#data testing concepts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jeonginsleftcheek · 4 months ago

Text

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?

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seospicybin · 4 months ago

Text

COCKY.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (23,6k words)

Author's note: One order of extra large Chris is here. Hope you enjoy it and pls share what your thoughts on it after ♡

Working at a company that specializes in sexual health products isn’t exactly dinner table conversation, but it’s your job—and you take it seriously. As one of the lead researchers in product development, you’ve spent months working on a specialized condom for individuals with extra-large sizes. And now, it’s time to pitch it to the board.

You take a deep breath, tugging at the hem of your blazer before stepping into the conference room. A long, intimidating table stretches before you, lined with executives who look way too serious for a meeting about condoms. Behind you, the screen glows with the first slide of your presentation, the product name in bold letters.

"Good morning, everyone," you begin, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "Today, I'll be walking you through my research on a new condom designed specifically for those who find standard sizing... insufficient."

A few executives glance at each other. Some raise their brows, others nod with mild interest. You press on, clicking to the next slide. Graphs, charts, and anatomical studies fill the screen as you explain the glaring gap in the market and why this product is necessary.

"Our research shows a real demand for this," you continue. "Current options on the market are often too restrictive, uncomfortable, or prone to breakage. This design addresses those concerns by enhancing durability while maintaining a natural feel."

You move through the slides with confidence, breaking down the materials, elasticity testing, and the competition. But as you reach the last slide, you sense the shift in the room. Mr. Kim, the head of the board, leans forward, fingers steepled together.

"Your research is solid," he says. "The product has potential. But before we approve production, we need real-world testing."

You pause. "Of course. We're already in the process of recruiting participants—"

"Expedite it," another executive interrupts. "We need actual user data before we move forward. Bring us results, then we’ll talk."

You nod, maintaining a professional expression, but frustration bubbles beneath the surface. Finding participants for something this specific isn’t exactly a quick task. But without those test results, your project is stuck in limbo.

As the meeting wraps up and the executives file out, you exhale, already running through possible recruitment strategies in your head.

What you don’t realize is that one of your participants might already be in the room—watching you with quiet interest.

Back in your lab, you slump into your chair with a sigh, letting your head fall back against the headrest. The sterile, fluorescent lights hum softly above you, a stark contrast to the high-stakes tension of the conference room. You kick off your heels, rolling your chair toward your desk just as the door swings open.

"So? How'd it go?" your friend and co-worker, Jane, saunters in, her lab coat barely hanging onto her shoulders.

"Ugh." You rub your temples. "It went as expected. They love the concept, but they won’t approve production unless I bring them real-world test results. And fast."

Jane lets out a low whistle as she strolls over to the shelves lined with various prototype models and sample products. Without hesitation, she picks up one of the dildos—one of the many you use for testing elasticity and fit—and spins it in her hand like a baton. "So basically, you need to find guys with huge dicks willing to help out?"

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But yes. And I haven’t found a single participant yet. Screening takes time, and I don’t have much of it."

Jane smirks, tapping the tip of the dildo against her palm. "Maybe you should try a more direct approach. Put up a ‘Now Hiring: Well-Endowed Men’ sign in the break room."

You shoot her a deadpan look. "Oh sure, that’ll go over great with HR."

She laughs, setting the dildo back with the others. "I’m just saying, desperate times call for desperate measures. You’re working against the clock, and if you don’t find someone soon, all that research goes to waste."

You exhale, staring at the mess of paperwork and sample prototypes on your desk. You know she’s right. You need a participant—fast.

Jane heads for the door but pauses before leaving, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, maybe you should start looking for participants here in the office. You never know who might be hiding a big secret."

She winks before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you groaning into your hands.

What you don’t know is that the solution to your problem is much closer than you think.

Lunch break couldn’t have come at a better time. You needed to step away from your desk, from the research, from the stress of finding participants. But Jane’s words from earlier linger in your head, much to your dismay.

Because now, as you sit in the company cafeteria, sipping on your drink, you catch yourself doing something utterly mortifying—unintentionally observing every single man who walks by. Or, more specifically, their crotches.

You aren’t trying to. Really. But Jane had planted the thought, and now, your brain has decided to betray you. Your eyes flicker over a group of IT specialists at the salad bar. Then to the finance associate adjusting his belt. Then to one of the marketing interns stretching in line for coffee. You don’t even realize you’re doing it until Jane elbows you with a wicked grin.

