct is to get a space so you can cool down.

Sensing you about to pull away, he tightens his arms around your waist, keeping you close. He lifts his head just slightly, his face now barely an inch from yours. His eyes are dark, lidded, fixed on you. “Just five more minutes,” he murmurs, almost pleading.

Your breath catches. “Five minutes,” you warn.

Chris smirks before dropping his head back against your neck, exhaling deeply as if settling in. This time, he draws you even closer, molding your body against his. His fingers press lightly into your lower back, holding you there as he murmurs, “I like the way you feel against me.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Then, his head tilts slightly, his lips grazing the column of your throat as he speaks again. “So soft,” he whispers. “So warm.”

You feel his head shift, his mouth now pressing against the curve of your jaw. His voice is barely a breath. “I was right,” he murmurs almost to himself. “Your body fits me just right.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a long second, neither of you moves. His gaze flickers down—to your lips. Your breath hitches, and he looks back into your eyes again. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in.

And without thinking, you close your eyes. Your instincts pulling you deeper into the moment but your body refuses to cooperate. You shift slightly on your feet and that’s when you feel it. Something firm presses against your thigh. Your eyes snap open.

Reflexively, you break away from his hold, your hands flying up as you step back. Your gaze darts downward before you can stop yourself. And there it is. His erection. Hard, prominent, taunting you with its size.

Your eyes widen, and the moment you realize you’ve been staring, you jerk your head away, heat burning up your face.

Chris exhales, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he watches you, amusement flickering in his gaze.

You clear your throat, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “It’s time for the measurements.”

For a split second, Chris looks almost… disappointed. But then he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he glances down at himself.

“Well,” he muses, smirking. “Guess I’m ready.”

You take a steadying breath, willing yourself to focus as you retrieve your measuring tape. Slipping back into professionalism, you kneel slightly to get a better angle, careful not to react to the sheer size of what you're working with.

Chris watches you with a smirk, his arms resting loosely at his sides. As you wrap the tape around him, he hums. “Are you always this serious?”

You glance up at him, momentarily thrown by the question. His eyes are amused, but there’s something else there—something unreadable.

“I’m working,” you say simply, jotting down the measurement in your notebook.

Chris tilts his head, watching you intently. “Still. You didn’t even flinch.” His smirk widens. “I’m kind of impressed.”

You roll your eyes, shifting to take the next measurement. “You’re not the first participant I’ve worked with.”

He chuckles at that, his voice dropping slightly. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Chris lets out a deep chuckle, shifting slightly under your touch. “So, you’re saying you do this often?” His voice is laced with playful curiosity.

You don’t look up, keeping your focus on writing down the numbers. “It’s my job.”

He hums. “Right. Your job.” There’s a pause, then a teasing edge creeps into his tone. “Do all your test subjects get this kind of personal attention?”

You snap your head up, eyes narrowing at the smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just being thorough.”

Chris bites back a grin, looking entirely too entertained by your reaction. “Thorough, huh? Should I be flattered?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you reach for your measuring tape again. “You should be cooperative.”

“Oh, I am,” he says smoothly. “But I have to admit, it’s kind of nice seeing you flustered.”

You pause for half a second—just enough for him to catch it—before quickly resuming your work. “I’m not flustered,” you mutter.

Chris chuckles again, low and knowing. “Right.” He shifts his weight slightly, and your fingers brush against his skin, making you tense. “You sure you don’t need to double-check any of those numbers? You know… just to be extra thorough?”

You shoot him a glare, but he just grins down at you, completely unbothered. You reach into your bag, pulling out one of the prototype condom packs. You hold it out to him, keeping your expression neutral. “Here. Try it on so I can check the fit.”

Chris takes the pack from your hand but doesn’t move to open it. Instead, he watches you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know…” He tears the wrapper slowly, his fingers deliberately smooth over the material. “Since you’re the expert, shouldn’t you be the one putting it on?”

Your breath catches, and you quickly shake your head, keeping your voice steady. “I think you can manage.”

Chris lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, I can. But wouldn’t it be more accurate if you did it? I mean, this is all in the name of research, right?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a challenge in his gaze, waiting to see how you’ll react.

You cross your arms. “Are you serious right now?”

He grins. “Completely.”

You exhale sharply, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”

Chris sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Fine, fine.” He slides the condom out of the wrapper, still smirking. “But I have a feeling you’d do a much better job.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Just put it on, please?”

He chuckles again, finally following your instruction. But the way he keeps looking at you—as if he’s enjoying every second of your flustered state—tells you this won’t be the last time he teases you like this.

You take a step closer, eyes focused as you observe how the condom fits around him. Your fingers hover near, but you refrain from touching, keeping your professionalism intact.

“How does it feel?” you ask, glancing up at him.

Chris exhales slowly, rolling his hips slightly as if adjusting to the fit. “Honestly?” He looks down at himself. “It’s a little too tight.”

You immediately jot that down in your notebook. “Too tight…” you murmur, pen scratching against the paper.

“And I think it’s too short for my length,” he adds, pulling at the base slightly as if to emphasize his point.

Your eyes widen slightly before you catch yourself. You write it down quickly, nodding. “Alright, noted.”

Chris tilts his head, watching you with interest. “Are you sure you brought the right size?”

You don’t even look up as you answer, still focused on your notes. “Yes, these prototypes are all specifically made for extra-large sizes.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “It’s your penis that’s too big.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze.

Chris blinks. Then, slowly, a smirk curls on his lips. “Oh?” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something more amused—almost smug. “So you’re saying I’m too big?”

You clutch your notebook a little tighter, willing yourself to keep your composure. “Scientifically speaking,” you emphasize, clearing your throat, “it exceeds the parameters we accounted for in development.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

You take a step back, regaining your composure as you focus on the real reason you're here. Flipping to a fresh page in your notebook, you clear your throat. "How does the material feel?" you ask, keeping your tone professional.

He glances down at himself, rolling his hips slightly as if assessing the sensation. He hums, thoughtful. "It’s… okay. Smooth, but a little tighter than I’d like. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just a bit restrictive."

You jot that down quickly. "Restrictive how? Like it’s compressing too much or just not flexible enough?"

Chris watches you with a smirk. "Look at you, so serious about this."

You shoot him a pointed look. "Just answer the question. Please."

He chuckles, but obliges. "I’d say both. The stretch is good, but it’s still a little snug, especially at the base. If I were to wear this for a long time, it might get uncomfortable."

You nod, scribbling notes. "Noted. What about sensitivity? Can you still feel everything, or does it dull the sensation?"

Chris leans in slightly, and you catch the glint in his eye before he speaks. "I can definitely still feel things. Though, if you really want an accurate answer, I’d have to—"

"Don't even finish that sentence," you interrupt, already knowing where he’s going with it.

Chris bursts out laughing, hands raised in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, full functionality testing might be necessary."

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. "Noted," you say dryly, though you don’t actually write that one down.

Chris watches you with amusement before tilting his head. "So, what now?"

You glance at him—more specifically, at his still-erect situation—and then back at your notes. "We’ll discuss material modifications later." You pause, shifting on your feet. "But first… you should take that off."

Chris’s grin returns, playful and teasing. "You might want to turn around for this."

Rolling your eyes, you turn away just as you hear him peel the condom off while you put everything back into your bag.

A moment later, Chris has already discarded the condom and pulled his slacks back on, though his shirt remains unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves still rolled up. He leans against the desk, arms crossed, watching you with that ever-present smirk.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "What’s the verdict, Doc?"

You ignore his teasing tone and glance down at your notes. "The material needs improvement—more elasticity without sacrificing durability. The length also needs to be adjusted for better coverage. And the base should have a slightly looser fit to prevent discomfort over time."

Chris nods along, but you can tell he’s only half-listening. "So, in short, you need to make a custom size just for me."

You look up at him, unimpressed. "You're not the only man with this issue."

He grins. "No, but I bet I’m the first one to have you personally taking notes on it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. He’s not wrong, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "I appreciate your participation in this test. It was helpful."

Chris’s grin softens into something more genuine. "I’m glad. I mean it. I know this is important to you."

The sincerity catches you off guard. You hesitate, then nod. "It is."

A beat of silence stretches between you, the air oddly charged. Then Chris claps his hands together. "Well, I’d say that wraps up our very professional, totally scientific evening."

You huff a small laugh despite yourself. "Sure."

Chris pushes off the desk and steps closer, his voice lowering. "And I’m assuming this stays between us?"

You meet his gaze. "Obviously."

"Good," he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before he steps back.

As you gather your things, Chris watches you with a lazy smirk, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Just as you reach for the doorknob, he speaks up.

"You sure you don’t want another drink before you go?" His voice is smooth, almost coaxing. "I still have some left."

You glance back at him, shaking your head. "No, thanks. I have work tomorrow."

Chris tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "So do I."

"Exactly my point," you say, giving him a pointed look.

He chuckles, then raises his hands in surrender. "Alright. No more drinks. Just thought I’d offer."

You nod, gripping the strap of your bag. "I appreciate it."

Chris takes a slow step closer, his smirk softening into something unreadable. "Well then," he murmurs, "I guess I’ll see you at work."

You clear your throat, clutching your bag. "Yeah. See you."

And with that, you turn and walk out of the hotel room, acutely aware of his eyes on you the entire way.

-

The next morning, you arrive at the lab early, hoping to get a head start on your request for adjustments to the condom's materials and dimensions. You’re deep in thought, typing notes on your computer when Jane suddenly appears beside you, peering at your screen.

Her eyes narrow. "What’s this?"

You nearly jump out of your seat. "Jesus, Jane! Stop sneaking up on me like that!"

Jane ignores your reaction, leaning in closer to read. Her eyebrows lift as she scans the document. "Wait a minute... requests for material flexibility? Increased length and width?" She crosses her arms and looks at you, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Oh-ho. This is interesting."

You immediately close the document. "It’s nothing."

"Nothing?" Jane repeats, her smirk growing. "Sounds like the test subject was huge if you need to adjust everything."

You keep your face neutral. "It’s just data. The prototype wasn’t a perfect fit, so I have to make changes."

"Uh-huh," Jane says, tilting her head. "So? Who was it?"

"What?"

"Who was the guy?" She wiggles her eyebrows. "And don’t even try lying because I know you had a test subject last night."

You grab a random file from your desk, flipping through it as a distraction. "Confidential."

Jane groans dramatically. "Oh, come on! Throw me a bone here. Was he at least good-looking?"

You sigh, exasperated. "It’s not about that."

"But it is, isn't it?" Jane leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You had to see everything, didn’t you?"

You press your lips into a thin line, refusing to indulge her.

Jane gasps, then grins. "Oh my God. You totally did."

"I work in research, Jane. It’s part of my job."

She hums, clearly not buying it. "And yet, you're being all weird about it."

You shake your head, pretending to focus on your paperwork. "Just drop it."

Jane taps her chin, pretending to think. "Fine. I won’t ask any more questions." She pauses, then adds, "For now."

After lunch, the two of you step out onto the balcony before heading back to the lab. Jane lights a cigarette, taking a slow drag, while you sip on your iced coffee, letting the coolness settle in your throat. The sun is high, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, but there’s a nice breeze that makes it bearable.

“Man, I needed this,” Jane sighs, exhaling a stream of smoke. “I swear, if I have to deal with one more report about allergic reactions, I’m going to start developing a whole new drug—one for my patience.”

You chuckle, taking another sip of your coffee. “Maybe that’s the next project you should pitch.”

Jane hums in amusement, but her attention shifts suddenly. Her eyes lock on something—or someone—on the other end of the balcony. You follow her gaze and immediately spot Chris. He’s leaning against the railing, looking effortlessly put-together as always, engaged in conversation with a woman.

You recognize her instantly—Suze, the executive manager of another department. She’s beautiful, stylish, and carries an air of confidence that makes her stand out in any room. She’s also notoriously popular among the higher-ups and has a reputation for being both sharp and charming.

Jane clicks her tongue, watching the two of them. “Well, well. Looks like Miss Perfect is making her move.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Jane gestures subtly toward them with her cigarette. “You don’t know? Suze has been eyeing Chris for a while now. Apparently, she’s been dropping hints left and right, but he’s been playing it cool.”

You turn your gaze back to the pair. Suze is smiling, leaning in slightly as she speaks. Chris listens, nodding occasionally, but his expression remains unreadable.

Jane lets out a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, they’d make a ridiculously good-looking couple. It’s almost unfair.”

You don’t respond, just watching the way Suze tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her manicured fingers brushing the lapel of Chris’s blazer ever so slightly.

Jane exhales another puff of smoke. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. You think he’s into her?”

You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “I wouldn’t know.”

Jane side-eyes you, smirking. “You sound like you don’t care, but I know you care.”

You scoff, finishing the last of your coffee. “I don’t.”

“Sure,” she drawls, taking one last drag before stubbing out her cigarette. “And I don’t need nicotine to survive the workday.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on, we need to get back.”

But as you turn to leave, you can’t help but glance one last time at Chris and Suze. And for some reason, the sight of them together lingers in your mind longer than you’d like.

-

In the lab, you and Jane stand over a workstation where another team has been developing edible lubricants. Small sample bottles line the table, each labeled with different flavors—strawberry, vanilla, honey, and even some unconventional ones like mojito and buttered popcorn.

Jane picks up a small vial labeled “Salted Caramel” and gives it an experimental sniff. “Huh. Smells legit,” she muses before wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Wanna try some?”

You scoff. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

Jane ignores your protest and dabs a tiny drop onto her finger before popping it into her mouth. She hums in thought, smacking her lips. “Damn. That’s actually good.”

You shake your head, amused. “You do realize this is meant for other uses, right?”

“Obviously.” Jane grins before picking up another sample labeled “Piña Colada.” She dabs some onto her finger and holds it out to you. “C’mon, just one taste. For science.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes at her suspiciously. “You’re just trying to make me look ridiculous.”

She gasps, feigning offense. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am a woman of integrity.”

You snort, but before you can respond, a voice cuts through the room.

“Can I talk to you?”

You turn, your breath catching slightly when you see Chris standing there. His expression is serious, his posture relaxed but purposeful.

Jane, still sucking on her finger from the piña colada lube, slowly lowers her hand and looks between the two of you. “Uh-oh. That sounds important.”

Chris doesn’t react to her comment, his gaze fixed on you.

You clear your throat. “Right now?”

He nods. “If you’re free.”

You glance at Jane, who raises both hands in surrender. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll just be here taste-testing the entire catalog.”

Chris doesn’t wait for further response—he simply turns and heads toward the door, expecting you to follow.

You exhale sharply, setting down the sample bottle you were holding. Whatever this is about, it’s clearly not a casual chat. You throw Jane a look before heading after Chris, your heart thumping just a little harder than it should.

-

You inhale a long air before you reach Chris’s office door. After that night, you weren’t sure how it would go. Would he act like nothing happened? Would he bring it up? Would things be… weird?

Pushing those thoughts aside, you knock.

"Come in."

You step inside, closing the door behind you. Chris is at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but when he looks up and sees you, that familiar smirk tugs at his lips.

Chris gestures to the seat across from him. "Have a seat."

You hesitate but eventually do as he says. Your fingers unconsciously tighten around the side of your lab coat.

He leans back in his chair, studying you. "How are you feeling?"

It’s a loaded question, but you pretend not to notice. "Fine. Why?"

His lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re doing. "Just checking." He nods toward your bag. "Did you review our test’s results?"

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat. "The prototype was too tight and short for your size. I’ll have to make some adjustments to the material and dimensions before moving forward with mass production."

Chris hums. "So, you’re saying I’m too big for the product."

Your fingers twitch, remembering last night’s slip-up. You keep your tone professional. "Technically, yes. The size I brought was meant for extra-large measurements, but you exceeded expectations."

Chris grins. "Exceeding expectations… I like the sound of that."

You shoot him a look. "Excuse me?"

He chuckles. "Back to business." He sits up, his expression turning a little more serious. "What’s your next step?"

"I already sent in a request for adjustments to the prototype," you explain. "It’ll take some time, but I can get an updated batch for testing soon."

Chris nods. "And when that happens, will I be your test subject again?"

You hesitate. "That depends. Are you still willing to participate?"

He tilts his head slightly. "What do you think?"

Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—calm, confident, but with something simmering beneath the surface. You look away, keeping your voice even. "I’ll keep you updated."

Chris watches you for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You know… I have to admit, that was more fun than I expected."

You raise a brow. "Testing a condom was fun?"

He chuckles. "No, but watching you try to stay professional while clearly flustered? That was fun."

Your face heats up. "I wasn’t flustered."

Chris’s smirk deepens. "Sure you weren’t."

Then, as if the weight of the conversation suddenly lightens, he tilts his head slightly. “You’ll let me know when it’s ready, right?”

His words sound casual, but there’s an underlying meaning in them that you can’t quite decipher. You nod, keeping your voice steady. “Of course.”

Chris holds your gaze for a second longer, then leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Good,” he repeats, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your stomach flip.

-

Exactly three days later, the revised prototypes arrives in your lab. You carefully open the box, inspecting the changes you requested. The material feels smoother, the elasticity slightly improved. Satisfied, you make a note in your log—only to jump slightly when Jane suddenly leans over your shoulder.

“Length 8.07 inches and width 2.02 inches... Holy shit!” Her voice is filled with pure astonishment as she snatches one of the foil packets and flips it over in her hands. “Are you seeing this? This is huge.”

You try to stay composed, pretending to be preoccupied with the paperwork in front of you. “It’s within the expected range,” you say coolly.

Jane squints at you, then back at the condom in her hand. “Expected range, my ass. You’ve been working on this for weeks, and I’ve never seen a prototype this size before.” She pauses, then gasps dramatically. “Wait a second… did you finally find a participant?”

Your heart nearly stops. “What? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “I just figured… why stop at extra-large when we can push the boundaries even further? There’s always a demand for more variety in the market.”

Jane eyes you suspiciously, her lips pursed. “Hmm.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “Are you sure you’re not hiding some secret test subject from me?”

You force a casual laugh. “Jane, I would tell you if I had someone lined up. It’s just research.”

She doesn’t seem fully convinced, but she lets out a sigh and puts the condom back. “Alright, fine. But if you do have a participant, I wanna meet him.”

You quickly turn back to your paperwork, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your ears are burning. As soon as Jane leaves, you let out a slow breath, your fingers still gripping the pen you had been pretending to write with. You wait a few moments to make sure she’s really gone before pulling out your phone.

Your thumb hovers over Chris’s contact for a second, your mind briefly flashing back to the last test, to the way he had looked at you, the way he had—

You shake the thought away and type out a quick message.

The revised prototype is ready for testing. Let me know when you’re available.

You hit send, placing your phone face-down on the desk as you try to focus on your notes. But the distraction is already there, the anticipation simmering in the back of your mind.

A few minutes pass before your phone vibrates. You glance at the screen to read a reply from Chris.

Tonight. Same place.

Your breath catches slightly. No hesitation. No pleasantries. Just straight to the point. Your fingers tighten around your phone before you type back.

Understood. See you then.

You lock your screen and exhale, pressing your hands to your warm cheeks. This is fine. It’s just a professional test. Just like last time.

…Right?

-

As the workday winds down, you keep your head low, avoiding unnecessary conversations. You wait until Jane is nowhere in sight before discreetly slipping a box of the new prototype into your bag, carefully tucking it beneath your other belongings. Just as you zip it up, your phone buzzes. You pull it out, and your stomach does an unexpected flip when you see Chris's name.

Can’t do the test tonight. Something came up.

You stare at the message, an unfamiliar twinge settling in your chest. Disappointment? No, that’s ridiculous. This is strictly professional. You quickly type out a response before you overthink it.

That’s okay. Let me know when you’re available, and we’ll reschedule.

You lock your phone and sigh, shaking off the strange feeling as you hear familiar footsteps approaching.

"Hey," Jane leans against the doorway. "Can you give me a lift again?"

You figured as much. You nod, grabbing your things, and the two of you make your way down to the parking lot.

Just as you unlock your car, Jane grabs your arm, stopping you mid-motion.

"Oh my God," she whispers excitedly, nodding toward a sleek black car a few rows away.

You follow her gaze and instantly regret it. Chris is there. But he’s not alone. Suze is with him, sliding into the passenger seat like she’s done it a hundred times before. Chris gets in right after her, and within seconds, they’re driving off together.

Jane whistles low, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. "Damn. Guess the rumors weren’t just rumors."

You don't respond, just gripping your car keys a little tighter.

Jane, of course, doesn’t stop there. "I mean, it makes sense. She’s his type, isn’t she? Gorgeous, high-profile, and let’s be real, she’s been eyeing him for a while now. Wonder if they’re dating or just—"

"Can we go?" you interrupt, climbing into the driver's seat before Jane can read your face.

Jane laughs, sliding into the passenger seat. "Alright, alright. No need to get grumpy."

You roll your eyes, but as you start the car, you can't shake the odd heaviness in your chest. It’s none of your business. It shouldn’t bother you. But somehow… it does.

-

The entire company is in high spirits, and it doesn’t take long to remember why—tonight is the launch event for the newest collection of vibrators.

The venue is decked out with neon lights and sleek product displays, and there’s an open bar keeping everyone’s spirits high.

You mingle with your co-workers, drink in hand, while Jane, as expected, thrives in the lively atmosphere. She’s laughing, flirting, and making jokes that get progressively bolder with each sip of her cocktail.

At one point, she throws an arm around your shoulders. “This is fun, huh?” she grins.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Totally.”

It’s not that you aren’t enjoying yourself—you just need a breather.

“I’ll get you another drink,” you tell her, using it as an excuse to slip away from the group.

Jane waves you off without a second thought, already too invested in another conversation. You weave through the crowd and make your way to the bar, ordering another drink. As you wait, you take a deep breath, letting yourself relax. But before you can even take a sip—

“Hey, can we talk?”

The familiar deep voice makes you turn, and there stands Chris, looking effortlessly sharp in his suit. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are locked onto you with intent.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Chris doesn’t wait for an answer—he just reaches for your wrist and leads you away from the crowd.

Your pulse jumps as he guides you through the party, his grip firm yet careful. The noise fades behind you as he takes you into a quiet hallway, away from the music, the laughter, and most importantly—prying eyes.