"Oh my God, you’re actually doing it," she laughs, nearly choking on her sandwich.

Your face heats instantly. "I’m not! I mean—not intentionally. I was just—oh, shut up. Let’s go."

Jane, still giggling, follows you out of the cafeteria, coffee cups in hand. She chatters about some office gossip as you make your way back to your lab, but you barely register her words. You just need to get back to work and shake this subconscious habit before you embarrass yourself further. But the moment you step into the lab, all coherent thought screeches to a halt.

Because standing in the middle of your workspace, examining a row of sample products with a curious yet unreadable expression, is Chris.

His fingers hover over one of the prototype models, but when he notices you, he straightens and offers a polite smile. "Good afternoon," he greets. "I came to speak with you."

Jane arches a brow, glances between the two of you, then smirks. "I’ll leave you to it," she says before slipping out, leaving you alone with Chris.

You turn back to him, slightly puzzled. "How can I assist you?"

He hesitates for a moment before nodding toward your desk. "I would like a more detailed explanation regarding your product—its functionality and how far in development are you."

You blink, pleasantly surprised by his interest. "Of course." You proceed to outline the design, materials, and the challenges in securing participants.

Chris listens attentively, though his expression remains unreadable. He appears to be weighing something in his mind but ultimately checks the time and exhales. "I have a meeting to attend, but could you come by my office later? Around four?"

You nod, though curiosity lingers. "Certainly. May I ask what this pertains to?"

He offers a small smile. "We’ll discuss it then."

And with that, he heads out, leaving you wondering what exactly he has in mind.

Chris Bang is a name everyone in the company knows. As a product manager, he’s known for his reliability, innovative ideas, and ability to bring projects to life. He’s respected, well-liked, and a natural leader. A social butterfly who effortlessly navigates through the office, friendly to everyone he meets.

You, on the other hand, have only ever interacted with him in passing—polite nods, brief greetings when you cross paths in the hallway. So when you receive an invitation to meet him in his office, you can’t help but wonder why he suddenly wants to talk to you.

A few minutes before four, you find yourself lingering outside Chris’s office, nervously shifting on your feet. You check your watch, heart thumping. A little after four, Chris finally appears, offering an apologetic smile.

"My apologies for the delay," he says. "Please, come in."

You follow him inside, settling into the chair across from his desk as he takes his seat. He folds his hands on the desk, studying you for a moment before speaking. "Thank you for coming. I wanted to discuss something regarding your research."

You nod, trying to keep your curiosity at bay. "Of course. How can I assist you?"

Chris watches you carefully, his expression unreadable as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. The slight shift in his posture draws your attention—just enough to make you hyper-aware of the space between you.

“What specific criteria are you looking for in a participant for your product test?” His voice is even, measured, but there’s something in the way he asks that makes your breath hitch for just a second.

You clear your throat, straightening in your seat. “The main requirement is that participants need to have a genital size above average.”

His lips quirk up slightly, though his expression remains composed. “And what qualifies as above average?”

You’re certain he already knows the answer, but you respond anyway, keeping your tone professional. “Anything more than 5.5 inches when fully erect is considered above average.”

A beat of silence stretches between you. Chris doesn’t say anything immediately, just sits there, tapping a finger lightly against the desk, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes the air feel heavier.

Then, finally, he exhales, tilting his head slightly. “I may have a solution to your participant problem,” he says, his voice lower now. “I would like to volunteer.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “You… what?”

“I want to be a participant.”

You blink, your mouth opening slightly before snapping shut. Your grip on your pen tightens as you try to process what he just said.

He nods. "I see potential in your product, and I believe in its success. More importantly, I want to contribute to the company’s innovation."

You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around it. "How exactly are you going to be a participant?"

Chris leans back slightly. "I ask that my involvement remains anonymous."

Your throat feels dry as you nod. "Alright. But how are we going to conduct the test if you want to remain anonymous?"

He watches you carefully before answering. "We can arrange to do it outside of the office, in secret."

Without another word, Chris pushes himself up from his chair and moves around the desk. He stops right in front of you, leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you, waiting. And that’s when it happens.

For the first time, you really look at him—not just as a well-respected product manager but as a man. The sharp cut of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows, the way his fitted white dress shirt does absolutely nothing to hide the definition underneath. How had you never noticed before?

Your eyes trail lower before you can stop yourself, a fleeting glance—until you realize exactly where you’re looking. The bulge against his dark slacks.