Finally, he stops, turning to face you. His gaze is steady, searching.

Your heart beats a little too fast. “What is this about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

Chris exhales, running a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. “Sorry about bailing on you last night,” he says, his voice softer now. “Something came up.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. We can do it another time.”

There’s a brief silence between you. The muffled sounds of the party filter in from the other end of the hallway, but here, in this secluded space, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world.

Then Chris asks, “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

“I—uh—” You hesitate, quickly running through your mental calendar, but there’s nothing. “No, not really.”

Chris grins at that. “Good. Let’s do the product test tomorrow. Saturday night.”

You weren’t expecting that. The way he says it so casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, throws you off. But before you even fully process it, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you agree, your voice quieter than you intended.

His smile lingers as he pushes off the wall, standing tall in front of you. “I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

You nod again, almost dazed, and Chris watches you for a second longer before he turns to leave. Just as he’s a few steps away, he glances back, his voice dropping slightly. “Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

And with that, he walks away, disappearing into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You definitely need another drink. Or at least a moment to breathe.

-

Your phone buzzes early Saturday morning, and when you check the screen, it’s a text from Chris.

Dinner first. 7 PM. La Riviera.

That’s it. No unnecessary words, no emojis—just the time and place. You stare at the message longer than you probably should.

Dinner? This wasn’t how the last test went. You were expecting another hotel, another quick, professional meeting. But a restaurant?

You shake your head, telling yourself not to overthink it. It’s probably just to discuss the test before getting into it. But despite that rationalization, you catch yourself preparing more than you intended to.

Your outfit selection takes longer than it should, your makeup is a little more put together, and even when you tell yourself it’s just because you’re stepping out for the evening—not because of who you’re meeting—you know it’s a lie.

You arrive at La Riviera a little before 7 PM, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. The restaurant is elegant but not overwhelmingly fancy—warm lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and the faint aroma of wine and freshly baked bread filling the air and then you spot him.

Chris is already seated, dressed in a casual formal ensemble. A dark button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to tease his forearms, paired with tailored slacks. The contrast between the deep color of his shirt and his pale skin is striking, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

His eyes find yours almost instantly, and he smiles, standing up slightly as you approach. “Glad you made it.”

You sit across from him, suddenly feeling a little nervous because this—this doesn’t feel like a business meeting at all. The dim lighting, the quiet atmosphere, the way he leans slightly forward as he watches you—it feels like a date.

Dinner starts off casually enough, but then Chris begins asking you questions.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

His question catches you off guard, but you answer by shaking your head, then throw it back at him. When you ask if he’s seeing someone, he hums, picking up his wine glass. “I am.”

Your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Is it Suze?”

Chris freezes mid-sip, then lowers his glass, blinking at you. “Suze?”

You instantly regret your brashness, but it’s too late now. You clear your throat, trying to sound indifferent. “Yeah. You two seem close, and the rumor said—”

“The rumor.” Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course.”

You watch as he leans back in his seat, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And what exactly did the rumor say?”

You shift in your seat, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. “Just… that Suze and you are close.”

Chris tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And do you believe everything the rumor says?”

You purse your lips, looking away. “Not everything.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and amused. “Well, for the record, Suze and I are not a thing. She’s a great colleague, but that’s it.”

You should feel relieved—it’s not like you care who he’s seeing—but something about his tone makes you wary. You meet his eyes again. “Then who’s the someone you’re seeing?”

Chris doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his wine, watching you over the rim of his glass. The silence stretches just long enough to make your stomach twist. Then, finally, he sets his glass down and leans in slightly, his voice lower now. “You.”

Your heart skips a beat and a second later, you blink. “Me?”

Chris grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Well, we are having dinner together, aren’t we?”

Your lips part, but no words come out. He’s messing with you—he has to be. You try to regain your composure, clearing your throat. “This is a business meeting.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, his fingers casually tapping against the stem of his glass. “Is it?”

You open your mouth to say yes, obviously, but the way he’s looking at you—the way tonight feels—makes you hesitate. The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken.

Chris tilts his head. “Tell me… if I didn’t bring up the product test, would you still be here?”

Your stomach twists again. You don’t know how to answer that. You feel your pulse quicken, the weight of his question pressing down on you. Instead of answering, you grab your napkin and mutter, “I—I need to use the restroom.”

Chris doesn’t stop you. He just leans back in his seat, watching with quiet amusement as you push your chair back and walk away, your heart pounding with every step.

The moment you step into the restroom, you grip the edge of the sink and take a deep breath. What the hell was that?

You turn on the faucet, letting the cool water run over your hands as if it’ll help clear your thoughts. This was supposed to be a simple dinner before the product test—so why does it feel like he’s pulling you into something else entirely? And worse, why aren’t you stopping him?

You glance at yourself in the mirror, your reflection betraying the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that this is just work, that Chris is just teasing, something about the way he looks at you makes it hard to believe that. You take another breath, steadying yourself. Just go back out there and keep it professional.

Easier said than done.

-

The car ride is quiet, but the tension between you is thick. You grip the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric twist between your fingers as you steal glances at Chris. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. His sleeves are rolled up again, exposing the strong lines of his forearms, and it takes everything in you not to stare. Then, you notice something. The hotel he took you to last time—the one you were expecting—flashes past the window.

“Wait,” you blurt out, turning to him. “You just passed the hotel.”

Chris doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he grins slightly, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, I know.”

Your brows furrow. “Then where are we going?”

“I know a nicer hotel,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Then, as if reading your thoughts, he adds, “It’s not like you have anything to do tomorrow, right?”

No, you don’t. But the way he phrases it—like it’s already decided—sends a shiver down your spine.

Chris glances at you then, his gaze flickering down to your hands still gripping your dress. His smirk softens, but his voice is just as teasing when he says, “Relax. It’s just for the test, remember?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to loosen your grip. But you’re not sure if it’s his words or the way he says them that make your pulse race even more.

Chris pulls into the hotel’s driveway, the warm glow of the entrance lights reflecting off the sleek surface of his car. You step out, adjusting your dress as you follow him inside, your heart pounding a little too fast.

The lobby is luxurious, far more upscale than the previous hotel. The marble floors gleam under the chandelier lights, and the air is filled with a faint scent of expensive cologne and polished wood. You try not to fidget as Chris approaches the front desk.

“One suite, please,” he says smoothly.

Your head snaps toward him. “A suite?”

Chris doesn’t even glance at you, just slides his card across the counter to the receptionist. “Yeah.” Then, finally, he looks at you, an amused glint in his eyes. “Problem?”

You hesitate, glancing between him and the receptionist, who remains professional as she processes the request. You don’t know why you expected anything less from Chris—of course, he wouldn’t settle for a standard room. But a suite?

“I just thought…” You trail off, pressing your lips together.

Chris leans in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “If we’re testing a product, shouldn’t we have more space to move around?”

Your breath catches at the implication, and he chuckles at your reaction before straightening up, accepting the key card from the receptionist. “Let’s go.”

You follow him into the elevator in silence, gripping the strap of your bag tighter than necessary. The numbers on the display climb higher, the anticipation pressing down on you.

When the doors finally slide open, Chris gestures for you to step out first. You do, walking down the plush carpeted hallway until he stops in front of a door and swipes the key card. The lock clicks open.

He pushes the door wide and turns to you with a smirk. “After you.”

You hesitate for just a second before stepping inside, and as the door closes behind you, you realize just how different tonight already feels.

Instead of taking a tour around the room, you hurriedly take a seat on the sofa, your hands clasped together as you watch Chris move around the suite with ease, like he belongs here. The room is larger than you expected—modern, sleek, and far too intimate.

Your nerves start creeping in, tightening your shoulders. It’s not that you haven’t done this before, but something about tonight feels… different. More deliberate. More dangerous.

Chris, on the other hand, looks completely at ease as he wanders over to the minibar, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the complimentary bottle of champagne. He plucks it from its ice bucket and grins. “Perfect timing.”

You watch as he peels off the foil and works the cork loose. “You don’t have to open that—”

Pop!

The cork flies off, the sudden noise making you jump. Chris bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Relax,” he drawls, pouring the golden liquid into two glasses. “You’re acting like this is your first time in a hotel room with me.”

You press your lips together, refusing to respond to that, and instead accept the glass he offers you. He raises his in a toast, his voice smooth. “To… scientific research.”

You huff a small laugh despite yourself and clink your glass against his before taking a sip. The champagne fizzes pleasantly on your tongue, cool and crisp.

But then—

“You know,” Chris muses, swirling his drink, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous. Maybe even a little flustered. But that can’t be right, can it?”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m not—”

And then it happens. Your fingers slip, and in your haste to retort, your glass tips forward, sending a splash of champagne straight down the front of your dress. The cold liquid soaks through the fabric instantly, making you gasp.

Chris freezes for a second, then— He bursts out laughing. You groan, setting your glass down as you grab a napkin from the table, dabbing at the wet stain. But it’s useless. The fabric clings to your skin, highlighting every curve.

He leans back against the minibar, arms crossed, watching you with open amusement. “Well,” he says, biting back another chuckle, “if you wanted to take your dress off, you could’ve just asked.”

His laughter still lingers in the air as he moves across the room, casually plucking a plush bathrobe from the hotel’s wardrobe. He turns to you, holding it up like a peace offering, his grin unrepentant.

“Here,” he says. “You can’t just sit around in a wet dress all night.”

You hesitate, gripping the damp fabric clinging to your skin. It’s uncomfortable, borderline unbearable—but the idea of slipping into a hotel bathrobe, of making yourself even remotely comfortable here, feels dangerous.

Still, you don’t have much choice. With a sigh, you accept the robe and head toward the spacious en-suite bathroom. Just as you’re about to close the door behind you, a shadow appears in the doorway.

Chris. You look up in confusion, but he leans against the doorframe, completely unfazed by your reaction. “Want some help?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, completely at ease. “I mean, it only makes sense, doesn’t it? You need me ready for the test, and I need a little… encouragement. Two birds, one stone.”

You gape at him, caught between indignation and sheer disbelief. “You—”

Chris lifts both hands in mock surrender, though there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Just a suggestion.”

Your fingers tighten around the door handle, and for a second, you actually consider slamming the door in his face. But then reality kicks in—the sooner you finish this test, the sooner you can leave.

With a deep breath, you step back and pull the door open just a little wider. “Fine.”

Chris blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting you to agree so quickly. Then, a slow smirk curves his lips as he steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

-

The bathroom feels smaller with Chris standing behind you, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting both of your reflections in the mirror. You keep your gaze locked on yourself, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body as he reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress.

His fingers brush against your skin as he tugs it down, agonizingly slow, and the air shifts—suddenly heavier, thicker. The fabric loosens around your shoulders, slipping slightly, exposing more of your back. “You’re tense,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You grip the edge of the counter, willing yourself to focus on anything but the way his fingers ghost over your spine as he eases the zipper all the way down. “I wonder why,” you say dryly.

Chris chuckles, the sound vibrating so close that you can feel it. He places his hands lightly on your shoulders, his thumbs pressing gently into the bare skin there. “Relax,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “It’s just a dress.”

Just a dress. Just a simple, professional test. You exhale and let the straps slide off your shoulders, the silky fabric pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, making you shiver slightly. You’re left in nothing but your underwear, standing there in front of him, vulnerable yet unwilling to let it show.

Chris doesn’t move right away. His gaze flickers up to meet yours in the mirror, something unreadable swimming in his dark eyes.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Chris finally steps back, his lips quirking into that knowing smirk.

“There,” he says, voice softer now. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He grabs a clean washcloth, dampens it with warm water, and steps closer. You watch him through the mirror as he wrings out the excess water, his sleeves already rolled up, revealing his forearms.

“This might be a little cold,” he says, but before you can react, he presses the cloth against your bare shoulder, wiping away the sticky remnants of wine.

You inhale sharply—not because of the temperature, but because of the slow, deliberate way he drags the cloth down your arm, over your collarbone, and lower. His touch is gentle, almost too careful, as if he’s savoring every second of this moment.

“You have nice skin,” he muses, his voice taking on that teasing lilt. “Soft… delicate...”

You grip the edge of the counter a little tighter. “Chris.”

“What?” He tilts his head, eyes dark with amusement as he crouches slightly, now running the damp cloth along your side. “I’m just making an observation. It’s not every day I get to admire my researcher up close.”

You shoot him a glare through the mirror. “I don’t recall this being part of the test.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “No, but it’s a nice bonus.”

The cloth moves lower, skimming along the curve of your waist, across your stomach. His knuckles brush against your ribs, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s intentionally slowing down.

“You’re staring,” you point out, trying to sound unaffected.

Chris doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can you blame me?” He leans in just slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “You look incredible.”

Your pulse jumps. You keep your eyes on the mirror, on the way his hands move with too much ease, too much familiarity. The way his gaze lingers, dark and intense. It feels too intimate. Too much.

You clear your throat, shifting your weight. “Are you done?”

Chris smirks, but he finally straightens up, tossing the cloth into the sink. “Yeah,” he says, stepping back. “For now.”

Before you can even react, Chris's hands grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you onto the sink. A surprised gasp escapes you as your palms press against the counter for balance. "Chris—"

"I'm not done yet," he interrupts smoothly, already crouching in front of you, the wet cloth in hand.

Your heart skips a beat as he starts wiping down your legs, his touch slow, precise, like he's savoring every second. He starts at your ankle, dragging the warm cloth up the length of your calf, then to your knee, and higher still. His fingers brush against your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine.

Your entire body feels like it's on high alert. "You don’t have to—"

"Shh," he hums, amusement flickering in his eyes as he continues. "Let me do this properly."

You press your lips together, watching him through the reflection on the shower glass door. He looks entirely too focused, like this is some kind of ritual for him. And then, just as he finishes, he does something you don’t expect. He parts your legs.

Your breath catches as he steps between them, standing so close that his body heat seeps into your skin. His hands rest on the counter beside you, effectively caging you in. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t move any closer, just lingers there—his chest barely an inch from yours, his face so close that you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

The air between you shifts, thickening with something unspoken. You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when Chris is looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s daring you to react.

"Chris," you murmur, unsure of what you’re even asking for.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His voice is low, teasing. "Nervous?"

You straighten your shoulders, meeting Chris’s intense gaze with as much composure as you can muster. "No," you say firmly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "No?"

All of a sudden, his hands grip your waist again, and with one sharp tug, he pulls you flush against him. The sudden contact knocks the air from your lungs—his body is solid, warm, pressing into you in a way that makes it impossible to ignore just how close you are.

"Don't be shy," he murmurs, his voice edged with challenge. "Go ahead and put your hands on me."

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his expectation hanging in the air. Then, awkwardly, you lift your arms, wrapping them around his broad shoulders.

Chris watches you the entire time, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Good girl."

Before you can process those words, he moves again—this time gripping the backs of your thighs and lifting them, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The position forces you even closer, your core pressed right against the hardness growing beneath his pants. His arms snake around you, locking you in place as he leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear.

"You feel so damn good," he murmurs, his voice like silk against your skin. "Better than I even imagined."

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders, a shudder running down your spine at his words. And then—he moves.

Slowly, deliberately, he rolls his hips against you. The pressure is subtle at first, almost teasing, but the friction sends a wave of heat straight through your core. He does it again, this time with more intent, dragging his clothed length against you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

"You like that?" he whispers, his lips brushing your ear.

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, your body tensing against his. You don’t answer, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, your silence only encourages him. He grinds against you again, this time slower, more drawn out, savoring the way your body reacts to him. A quiet groan rumbles in his chest as he buries his face into your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"You feel perfect," he breathes.

You swallow hard, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it's slipping fast. The way he’s moving, the way he’s talking—it's intoxicating.

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. "Tell me to stop," he challenges, voice low and husky. "If you want me to."

He watches you, waiting, his lips hovering just a breath away from your skin. His body stays pressed against yours, his hands firm on your waist, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself sink into the sensation.

The warmth of his breath against your neck, the intoxicating way his body molds against yours—it’s dangerously easy to forget why you're here. You close your eyes, allowing yourself just one more second of indulgence. One more second of feeling him. But then—an alarm rings in your head.

Reality crashes down on you like a wave of cold water. Your eyes snap open, and with a quiet breath, you press your hands against his chest, gently pushing him away. Chris hesitates for a fraction of a second before letting you go, his gaze flickering with something unreadable as you quickly slip down from the sink.

The heat of his body is gone instantly, but the lingering effect still pulses through your veins. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move, to ground yourself back in the real reason you’re here.

You grab the bathrobe and hurriedly wrap it around yourself, securing the belt tighter than necessary. You can feel Chris’s eyes on you the entire time, silently watching, waiting for you to say something.

You clear your throat. "It’s time for the test," you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he takes a step back. "Right," he murmurs, amusement laced in his voice. "The test."

There’s something in the way he says it—like he knows exactly what just happened between the two of you. Like he knows how close you were to completely surrendering but he doesn’t push.

Instead, he watches as you gather yourself, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright," he says, taking a step toward the door. "Let’s get started."

-

Despite dressed in a bathrobe, you clear your throat and slip back into professionalism as you grab the pack of condoms from your bag. Without looking at him, you extend your hand, offering one of the revised prototypes.

Chris takes it from you with a small, amused hum. "Let’s see how this one goes, then."

As you make a move to turn around and step out of the room to give him privacy, his voice stops you.

"You can stay," he says, his tone casual but carrying that underlying teasing edge. "It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before."

You pause mid-step, fingers tightening slightly on your notebook. That’s true, but it doesn’t make it any less… distracting.

Still, you force yourself to act unfazed. You shift back to your previous spot, keeping your eyes locked on your notes as Chris continues undressing. The sound of fabric rustling fills the room, and when you finally glance up, your breath nearly catches.

The first time you saw him naked, he’d still had his shirt on. But this time, he’s taken everything off. Completely bare. Your grip tightens around your pen as you force yourself to maintain a neutral expression. But your eyes… they betray you. They keep flickering downward, drawn helplessly to the sheer size of him. It’s eye-catching, unfairly so, and despite your best efforts, you keep stealing glances.

Chris notices. Of course, he does. He smirks as he tears open the condom wrapper and then— "Want to put it on for me this time?"

You snap your head up, shooting him an unimpressed look. Without dignifying his question with a response, you roll your eyes and immediately focus on writing down the preliminary details of the product test.

He chuckles but doesn’t push. He sits down at the edge of the bed, takes the condom, and rolls it down his length with practiced ease. Your eyes flicker toward him again—just for a second—but it's enough for him to catch you looking.

You quickly redirect your gaze back to your notes. "How does it feel?" you ask, voice all business.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back slightly, spreading his legs just a little as he looks down at himself, inspecting the way the condom fits around his length.

You keep your eyes on your notebook, pen poised over the page, but your fingers are tense around it. Your pulse is unsteady.

"It feels better than the last one," Chris finally says, his tone casual, though there’s a smirk playing on his lips. "Not as tight. And the length is better, too."

You nod, quickly jotting down his feedback, willing yourself to focus on the task and not on the fact that he’s sitting there, completely naked, completely unbothered.

"The material feels smoother," he continues, running a hand along his length, testing the stretch. You don’t dare look up. "Not too thick, but sturdy enough."

You scribble his words down, keeping your head low.

Chris hums. "You’re really not gonna look, huh?"

Your grip on your pen tightens. "I don’t need to look. I just need your feedback."

"Right," he drawls, clearly amused. "And what if I had trouble putting it on? You wouldn’t have helped me?"

You finally glance up, rolling your eyes. "You’re a grown man, Chris."

He grins. "I know, but isn’t this a part of product testing? Hands-on research?"

You shoot him a glare, but he just chuckles, leaning forward slightly. "Relax," he says, voice low and teasing. "I’m just messing with you."

You sigh, shaking your head as you jot down the final notes. "If the fit feels good, then we can move on to the next phase of testing."

Chris tilts his head. "The durability test?"

You meet his gaze, keeping your expression neutral. "Yes."

A slow smirk spreads across his face. "I’m looking forward to it."

You walk back to your bag resting in a chair, you pull out the box of condoms from your bag and hand it to Chris, keeping your expression professional. “For the durability test, you can conduct it yourself and come back to me with your feedback.”

Chris blinks at you, clearly confused. He glances down at the box in his hands, then back at you. “Wait… what?”

You arch a brow. “You don’t need me for that part. Just use it and let me know how it holds up.”

Chris leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “I thought we agreed to keep this a secret.”

“We are,” you reply evenly. “Your sexual partner doesn’t have to know the condom you’re using.”

His eyes narrow slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought you and I were doing this together.”

“We are,” you say, nodding. “Just… not that way.”

Chris lets out a low sigh, tilting his head as he studies you. Then, after a pause, he says, “Isn’t it better if we do it together?”

Your stomach tightens, but you keep your expression neutral. “Chris—”

He leans in slightly, voice lowering. “That way, I can give you feedback right away. No outside variables. Just you and me.” His gaze lingers on yours, unreadable yet intense. “And this stays between us.”

You exhale sharply, trying to keep your composure. “Chris, that’s not how this works.”

Chris smirks, tilting his head. “Why not?” He taps the box of condoms against his palm, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re the researcher. I’m the participant. Wouldn’t it be more efficient if we tested it… together?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. “That’s not how clinical testing works.”

His smirk widens. “Oh? And what exactly is stopping you?” He leans in, his voice dropping just slightly. “Are you scared?”

Your jaw tightens. “I’m not scared.”

“Then why not?” His gaze flicks over you, studying your reaction. “You’ve already seen everything. Touched, even. What’s one more step?”

You scoff. “There are plenty of reasons why.”

Chris hums, pretending to think. “Is it because you’re not attracted to me?” His grin turns playful. “Because I don’t believe that.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

He leans even closer, just enough for you to catch the faintest scent of his cologne. “Or…” he murmurs, “is it because you are?”

That catches you off guard. His smirk deepens at your silence, clearly enjoying the way he has you cornered. You swallow, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact.

“It’s because we work together,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Chris lets out a low hum, tilting his head. “So it’s not because you don’t want to?”

You exhale sharply. “That’s not what I—”

He takes a slow step forward, closing the small space between you. “Because if that’s the only reason stopping you,” he murmurs, “then it’s not really a reason, is it?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Chris, workplace relationships are complicated.”

His smirk softens just slightly. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

You blink your eyes at him, nonplussed.

He chuckles at your reaction, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m just talking about product testing.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize his point. “Two consenting adults conducting a private experiment.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re relentless.”

Chris grins. “I just don’t like wasting good opportunities.” He taps the box against his palm again. “And you can’t tell me you’re not at least curious.”

Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—like he already knows the answer.

“Look,” he says, his voice softer now, more coaxing. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than product testing. No strings. No expectations. Just a controlled experiment.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize the professionalism of it all.

You let out a slow breath, glancing away. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a bad idea, that this is crossing a line. But then there’s the way Chris is looking at you, the way your body still remembers the way he felt pressed against you in the bathroom, the way your curiosity is getting the better of you.

You press your lips together, weighing your options. “Just product testing,” you repeat, as if saying it out loud will make it less dangerous.

Chris nods, his expression unreadable. “Just product testing.”

Another beat of silence. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you slowly nod. “Okay.”

The corner of Chris’s mouth tugs upward, a slow, knowing smile. “Good.” He takes a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. “Shall we begin?”

-

It's unclear how long you've been standing there, unsure on how to do this, or even to process that you, a researcher, are about to conduct a durability test on your product with your participant.

Chris watches you for a moment, then leans back on the bed, his legs slightly spread as he gestures toward you. “Take off the bathrobe,” he says, his voice smooth, assured. “Then sit next to me.”

Your fingers tighten around the edges of the fabric, hesitation gripping you, but you remind yourself—this is just a test. Just product testing.

Slowly and awkwardly, you untie the robe, letting it slip from your shoulders, revealing your body with your matching underwear covering your private bits. The cool air of the room prickles against your skin as you step toward the bed and lower yourself beside him. Your heart is pounding so loudly that you barely register the way Chris shifts, turning toward you.

A moment later, his hand reaches for your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. Instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut.

Chris chuckles, low and warm. “Why so nervous?” he teases, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “You’ve been so composed this whole time… but now?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is barely functioning. His touch is gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his breath warm as he leans in. Your lips part slightly, bracing for a kiss—

But instead, he presses his lips to your closed eyelid. Your breath stutters, the unexpected tenderness sending a shiver down your spine. Then he moves, kissing the other eyelid, his lips soft and lingering.

A small sound escapes you before you can stop it, a quiet moan slipping from your parted lips and that’s when Chris takes the opening, tilting his head and capturing your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

Chris deepens the kiss, his lips moving slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second. His hand drifts from your face, down the slope of your neck, skimming the curve of your shoulder before sliding further down. His fingers find the strap of your bra, tracing it lightly before slipping it off your shoulder.

Your breath catches as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and firm, grounding you even as your mind spins. He kisses you deeper, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you further into the moment.

Then, with practiced ease, he reaches behind you, fingers deftly working the clasp of your bra. The fabric loosens, and he slowly pulls it away, his lips never leaving yours as he discards it to the side.

Chris shifts, guiding you backward onto the bed, his body following as he hovers over you. His hands smooth over your sides, his touch steady but unhurried, as if giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. But you don’t.

His fingers trail down to the waistband of your underwear, teasing along the edge before he hooks his fingers under the fabric. He pulls back just slightly, his dark eyes searching yours, silently asking for permission.

And when you give him the smallest nod, he slides them down, the slow drag of fabric sending a shiver up your spine. He discards them just as he did with your bra, then settles back over you, his body warm against yours.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze dark and intense, his lips slightly parted as if taking in the sight of you beneath him. Then he leans down again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your jaw, his lips trailing lower as his hands explore your body, mapping every inch of you. Your lips, your neck, your breasts and the way they fit his hands as if they were made for him. The dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, the ample flesh of your ass cheek. Then, there’s the miles and miles of soft skin, endlessly enthralling him.

Your body tenses beneath him, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders. “Chris, I don’t think you’ll fit,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

He stops, lifting his head to look at you, and for a brief moment, you catch the amusement flickering in his dark eyes. Then he lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers coming up to gently brush your cheek. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. “Just relax.”

His touch is warm, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. Then, with ease, he presses you back against the pillows, his weight hovering over you but not pressing down. He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss—this time softer, slower, as if coaxing the tension out of you with every gentle movement.

His mouth leaves yours, traveling downward, leaving a heated trail along your jaw, your neck. His lips linger at your collarbone, pressing a kiss there before continuing lower. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you as he moves further down, his lips grazing the center of your chest, the valley between your breasts and then a quick lick on each of your hardening nipples.

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when he’s kissing down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, feeling, exploring. He’s deliberate with every touch, every kiss, giving you time to ease into the moment.

“Mmh... You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice hushed, almost reverent. Then he continues, his mouth mapping a path further down, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

Chris lingers at the curve of your hip, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin. His hands trail down your thighs, his touch both firm and teasing. You shudder as he parts them further, settling between them with an air of confidence that makes your pulse race.

He looks up at you through hooded eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Still nervous?” he asks, his voice husky.

You don’t answer—not because you don’t want to, but because the moment his lips press against your inner thigh, all coherent thoughts slip from your mind. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a ripple of anticipation through you.

Chris lands his plush lips on your cunt, his tongue skillfully part your folds so he can drown in your wetness. This time, his mouth moving in lazy, unhurried strokes. Every kiss, every brush of his full lips, sets your skin alight. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you still as he delves deeper, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns that have your fingers digging into the sheets.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as he finds the right spot, his rhythm precise, purposeful. Your body arches instinctively, a rush of warmth flooding through you as the sensation builds. Chris hums against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his tongue moving with a practiced ease that leaves you breathless. Your hand flies to his hair, gripping onto him as the pressure inside you coils tighter and tighter. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s relentless, determined to pull every last bit of pleasure from you.

Your head tilts back against the pillow, your lips parting on a shaky moan as your body gives in, waves of sensation crashing over you in a slow, intoxicating release. Chris doesn’t move away immediately—he lingers, pressing one last, lingering kiss against on your clit before finally pulling back, his hands smoothing up your trembling thighs.

He looks up at you, his lips glistening, a satisfied smirk curving them. “See?” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “Told you to relax.”

Chris hovers over you, his hand smoothing over your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance. His gaze drags over your body, dark and hooded with desire. He exhales a slow breath, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your skin.

“You’re right. You're so little,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice filled with something close to awe. His hands roam over your waist, your hips, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you beneath him.

Chris takes one look at his cock, making sure the condom is still snug around him before he gives it a few pumps as if it's not hard, stiff enough. He takes your legs and puts them over his waist as he positions himself in between.

The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he slowly pushes forward, just the tip stretching you open, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips. A sudden twinge of discomfort has you clenching around him, your hands gripping onto his arms as you mewl softly in protest.

“Chris, I—” You can't even finish your sentence as the sudden sensation surges through you.

Chris stops immediately, his brows knitting together as he watches you, his fingers stroking soothingly along your thigh. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice gentle, “breathe.”

But even with just that little bit inside you, the feeling is overwhelming. A shiver runs down your spine as you try to adjust, your body tightening involuntarily. Your breaths come in shaky pants, heat blooming from where your bodies connect.

Chris watches you intently, eyes never leaving your face as he shifts slightly, and suddenly, a sharp pleasure shoots through you, unexpected and electric. Your back arches off the bed as a strangled moan escapes your lips, your body quivering around him. The pressure, the stretch—it’s too much, yet somehow, it sends a rush of pleasure so intense that your body trembles beneath him.

Chris stills, his expression flickering with surprise before it melts into amusement. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips as he watches the way you writhe beneath him, helpless against the sensation.

“You came just from that?” he muses, his thumb brushing over your hip in lazy circles. “That’s cute.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, embarrassment and lingering pleasure making your body feel even more sensitive. Chris chuckles softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against your parted lips before whispering, “Guess we’ll have to take our time, won’t we?”

Chris stays still for a moment, his warmth pressed against your back as he lets you catch your breath. His arms tighten around you slightly, anchoring you to him as he presses a lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder. You’re still trembling, body sensitive and flushed from your sudden release.

He exhales softly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You okay?” His voice is low, gentle.

You nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. The feeling of him still inside you, filling you completely, makes you shudder.

Chris shifts behind you, adjusting the way he’s holding you. His arm is draped over your waist, fingers spread over your stomach, grounding you. His other hand smooths over your thigh, soothing, patient.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks, voice laced with restraint, as if he’s willing to stop if you say no.

To his surprise, you whisper, “Yes.”

A deep, quiet groan rumbles from his chest, and you feel his fingers flex against your skin. His lips press into the curve of your neck before he moves again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. The stretch burns slightly, but the pleasure laced in it makes your breath hitch.

Chris moves carefully, his thrusts slow and deep, keeping you flush against him as he spoons you. His hand trails from your breasts, to your stomach, splaying over your skin as if he wants to feel every reaction, every tremor that ripples through you.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice breathless against your ear. His pace remains steady, each push and pull measured, sending waves of heat through your body.

Your hands grip onto his arm, holding onto him as pleasure coils low in your stomach once again. Every movement is intimate, every breath shared in the quiet space between you. Chris’s lips ghost over your shoulder, his soft grunts vibrating against your skin as he continues to move within you, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, pressed against him so completely, you find yourself lost in the way he makes you feel—like you were meant to fit together like this.

Chris’s breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Feels good,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin. “Fits just right… but I think it could be thinner. Let me feel you more.”

His slow, deliberate thrusts send a shiver through you, your body tightening around him in response. He chuckles, the sound deep and breathless. “You like that, don’t you?” He presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, his hand gripping your hip to keep you steady as he rolls into you again, deeper this time.

You don’t answer, too lost in the pleasure unfurling inside you. Chris doesn’t mind. He continues to move, the tension building between you both. “Maybe I should test a few more,” he muses between ragged breaths, his voice laced with amusement. “Make sure we get it just right.”

His words make you whimper, and he groans in response. “You’re so cute moaning like that,” he breathes, his pace quickening as he nears his peak. His grip on you tightens, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic. The coil in your stomach tightens, and before you know it, you’re coming again, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Chris groans against your neck, his hips stuttering as he follows right behind you. His grip on you never loosens, holding you close as he spills into the condom, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling. Chris presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder before shifting, turning you gently onto your back so he can look at you. His dark eyes flick over your face, taking in your dazed expression before he leans down, kissing you deeply.

When he pulls back, a smirk tugs at his lips. Then, he reaches for the duvet at the foot of the bed and carefully pulls it over both of you, tucking it around your bare body. The warmth is instant, but not nearly as comforting as the way he wraps himself around you right after.

His arms tighten around your waist, drawing you flush against his chest. His breath is warm against the back of your neck as he settles in, his lips barely grazing your skin. For a while, neither of you speak. The rise and fall of your breaths eventually sync, the exhaustion from the night settling into your limbs. Just as your eyes begin to flutter shut, his voice breaks the silence—low, drowsy, and laced with something softer than usual.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, the word barely more than a breath against your skin.

For a moment, you hesitate, but then, in the safety of the dimly lit room and the comfort of his arms, you whisper back, “Goodnight.”

Chris hums in contentment, tightening his hold just slightly before finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

-

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel suite. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you're disoriented—until the sound of running water brings everything back.

Chris is in the shower.

Your stomach tightens as memories from last night flood in, and instinct kicks in. You need to leave. Carefully, you slip out of bed, scanning the room for your clothes. But just as you reach for your bag, the bathroom door swings open, and there he stands—his hair damp, beads of water clinging to his toned skin, a white towel hanging dangerously low around his hips. You freeze in place.

Chris notices your reaction and grins. "Unless you want to walk out of the hotel naked, I don’t think you’re going anywhere."

Your brows furrow in confusion as he tilts his head toward the chair. "I sent your dress for dry cleaning."

Your lips part in disbelief. "You what?"

Chris walks up to you, holding out a plush bathrobe. “Relax. It'll be back soon.” He doesn’t just hand it to you—he steps closer, draping it over your shoulders and helping you slip your arms through the sleeves, his touch far too gentle for how casual he's acting.

"Go shower," he tells you, his voice softer now.

You hesitate but eventually nod, dragging yourself toward the bathroom. Just as you reach the doorway, he calls after you, "Better hurry. I ordered room service for breakfast."

Your body tenses at his words, but you say nothing. Instead, you step inside and shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment—just processing everything from last night to this very second.

The test, the sex, everything blurs into one and before you recall more memories from last night, you get into the shower in hope to wash it away.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the suite as you step out of the bathroom, now wrapped in the bathrobe Chris gave you. He’s already seated at the small dining table by the window, scrolling through his phone while absentmindedly sipping from his cup. A full spread of breakfast is laid out—omelets, toast, fruit, and two cups of coffee.

Without a word, you take the seat across from him. He glances up briefly but doesn’t say anything, just pushes a plate toward you in a silent invitation to eat.

The quiet stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts. You focus on your food, taking small bites, though you barely taste anything. Chris, on the other hand, eats leisurely, like this is just another morning. Then, he finally breaks the silence.

“So,” he says, setting his fork down. “What’s your conclusion on the product test last night?”

You almost choke on your coffee. Your eyes dart to him, but his expression is unreadable, as if he’s genuinely asking for a professional evaluation. You hesitate, gripping your fork a little tighter.

"Well?" he presses, taking another sip of his coffee. "Did it pass?"

You clear your throat, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “I think… to be thorough, it’s better to run a few more tests.”

Chris quirks an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “A few more tests, huh?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect you to be so dedicated to research.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s just proper procedure.”

“Proper procedure,” he repeats, his smirk widening. “You sure it’s just that? Because last night, it kinda seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

Your jaw tightens, and you stab a piece of fruit with your fork. “That’s not relevant to the study.”

Chris chuckles, clearly entertained. “Right, of course. All in the name of science.” He tilts his head slightly, his gaze locked onto you. “So, how many more ‘tests’ are we talking about? Two? Three? A full trial period?”

You sigh, exasperated. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Chris hums, taking another bite of his toast. “Well, just let me know. I’m happy to help.” His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip.

You quickly focus on your breakfast, pretending not to notice the way he’s watching you.

Chris leisurely takes a sip of his coffee, playing it cool as he glances around the suite. “You know,” he muses, “I’m really liking this hotel. Feels… comfortable.” He leans back slightly, stretching his muscular arms before resting them on the table. “I think it’d be a great place to conduct another test.”

You pause mid-bite, eyes flickering up to him. He’s watching you, but his expression is unreadable—except for the slight curve of his lips. Then, he grins. “Maybe next weekend?”

You nearly choke on your food, quickly taking a sip of water to recover. “You’re already planning the next one?”

Chris shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just being proactive. You said it yourself—we need more tests for accuracy.” He lifts his coffee cup again, smirking over the rim. “And I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

You exhale sharply, placing your utensils down. “I haven’t even analyzed the results from last night.”

“Take your time,” he says easily, “but don’t overthink it too much.” He tilts his head, studying you. “Unless… you’re backing out?”

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how flustered you are. “I’ll let you know,” you say, keeping your voice even.

Chris chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “I’ll be waiting.”

-

Monday morning, you walk into work with an unusual lightness in your step. You try not to think too much about that night—about Chris, his touch, the way he whispered in your ear—but the memories flash unbidden in your mind, making your face warm. You force yourself to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to attract any suspicion. Especially from Jane.

Speaking of which… you realize she hasn’t come to bother you like usual. Curious, you make your way to her lab, where you find her hunched over her workstation, deeply focused.

“Hey,” you call out, stepping inside. “What’s got you so busy?”

Jane barely glances up before turning back to her notes. “I have to finish my reformulation today,” she says quickly. “Final presentation’s tomorrow, and if I don’t get this right, all my work’s going down the drain.”

You nod in understanding. The pressure of finalizing a product before launch is no joke, and seeing Jane—who’s usually so carefree—this stressed means she’s really cutting it close.

“You got this,” you tell her sincerely. “Good luck.”

She lets out a deep breath, finally pausing to give you a smirk. “I better. If I crash and burn, I’m dragging you down with me.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Noted.”

Back in your own lab, you try to push all thoughts of Chris aside and focus on your own work. But as you review your notes and the adjustments you’ve made to the product, an uncomfortable realization creeps in—you’re running out of time.

Jane’s stress reminds you that your own product is also in a critical stage. If she’s giving her final presentation tomorrow, that means your deadline isn’t far behind. You tap your pen against your clipboard, staring at the latest batch of data, and suddenly, the pressure starts to settle heavily on your shoulders.

You sigh and grab your phone, quickly sending an email to the team in charge of screening participants. A few minutes later, you receive a reply:

Final stage of screening participants. Will update once selection is complete.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. Final stage. That means any day now, you’ll have another participant to help move this process forward—another participant who isn’t Chris. For some reason, that last thought lingers a little too long in your mind.

-

A few days later, Jane is a walking ball of stress, and unfortunately, it’s rubbing off on you.

She paces back and forth in the break room, arms crossed, her fingers tapping against her upper arm impatiently. “I don’t get it. They should’ve given me an answer by now,” she mutters before turning to you with a sharp look. “What if they hated it? What if they’re just trying to figure out a way to reject it without making me throw a fit?”

You sip your iced coffee, trying to keep your own anxiety in check. “If they hated it, they would’ve told you already,” you reason, though you understand her panic completely.

Jane groans and drops her head onto the table. “I can’t take this anymore. The waiting is worse than the presentation itself.”

You don’t say it out loud, but you completely agree. Because the uncertainty of your own project’s progress is starting to gnaw at you too. You haven’t received any updates on the new participant, and without that, you can’t finalize the product. And without a finalized product, you can’t meet your deadline.

You exhale and press your fingers against your temples, suddenly feeling the weight of everything piling up. “Your stress is contagious, you know that?” you mumble.

Jane lifts her head just enough to give you a weak smirk. “Misery loves company.”

Later that day, you get a message from Chris’s secretary, asking you to stop by his office. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should prepare yourself for whatever he has in store this time. But you shake off the thought and head over.

When you step inside, Chris is leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly good as usual. He grins when he sees you. “Hey, right on time,” he says, and you do as told, walking over to his desk.

“I wanted to let you know I’m available this weekend for the test,” he says, watching you closely.

You nod, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Okay. That works.”

Chris tilts his head, his grin faltering slightly. “That’s it? No excitement?”

You blink at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

His brow raises. “I don’t know… maybe something like ‘Great! Can’t wait!’” He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “What’s wrong with you today?”

You sigh and rub your temples. “I’m just stressed about my product. There’s still so much to do, and I don’t even know if I’ll have another participant before the deadline.”

Chris hums in thought, then leans back again. “Well, you’re doing your best, right?”

“I guess.”

He smirks. “That’s all that matters. Besides, I’m the one doing my best for you.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitches at his teasing. “Of course, how could I forget?”

Chris chuckles, pleased with himself. “Exactly. So stop stressing. I’ve got you.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, still feeling the weight of your stress pressing down on you. “You know… you could’ve just texted me about the test instead of calling me to your office.”

Chris scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I could’ve.”

You wait for him to continue, but he just looks at you like you should already know the answer. When you don’t say anything, he leans forward slightly, voice dropping a little.

“But I wanted to see you.”

His words catch you completely off guard, and you freeze for a second, unsure how to respond. He watches you closely, amused by your reaction.

Your mouth opens, then closes. You clear your throat, trying to brush off the sudden shift in atmosphere. “Well… you’ve seen me now,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Chris chuckles. “Yeah, I have.” He tilts his head. “And?”

“And what?”

He grins. “Feel better?”

You scoff. “No.”

Chris just laughs at your flat response, shaking his head. “Liar.”

He leans back in his chair, still smirking as he watches you squirm under his gaze. “I think you do feel better,” he teases. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I’m stressed, I’m stressed. Seeing you doesn’t magically fix that.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe not, but I bet it helps a little.”

You scoff, looking away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The part you hate the most is because he’s not entirely wrong. Despite everything weighing on you, there’s something about his presence—his confidence, his teasing, the way he acts like he’s got everything under control—that makes you feel just a little lighter.

And that annoys you.

-

The hotel lobby is dimly lit, elegant but not overly extravagant. You step through the entrance, scanning the space until your eyes land on Chris, who’s waiting near the elevators. He’s dressed casually but polished—dark slacks, a fitted shirt with the top two buttons undone, looking unfairly good as usual.

Just as you take a step toward him, your phone buzzes in your bag. You fish it out and sigh when you see Jane’s name flashing on the screen. Pressing the phone to your ear, you barely manage a greeting before she starts rambling.

“I swear, if they don’t approve this formula, I’m quitting,” she huffs. “I mean, not really, but you get what I mean. I haven’t slept properly in three days, and I think I’m running on caffeine and pure delusion at this point.”

You let out a small laugh, even though the stress in her voice weighs on you. “It’ll be fine, Jane. You worked hard on it.”

“That’s what people say before something blows up in their face,” she groans. “Anyway, where are you? I need to rant.”

Panic flickers in your chest. You glance around, as if she could somehow see you through the phone. “Uh… just out,” you say vaguely. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

She huffs again. “Fine. But if I have a breakdown, it’s on you.”

You chuckle. “Duly noted.” Ending the call, you sigh, but the stress clings to you, the tension knotting in your shoulders refusing to ease.

You take a deep breath and walk toward Chris, who straightens when he sees you. He starts to say something, but before he can get a word out, you grab his face and kiss him.

Chris barely has time to react when you press your lips to his, the kiss sudden and hurried, almost desperate. His hands instinctively settle on your waist, grounding you for the few fleeting seconds before you pull away.

Your lips are still parted as you mutter, “Why don’t we just skip dinner and head upstairs?”

Chris blinks, momentarily surprised by your forwardness. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Someone’s eager tonight,” he muses, his voice low and teasing.

You huff, looking away. “I just—” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temple. “I'm just a little stressed.”

His expression softens slightly. “Ah.”

“It’s work. I'm stressed about work, and I just—I don’t know.” You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s like I can’t escape it.”

Chris tilts his head, studying you for a moment before his hand finds yours. “Then let’s go.”

You look at him questioningly.

He squeezes your hand. “Upstairs,” he clarifies. “Since that’s what you want.”