Heat floods your face as you snap your gaze back up, praying he didn’t catch that momentary lapse in professionalism.

Chris doesn’t comment on it, but there’s something almost amused in the way he tilts his head. He extends a hand toward you, expectant.

“So? Do you agree to this arrangement?” he prompts.

“Yes,” you regret for answering too quickly, making you sound way too eager. When in fact, you're just glad to finally solve the problem but also, yeah, okay, you can’t lie, you're a bit curious about something, about Chris.

Your fingers wrap around his, and as you shake hands, you feel it. The shift. The undercurrent of something you can’t quite name just yet.

The next day, work starts as usual. You and Jane are in your lab, reviewing reports and planning your next steps. This time, she’s not interrogating you about Chris—at least, not yet. Instead, she’s too busy grumbling about her own research troubles.

“I swear, if I have to go through one more round of reformulations, I’m going to lose my mind,” she complains, tapping her pen against the table. “And to make matters worse, the participant who had the reaction was the best one in the trial. Great responses, perfect for data analysis, and now she’s out.” She rubs her forehead. “I need to find a replacement ASAP, or the timeline’s screwed.”

Hearing that, you can’t help but think about your own situation. At least Jane had a participant—even if it went south. Meanwhile, you were stuck—until yesterday.

Your thoughts drift back to Chris. To the conversation in his office. To the way he leaned against his desk, arms crossed, waiting for you to respond to his offer. To the handshake that sealed the agreement, his grip firm and unwavering.

To the fact that you somehow, in the middle of all that, had managed to glance down—

Nope. Not going there.

“Hey!” Jane’s voice snaps you out of it. You blink at her.

“What’s with that face?” she asks, squinting at you suspiciously.

“What face?”

“The one that says you were just thinking about something you don’t want to admit.”

Damn it. You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Just work.”

Jane narrows her eyes. Then, suddenly, her gaze flicks past you—to the glass window overlooking the lab.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t even have to look to know what—or rather, who—she’s seeing. Still, against your better judgment, you glance up.

There he is. Chris is standing outside, observing another team of researchers working on their project. His hands are in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he listens to someone explaining something.

Jane lets out a low whistle. “Well, hello, product manager Bang.”

You close your eyes briefly. “Jane. No.”

Jane ignores you. “You know, I never really paid attention before, but now that I’m looking at him properly… Damn. You’ve been sitting on gold this whole time, and you didn’t even realize it.”

“I am not sitting on anything,” you hiss, horrified.

Jane grins, enjoying this far too much. “Not yet.”

You gape at her. “Stop.”

But your attention betrays you because the longer Chris stands there, the harder it is to ignore the way he looks. The rolled-up sleeves. The way his dress shirt fits just right. The way he listens so intently, brows furrowed in concentration.

Jane leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “You have to wonder, though… With a body like that, what else do you think he’s got going on under there?”

You suck in a breath, scandalized. “Jane.”

She smirks. “I mean, you would know better than me now, wouldn’t you?”

You nearly choke on air. “I—excuse me?”

Jane just winks. “Just saying. You’re in charge of a very… specific study. And he’s very… qualified.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond because, at that exact moment, Chris shifts—and his gaze lands directly on you. Your heart stops. For a second, neither of you moves.

Then, as if sensing the sheer panic flooding your system, Jane casually takes a step back and hums. “Welp, have fun processing that. I’ll let you get back to work.”

And with that, she strolls away, leaving you to deal with the mess she just made in your brain. The worst part? You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to look at Chris the same way again.

Especially when, minutes later, Chris finishes his observation and starts walking past your lab.

Your body tenses as he nears the doorway, but when he glances in and sees you, his expression remains calm—pleasant, even.

“Good morning,” he says, voice as smooth as ever.

“Good morning,” you manage to reply, keeping your tone neutral.

He offers a brief nod before continuing down the hall, leaving you exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

But just as you think the encounter is over, your phone buzzes. You glance down, unlocking it. A new message. From Chris.

Meet me tonight. Hotel Mira. 8 PM.

There’s no explanation. No context. Just the time. The place. And the undeniable fact that your life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

The sun is beginning to set, casting a dim orange glow through the windows. Most of the other researchers have already packed up and left, giving you just the moment of solitude you need.

With one last glance around, you reach for the shelf where your prototype samples are stored. Your fingers hover for a second before you carefully pick up a small box of the condoms—the very ones you’re supposed to be testing.