You nod, letting him lead you toward the elevators. As the doors close behind you, sealing you both away from the rest of the world, Chris turns to you, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Want me to help you take your mind off work?” he asks, his voice rich with suggestion.

You swallow, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Yes.”

-

The hotel suite door barely shuts behind you before Chris pulls you in, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, heated, and rushed—both of you hungry for each other. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer as you stumble toward the bed.

Chris’s hands slide down your back, finding the zipper of your dress and pulling it down in one swift motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you in your lingerie as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You gasp, arms looping around his neck as he carries you to the bed, laying you down gently against the plush sheets.

He kneels above you, his dark eyes drinking you in before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undoes them, his toned chest coming into view, and once the shirt is off, he tosses it aside without a second thought. Then, he leans in again, claiming your lips with his own, his body pressing against yours as the heat between you intensifies.

For a moment, the purpose of tonight is forgotten. There’s no product test, no work stress—just the two of you tangled together, lips moving in sync, hands wandering, breaths coming out in soft, desperate gasps.

Then, your fingers trail down his chest, lower and lower, until you feel the growing bulge beneath his pants. Chris groans softly against your lips, his body tensing slightly at your touch. That’s when reality crashes back into you.

You break the kiss slightly, your breaths mingling as you whisper, “Chris, the condom. In my bag.”

Chris hovers above you for a second, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a slow smirk, he leans in, brushing a teasing kiss against your lips before murmuring, “Yes, ma’am.”

He gets off the bed, heading toward where you left your bag, and as you watch him, heart racing, you can’t help but think—maybe this test is just an excuse now.

You watch as Chris retrieves the condom from your bag, his fingers expertly tearing open the wrapper. He steps out of his remaining clothes, his bare form illuminated by the dim hotel lighting. Your eyes are drawn downward, and despite having seen him before, the sheer size of him still makes your stomach flip. It’s intimidating—taunting, even—and the nerves creep up on you all over again.

Chris notices the way you tense, the way your thighs press together involuntarily. Rolling the condom over his length with practiced ease, he turns back to you, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

“You need to relax,” he murmurs, his voice smooth yet edged with something deeper, something almost reassuring.

He crawls back onto the bed, hovering over you once more, his hands running along your sides as if to coax the tension out of your body. “You’re overthinking it,” he adds, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear.

Your breath hitches when his lips trail lower, down your neck, his touch slow and deliberate. It’s almost distracting enough to make you forget your nerves—almost. But when he settles between your legs, his gaze locking onto yours, the anticipation coils tightly in your stomach once more.

Chris smirks, tilting his head. “You trust me, don’t you?”

And the way he asks it—soft, teasing, but with a glimmer of something genuine—makes your heart skip.

His hands roam your body with a deliberate slowness, his fingertips tracing the curves of your waist, the dip of your stomach, the softness of your thighs. Each touch is meant to ease the tension out of you, to replace your nerves with something warmer, something deeper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone. “So soft… so perfect.”

His voice is a lull, smoothing over your anxiety like silk. He drags his mouth lower, his breath fanning across your skin as he continues whispering praises—how good you feel, how much he likes touching you, how you have no idea what you do to him.

You shudder beneath him, your body instinctively responding to his words, his touch. The tension in your muscles slowly unravels, and Chris pulls back just enough to take in the sight of you. His gaze sweeps over your bare form, dark and heavy with admiration. He doesn’t rush. He just looks.

“Gosh,” he breathes out, a slow grin forming on his lips. “I could look at you all night.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch, heat rising in your cheeks. He leans in again, his hands framing your face as he brushes his lips over yours.

“You okay now?” he asks, voice low, his forehead resting against yours.

And maybe it’s the way he’s holding you, or the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—but you find yourself nodding, your nerves fading into something else entirely.

Chris’s fingers trail down your body with deliberate slowness, his touch igniting warmth everywhere he grazes. His lips brush against your ear as his fingers tease along your inner thigh, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re already trembling,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement and something deeper—something that makes your stomach tighten. “Are you nervous or just impatient?”

You don’t answer, not when his fingers finally slip between your legs, parting you with ease and easily finds your clit as it pulsates with each gentle rub. He does it for a long moment, waiting until you're wet enough for him to slip his two fingers inside you. A soft gasp escapes before you can stop it, and Chris hums in approval, pressing a lingering kiss just below your jaw.

“You always take me so well,” he whispers, his fingers moving in slow, calculated pumps that make your toes curl. “And you’re already clenching around me… How do you think you’ll handle me when I’m actually inside you?”

The words alone send heat rushing through you, but it’s the way he says them—low and coaxing, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. You turn your face into his shoulder, gripping onto him as if grounding yourself, but Chris only chuckles.

“Don’t hide from me,” he coaxes, shifting so he can watch your face. “I want to see everything.”

He curls his fingers inside to get to your sensitive spot, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, and your breath stutters. Chris smiles against your cheek, his voice softer now, gentler.

“Just relax,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your body tightens around his fingers as the pleasure builds, your breath hitching with every precise movement of his hand. Chris watches you intently, his dark eyes flickering with something both possessive and admiring as he feels you getting closer.

"That's it," he whispers, his lips grazing your temple. "You’re so good for me."

His thumb circles your clit just right, and the tension in your body unravels all at once. A sharp cry slips from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Chris doesn’t stop right away—he works you through it, dragging out every last wave until you're gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders for stability.

When you finally go limp against him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his voice warm and full of praise. "So beautiful when you come around my fingers like that," he murmurs, his fingers slipping away only to trail soothingly along your thigh.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Think you’re ready for me now?" he asks, a teasing grin playing at his lips.

Despite his words, he gives you a moment to climb down your high, touching you, kissing you, keeping you heated just enough for the next one.

When he deems you're ready, he settles himself between your legs and take another moment to warm you up, sliding his cock between your folds, intentionally lubricating it with your essence.

The moment he starts to push his cock into your entrance, you whimper, your fingers gripping the sheets. He stills immediately, his brows furrowing.

“Still hurts?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, tinted with concern.

You shake your head instinctively, but he isn’t convinced. His large hands massage your hips soothingly, and for a moment, he just stays there, warm and solid against you. Then, as if making a decision, he leans down, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades before murmuring against your skin, “There’s more than one way to do this.”

Before you can ask what he means, he shifts, gently guiding you onto your stomach. His hands coax your legs together, and then you feel it—his length settling between your thighs, snug and heavy. He lets out a low hum of approval as he starts a slow, deliberate movement, sliding his cock against you, the condom still doing its job.

“This works just fine for the test,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. “No need for penetration.”

The new sensation sends a shiver through you. His body is warm against your back, his arms caging you in as he moves, taking his time. His above average cock allowing him to hit your clit for every time he thrusts forward. Every deliberate stroke of his tip on your clit has you squirming, and when he presses his lips to your ear, his breath hot, he whispers, “You feel so good like this… almost better than the real thing.”

His hands grip your waist, guiding you to match his rhythm, and before you know it, the tension in your body builds again. The sensation overwhelms you, and with one final push of pleasure, you come undone beneath him, trembling as the feeling washes over you. Chris lets out a low groan, his own release following moments after.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as your breathing evens out, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else disappears.

Chris lets out a content sigh, his grip on you loosening slightly as he shifts onto his side, still keeping you close. He presses a lazy kiss against the back of your shoulder before murmuring, “Well, I gotta say, the condom held up pretty well.”

You blink in confusion, still trying to come down from your high. “What?”

He chuckles, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you. “You know… the test? The whole reason we’re here?” His smirk deepens when you don’t respond right away. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Heat rushes to your face as you realize he’s right. You were so caught up in the moment, in him, that you completely forgot this was supposed to be about work. You scowl at his teasing tone, but Chris only grins wider.

“That’s cute,” he muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re really slacking as a researcher, you know? Getting too distracted by your test subject.”

You groan, pushing at his chest, but he just laughs, rolling onto his back with a smug expression. “Don’t worry,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “We can always run more tests. Just to be thorough.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know you’re in trouble—because a part of you is already considering it.

Chris stretches his arms behind his head, still lounging in the bed with that smug expression. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Should we order some room service?”

You hesitate, still tangled in the sheets, still feeling the lingering heat between you. But the idea of food is tempting, and you nod. “Yeah… okay.”

Chris grins, reaching for the hotel’s menu on the nightstand. “Good. I was gonna order anyway, but I figured I’d be polite and ask.”

You scoff but let it slide, watching as he casually flips through the options. He orders for both of you without asking what you want, but somehow, he picks exactly what you would have chosen.

When the food arrives, the two of you settle onto the couch, eating in comfortable silence for a while. The tension from earlier has softened into something almost… normal. Like this is just another dinner, another night spent together. Then, as you poke at your plate, you find yourself speaking without really thinking. “Thanks, by the way.”

Chris glances up from his food. “For what?”

You shift slightly, feeling a little awkward. “For earlier. For not… pushing it when I said it hurt.”

Chris leans back, setting his fork down. He studies you for a moment before giving a small shrug. “I told you before, didn’t I? I wasn’t gonna do anything you weren’t ready for.”

You swallow, feeling something tighten in your chest.

Chris smirks, sensing the shift in your expression. “What? Surprised I’m a decent guy?”

You roll your eyes. “A little.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me.” But there’s something softer in his eyes now, something that makes you look away before he can read too much into your expression.

Chris doesn’t push. Instead, he just picks up his fork again, casually adding, “Guess that means we’ll just have to try again next time.”

Your stomach flips. “Next time?”

Chris just grins. “Unless you’re saying the test is complete?”

You don’t answer, and his smirk widens as he takes another bite of his food.

-

The morning sunlight filters through the hotel suite’s curtains as you fasten the last button of your blouse, trying to ignore the way Chris watches you from across the room. He’s standing by the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt, looking far too put together for someone who spent the night in a hotel bed with you.

"You’re quiet this morning," he comments, slipping on his watch.

You smooth down the hem of your dress, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. "Just thinking about work."

He looks relaxed—too relaxed, considering the nature of your conversation.

"So," he says, tapping the fork against his thigh, "how are you planning to refine the product?"

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. "I need to get more participant feedback, obviously. We’ve tested the fit, but durability and performance still need more trials."

Chris hums in acknowledgment, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. "And how do I rank as a participant?"

You shoot him a look, trying not to let the memory of the night’s events creep back into your mind. "You're… useful," you answer carefully.

He chuckles at that. "Just useful? After everything?"

You press your lips together, ignoring his teasing tone. "I mean it, Chris. But I need more participants for a thorough evaluation."

At that, his amusement fades slightly. He sits up straighter, turning toward you. "More participants, huh?"

You nod, scribbling something in your notebook to avoid looking at him. "It’s necessary for better data."

Chris is quiet for a moment, then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warmth. "I get it," he says, voice softer now. "Just don’t forget who was here first."

You finally glance up at him, and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. There’s something unreadable in his expression—not quite jealousy, but not far from it either.

You swallow. "Of course not."

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he nudges your knee with his. "So, should I clear my schedule for next weekend?"

You exhale, shaking your head. "I’ll let you know."

Chris grins, leaning back onto his elbows. "Can’t wait."

You roll your eyes, not indulging him with an answer. Instead, you head toward the door, but just as you reach for the handle, Chris beats you to it, leaning down slightly.

"Leaving without a goodbye?" he teases, voice low.

You glance at him, hesitating for half a second before sighing. "Goodbye, Chris."

As you walk down the quiet hotel corridor, your thoughts swirl between the pressure of finalizing your product and the undeniable truth that you still need more data. More tests.

You tighten your grip on your bag, exhaling sharply. That’s what this is about—work. Research. A product that needs to be perfected before it can move forward.

And yet, as you recall the way Chris looked at you before you left, the way he smirked at the idea of "more participants," a different kind of tension settles in your chest.

Finalizing your product soon is the goal. But a small, dangerous part of you wonders if maybe… just maybe… you’re not quite ready to be done with the testing phase.

-

As you're walking through the office hallway, your mind is still clouded with the remnants of the weekend—Chris’s touch, his whispered praises, the way he held you close even after everything was over. Every time you close your eyes, flashes of that night play in your head, making warmth creep up your neck. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it as you step into your lab, determined to focus on work. But the moment you walk in, you freeze.

There’s a man already inside, leaning lazily against the counter, his posture relaxed yet confident, like he’s been waiting for you. The overhead lights cast sharp angles on his sharp jawline, his lips curled into a smirk that feels almost too self-assured. He straightens when he sees you, his eyes—dark, playful—sweeping over you in quiet amusement.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he steps forward. "Finally," he drawls, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "I was starting to think I had the wrong lab."

You blink, caught off guard. He doesn’t look like he belongs here—his presence too bold, too magnetic for the clinical atmosphere of your workspace. "I'm sorry but who are you?" you ask, wary.

He stops just a breath away, the distance between you charged with something you can’t quite place. Then, with a cocky tilt of his head, he offers his hand.

"Han Jisung," he introduces himself, his smirk widening as his fingers brush against yours. "Your new test participant."

Your stomach drops and for a second, all you can do is stare.

"Looks like we’ll be working pretty closely together," he adds, voice dripping with amusement. "I hope you're ready for me."

And just like that, your carefully maintained world tilts off its axis.

-

The second chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page. ✨

Support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[diipsy]

stumbled upon this randomly, and I LOVE IT so cute 🥹🫶

The Secret Hwang

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is pregnant

Genre: exes to lovers?? angst, fluff

Summary: Hyunjin breaks up with you after the company thinks your relationship is affecting his work. What he didn't know was that you were also gearing up to tell him something very important. But then swoops in two angels in disguise, helping you through the tough time, before it all blows over.

You’re breaking up with me?” The words left your lips before your brain could catch up.

Your heart thundered against your ribcage, like it was desperate to escape what was unfolding right then. And your boyfriend of three years, Hyunjin, looked as miserable as you felt.

Hyunjin stood in front of you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders sagging. He wouldn’t look at you - that was even worse.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice so low it barely registered. “I'm so sorry.”

You take a step closer, his words not making any sense.

“You have to? What the hell does that mean, Hyunjin? Did I…did I do something? Did I hurt you-?”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide and glossy, horrified at the mere suggestion.

“No! Of course not! You’ve never - God, Y/N, no. It’s -” His words faltered, and he looked away again, his hands shaking as they grip his hoodie strings. “It’s…they think it’s affecting me. My work.”

“Who? The company?”

“They said…” He swallowed hard, the words clearly tearing him apart as he forced them out. “They said if I don’t end this, they’ll fire you. They’ll make sure you never work in this industry again. And they’ll…ruin it all for you...”

You stared at him, utterly speechless. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“So what? You’re just going to do what they want? Throw away three years like it means nothing?”

“It’s not like that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By breaking me?” You laughed bitterly, even though it felt more like choking.

You knew he wanted to reach for you, to pull you close like he always did when you were upset, but he didn’t move.

“Baby, I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this-”

You didn't stay to hear the rest. You took a step back before saying, “You’re a coward,”

Hyunjin’s head snapped up like you slapped him, but you pressed on.

“You’re letting them control you. Letting them decide what our love is worth. You’re not even fighting for me.”

Hyunjin’s face crumpled, and for a second, you thought he would reconsider. But he didn't. He just looked really sad. And lost.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Hyunjin.”

And then you ran. You didn’t look back. You couldn't. Because if you did, you’d fall apart completely, and you just couldn’t afford that. Not with the tiny life growing inside you.

The three months that followed were hard, no doubt. But relatively less harder than you thought, considering the fact that the boys were on tour. You didn't have to see him everyday as you taught your heart to ‘unlove’ him. If such a thing could be done.

You had decided to go ahead with your pregnancy - bad call probably, because you obviously couldn't tell anyone that your baby was Hyunjin’s. Of course. So you'd have to come up with a creative lie to cover the gap - a non-existent boyfriend or a husband?

It was exhausting.

---

You stood at the kitchen counter, staring at your ultrasound scan result. The sight of your little bean on the screen earlier had brought tears to your eyes - happy bittersweet ones. But mostly, you’d felt so terribly lonely.

Moments like that were meant to be shared, weren’t they? Your heart ached so much. So damn much. You sighed as you gazed at the little form in the black and white image.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Setting the report on the counter, you get the door. What you didn't expect was Felix’s sweet smiling face. You hadn't seen him or any of the boys since the break up (they'd left for the tour), so seeing Felix, your close friend, made you freeze.

“Lix,” you said, your voice more tired than you’d like.

He immediately pulled you into a warm hug, and you had to control that strong urge to just weep.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing you tightly. “I missed you! How have you been?”

“I'm alright. You guys had a good tour I heard,” You managed, stepping aside to let him in.

“It was good,” He said with a smile, and held up a bag. “I brought you a little something from Australia.”

“Lix, you didn’t have to -”

“Oh, hush. I do it all the time.” he said. “You look... tired…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, waving him off.

“You want me to get his stuff? I have it packed and ready.” You said, wanting to get that out of the way as soon as possible.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “ Is that okay?”

Your stomach twisted unpleasantly, but you nodded and said, “Yeah, of course. Let me grab it.”

He followed you into the house, and as you went into the bedroom to get Hyunjin’s things, Felix walked into the kitchen to put the things he got for you away.

When you returned with the bag, however, you saw Felix in the kitchen, uncharacteristically quiet. You walked in and completely froze in the doorway.

Felix stood by the counter, holding your ultrasound result, and his usually bright expression was completely blank, his eyes glued black and white image.

“Lix…” you said softly, panic rising in your chest.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice eerily calm, “what is this?”

You didn’t answer, your hands trembling as you clutched the bag of Hyunjin’s things. Tears pricked your eyes, and you knew there was no use pretending or coming up with a lie.

“Please tell me this is not what I think it is.” he said, his voice wavering as he turned to face you with the paper in his hand.

Your silence spoke louder than words. Tears spilled over, and you quickly wiped at them, trying to keep it together. But it was of no use - Felix took one look at your face and let the paper fall onto the counter.

“Oh my God.” His voice cracked as he crossed the room in two giant strides, pulling you into a tight hug.

His arms wrapped around you like a safety net, holding you together.

“Y/N, please don't tell me Hyunjin knocked you up and then broke up with you. Tell me I’m hallucinating. Please.”

You laughed weakly through your tears, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

“He didn't know, Lix. He didn't know-” You whispered and Felix pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your shoulders.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was trying to form words but couldn't. Finally, he let out a strangled laugh.

“He doesn’t know?!” He shook his head, his freckles standing out against his flushed skin. “Are you kidding me, Y/N? You’re telling me that man broke up with you because he wanted to protect you, and the entire time, you’ve been carrying his baby?”

“I was going to tell him, Lix, I was. That's why I went to meet him, but didn't give me a chance to say anything…he just…he just broke up with me!” you cried, wiping your face. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him and ruin everything?”

“Yes!” Felix shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Yes, sweetheart, you’re supposed to tell him! He deserves to know. This is big, like life changing big!”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you said, “Lix, you don’t understand. This is about his career, his dreams. He’s worked so hard to get where he is, and I won’t be the reason he loses it all.”

Felix stared at you, his face a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “You can’t do this alone.”

“I have to,” you whispered, looking down at the floor. “I will.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice was firm, his hands gently cupping your cheeks and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “But don't have to. I’m here. Whatever you need, anything at all, you’ve got me. You’re not allowed to say no, okay?”

Your breath hitched, the warmth of his hands and the sincerity in his voice had you crumblung all over again. “Lix…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes shining with determination. “You’re not doing this alone. I don’t care what it takes. We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

You nodded, sniffling as he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Thank you.”

Felix didn’t say anything to Hyunjin. True to his word, he kept his mouth shut, but the secret was eating him alive to say the least. The man had gone full protective mode - literally adopting you, and by extension, your unborn child, completely.

And his possessiveness manifested in the most Felix way possible: constant texting. Constant.

Also, he changed your contact name to George. Why? Because no ones gonna get suspicious about a George he's talking to 24*7, right?

---

7:32 am

Felix: Good morning, sunshine! Have you eaten yet? If not, DO IT NOW. Don’t argue with me.

Felix: I will come over if you don't obey me, George!

You: Felix, it’s 7 in the morning. I just woke up. Also, who's George?

Felix: You’re George. That’s your name now. It’s safer this way.

Felix: And don’t dodge the question: HAVE YOU EATEN???

You: I literally just rolled out of bed, Felix. Give me a second to breathe.

Felix: No time to breathe, go FEED THE BABY.

You: This baby isn’t even hungry yet. Can you chill?

Felix: Fine. But just so you know, I won't hesitate from force-feeding you myself.

---

12:45 PM

Felix: Hey, did you go to your appointment today?

You: Yes, I went.

Felix: Pics or it didn’t happen.

You: I’m not sending you pictures of me at the doctor’s office, Lix

Felix: Why not? What if I need to fight the doctor? I need evidence.

You: Why would you need to fight my doctor?

Felix: I dunno, what if they're bad at their job? I’m not taking chances, George.

You: Please stop calling me George.

Felix: It's your name.

---

7:48 PM

Felix: Are you home? Did you eat dinner? Did you lock your doors?

You: Oh my God, Felix, can you give me a second to exist without you breathing down my neck?

Felix: No. I’m invested now.

You: Why are you like this?

Felix: Because my best friend knocked you up and then left you, and now I feel morally obligated to act like your baby daddy by proxy.

You: Please don’t say that again. Ever.

Felix: Too late. Also, how’s George Jr.?

You: Felix, we are NOT naming this baby George Jr.

Felix: Why not? It’s a great name.

You: I’m blocking you.

Felix: No, you’re not.

---

Hyunjin on the other hand was completely unaware of everything that was happening around him. He was completely shut off, pouring his entire self into practice and his work outs.

He missed you. He missed you so damn much. He would randomly take a walk in the building, hoping he'd get a glimpse of you. But seriously, you were nowhere to be seen.

Hyunjin was on his way to the practice room after a particularly unsuccessful attempt to run into you, when he heard the voices. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the venom in their tone caught his attention.

It took him a minute to figure out that they were actually talking about you, and he couldn't help but feel that rage bubbling up inside him.

“She’s gained so much weight lately,” one of the girls snickered. “I mean, have you seen her?”

The other girl laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what happened to her. She used to be so put together, but now? She’s just… bloated and tired all the time.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth might crack. How dare they?! He felt the overwhelming urge to whirl around and to let his emotions loose, to say something.

But of course Hyunjin couldn’t do that. Not really. He was an idol - a carefully constructed image, a brand - and he's already sacrificed way too much for the sake of it. He couldn’t afford to screw it all up now.

So instead, he swallowed his rage, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and started walking again. And then, as if it was a cruel joke, he saw you.

You were walking down the hallway, dressed in a dark-colored sweater, your hair tied back, wisps escaping to frame your face. You looked tired, yes. But, as always, to him, you looked absolutely beautiful.

But Hyunjin couldn't help but see that something was different. His eyes lingered a little too long on the soft curve of your body. Your face seemed rounder, your stride slightly slower, more careful.

His heart ached as he watched you pause at the corner, adjusting your bag before disappearing around the corner. He missed you so much it physically hurt. Shaking his head, Hyunjin turned and walked away, trying so hard to hold it all together.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He had to move on.

If only he knew that a mini Hyunjin was quite literally baking inside you, tucked away and growing strong under that sweater. If only he knew.

3:40 pm

Felix: How's the nausea?

You: I can't understand why it's called morning sickness if it's gonna last all day and trying to murder me

Felix: Don’t worry, George, I’m gonna make you the perfect meal. Zero vomit potential.

You: Omg

---

Meanwhile in Felix’s kitchen:

Felix was in deep. The counter was a disaster of herbs and half-cut veggies, and a pan bubbled ominously on the stove. His laptop sat precariously on the edge of the counter, streaming a cooking tutorial that Felix was utterly failing to keep up with.

“Chop the ginger finely,” the video said.

Felix frowned down at the mangled, uneven chunks of ginger on his cutting board.

“This is fine, right?” he mumbled to himself, throwing them into a pan.

“No, it’s not fine,” a voice said behind him, calm but dripping with judgment.

Felix jumped, yelping as he nearly knocked the pan off the stove. He whirled around to see Minho leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised.

“Hyung!” Felix squeaked, his voice an octave too high. “What are you doing here?”

“We're having dinner together. Forgot I see ?” Minho asked flatly, his sharp eyes sweeping over the culinary battlefield. He nodded at the laptop screen.

“What’s this? I thought we were ordering?”

Felix scrambled to close the YouTube video but fumbled, sending a spatula clattering to the floor.

“No! I just…uh…thought this recipe looked… yummy?”

Minho’s other eyebrow shot up as he read, “Ginger and lemon soup for nausea relief? That’s not exactly your usual vibe, Lix.”

Felix froze, his brain scrambling for an excuse. “I…uh…”

Minho tilted his head, his gaze locked on Felix. He gestured toward the mess. “Who’s it for?”

“No one!” Felix blurted out too quickly.

Minho smirked - like a cat cornering a mouse. He strolled into the kitchen, plucked up the laptop, and read the YouTube title aloud: “Pregnancy-Friendly Meals, huh?”

Felix groaned internally. He was so dead. Minho set the laptop down and turned to Felix, his face unreadable.

“You’re cooking for Y/N, aren’t you?”

“How…what…why would you -” Felix blinked at him, jaw dropping.

“I saw her going into a maternity hospital last week...and now this? It’s really sweet of you,” Minho said, his tone soft and kind, as he started clearing the counter. “She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Felix stared at him, absolutely flabbergasted. How did Minho know? He stayed silent, unsure if confirming or denying would make things worse.

“Relax, I’m not going to say anything. But…” His sharp eyes flicked to the pan on the stove, then back to Felix, a smirk forming on his face. “You’re doing a terrible job. Move.”

Before Felix could protest, Minho rolled up his sleeves and took over. Within minutes, the chaos Felix had created was transformed into a very professionally prepared meal.

Felix hovered awkwardly, torn between relief and panic. “You…you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Minho snorted. “Of course not. And if you’re serious about helping her, then I'll stand right by you.”

He packed up everything in containers and handed it to Felix with a raised eyebrow.

“Now go. She needs to eat.”

---

Felix was at yours in record time, and when he set the food down on the coffee table, you looked up from the couch, sighing softly.

“Did you burn the kitchen down?”

“Nope,” Felix said quickly. “Minho saved me.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? Minho? He knows?”

Felix flopped onto the couch beside you, looking absolutely defeated.

“Yeah, apparently he’s known for a while. He saw you going into the maternity hospital one day.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my God.”

“He promised not to say anything!” Felix said defensively, holding his hands up. “And he even helped cook this. So, technically, you can’t kill me.”

You glared at him but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Thanks for being here, Lix.”

Felix grinned, nudging the plate toward you. “Eat, George. Minho will haunt me if you don’t.”

You rolled your eyes but dug in, and for the first time in days, the food didn’t immediately send you running for the bathroom.

---

The next morning, you woke up to the doorbell, in the early hours. It was still dark outside, as you stumbled out of your bedroom, still half-asleep, and a scowl firmly planted on your face.

“Took you long enough,” Minho mumbled as he walked into your apartment, going straight for the kitchen. 

You were trying to understand if you were hallucinating or if Minho was actually in your kitchen. 

“Minho, what are you doing here?” You asked, trying to tame your hair. 

“Sit,” he commanded without looking up, focused on flipping something in the pan.

You frowned but obeyed, collapsing into a chair at the table. “It’s not even sunrise.”

“Just making sure you eat,” he said simply. “Lix said you're struggling,”

“You're here to cook for me?”

“Yes?”

Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Felix stepped inside, carrying what looked like a bag of groceries. He stopped short, staring at Minho with the same confusion you felt.

“What is he doing here?”

“I could ask the same about you,” Minho shot back without missing a beat, sprinkling a pinch of salt over whatever masterpiece he was working on.

Felix stormed into the kitchen, setting his bag down with an unnecessary thud. “What are you doing, hyung? And what are you even making? George doesn’t even like eggs that much!”

Minho scoffed. “It’s not for you, so why does it matter?”

“It matters because I’m supposed to be taking care of her!” Felix snapped, crossing his arms like an angry puppy.

“Clearly, you weren’t doing a great job,” Minho retorted. “I saw the mess you called cooking yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “Not this.”

---

Over the next few days, it became a full-on battle between Minho and Felix. It started with each trying to one-up the other in ways that were more amusing than helpful.

One morning, Felix insisted on making pancakes, painstakingly arranging blueberries into a smiley face on each one. “See, George? They’re cute and delicious!”

Minho, unimpressed, countered by making a three-course breakfast complete with fresh juice and perfectly folded napkins. “Pregnant women need nutrients, not art projects,” he said smugly.

Felix glared at him like he wanted to fight. “Pregnant women also need to smile, and my pancakes are adorable.”

But for all their ridiculousness, their constant presence was a comfort. They kept you distracted from the gaping hole in your chest where Hyunjin’s absence had settled. But no amount of blueberry pancakes or perfectly cooked meals could fill that void.

Felix had barged into your apartment one evening with a box of cookies that he'd baked.

“George! I baked you something!”

Minho, already in the kitchen chopping vegetables, glanced over his shoulder with a look that screamed, not this again.

“What are those?” Minho asked, gesturing to Felix's box  with his knife.

“Cookies,” Felix said proudly, setting them on the table in front of you. “Pregnancy-safe, gluten-free, sugar-free, full of love.”

“Full of what?” Minho deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

“Love!” Felix shot back, hands on his hips. “Something you wouldn’t understand, obviously.”

“Love isn’t a substitute for nutrition, Yongbok. Try again.” Minho snorted.

“Oh, here we go,” you muttered, already bracing for the impending argument as you sat at the table, nibbling cautiously on a cookie.

“You’re just jealous because George Jr. is my baby,” Felix said, crossing his arms and glaring at Minho like he’d just won the argument of the century.

Minho paused mid-chop, turned slowly to face Felix.

“George Jr.?” he asked flatly. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What’s wrong with George Jr.?” Felix said defensively. “It’s a strong name! Unique even!”

Minho scoffed. “Unique isn’t always a good thing, Felix. You might as well call the baby Lemon or Carrot.”

“Wow, okay,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“And besides,” Minho continued, turning back to the stove like the conversation was settled, “I do the majority of the cooking, Y/N is thriving on it, so I'm the rightful Appa.”

Felix gasped like Minho had just slapped him.

“Excuse me? Cooking doesn’t make you the dad! I’m the one who gives her all the cuddles and emotional support!”

“You’re like a clingy golden retriever,” Minho shot back, not even turning around.

“Say that again, hyung, I dare -”

“Enough!” you shouted, cutting through their bickering. Both men froze, wide-eyed, and looked at you.

“I'm sure Hyunjin would probably like a say in this whole ‘who’s the dad’ debate.” you said, and the room fell silent. 

And then Minho shrugged casually.

“I mean, sure, if we’re counting his five seconds of contribution to this whole thing.”

You and Felix both turned to stare at him, your mouths dropping open in identical expressions of disbelief. It took approximately two seconds before all three of you burst out laughing.

The laughter started light, then turned uncontrollable, your giggles mixing with Felix’s loud snorts and Minho’s chuckles. You laughed so hard your sides started to hurt, but then, without warning, the giggles morphed into something else.

The tears hit you before you could stop them. One moment you were laughing, and the next, you were crying, the overwhelming mix of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Felix’s smile faltered, and he rushed to your side, wrapping an arm around you.

“George, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his usual sunshine dimmed by concern.

Minho was there a moment later, kneeling in front of you and gently resting a hand on your knee. 

“Breathe, jagi,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. We’re here.”

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself, but the weight of everything - the pregnancy, the secret, missing Hyunjin - was too much.

“I miss him…a lot,” you managed between sobs.

“I know, I know…but we're here for you, George. You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ve got you.” Felix hugged you tighter, his voice steady but emotional.

Minho nodded as he said, “He’s right. You’re stuck with us now. You and George Jr.”

That earned a watery laugh from you, and you wiped at your eyes, looking between them. 

“I don’t deserve you two.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said firmly.

“Absolutely,” Felix added. “And so does George Jr.”

---

Hyunjin was losing his mind.

It wasn’t just the lingering ache of your absence or the fact that he hadn’t heard your voice in what felt like forever. But it was also Felix, his best friend, his other half, his partner-in-crime. Felix was suddenly a closed book. The guy who usually shared everything, from dumb cat videos to the tiniest gossip about their members, had turned into a human vault. A sketchy human vault.

Felix was constantly disappearing. After practice, during breaks, even in the middle of game nights. When Hyunjin asked, Felix always had some vague excuse. 

“Oh, just running errands!”

“Helping out Minho-hyung with something.”

“Had to grab something for George!”

Who the hell was George? 

Hyunjin squinted every time Felix made one of these excuses. Since when was his best friend suddenly so obsessed with running errands? And why was Minho always involved?

Hyunjin didn’t like it.

At first, he chalked it up to paranoia. Maybe he was overthinking. Obviously, losing you had him extra possessive and clingy. Maybe Felix and Minho were just…hanging out more? It wasn’t a crime. But then Hyunjin started noticing things.

Felix and Minho were inseparable. They’re always whispering about God-knows-what. They’d vanish together after schedules, not even bothering to invite Hyunjin to join.

So naturally, one evening, after a particularly grueling practice session, Hyunjin cornered Felix in the locker room.

“Lix,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall like he was interrogating a criminal. “Where have you been going all the time?”

And to his credit, Felix didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, nowhere. Just hanging out with Minho-hyung. You know how it is.”

“Since when do you and Minho-hyung have this…whatever-this-is?” Hyunjin narrowed his eyes.

Felix shrugged nonchalantly, pulling his hoodie over his head and saying, “We’ve just been vibing.”

“Vibing?” Hyunjin echoed, incredulous. “You disappear every day to vibe? And what’s with all the whispering during practice?”

Felix zipped up his hoodie and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“You’re being dramatic, Hyun. It’s nothing.”

Hyunjin stared at him, trying to gauge if Felix was lying. But Felix’s face was completely blank, a perfect poker face.

“What about Y/N?” Hyunjin asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Have you…seen her?”

At that, Felix paused, just for a second, but it was enough for Hyunjin to notice.

“I'm sure she’s good, Hyun. Busy probably.” he managed, giving him a smile.

Hyunjin frowned, but before he could press further, Felix clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t overthink, mate. Get some rest, yeah?”

And just like that, Felix was gone, leaving Hyunjin standing in the empty locker room, more confused than ever.

---

The next day, Hyunjin had been lingering suspiciously around the studio after practice, pretending to stretch while trying (and failing) to overhear Felix and Minho’s latest hushed conversation.

Chris, so so used to all the bullshit his boys pulled on the regular, had noticed this constant whispering between Felix and Minho, and also Hyunjin’s not-so-subtle attempts to loiter. He clapped his hands loudly.

“Hyunjin, go home. You’re exhausted, mate.”

Hyunjin, startled, stammered something about finishing up but Chris gave him a hard enough glare that had him reluctantly packing up and storming off (throwing one last suspicious glance at Felix, who pretended to be engrossed in tying his shoelaces.)

Once Hyunjin was out the door, Chris turned to Felix and Minho, his arms crossed and his leader gaze set to high alert.

“Okay,” he said, his voice stern, “what’s going on with you two? You’ve been sneaking around like teenagers, and I have a bad feeling about it. Spill.”

Felix and Minho exchanged a glance, before Minho shook his head. 

“Nothing’s going on, hyung,” Minho said coolly, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t sweating internally.

Felix, on the other hand, immediately started babbling. 

“Oh, you know, just chilling and cooking and - did you know George is a big fan of pumpkin soup? I’ve been learning how to make it. Minho hyung’s been helping…he’s such a perfectionist in the kitchen, but that’s beside the point -”

But the moment ‘George’ left his mouth, Minho sighed. 

“Who the hell is George?” Chris interrupted, his sharp eyes narrowing.

Minho sighed, muttering, “Great work, Yongbok.”

Felix blinked rapidly, his face heating up. He could do anything, literally anything in the world. But that anything didn't include lying to Chris. 

“Oh, uh, George is just…you know…a friend!” 

“A friend? You’ve been disappearing every day,  and sneaking around because of a friend?”

Felix opened his mouth, probably to launch into another nonsensical explanation, but Minho cut him off.

“George is Y/N,” he said flatly, like he was tired of the charade.

Chris froze.

“What do you mean George is Y/N?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on?”

Felix started flailing, his words tripping over each other.

“It’s not like we didn’t want to tell you, hyung, but it’s complicated, and she’s been going through a lot, and she needs all the help and support with George Jr. -”

“George Jr.?!” Chris exclaimed, his voice now echoing off the walls.

Minho, as calm as ever, pointed at Felix. “You’re making it worse.”

Chris threw his hands in the air as he said, “What is George Jr.?!”

“You mean who is George Jr.? It’s the baby. She’s pregnant.” Minho sighed, rubbing his temples.

The room went silent. Chris blinked several times, his expression cycling through shock, confusion, and then something that could only be described as 'Dad Rage'.

“She’s pregnant?! SHE’S PREGNANT, AND YOU TWO KEPT THIS FROM ME?!”

Felix, now thoroughly panicking, looked at Minho like he was begging for help. Minho just shrugged.

Chris glared at both of them. “You’re taking me to her. Right now.”

---

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You waddled over and opened it to find Chris standing there, his arms crossed and his eyes full of emotion.

Before you could say a word, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice laced with both worry and frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Behind him, Felix stood pouting like a scolded child and Minho looked like he regretted everything.

“Chris,” you gasped, trying to pull back from his hug. “I can’t breathe!”

He released you but kept his hands on your shoulders, scanning your face like a concerned dad. “You should’ve told me. We’re family, Y/N. You thought of doing this alone? Does he know? Oh my god, he doesn't know, does he?!”

From behind him, Felix muttered, “She’s not alone. I’ve been taking care of her.”

Chris whipped around to face him.

“Oh, you’ve been taking care of her, have you?!”

Felix folded his arms, his pout deepening.

“George Jr. is mine. None of you fake dads are gonna ever-”

Minho, who’d been quiet up until now, rolled his eyes and interrupted him.

“Please. You think you’re the dad just because you baked her cookies? Please.”

Felix turned to him, affronted. “You’ve been helping me! And my baby!”

“Oh, for the love of -” Chris groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, before glancing at you. “We're gonna get through this.”

You smiled at them, nodding. But deep inside, guilt gnawed at you. Everyone except Hyunjin seemed to be catching up. 

You'd started working from home more and more since you started your sixth month. You came over to the company only when you had something important to do. 

This afternoon was supposed to be uneventful. You had planned to drop by the company, grab a few files, and leave quickly. But apparently, fate had other plans.

You were leaving one of the offices when you heard it.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, almost hesitant. You froze in place, gripping the files tightly against your chest. Slowly, you turned to see Hyunjin standing a few feet away, his eyes wide as saucers, his gaze locked on you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flickered down to your stomach - the not-so-subtle curve of your six-month baby bump that your sweater absolutely failed to conceal under closer scrutiny.

Hyunjin’s face drained of all color.

“What…Y/N…are you…?” he stammered, his voice breaking.

You panicked, taking a step back. “Hyunjin, I -”

But he was already closing the distance between you, his voice rising into a frantic whisper.

“Are you pregnant?!”

You winced, glancing around nervously, but the hallway was thankfully empty. Still, Hyunjin’s voice, even when hushed, completely floored you.

“Hyunjin, let’s not -”

“Are you pregnant?!” he repeated, his voice breaking. His hand gestured toward your stomach, and he looked so utterly wrecked that you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

So you nodded.

His reaction was immediate. Hyunjin stumbled backward, his eyes welling up with tears, his hands clutching his head as if trying to keep himself from falling apart.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Oh my God. Oh my God, it’s mine, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the sight of him falling apart. “Hyunjin -”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was louder now, no longer a whisper. “That’s my baby! Our baby! And you didn’t tell me?”

“Hyunjin, please,” you begged, trying to calm him, but he was a storm you couldn’t contain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded again, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I would’ve left everything for you! Don’t you know that? I would’ve -”

You shook your head fiercely, your own tears spilling over now.

“Hyunjin, I couldn't -”

“I don’t care!” he shouted, his voice cracking painfully. “None of it means anything if I don’t have you!”

Before either of you could say more, Chris appeared, obviously having heard the chaos from the other end of the hallway.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his eyes flickering between you and the sobbing mess that was Hyunjin.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin sobbed, clutching Chris’s arm as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me. That’s my baby.” His voice broke again, and he leaned heavily into Chris, tears falling freely.

Chris’s expression softened instantly, and he glanced at you as you stood rooted to your spot, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Hyunjin, calm down. Let’s talk about this somewhere else, okay?” He tried to guide Hyunjin back toward the practice room, but Hyunjin was not taking orders from anyone at this point.

“No,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m not going anywhere until she tells me why she didn’t tell me.”

You stepped closer, your heart breaking as you cupped his tear-streaked cheeks with trembling hands. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his eyes red and raw as they searched yours for answers.

“Because,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “I love you. I love you too much to let you give up your dreams for me.”

Hyunjin’s tears fell harder.

“You think I’d regret it?” he choked out. “You think I’d ever regret choosing you? Choosing our baby?”

You shook your head through your tears.

“I couldn’t let you make that choice, Hyun. Not when I knew how much this means to you.”

Before he could respond, Felix and Minho arrived, their worried faces appearing at the end of the hallway. Felix took one look at the scene and immediately rushed to Hyunjin’s side, wrapping an arm around him.

“Hyunjin,” Felix said softly, his own voice shaking. “Come on, breathe.”

Minho, meanwhile, approached you, his arm going around your shoulder, and then glancing at Hyunjin.

“You’re not going to solve anything by falling apart here,” he said calmly. “Pull yourself together.”

But Hyunjin was inconsolable, his sobs growing louder.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. She’s been going through this alone, and I didn’t know. What kind of person does that make me?”

You stepped closer, your voice firm as you said, “Hyunjin, stop. You’re not a bad person. This isn’t your fault. If anything, it's mine. For keeping this from you.”

“I want to be there. Oh my God, I love you! Don’t shut me out again,” he whispered brokenly. “Please.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I won’t.”

As Chris and Felix finally led Hyunjin away, Minho stayed behind, pulling you into a hug.

“Well,” he said dryly, “that could’ve gone worse.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears. “Could it?”

Minho sshrugged

“At least he knows now. He’ll come around. And when he does…” He smirked faintly. “You’re going to have a hell of a time keeping him out of your hair.”

You sighed, your heart heavy but hopeful. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The company meeting was the stuff of legends. Chris had marched in like the leader of a revolution, Hyunjin trailing behind with fire in his eyes. By the end of it, the higher-ups had no choice but to relent. Hyunjin wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were you. And most importantly, Hyunjin was going to make damn sure his family - you and George Jr. were going to be happy, and with him always. 

Now that he was officially back, Hyunjin wasted no time slipping into full-time ‘husband’ mode. His mission? Make up for every second he’d missed. And maybe, just maybe, remind Minho and Felix that while they had been excellent stand-ins, it was time to hand over the reins to the rightful husband.

But, of course, Felix and Minho had no intention of stepping aside without a fight.

---

You and Hyunjin were finally having some well-deserved downtime - he had you nestled against his chest on the couch, his hand resting protectively on your bump. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt calm. Peaceful.

And then Felix appeared.

“Move,” Felix announced dramatically, striding into the room and pointing at Hyunjin like he was accusing him of a crime.

“What?” Hyunjin asked, frowning.

“I said move,” Felix repeated, already wedging himself between the two of you (particularly experienced with this as he'd done it a hundred times before). 

You couldn’t help but laugh as Felix threw an arm around you and placed his head on your shoulder.

“Just so you know, Mr. Biological Father,” Felix began, glaring pointedly at Hyunjin, “George Jr. is mine. We share an emotional bond that transcends DNA, okay? And, George? She's mine too. You being back changes nothing.”

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“What are you even talking about?! Why are you still calling her that?!”

Felix huffed dramatically, clutching you tighter. 

“Because she’s my George! And I will not stand for you disrupting the sacred trust we’ve built. Now go be useful and bring George her smoothie.”

Hyunjin looked at you, utterly baffled. “You’re seriously letting him call you George?”

“It’s a thing now. I’ve stopped fighting it.” You shrugged, trying to stifle your giggles.

Felix gave Hyunjin a smug grin.

“See? She’s accepted her destiny. Now go.”

Before Hyunjin could fire back, Minho’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“Yongbok-ah, I’m the one making the smoothie. I know how to serve the smoothie I made. Hyunjin, if you’re so desperate to help, why don’t you go fold the laundry or something?”

Hyunjin groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Why am I suddenly the errand boy in my own house?”

Minho appeared in the doorway, smoothie in hand, his expression deadpan.

“Maybe because we’ve been doing all the heavy lifting for months while you were busy, I don’t know, not knowing she was pregnant.” he said, and Hyunjin flinched, clutching his chest like Minho had shot him.

“Okay, low blow.”

“I call it the truth.” Minho smirked. 

“Minho hyung and I have carried this team for far too long. You’re going to have to earn your place here, buddy.” Felix said with a grin. 

Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation and said, “She’s literally my girlfriend! How do I have to earn anything?!”

“George belongs to us, Hyunjin. Now go fold the laundry.” Felix said, waving Hyunjin away.

You burst out laughing, clutching your belly as Hyunjin huffed in annoyance before stomping off. He came back with a basket full of freshly washed and dried clothes, and started folding.

“I’ll fold every piece of laundry in Korea if it means overthrowing these two clowns.”

“You guys are all insane, you know that?” you said, shaking your head. 

“We prefer devoted.” Felix grinned.

“Dedicated. Loyal.” Minho nodded. 

“Whatever they are, I’ll beat them at it. Just watch.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes but threw you a wink.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127

[diipsy]

⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

🕷️ : Spider-Man! Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. Spider-Man! au, nerd Jisung! au, high school! au, pining, confessions (somewhat), slight self-doubt, a little angst, nervous sungie :(

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of an existential crisis, (not actually) ghosting, insecurity, slight anxiety/degradation of oneself, dubcon(??) kiss

AUG'S NOTES. although i initially planned for this to be a mere 4-5k word fic… yeah. got a little carried away, oops. funny enough i’ve been seeing so much spider-man merch everywhere—got me thinking this fic was meant to be :) please enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in a reblog!! have a lovely day everyone <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. To everyone else in high school, Han Jisung is just a nervous, somehow ingenious chemistry nerd. And yet, beneath the glasses and long hours studying, a secret lies. Because Han Jisung isn’t just a nerd, but Seoul’s one and only, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when he finds himself head over heels for no one but you? No less scrambling for the courage to ask you out before the Valentine’s Dance? Between the fine-line of his secret identity and the more he falls for you each day, he finds himself hoping you feel the same way.

or alternatively :

In which the tangle of webs makes for complications, and love.

“And- I mean, it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man so,” Han rationalizes, hands flailing about in an awkward manner of both panic and hope, currently spilling his worries out to a luckily, ever patient Chan.

That is, opposed to Minho (Han’s official roommate) whom the two both know would nod his head and eventually (bluntly) tell Han he’s thinking far too hard before going back to studying. 

And yet, at this very moment, Minho might be the sole reprieve in calming said boy’s nerves with his no-nonsense attitude.

Because in less than three weeks their high school’s annual Valentine’s dance will be here, and if anyone knows something about Han Jisung, it’s the borderline pitiful way he pines over you like some neglected puppy, a factor it seems only you don’t notice.

As for the thing nobody knows of apart from some greatly trusted compadre’s, Han Jisung isn’t simply a dorky high schooler, but Seoul’s one and only, (trying-to-be) friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. 

Who.. is having a heart attack merely thinking of your face, your laughter, your smile, your— ugh.

Three weeks to gain as much style and confidence as he can muster and, first and foremost, the balls to even ask you out when the time comes. 

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

Biochemistry with Mr. Jang is the pits when it comes down to his hour-long lectures, but it isn’t the boredom itself grasping his attention so deliberately, it’s you.

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right. 

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

You’re smart, stupidly smart. With your pretty hair and pretty face and crinkling eyes when you smile, where your lips curl in delight. You seem to glow, as if an ethereal fae he’d learn of in childish folklore, come alive amid his wildest daydreams.

So it’s the shrill ring of the dismissal bell that has him jumping from his seat, palms slapping against the wood of his desk with a stinging force effectively gaining the attention of most everyone in the class.

And the harrowing silence.

Trust, his face goes beet red, and Jisung had never choked on an apology faster in his life beneath Mr. Jang’s scrutinizing stare.

Though, from the corner of his eye, he can see it: that breathtaking smile of yours hidden behind a hand as you laugh. 

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

Even if it was his scolding earning your laughter. But he’d brush off the matter a thousand times over to see that smile again. And again and again, like a selfish itch incapable of being satiated.

He really is hopeless.

.

.

.

“No you don’t get it! She smiled at me and—“

The rest is a series of groans and oddly unintelligible sounds, ones the partner of his decides not to inquire about.

Now squirming around the hallways, Jisung buries his face into his hands, whining loudly. Third period leads both him and Minho to Physics together, the decently spaced walk across campus to the classroom allowing leeway for (currently-kept-secret) Spider-Man’s groveling. 

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

Having grown used to his webs over the few months of adjusting, he’d been ignorant in forgetting his roommate would be home as well.

Which.. ensued the piece of bread he used his webs to beckon over—while making the glorious concoction donned as a grilled cheese—met with Minho’s furrowed, evidently confused brows and an equally, albeit slow, acceptance whilst continuing on to the fridge.

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

If not for the fact he downright begged the boy to not tell, dread forming in his stomach merely watching that sly, mischief-filled sneer curl at his roommate’s lips. 

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

As for Chan’s introduction to Seoul’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two had been approaching each other after Chan’s football practice when the older of the two tossed a football at the younger counterpart, under the (accurate) impression Jisung couldn’t catch to save his life.

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

But of course, per his luck, if Han couldn’t catch it, that damned radioactive spider would help him catch it.

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

Quick enough to freak the quarterback out and, given a few weeks time, unveil his secret after one too many tests on his reflexes and a downright scary amount of footballs thrown at his head.

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

Fair enough, he’d admit if not for the cereal (that he currently figures out how to hold upside down- or right side up? It’s hard to tell) stuffed in his cheeks, feigning a glare matching Minho’s where his roommate pokes his nose indignantly prior to beginning off towards the bathroom.

Nearly 8am, and he’s aiming to keep comfy pajamas on as long as possible before having to exchange for school clothes.

Curious, observant umber irises waste time peering at the expanse of his torso visible where he hangs upside down, lips forming into an ‘o’ of awe seeing the defined lines descending down his belly flex with every move.

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh. 

Of the few.

Eventually resorting to doing forgotten dishes, he patiently waits for the grumpy roommate of his to finish in the bathroom, rumbling echo of the hairdryer synthesizing with the morning news’ daily report.

Weather, local updates. But the portion gathering his attention comes in the form of the headline: Creeping villain, Lizard, once again detained by Seoul’s mysterious vigilante, Spider-Man.

And simultaneously, listening in on the story, he finds a glow of pride settling in his chest.

He did that. With a few bruises and scrapes sufficing as evidence but, overall, his doing.

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently. 

Resulting in, while lost in the throes of his inflating ego, the reckless unleash of webs upon random surfaces as fast as he can manage, failing to notice the risky positioning of a web by his foot until—as if from a cartoon—he trips over it. 

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

The shatter of his mug and Minho’s exasperated sigh seem to speak for themselves.

Most days it’s simply him and his thoughts in classes, and he enjoys that. Sometimes. 

The serenity, the ability to focus with ease, his headphones as his only companion—in which he tries pinpointing a suitable theme song for himself with. 

Embarrassing, he knows, but the aspect is exciting, having his own theme song.

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

A thumb and index tap along the surface of his desk, scribbling into his notebook. 

Web Fluid, consists of the topic at hand, scrawled on the top of the page.

A matter he knows he can create easily per his spider-like abilities, but finds himself pouring over regardless, curiosity gnawing at him with each formula jotted down on the lined paper.

Until you come along, and every sensible ounce of brain power goes aloof.

“Hey, what would you think about tutoring— web fluid?”

Your initial offer, from what he could tell, is swift to change, and Jisung feels his ears burn.

“Oh, yeah- I was just- web fluid, y’know? ‘Cause I, like everyone else, hate spiders (sorry radioactive spider) so I just-“

“That’s interesting, actually. You’ve got a real good grasp on chemistry.. huh.”

Lips puckered into a puff of contemplation, you’re slow to nod, gaze scanning over the wild bullet points, numbers too overwhelming to even consider.

So easy, he makes it all: the calculations, the math.

So easy, you make it all: the interactions, the conversation. 

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Why can’t he just calm down? Behave as he would if he were Spider-Man? 

Capable, assured.

“Think you could tutor me? I can pay you?”

This was not what he expected. 

“Tutor?” Han repeats, as if to clarify whether he’s hearing things. Not a belittling sort of echo, but one to console his inner panic, hope, bewilderment.

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

The nod of your head affirms all he needs to know, and, while suppressing the urge to shout with joy, he offers a small smile, waving a hand synonymously.

“Sure, yeah. Tutoring would be great. I think I’d have time between my internship with Stark Industries- not that I’m like- bragging or anything- just Mr. Stark can be kinda pushy and—“

He takes a moment to calm down before continuing to ramble on.

“We can work in your dorm? Or- if that makes you uncomfortable I totally get it-“

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

“And you don’t have to pay me,” These words are quieter, his eyes flitting over the web fluid formulas below. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

He has to cough into his hand to keep from choking, screaming, leaping like a rabbit and shrieking with accomplishment. Mainly because you called him Jisung, and secondly due to the number in his phone, your number in his phone a few minutes afterward.

This is Jisung, hi. Comes out as the most suitable first text after around twenty minutes of hesitation.

Yet, despite his exhaustion that following morning from swinging around the majority of the night in some way of expressing his happiness, he still glows.

And.. freaks out Minho in the process. 

That isn’t new. 

“Ugh…”

The ring of his alarm earns a low moan of irritation, slinging an arm over his face in feeble avoidance. His muscles ache, head thrumming frustratingly hard. 

Then again, he still gets up, still makes breakfast and dresses—however long that took between trudging steps and obnoxiously long yawns.

Though, there’s a minuscule facet of motivation keeping his eyes bright, his actions swift and steady.

You. 

Tonight, you’ll tutor at the library. Chemical equations, something he luckily excels at.

Together.

Cupid’s bow had long-since struck, leaving Han Jisung to drift away into a love-stricken labyrinth he had no chance of escaping from. 

And gosh are you pretty, the boy swearing he ends up lost gazing at you too many times to count.

There are days he can tell you’re tired, days you drag yourself to tutoring amid a likely hectic schedule where he simply wants to give you the biggest hug possible.

He can’t say his schedule looks any better, but will admit making time to both tutor and hang out sits at the top of an endlessly accumulating list.

In which beckons small notes scribbled between the margins of your textbook, sticky-notes attached to your folder for the next day.

A little extra motivation within the: “You can do it!!” or the silly messages like: “Imagine Mr. Jang as a giraffe!” that he pumps his fist seeing you laugh at that following day.

From then, a routine starts. 

Someone bringing coffee one week, the next the other’s job. Studying that turns into conversation, turns into him relaxing around you, able to communicate without slipping over his words, where you pitch in and he does too. 

Jokes, idiotic ones, he adds in just to watch you smile. Silly remarks you both laugh over until your stomachs hurt.

Even if this labyrinth isn’t one he can escape from, he finds himself not minding.

“And it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

Those words echo in his head, practically a wicked enchantment on replay.

Fu—ck.

Of plenty tutoring sessions, it had to be now that things suddenly went to shit, huh?

With his head running a mile a minute and the sensible words leaving every ounce of headspace, the genius of a boy manages one sentence.

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

Your awkward chuckle makes him want to crawl into his own skin, makes him wish so terribly the library would eat him up, that he could dissipate out of sight.   

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved. 

“I mean,” A pause, and for a split second Jisung’s heart plummets once more, feeling as if he’s trapped on a nonstop roller coaster and not a decrepit library chair instead.

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

No. Remember the dishes-for-a-week deal, he mentally reassures.

“Everybody wants to know, yeah? I think he’s pretty cool, actually,” Eyes flickering back to your book, his face pales.

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah. 

A light at the end of the tunnel.

It must be some sort of miracle, because Han Jisung hasn’t felt this elated since being presented with a new bicycle for his birthday when he was seven.  

“Thank y— Oh! Yeah. He’s.. yep, cool. Really cool.”

Stammering. Han Jisung, the boy who made a pact to end each night with beer pong come his college days (something that likely won’t happen), who makes dirty jokes bad enough Minho snorts at them, stammering. 

It’s beyond embarrassing, but he’s never felt so alive. 

Nonetheless, his tutoring voyage continues (although almost painful with how often he savors watching your face light up upon getting a question right), compiled in chatter he somehow gets through and small jokes here and there you exchange as if you’d known each other forever. 

And somewhere in between the lines of Stats and multiple-choice-answer hell, he thinks about it. About asking you out, about the dance, about spilling it all right here and there—with your two coffee cups steaming warm tendrils and the quietness of surrounding bookshelves making everything feel safe, comfortable.

“Hey, would you,” He finds himself hesitating, finds your kind gaze flickering to him from the review paper in clutch.

Baby steps. 

“Would you want to do this again? Tomorrow? Like, maybe at a café? The one by campus? Or not, if you’re busy or, don’t want to or whatever-“

“Sure.”

Sure.

He wants to resent you for the relaxed nature you adjust to an atmosphere with, your natural ability to pull him closer and closer, to make his heart thump hard enough in his chest he fears it might burst.

Because you’re far too much for his heart, and he’s giving you a run for your money with those wide globes for eyes and round cheeks bunching up in focus when explaining a concept.

But that’s a secret that’ll remain untold.

For the most part.

“Okay.”

He tried replying with the same fashion of nonchalance, but the words come out shaky and nervous and he nearly winces.

Although, come the finale of this almost-disaster, you still said yes. And to his knowledge—however meager when it came to the matter of love—tomorrow you’d be going on a date. Technically a study-date. Even still, a date.

So predictably, as the semi-idiot he is, he spends his night swinging through Seoul once more and swimming in consequential drowsiness the following day.

Worth it.

Under-eye bags be damned, it seems the way Jisung nearly radiates energy so early in the morning unsettles more than motivates for a second time these past few weeks, understood in the grunted: “turn it down!” received from Minho in response to his music.

..In which he currently serenades an invisible audience using a spoon as a microphone in the kitchen.

A date a date a date a date. 

He keeps the anxiety from settling in for the time being, knowing his kryptonite would take domain the moment he allowed himself in his mind.

What should he wear? Should he style his hair differently? It’s Saturday, maybe he should wear something less school-oriented?

No. 

Enough. 

More serenading, more bad-singing mutes the chaos bouncing around his skull.

He’ll take what he can get.

.

.

.

Each passing minute edges closer to noon, his bag hauled over a shoulder and a mumbled pep-talk recited where he paces his room—the fretful introductions he goes over in the mirror falling short upon his overthinking becoming all too much, prompting him from the dorms for fresh air.

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right. 

The flutter of birds soaring from overhanging trees captures his attention, then the rustle of leaves, then the distant shout of children squabbling over a ball. Peaceful, if only temporarily. 

Eventually, the quiet provokes a hand to reach for his phone, clicking on your number with a ruminative hum, head bobbing to the melody in his eardrums.

The Cure plays, Friday I’m in Love’s familiar beat soothing his indecisiveness while walking.

Tongue pressing to his cheek does the feeling grasp him almost instantly. Tight and inexorable, noise in his eardrum numbing to a buzz. 

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his. 

Too far for a regular person to hear, he discerns the shout of a woman, and Han’s already finding his trusty alley to both dump his bag and simultaneously change into his suit in before scaling the wall.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Comes his hurried babbling, technologically adept sensors in the costume’s eye-divots adjusting to better locate the source of commotion, danger.

A bank robber about a hundred feet away catches his attention first, the idiot scrambling for as much cash as he can muster into an already pitifully minuscule bag.

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

Skillful deployment of his webs sends him straight to the problem, checking his phone for half a second.

Eleven fifty-two, and eight minutes doesn’t sound like nearly enough time right about now to both apprehend a criminal and turn into an unsuspecting Jisung attending his first date with the girl he really, really likes.

“Y’know,” He shouts, a sharp kick to the back of the leg forcing the perpetrator on ground so harshly he even winces at it, muttering a “sorry!” he scolds himself over after restraining the man.

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

“I’d give you the credit for trying this in broad daylight, but this bag man.. it’s tiny!” He can’t help but chuckle, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-a-fact-ly.

“Lemme guess, it’s your mom’s bag,” Leaning forward, he grants some leeway to crack funny comments.

Deadpool’s funny, right? Can’t he be like Deadpool? That’s okay, yeah? People like funny Superheroes.

The unimpressed scowl from the robber earns a sheepish, squeaky giggle, waving his hands frantically.

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

“Not that your mom’s bag’s ugly! I mean it’s just, kinda small. Wouldn’t you wanna use a big bag, like in the movies?”

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

“Yeah Spider-Man!” Suddenly, a person’s voice resounds from the onlookers, eliciting following cheers he can’t help but preen at, mouth agape beneath his mask.

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

Han Jisung has one minute until his perfect, amazing date.

The memorandum is abruptly voiced from his suit’s inner audio system, and he both thanks Mr. Stark for the high-tech features and curses his ability to get distracted. 

Additionally cursing the beyond-cheesy way he typed in that reminder, by the way.

What’s up with the “perfect, amazing date” part?

Moving on.

Unfortunately, the time crunch calls for his equally time-crunched behavior, calling out a: “call the police please!” to the amassing crowd and using his webs to keep the robber’s hands behind his back moments after propelling himself upwards.

You.

He can’t afford to be late, witness your disappointed face.

Han would rather take off the suit for good than have you think he stood you up.

Unbeknownst to the awkwardly redressing hero in his beloved alley, you’re also running late, a factor he remains oblivious to.

Until he doesn’t. 

It’s true, time and time again, that a person’s instinctively compelled in locating the person they favor in a crowd. That even when hundreds of bodies surround, one’s eyes travel solely to their special person.

His special person, whom he involuntarily lands in front of without a single thought in mind. 

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

No wait, he can’t just start a conversation like this. You don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

Right.

Deepening his voice (rather horribly), he waves a hand about, summoning this painfully fake, certainly-not-teenage impression. 

“You seem lost, ma’am. I could, y’know, give you a ride? I’m a very classical gentleman-“

Yikes, the voice crack. 

“..Alright?”

The way you tilt your head, the way your hair cascades around your face like a perfect frame.

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now? 

Heck, not just Jisung, but Spider-Man has to take a deep breath, more so when you loop an arm around his shoulders and he both struggles (and excels) at avoiding touching your bum, simultaneously pretending to be oblivious about your destination in mind.

As if he wasn’t just rushing there moments prior. 

Although it’s easy grinning at the mixture of screams and laughter bubbling from your lips with each practiced extension of his webs, savoring the manner you cling close while he bounds overtop Seoul’s cityscape, expression transforming into that of excitement after the first few nerve-wracking seconds. 

Alive.

He knows the feeling, the freedom coming with being above the crowd. 

The other thing he’s come to know the feeling of? The panic upon arriving at the café, followed by another bout of panic trying to subtly change in the tiny bathroom without making a racket.

Slightly sweaty, but durable. 

No less, crazily enough, the date goes well. You continue to look darling from your spot across from him, he rushes to behave the most manly he can, and the both of you merely.. talk.

About anything, everything. Plans for tomorrow, for next year. Family, friends, pets. Bbama (his dog) and how much he misses him, and quips he prides himself in earning your laugh at, progressively mellowing out.

Understandably, you’ve both long since abandoned the aim of “studying” in this excused study-date.

Then again, there are the moments. The brief notions where you're both out of breath, whether it be from laughter or hurried conversation altogether that he swears if he asked that perilous question you’d say yes. 

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

Gone just as fast as the chance arrives, he’s alternatively left trying to play off spacing out, flushing in response to bemused laughter.

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

This time, it’s his turn to level out the playing ground.

And while you’re effectively charmed by his antics, a little boy a few tables over wonders why he’s catching glimpses of Spider-Man’s suit beneath a high-school boy’s pants leg.

In all the years of Han Jisung’s life, he never pictured himself as a taxi service.

And no, not working for a taxi service, but being a taxi service.

You heard that right, yes.

So it’s a “new kind of whipped” (according to Chan) that more often than not he’s slinging himself over to your dorm after some not-so “coincidences” in which he ran into you on the street, eventually pretending to learn the whereabouts of your dorm.

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?” 

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

The Jisung less than a month ago would’ve screamed himself silly if he saw him now, currently combing his fingers through your hair where you sit leant against the side of the bed, popping a gummy worm in your mouth before lifting the bag to share.

Recently, most of his nights have been spent lingering around here after tutoring, the matter ignorant to you that the same boy in his glasses and flannel shirt minutes earlier now stood as Spider-Man.

Expectedly, you talk. And talk and talk and talk until he knows a curfew officer would knock him out cold if he was found sneaking from your dorm, till you forget about time altogether.

Of your many conversations, the ones where you end up crying are his least favorite. 

To say it broke his heart the first time he watched you break down in front of him was a severe understatement, thanking the courage his hero-identity provided him with to usher you into a hug he never wished to let go of.

And he didn’t, not until those sniffles subsided, those glossy eyes lost their heart-wrenching factor.

A week from the dance, you fell asleep in his arms for the first time since these meet-ups, the boy barely sneaking through the window before you came barreling him over in a hug.

He had an inkling you weren’t feeling up to tutoring that night from the start, the failure to focus not going unnoticed.

Of course, with being able to provide you security as Spider-Man, so came the insecurity as Han Jisung.

Was it this version of him you wanted? The strong, capable soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old known as Seoul’s helpful vigilante? A hero?

Was Han Jisung not enough?

However much the doubt struck him electrified, for now he’d savor being able to be your consolation, your confidant. To hold you close when you needed to feel something, someone, for his head to rest in your lap when his own day sucked.

Someone to rely on, so this world wouldn’t seem so lonely. If only for a little while.

.

.

.

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

That night’s headline was definitely a downside, more humiliating than anything.

Spider-Man’s clumsy apprehension of Chang-dong bank robber.

The knowing snicker he can practically hear from Minho’s dorm followed by an assumed-to-be equally smug text from Chan lighting up his phone is returned by a childish whine.

Yeah. Not proud of that.

“I’m going to file a stalker report, y’know.”

Four days from the dance, he decides his nightly escapades could use a bump up, lowering himself upside down with his webs where you passed by a crevice of two buildings.

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

Number one? Don’t do that, he learned. Number two? Your smacks really hurt.

“Jerk!” Irritated in manner, it’s the small grin tugging at the corner of your lips giving away your true feelings, a matter Han can’t help but giggle cheerily at despite the stinging of his cheek.

Ouch.

It has his head going for a loop both hanging upside down generally and acknowledging the fact you still look good from this odd angle altogether, head tilting quizzically.

“Actually, I think I deserve a thank you,” His haughty reply, channeling your earlier accusatory energy, beckons a laugh.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous out late? Gotta have Spidey here to keep the creeps away.”

“My hero,” Comes your own haughty reply, placing a dramatic hand to your chest before dissolving into shared smiles.

A pause interrupting the flow of speech, he fills in the blanks searching your face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in that head of yours to no avail.

“Well I’ve got to reward you in some way, yeah? You’ve given me free rides,” Arrives your too-sweet of a response, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

“Say, ‘been thinking you sound similar to somebody I know. We study together.”

Oh. 

Whoops.

If his eyes were visible, you’d watch them grow the size of saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Ah, just a thought.” 

And with a wave of your hand do you dismiss an upcoming heart attack, only to stir up yet another upon reaching for his mask, earning what meager observation would conclude as a squeal.

“Wait- wait! Wait!” 

Thankfully, you do in fact wait, and Han Jisung, with only his mouth bared, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Please don’t take it off.”

For a moment, the man sounds remarkably like Han Jisung, but you shake the thought as soon as it passes. 

“Okay,” It’s a whisper, but heard nonetheless, the appearance of storm clouds bathing the alleyway an even darker shade, clouding your vision to the mere white of his teeth, the parting of soft lips when he speaks, breathes. 

“I dunno I just- I thought between you in my dorm and the way we- I thought it’d be-“

This time you’re stammering, something he’d initially be starstruck regarding if not for the guilt gnawing at his chest. 

Understandable.

Friends don’t just cuddle at night, visit each other just to be held.

Not the way you two do.

“Would a kiss work? For a ‘thank you’, I mean.”

Somewhere in between, you saw Han Jisung in this stranger, this hero.

Whether it turned out as him or not, a part of you wished when you closed your eyes, that sweet, studious boy would be there when you opened them. 

A little inkling in your gut tells you more than you catch onto.

The bob of his throat beckons a small snort of sheepish, pained laugh on your end, the boy fearing he may suffer a head rush the longer he dangles upside down.

“I’m sorry— that was too forward, right?”

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

Though it’s the precious manner your lips wind tight, expression filling with hesitation compared to a previous playfulness that has him speaking before you say something along the lines of “forget it” and leave the seemingly invincible Spider-Man to cry in this horrific-smelling alleyway like a child.

“No! No. That’s- yeah. That would be okay.”

Again, he scolds the wobbliness of his tone, schooling it into that playful cadence his identity as a hero calls for instead.

Because he’d be a liar first off saying he didn’t ache for more, and an ever bigger liar denying himself from your kiss after such arduous pining. 

“Just one though, can’t have too many, alright?”

Liar, for a second time. 

You could kiss him till he passed out and he’d wake up grateful. 

But the ego’s got to be kept up, right?

Yet, before another sly quip can fall from his tongue he’s nearly spellbound, your lips finding his shutting off both all brainpower and erasing the retort he’d planned to fill the quietness. 

And oh if Jisung doesn’t just melt, chasing after your lips instinctively, savoring the silly bump of your nose against his chin from upside down. The laughter between too-short of contact, the warm touch of your fingers against his cheeks as cold rain pelts the city from above, droplets tickling his skin.

Pulling away, he finds his hands instinctively reaching out, tenderly smoothing away strands of hair stubbornly sticking to your forehead just like what he’d do to soothe when you’d cry—giggling at the messy mascara tracks scoring your cheeks upon detaching his webs, suit-clad feet thumping on the sidewalk below.

Alas, right side up.

“Hey, don’t make the people think I made you cry, hm?” He cracks a smile, adjusting his mask back over his face. 

Well, that’s seconds from coming to understand the price of the rain, the effect of the rain in drenching your t-shirt see-through.

Oh how fast that smug facade vanishes, Han’s palm jutting out to shield both you and his eyes. 

“Your- I’ll be right back- I’m not looking!”

Because beneath the hero-suit, he’s only a teenager. 

And a gentleman, he prides himself in believing himself to be.

Luckily, this just so happened to be the alley he’d ditched his initial clothing in, exchanging for his suit moments prior. 

Gotta love his trusty alley.

Thanking whomever above, an extra “Stark Industries” t-shirt of his suffices in calming the situation at hand.

Trust, Jisung wants to groan with the sight of you in his t-shirt, one he assures you can keep for as long as you need on the ride back.

Ride, as in, web-slinging, an occasion definitely not as fun beneath the downpour of thunder and rain.

Ensuring you get back safely, he practically catapults himself into his own dorm, running to the shower like a wet rat seeking shelter.

Yep. It’s a great look.

But gosh does that shower feel like a slice of heaven.

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

From inside the shower, a loud scream of realization rings out, previous events raining down on him like the warm water sifting through his hair.

Seems it sunk in.

.

.

.

“So.. what should I do if I see a girl's bra?”

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

“What am I supposed to do, celebrate?” Han demands incredulously, giving his roommate a nonsensical stare.

“.. Butter chicken?”

Unfortunately, his stomach argues against any more squabbling, voice like that of a mouse.

“Yes, please.”

And the two enjoy their butter chicken in relatively harmless terms, The Bachelor playing on the TV, Minho taking the floor with his sparkling cider while Jisung occupies the couch above, notebook in hand.

In less than three day, I went on my first date and kissed the girl I’m in love with. Except, she doesn’t know who I am, he writes, hand stopping after that final period before closing the forbidden contents away with a loud exhale, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

One thought failed to be written down? A little extra something, bouncing around in his skull.

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

“Who knew I’d be hanging around thee Spider-Man. Or that he kissed me.”

The last sentence is barely audible, but Jisung catches it all the same, a lopsided grin nudging at his cheeks. 

From your view on the rooftop, the sunset illuminates her waning rays, painting the sky an effortless canvas of crimson and amber hues. Your feet dangle aimlessly from the edge, an action you would be horrified of if not for the man’s presence beside you.

Han’s presence, though you didn’t know that just yet.

All you’ve gathered of his identity were the momentary occasions he’d roll up his mask, like now, where the superhero gnaws at a granola bar, seated beside you. 

“I’m pretty normal though,” Comes his reply, a lilt in the last word hinting at his confusion. 

“Pfft- normal? You’re Spider-Man! Everyone in a quarter radius of Seoul City wants to know your identity. Either that or they run some secret fan account for you.”

A pause before his masked-face slowly swivels to you.

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

Jisung’s pondering was quick to be choked upon (literally) when you smack his back, provoking a chaste gagging fit on his granola bar. 

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

He finds himself laughing anyway despite the dull throb of his shoulder, feigning a pout whilst rubbing over the skin in feigned hurt. 

It’s nice, he thinks. To be sharing this little corner of the world with you. Away from the hustle and bustle of life. 

Most days he’d swing his way here for a late dinner, peeling layers of tin-foil from his wrapped burrito, legs swinging over the edge, headphones blaring some slow tune while watching the moon make its entrance past a setting sun.

For once, his world as Spider-Man isn’t so.. isolated. 

Dangerous, risky with the prospect of you discovering his identity, but for now he’ll embrace the possibility, embrace your presence beside him.

He doesn’t care if it’s momentary, fleeting. 

Being a Spider-Man, having these abilities, this random probability in a billion of becoming a hero, has taught him to hold onto each opportunity with both hands.

Without a chance of letting go.

And somewhere during those consistent weeks of tutoring, you join each other on the dorms’ rooftop on random occasions when he can’t slip into your dorm undetected. 

Him under the ecstatic impression he gets to see you again outside of the library, you believing the boy from tutoring had gone back to his dorm, now meeting a totally-separate, definitely-not-Han-Jisung Spider-Man.

Or so he thought.

Frequency, predictably, beckons familiarity. Opening leeway to deeper, more meaningful conversations within those nights more than ever before, the uncovering of sensitive, intimate layers that almost provoke Han to speak, to reveal himself.

Guilt, ever so slightly, in regards to your obliviousness to the truth.

A guilt unnecessary, he had yet to know of. Because you’ve come to notice that, when rolling his mask up just enough whenever eating, a chocolate-chip looking mole rests on his cheek, one oh so signature to yet another person.

Two strangers, turned friends, turned kiss-don’t-tell, turned foolish secret-keepers chasing each other’s tails after a love requited all along.

As for tonight, his hands brace himself upon rigid brick, the month and a half span of adapting to your companionship enabling him to not freak out (unlike the first time it happened) when you rest your head against his shoulder. 

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

DEAN plays, the title “Half Moon” quite befitting for that same moon rising above two high schoolers. One hopelessly having fallen first, the other finding themself falling harder.

“Can this be our song?” His whisper’s barely divisible against a gust of wind, but you hear it anyway.

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

.

.

.

“Alright, it’s about time I head out, hm? Got homework to do.”

It’s a small peck, one placed chaste and tidy against his cheek. However, no matter the size, Han transforms into a tomato beneath his mask, ever so grateful for the coverage provided.

“Just one, you said. Wouldn’t want it to be too much.”

Cruel, he thinks, watching you go, watching that teasing smile on your face.

Using my words against me.

“If a weird guy shows up, tell them Spider-Man will hunt them down!”

Per a greater confidence beneath the mask, he felt obligated in getting the last laugh, chuckling at the dismissive wave of your hand before you disappear down the stairs, the roof’s access hatch clunking closed behind you.

Following your absence, a glance at the sky and its brilliant stars elicit a weighted breath in response. 

Two days from the dance, proposals having started up left and right in the halls, the classrooms.

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

But then again, the intervention of hesitation snakes its way between the lines, and Han Jisung finds himself cast-away to a deserted island within his head during the one class he’s usually most attentive in, Biophysics. Too busy thinking of you, of the “something more”.

Because what if who you kissed that night, Spider-Man, was who you were into? What if the Han Jisung beneath the suit wasn’t what you wanted, but the hero, with his brave facade and unbreakable spirit?

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler. 

A hard shake of his head futilely tries discarding the gray clouds of worry, appearing incessantly come this past week. 

Foot tapping against the tile floor, he jams the endlessly clicking tip of his pen against an unfitting, empty notebook.

You deserve the hero.

The thought, somehow, makes his heart break a bit. Sends his mind into a frenzy of existential questioning.

Was Han Jisung Spider-Man? Or simply the man behind the suit? Two lives, completely different and yet all the same coming down to the person responsible.  

Is he that hero? 

That night, he lets people down.

He doesn’t respond to his call from Mr. Stark (and the following one from Happy), disappears from his dorm, and fails to show up for tutoring and his daily drop-in to your dorm.

Han Jisung can’t be perfect, can’t live up to every expectation, every stereotype a hero is portrayed as.

There are lives that’re going to be lost with or without his interference, people he can’t save, circumstances he can’t change no matter how hard he tries.

But today is now. Nothing will change unless he changes it.

Spider-Man can’t be without Jisung, yet, Jisung needs to be able to be without Spider-Man. 

There is no sacrifice if it all relies on the suit, no heroics. 

Just a scared little boy hiding behind fancy technology, behind a confident facade unable to be replicated without a media-ridden title attached to it, a suit to cover himself with.

The boy that kissed you? That was Jisung. Jisung’s voice, lips, laugh. His nervousness, his cockiness. 

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

Because if he can’t be without the suit, what is there to be?

Texts left unread, it’s one pebble knocking, then another against your window at 6am the day of the dance that alerts you from your sleep, cursing under your breath as you make for the window—left without a trace of the sender other than a sticky note smack-dab in the middle of the panel.

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays you’ll comply.

It’d make plenty of sense, your pensiveness. He let you down, held you to a predictable standard left unpredictable after oh so long.

However, feelings always have a way of choosing things before the mind can, and even your spitefulness works futile against the two feet guiding you up the stairwell.

What awaits you leaves every ounce of anger simmering into nothingness, because the familiar sight of Mapo Bridge miles off says something.

A sharp inhale.

Intertwined across the arch and guardrails, webs spell out such a peculiar assortment of words.

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

Angry thanks to this boy throwing your life for a loop, angry thanks to the foolishness this love seems to have infected the both of you with.

The ignorance, the insecurity, the childishness. All so messy.

What a fool you were to stay quiet about the truth, to pretend these feelings weren’t to be acted upon.

And from his place seated atop the bridge’s arc, the shout of yours faintly reaches his ears, the words sounding remarkably like “I love you.”

He doesn’t return until later that night, watching parents drop off their kids, couples gliding up the stairs in throes of laughter, hand in hand.

Suit-adorned legs dangle from the streetlight a block or so away, chewing at his lip in thought.

Until his thought is abruptly interrupted by the clearing of a throat, your throat, he verifies upon turning around to look, significantly paling.

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

Quit that, he internally berates, slow to hop down to ground level.

“Look, I can-“

“No you can’t! You- you what, randomly decide “oh I’m just gonna go off the grid for two days, let’s not notify anybody and everything will be alright”? Huh? You don’t respond to anyone’s texts, calls, the school couldn’t even find you!”

Furious steps stomp forward, feebly pounding your fists against his chest.

Shaky hands find your wrists to hold, his breathing nearly painful to listen to within his mask. Stifled, shuddering. 

And he can tell, oh he can tell. You’re going to cry.

He’s just made you cry.

There’s never been a moment Jisung hated himself more.

“Hey hey hey- no no don’t- don’t cry-“

Another scream of yours makes him wince, makes his hands originally reaching for your face to cradle flinch back.

“I hate- I hate this! I hate that I’ve let you worm your way into my heart and- and that you tell me you loved me and-“

A sputtering breath before his mask is not-so gently hoisted up to catch onto the hook of his nose and he’s dragged into your kiss by the collar, dissolving into mumbled “I’m sorry”’s repeated into your lips before you pull away, out of breath.

“You scared me half to death,” Scolding, one hand comes to brush off your clothing after letting go, impressively calmed after such a whirlwind of emotions, or maybe he’s simply reading it wrong.

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath. 

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

“Just.. don’t ever do that again, okay? Or I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat is feeble and certainly not sounding sure enough to believe, your brows furrowed in conviction the only remnant of insistence he’d chuckle at if not for the lingering fear of being yelled at again.

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

“I mean we kissed but would you count that as…?”

High schoolers, to the core.

Sort of funny, actually, trying to uncover a label.

For a moment your attention flickers to the dance-attending students, retreating back to Jisung in response to his heavy sigh, the seriousness returning.

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

“I can’t be there for you how I want to be, you know that. My life.. as Spider-Man, I mean, it’s too unpredictable. Risky. I can’t make promises. A life at risk isn’t scheduled, arranged. I’d put you in danger and let you down and—“

“I know what I’m getting myself into, okay?”

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

“I love you, and I think you heard it.”

Synonymously, he scorns the gradual wobbliness of his lip, the tremble in his hands returning full-force, breaking any earlier pretense of strength put up.

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

“I’ll um,” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t wince, turning his back to you as if to slip away. “I’ll come by your dorm tonight. Dance your heart out, okay?”

He nods to the auditorium, flashing lights and blaring music echoing from the closed doors.

Shifting from foot to foot, it takes every ounce of willpower to speak, to keep him from drifting off once more.

“Well if Spider-Man can’t go to the dance.. Can Jisung?”

To say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, each muscle in his body turning into stone, as if having gazed at Medusa herself.

“I knew you were.. you for a while now.”

Your voice, awkwardly explaining, aids in the wild gesturing of hands, admiring his messy hair where the mask is pulled off the entire way, unveiling a rather shell-shocked Han Jisung underneath. 

“It’s your mole um, right here?” Pointing to his left cheek, a small smile tugs at your lips. “I saw it one time when you were eating that granola bar on the roof. Kinda just.. put two and two together-“

“Why didn’t you say something!”

Now it’s Han’s turn to sound like a petulant child, causing you to bite back with the same kind of vigor.

“I was nervous, idiot!”

Hurried gasps for air fill the empty street, catching your breath after screaming at each other from mere feet apart.

Couldn’t get more mature than that. 

Observing his face, you find it only a matter of time before whatever frothing idea brewing past curly hair becomes audible.

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

Swept off your feet where Han runs to scoop you up, it’s oddly difficult in whacking his shoulder from so much laughing, whisked away to somewhere you couldn’t name.

Fools.

And now, having understood this idea of his to be on your ordinated rooftop, you simply take to watching from afar as he flits around, having disappeared for a few minutes before returning back with what eerily appeared to be a speaker hidden behind an arm.

Before you can inquire, the melody of a song begins to strum.

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

Han pretends to know how to dance and you pretend to take him seriously, extending a hand your way where he waltzes over with clumsy steps.

The silliness earns a giggle, hand reaching for his hand anyway.

And beneath the stars, your own Valentines dance comes alive.

This stage is made for two.

Fools.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[diipsy]

Sweet Pea

Pairing: Chan x Female!Reader

Summary: Not all relationships end badly. Sometimes it occurs at the wrong place and wrong time in life. If you’re lucky, a second chance opens up.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI with adult content. Unprotected sex, PIV, oral (f. receiving), mild d/s themes, light cum play, use of pet names

Word Count: 5,000 and some change

Author’s Note: This is for @mmoonriseflowerr. She is a wonderful artist and friend. She’s also one of my biggest supporters so I wanted to write something for her. I took some inspo from her lovely botanist Chan and wrote a fic about him.

Tag list: @lee--felix, @nymeriaaa, @9900z, @jess-1404, @formysakeamaryllis, @skzflix-au, @downforseochangbin, @lotus-dly, @starryoong, @svintsandghosts, @jeyelleohe, @djeniryuu, @velvetmoonlght, @toplinelix, (Message me if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list. You’ll be notified when I post. If you are supposed to be on my tag list and not tagged here then either I was unable to tag you or you’ve had a username change.)

Another year around the sun. 365 days on this earth and somehow, by a miracle, you kept yourself alive. A healthy goal while traversing adulthood. Though birthdays tend to be hit or miss with you. Some years you treat the day as any other day of the week. While some years you ache for something fun, anything to feel rewarded for your struggles. 

This year you were in the middle, unsure what you wanted. Friends in your inner circle poked and prodded you, trying to help you decide. The more you sat on the ideas, the more you didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or set an expectation. Everyone has their own schedule and shouldn’t drop everything for one event on a normal day for everyone else. 

So you settled for a little house party. Your own apartment can hold a few bodies for a couple of hours. You opted for an evening on the weekend, hopefully for those off of work, but not too late to ruin an introvert’s night. You could order a couple of pizzas paired with some board games to have an enjoyable night. 

However, once this half-baked idea left your lips, it was inevitable your best friend would jump for the opportunity to be party planner of the year. Hyunjin, the ultimate ride or die, loves and thrives for birthday parties. He wants to celebrate. It doesn't matter whose birthday it is. Gives him an excuse to plan and channel his inner decorator. 

It's an easy decision to cave to his excitement, not wanting to sink more effort than you need to. All you asked was no surprises and to run decisions with you. 

Which leads to today. As promised, Hyunjin arrived at your apartment early to decorate. The back wall in your living room now houses poised color coordinated balloons with lettering in the center. A few matching streamers run the length of the ceiling in a fun pattern working around the room’s stationary lighting. Somehow, he even found paper plates and cups to fit his theme. 

In the kitchen rests a stack of pizza boxes staged in a line across your counter offering a decent selection to please even the pickiest of eaters. Across are several drink options, including a pitcher of peach and hibiscus tea Felix was begging for. He happily baked a tray of sweets in exchange. 

With a last-minute check, everything appears ready to be consumed minus the birthday cake sitting in the fridge for later. You make a mental note to thank Changbin for the help of picking up the pizza order and ice, as Hyunjin refused to let the birthday girl help. 

The typical quiet apartment welcomes guests soon after. You spend your time accepting the kind words and small gifts deposited on you. The table near your front door becomes a hot spot for items given while mingling. 

Hyunjin finds you nearly an hour later, pulling you aside once you lose the aggressive card game happening around your coffee table. The playful banter being exchanged between you and Jisung almost distracts you from the mischievous look on your best friend’s face. 

“So I may have broken the rule.”

“Jinnie, I said no surprises.”

“I know, but I don’t think you’ll be upset with this one.” Hyunjin says while reaching for one of your hands to guide you towards the front door of your apartment. “There’s someone here that wants to see you.”

“Hyunjin, don’t play.”

“I’m not. Go see.”

You give one last look of suspicion before turning the corner to greet whoever has arrived. At first, you see Minho. He stands a few inches from the door, adding a birthday card to the small pile. 

No, the person Hyunjin wanted you to see is standing next to Minho, adding his own gift to the table. 

Chan is here. 

Plucked straight from your memory, donning a typical look with a black tank top and gym shorts. Only this time around, the muscle he’s built up is far more impressive in person. The familiar cute dimples you fell in love with show up when he smiles wide or laughs at Minho’s joke. His beautiful natural brown curls peek out from under the same faded pink baseball cap he always wears. You embroidered said cap with ‘plant dad’ on the front several years ago. A gift you gave him when he started volunteering at the botanical gardens. You’ll never forget the admiration on his face. 

The very fact he’s here causes the breath to catch in your throat. You can barely acknowledge Minho’s greeting and well wishes, too focused on how your stomach attempts to release a hundred butterflies who are desperate to escape as memories flood you. Love, longing, and even a bit of bitterness hitting you in every direction with whiplash when Chan offers a weak smile your way. 

He’s the one who made you realize home isn’t the four walls around you. No, it’s the person who makes you feel loved and cared for. The person who makes you feel safe and the number one person who encourages you to achieve your dreams.

Yet the unfortunate label of ex-boyfriend dangles over him. 

Hyunjin gives you a gentle push against the small of your back. His voice is lower just so you can hear. “Go see him. He's too scared to join us.”

You fiddle with your hands, unsure what to do with them, but don’t want to reveal how they tremble from your nerves. “Chris?”

“Hey sweet pea.” 

“What are you doing here?”

Chan casually shrugs as he steps closer. “Thought it would be a fun surprise. I’ve missed enough of your birthdays.”

Seconds later, brawny arms wrap around you, keeping you in his warm embrace. The familiar hint of vanilla from his cologne immediately relaxes your nerves. Chan tightens his hold as you press your face closer into the crook of his neck, subtly telling him you’re not ready for this hug to end. 

Chan is here. He’s actually here. 

A throat clearing behind you pulled you from your haze. Right, a birthday party where friends and colleagues are attending to spend time with you. Hyunjin invited a few dozen people to your small apartment and now a majority are watching this exchange. 

Embarrassment flushes through your system. An apology spills from your lips while you pull away from Chan.  

“No. Don’t be.” He replies. “I’m glad you missed me. I didn’t know how this would go.”

“Chris, I never should–”

“Don’t.” Chan cuts you off. “Let’s just appreciate that we’re both here now.”

Without another word, Chan slips past you, responding to the few greetings from your friends. He fit right back in, as if no time had passed, immediately slotting himself between Jisung and Felix. You watch as he plucks half of Felix’s stack of accumulated cards to insert himself into the game of Uno. Judging by the younger’s reaction, his arrival is a blessing. Someone else can take the brunt of Jisung’s competitiveness. 

The moment allows you to truly take in Chan. He’s graduated now. A master’s degree under his belt. You attended his graduation two weeks ago with the small friend group in tow. Unfortunately, Chan’s family swept him away before you got any words other than congratulations out. He promised to make time to sit down with you. You never anticipated he’d keep his end of the deal tonight. 

Looking back, the split was quite civil. Painful overall, but neither of you could squander good opportunities. Your internship landed a solid career. One that kept you in the city, whereas Chan’s schooling forced him to transfer for his degree. 

Even with separating, you two talked every day. Usually through text messages or images of your respective days. Weekends or free nights reserved late night calls to keep each other company. A few movie nights sprinkled in as well. The communication felt right. A glue connecting you two. If fate really wanted you two to separate, then drifting apart would be inevitable. 

How foolish you were to think you would stop being in love. 

Truthfully, it felt as if someone hit pause on your relationship. The feelings never faded. You tried to put yourself out there, meet new people, but no one was Chan. No one was as kind, no one was as outgoing. Hell, even supportive. This man was a different breed. One in a million and one you genuinely kicked yourself for letting go. 

Here he stands in your living room holding a red plastic cup filled with a drink served by you. He responds to the conversation, yet his big beautiful eyes haven’t left you. Every few minutes, a part of his arm brushes you subtly, telling you he’s still here. The touch settles the nerves raging in you because he wants to reassure you. He wants to touch you to let you know he’s not a figment of your imagination. 

Minho, asking Chan a barrage of questions, pulls you out of your thoughts to listen. “So, are you back in the city, then?”

“Yeah, I transferred out here.” Chan pauses briefly to see your reaction to his words but quickly glances back to Minho. “The lab was boring. I’m more of a field work guy.”

“How is that?”

“A lot of samples. Sometimes I gotta fish for worms. I’m currently investigating a fungus taking over a poor guy’s crops before it wipes everything out.”

Poor Minho rapidly blinks while processing the array of scientific terms coming out of Chan’s mouth the more he speaks about his theory about the causes. You can’t help but stare lovingly at Chan’s passion. His profession is part of him to the core of his being. There is no regret pushing Chan into his career. He’s happy. Work isn’t a chore for him, unlike most people. He wakes up eager to take on the day and it's rare to have that motivation. 

A soft touch across your hand reveals Chan taking the empty cup from your hand. “Here, give me this.”

“Where are you going?” You ask, sounding more distressed than intended. 

“Don’t worry. I’m just getting us some drinks. Okay?”

“Don’t take long.”

Chan briefly runs his thumb over the back of your hand to offer reassurance. “You have me as long as you want, sweet pea.”

The familiar pet name spoken again causes a pain in your chest. Letting him go once was too much. Now that he’s here, how are you going to say goodbye again? He really was the one who got away the more you think about it. Wrong time and wrong place for a relationship. Part of you worried you put your memory of him on some pedestal. You fell in love with the idea of him. Fooled by an idealized memory of him.

Though seeing Chan tonight fall back into the spot next to you among the friend group with ease tells you none of your doubts are true. It’s still the same Chan. The same you are madly in love with, and the man who made time for you despite a full schedule. 

The impending question of where does Chan stand on the issue? 

There will be a time and place to talk about the situation. Though the time spent on pondering makes you realize Chan doesn’t return with drinks. 

With a little search, you find him in the kitchen. Two drink cups sit to the right of him as he examines the window planters resting above your sink. He built the shelves running across the large window, but with the unfortunate breakup, he wasn’t able to see his full plan come to fruition. He left all the planters and seeds with you, and you tried your best. Perhaps an attempt to prove you listened to all the knowledge bursting out of Chan thanks to his studies. Hard work paid off. You now have several types of herbs ready to use as needed. 

“I wondered what got you so distracted.”

Chan flinches when hearing your voice. Embarrassment of being caught flushes the back of his neck and ears bright red. A shy smile creeps onto his face when turning to face you. “I can't help it. But they’re thriving. They look good.”

“Well, I took your advice about the bonemeal. The aloe is better now it’s repotted.”

“Yeah?” Chan asks while reaching for the drinks he originally came in here for. He offers one when you close the distance between you two. “I had a feeling it was getting a little cramped. No root rot?”

“Nope. Not from what I could tell. I have a bunch of recent growth, though.”

“Good. That’s good.” Chan nods. “And how is the birthday girl enjoying the party?” 

You offer a shrug. “I’m glad I got to see people, but the battery is running low.”

“Do you want me to kick people out?”

“No, because that means you’ll be leaving.” You say shyly. Chan doesn’t get a chance to reply with you immediately switching the subject. “Where are you staying? Did you—Did you find a place yet?”

“My lease is up, so I’m staying with Changbin for a bit. I haven’t decided what I want to do yet.”

Stay here is what you want to suggest. It was his place, too. There are still pieces of him here. Not just the arrangement of greenery thriving in different rooms of the house. His drawers in the dresser are still empty. Artwork he’s commissioned decorates the walls, books he’s read on nights neither of you wanted to go out, and part of his record collection he bought with the discount from your old music store job sits in the living room. Pieces of him are waiting for him. 

He belongs here. 

This is his home. 

Doesn’t he want to come home? 

As much as you love your group of friends and appreciate the opportunity to spend time with them, there is a part of you that feels relieved once everyone leaves your small apartment.

You shut the door with a sigh. The silence surrounding you brings up a sense of dread. The end of the party forces you to acknowledge the Chan-shaped elephant in the room. At the very least, to get answers. What’s next? Do you two continue to pretend to just be friends? Start over from square one? Were you two even separated given how much effort you both put into staying in touch? Normal exes typically drift apart. They meet new people. Try to put themselves out there. Dates occur and sometimes they fall in love with someone else. 

You two are different. 

Soulmates Chan would say in the middle of your dark bedroom on nights both of you wished the sun wouldn’t rise just to spend more precious time together. He repeated his words enough that you truly believed him. Fated to find each other. It’s why there were barely any hiccups in the relationship. Dynamics fell into place so easily. 

Maybe, just maybe, he was right. This separation was a test to prove Chan’s talk about red string and fate was, in fact, true. Despite all events, the string stretched, formed knots, and untied them, but it never broke. Instead, you could wind up the surrounding thread, bringing him back to you. 

When you step back into the living room you freeze, stuck watching how Chan instinctively collects discarded plastic cups to drain down the sink. He remembers where ziplock bags are to pack leftovers in the fridge. The cake sits on the bottom shelf because the one above refuses to latch properly. 

This is his home. 

Tears burn at your lash line, thinking he’s going to walk out that front door. He can’t. Not after being gone for long. He can’t be that cruel. 

Your voice comes out small when joining him in the kitchen. “You didn’t have to stay to help with that.”

Chan scoffs in response. “I can’t have the birthday girl cleaning. Not when Hyunjin already ran off.”

“You’re sweet.” You reply, trying to swallow down the lump that forms in your throat. The next few words are a struggle to spit out. “You said I could keep you as long as I wanted. That still true?”

“Yes.” Chan says while discarding the stack of empty cups in the trash. “I don’t have plans. I can stay.”

“Then we should talk.”

Chan turns to you now. Face emotionless as he nods slowly, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, we probably should.”

Now is the time to be truly honest. Rip the bandaid off and let every silent thought you have wanted to voice out. Even if Chan doesn’t feel like trying again, at the very least you know you took the risk. 

However, the essay of words comes out in one sentence. “I still love you.”

Chan doesn’t speak right away. The tension is thick, like a humid fog coming in to suffocate every breath you take. A pin falling to the floor could shatter eardrums while he chooses his words. 

“You know, when I got here I saw you standing there…Pretty like the first time I laid eyes on you. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a peacefulness come over me. I came home.” He pauses briefly; “The entire time I was there, I felt like I was on autopilot. Do whatever it takes to get through it. I even thought about quitting, but I couldn’t do that. Come back with nothing to show for it? That would be worse.”

The heartbreak in his voice is a knife to the chest. You close the short distance between you two to offer support. Chan’s breaths are shallow and rapid as he tries to collect himself. You wait, not saying anything. Just letting him have the moment to rein his emotions together.

After a few deep breaths, he forces himself to look at you. “I’m sorry, baby. Breaking up was a stupid decision…No, it was the wrong decision. But I didn’t want to get my hopes up tonight. I hurt you and I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t.” You say softly, reaching up to cup Chan’s face. One of your thumbs runs across the thin skin under his eye to wipe away a stray tear. Chan melts into the touch as you speak. “Yes, it hurt, but I could never live with the guilt if I was the reason you couldn’t achieve your dreams.”

Chan’s arms wrap around your midsection, keeping you close to him. This was an old habit of his when distressed. He finds comfort in simply being able to physically hold you. “We made it work even with how negative I was. I’m glad you still pushed to communicate and be in my life.”

“Because I want to be a part of your life.”

“Well, you’re a crucial part of my life and I haven’t stopped loving you either.”

With that, your arms move wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls on the back of his neck. Chan’s arms wrap tighter around you, almost afraid the universe will steal you away from him. When the lips you love desperately press against yours, the world stops. There are no remnants of a party, no outside world contributing to the noise pollution. It’s just you and him. The only two beings in this moment experiencing a pull to be together so aggressively.

The hungry kiss progresses to something more, deeper with the lead from Chan. Your lips part easily for his tongue to slip in and explore. There is so much urgency behind his kiss. Almost as if it’s gratitude for allowing him to love you. Maybe even another way to apologize by physical means.

A moment later, Chan forces himself to pull away. He sounds breathless already. “Sweet pea, are you sure about this? It’s kinda fast.”

“When have we ever done anything like a stereotypical couple?”

“You’re right.” Chan chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself when you’re wearing those cute shorts. I’m trying real hard to be good.”

“Then don’t be.”

There’s a familiar look of hunger appearing on his face. It’s enough to stir a reaction out of you, causing your thighs to press together. Chan notices and the aura around him changes. It's like flipping a switch; once he knows his feelings are reciprocated, he doesn’t have to bottle his self control back. 

Chan’s hands loosen to adjust his hold and in one motion hoists you up into his arms. Your legs instinctively wrap around his frame, accepting wherever he plans to take you. It doesn’t matter if it's in the kitchen, the bedroom, or even the damn living room. Just as long as he doesn’t leave you.  

He settles for the bedroom, moving through the apartment and deposits you straight onto the bed. You quickly scoot backwards towards the pillows with Chan following. He tosses his baseball cap onto the nightstand on the right side of the bed out of habit. It’s Chan’s nightstand. The shirt comes off next, discarded somewhere behind him. Your hands can’t resist reaching for him, running over the expanse of soft skin. 

Chan indulges you, allowing you the moment while his own hands unbutton your shorts. He works the material under your hips and breaks away long enough to pull them off. Next goes the shirt and bra, leaving you in only a pair of panties.  

Fingers run over your clothed pussy. The touch featherlight with his caresses focused on the damp spot where the material clinging to your folds. “You’re already wet for me. Be honest, how long were you thinking about this?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Chan’s gaze is rather commanding while looking down at you. Despite his shorter stature, he still radiates a power you want to cave all control to. “Since I saw you.”

There’s a light hum in response. His eyes are searching yours. He’s thinking, no, he’s plotting how he wants tonight to unfold. Your mind is doing the same. A million scenarios are flashing through your mind as you allow Chan to strip off the last piece of clothing on your body.

“Tell me what you want, birthday girl. I’ll do it.”

“Wanna feel your mouth.”

“Yeah, baby? On that pretty cunt?”

You eagerly nod, legs falling open to expose yourself to him. Anticipation is a wicked beast clawing to escape from inside of you. Surely, he must know how desperate you are. It’s no secret. 

Chan’s hands wrap around your ankles with a firm hold, pulling you down the bed to force you on your back. His broad form is over you in the next moment, trapping you under him. A kiss follows. One that’s too brief for you liking, but any protest dies on your tongue, feeling the wet kisses trail down to the sensitive spot on your neck.

While his lips work, his hands come to your breasts. He kneads the soft flesh in his hold, palms rubbing against your nipples. Every touch is another jolt of arousal pooling in your core. It’s both too much stimulation and not enough for your body all at once. Chan is physically on top of you. You can feel the solid weight of him being here. It’s not close enough. You need more. 

One of your hands presses on Chan’s shoulder to push him further down your body. He takes the hint, releasing your breasts to trail his kisses to the valley between them. Further and further, he moves until he can comfortably settle inches away from your pussy. 

Warm breath tickles your skin as his tongue runs the length of your slit before one of his hands spreads your pussy lips, opening you for him to drag his tongue down and across your hole. He moans, tasting your arousal. The reaction from him is instant. Chan flattens his tongue to lap at your pussy like a starved man finally able to devour a delicious meal after four long years. 

Your vision temporarily blurs as your eyes roll back. “Oh, fuck your tongue.”

“God damn. Pussy is already dripping for me.” Chan teases. A sense of pride is in his voice. “This is how I know you missed me.” 

The enthusiastic tongue moves to your clit, now prodding and circling with committed attention. You watch with keen eyes as Chan presses his nose into your pubic bone to seal his plush lips around your sensitive bud and sucks. The sensation is brain rotting, forcing your head to empty and only focus on view. It takes only a handful of seconds to have your thighs trembling. 

In need of air after a few moments, Chan pulls away panting. Both cheeks dusted with a pretty flush paired with the lower half of his face wet from you and saliva. Your empty pussy throbs with a yearning that’s almost painful. 

“Did you fuck anyone else?” Chan asks, even though he knows the answer. 

“No,” you moan while hips moving at their own volition, trying to tempt him. “They weren’t you.”

He hums in response, completely ignoring your gasp as he slips two fingers inside your hole. His fingers work with ease, curling and exploring how you respond to his touch. The muscle memory is there; it’s just a matter of remembering what works best to get you off. 

“And they never will be. Your body knows who it wants.”

Chan continues to work his fingers to prepare you for his cock. Two eventually become three, giving a comfortable stretch. By now your body is trembling, so pent up from lack of release it's hard to focus. One brush against your neglected clit would be enough to send you over the edge. 

Yet relief never comes. 

“Why did you stop?” You ask, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. 

The weight of Chan disappears as he pulls away completely. Now sitting back on his knees. The dim light on your nightstand is just bright enough to reveal the struggle he goes through to hide his smirk. 

“Tell me baby,” His hands finding the waistband of his shorts steal your attention. Both thumbs tuck under, teasing the slightest reveal of hair running from his belly button down to where his hard cock strains under the fabric. “Do you want it?”

“Chris, stop teasing.”

“I don’t think you want me bad enough.”

The broken sounding ‘please’ leaving your lips appears to be enough for him to cave. Chan pushes his shorts and briefs down his thighs agonizingly slow before finally shedding the last of his clothes. 

Your eyes trail down to see his cock is hard and ready. Still thick and pretty, like you remember. The tip is red and sticky with pre-cum as he drags his cock along your folds to coat himself. He hisses through clenched teeth when feeling the warmth he’s missed along the sensitive tip. A moan follows quickly after. His pretty noises make you wonder if he’s as desperate as you are. 

Chan answers your question by losing his battle with self control. He can’t fight it for the sake of teasing you any longer. Instead, he caves, giving you both what you want by slipping his cock inside till his hips are flushed against you. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “Forgot how good you feel.”

Your hands cling to any part of the bed sheets you can reach as Chan ruts his hips. The pace is steady and powerful, but consistent to prevent himself from tiring out quickly. Reality of today sinks in. 

Chan is home. 

Where he was supposed to be, fucking you into the mattress like you deserve. You no longer have to pretend that your toys are a decent substitute. Not when the real deal ruts his hips, filling the room with not only the sound of skin on skin, but the moans you can no longer hold in. 

“Oh, I missed the noises you make once my cock is inside you.” Chan’s eyes don’t blink, locked where you two meet, hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into your tight heat. “So fucking perfect. Always taking my cock like you were made for it." Chan praises. His hands find your hips, pulling you to meet his thrusts. The groan spilling from his lips is shameless and loud to assure neighbors can hear him. “God, this fucking pussy.”

“Take it,” you say, rushing out your words before you lose the ability to speak all together from the pleasure. 

“I will, because you’re mine. Say it baby, I wanna hear you say it.”

“Yours.” You answer with hands clawing at the meaty flesh of Chan’s arms. “Never stopped being yours.”

For your obedience, Chan rewards you by using his thick fingers to stimulate your aching clit. He applies the perfect pressure to work in tandem with his cock. Your entire frame tenses up as he forces your first orgasm to crash over you. The pleasure is overwhelming, sweeping in powerful waves you haven’t felt in a long time. You might have ascended to a completely different plane of possible decadence. Somewhere in the background, Chan is still praising you, but it’s all a world away till you come down from your high. 

Chan waits till the aftershocks die out to move you. You protest at the loss of cock only briefly till understanding what he wants of you. He’s gentle when encouraging you to flip over, now positioning you in the center of the bed on your hands and knees. His knees knock against yours, spreading you wider for him while a hand finds the small of your back to press you forward. You know what he's expecting, allowing your torso to press flat against the bed, giving your back the delicious arch he can’t resist.

It’s as effective as the first time in this position; he wastes no time slipping between your thighs to bury his cock back into you. Every thrust somehow deeper with the changed angle. There is no better feeling in the world. 

Hot breath tickles your ear as the low voice sends a shiver of excitement down your spine while he leans over you. “Take it like the good girl I know you are.”

You can’t do much else in this position. Chan's death grip on your hips will probably bruise your skin tomorrow. It’s as if he doesn’t want to let you go, needs to keep you under him to fully sate his hunger. 

Hopefully, he knows you are the same way. 

As much as you love the sweet lovemaking he’s more than capable of, you needed him to fuck you tonight. You have missed this power from him. You missed giving him full control over you letting him take anything and everything with complete submission, knowing he will reward you with never ending pleasure.

Your head turns to the side, cheek resting flat against the bedsheets. There is no embarrassment with how you pathetically plead for him. “Chris, please. I need-”

“I know, baby.” Chan replies, voice straining. “All you have to do is keep taking my cock.” His composure faltering the more allows himself to enjoy the way the delicious warmth of your pussy envelops him. He’s not gonna last much longer. The urgency in his voice only confirms your thoughts. “Please. I can’t come till I feel you again.”

Your own fingers slip down between your thighs to where your clit is aching for attention. The pads of your fingers work with experience to circle your clit mercilessly, sending you headfirst into another orgasm nearly on command. 

Seconds later Chan buries his cock as deep as he can once his high peaks. A moan has his chest giving a satisfied rumble against the hot skin of your back. He keeps you here, pinned underneath him till he’s sure every drop spills deep into you. All you can do is enjoy the way his cock twitches inside your spasming pussy. 

Eventually, he pulls his softening cock out. Once again, he’s careful when guiding you onto your back. His eyes remain on you, trailing from your dazed eyes to your lips, down to your breasts where your chest rises and falls from exhaustion, and continuing further down to between your thighs to where your pussy leaks his cum down to the bedsheets. 

There is nothing but admiration on his face. You can practically hear his thoughts. He did this; he’s ruined you to a pliable spineless mess in front of him. It’s a telling look. One you will never forget. Chan remains unsatisfied. A hunger still burns inside of him, fueling him to continue if you will let him. 

He tests the waters, fingers finding your messy hole again. Wet squelches fill the room as he fucks his fingers in and out, watching your face for any sense of discomfort or overstimulation. He won’t find any. Even with the sense of contentment flooding your hazy head, the same fire of desire is raging in your core. It’s been too long of a time apart. 

With that confirmation, Chan slides further down the bed to give himself room. His hot mouth attaches to you a breath later. He alternates between aggressive licks and sucking on the still buzzing sensitive clit. Your attempt to close your thighs around his head fails as Chan's free hand pushes one back down to the bed and holds it there. 

Your own hands find the top of his head, fingers tangling in the soft natural curls. Chan doesn’t even acknowledge the harsh tug on the roots. Only responding with a light chuckle when you gasp at the sudden change to a quicker pace of the fingers inside of you. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

“Good.” His voice is dangerously low and devilish speaking right above where you need his attention to continue. “Sweet pea, you better buckle in. We have a lot of lost time to make up. I’m far from done with you tonight.”

With that, Chan goes back to his ministrations, eager to bring you more life-changing pleasure.

Tomorrow feels a world away. Tomorrow is a world away. You two can talk about the logistics of what the next step is. Right now, there are only two thoughts solidifying in your head. One, Chan is home, where he's always belonged, and two, he's still undeniably yours.