You hesitate only for a moment before swiftly slipping the box into your bag, ensuring it's hidden beneath your notebook and other miscellaneous items. Your pulse quickens. It’s not like you’re doing something wrong, but if Jane sees…

Yeah. You’d have a lot of explaining to do. You zip up your bag, moving as casually as possible, just in case—

“Hey.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Snapping your head up, you see Jane standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised.

Your heart pounds as you quickly compose yourself, forcing your shoulders to relax. “Jesus, Jane. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

She shrugs, stepping into the lab. “Didn’t know I had to make an announcement before entering.” She leans lazily against the doorframe, completely unaware of the miniature panic attack she just induced. “Anyway, my car’s still in the shop. Can you give me a ride to the station?”

You blink, still recovering. “The station?”

“Yeah. You know, where trains exist.” She gives you a look. “It’s in the same direction as your place, isn’t it?”

Your fingers tighten around your bag strap. The station. Which just so happens to be on the way to Hotel Mira.

You nod, keeping your voice neutral. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Let me grab my stuff, and we can head out.”

Jane disappears for a moment, giving you time to let out a slow breath. That was way too close.

The drive to the hotel feels longer than it should, your mind running in circles despite the fact that this is nothing more than a professional meeting. A business matter. An agreement you both shook hands on.

And yet, as you pull into the parking lot and step out of your car, there’s an uneasy flutter in your stomach that you can’t quite suppress.

Inside, the hotel lobby is polished and pristine, dimly lit with a warm, intimate glow. You walk past the front desk without sparing a glance, heading straight toward the restrooms.

Once inside, you take a moment to steady yourself. You set your bag down, gripping the edge of the sink as you look at your reflection. Your face betrays you. You don’t look like someone heading into a purely professional meeting. You look… nervous. Almost like—

No. You shake your head, breaking the thought before it can go any further. With a quick breath, you smooth out the creases in your shirt, adjust your hair, and dab a cool drop of water against the back of your neck. You look fine. Presentable. Professional.

And then, without giving yourself any more time to overthink, you grab your bag and leave the restroom.

The elevator ride is quiet, save for the low hum of the machinery as you ascend. The numbers above the doors blink steadily—six, seven, eight—each one making your pulse tick higher. By the time you reach the tenth floor, your grip on your bag is tight.

Room 1003.

You walk down the hallway, the carpet swallowing the sound of your footsteps. The walls are lined with identical doors, each one leading to a private, undisclosed space. Your destination is at the end of the hall.

You stop in front of it. For a moment, you just stand there. The number on the door gleams under the soft glow of the overhead light. 1003. The right room. The right place.

Then, shifting your bag in front of you, you lift a hand—

And knock. A pause. Silence. Then, the sound of movement from the other side. A slow, deliberate click of the lock and then the door begins to open.

The door clicks open, and you swear your heart stumbles over itself. Chris stands before you, his usual professional image softened by the undone top buttons of his shirt and the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. He looks relaxed—too relaxed. And that only makes your nerves spike even more.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You force yourself to move, slipping past him and into the room. It’s a standard hotel suite, sleek and modern, but your attention flickers to the small bar cart near the TV. Chris follows your gaze.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks, walking toward it without waiting for an answer.

You shake your head, gripping your bag a little tighter. “I’m good. I’d rather get started with the test.”

Chris chuckles, glancing at you over his shoulder. “You’re all business, huh?” He picks up a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a small amount before holding up another glass. “Come on, just one drink. We’re going to be working closely together. Shouldn’t we at least loosen up a little?”

You hesitate, knowing this isn’t what you came here for. But the way he’s looking at you—warm, patient, but with an undeniable sense of control—makes you cave just a little. You sigh, finally moving toward the sofa. “Fine. Just one drink.”

Chris smiles, a pleased glint in his eyes as he pours your drink. You watch him quietly, noticing how different he seems outside the office. The polished product manager is still there, but here, in this dimly lit hotel room, he seems more at ease, more himself. He hands you the glass, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. You swallow before raising it slightly.

“To… professional courtesy?” you say, trying to keep this neutral.

Chris chuckles again, lifting his own glass. “To a successful product test.”

You clink glasses and take a sip, the burn of the alcohol trailing down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the drink or something else entirely, but suddenly, you feel a little hot.

You set your glass down on the table after a single sip, straightening in your seat as you slip back into work mode. Clearing your throat, you open your bag and take out your notebook. “Alright. Before we begin, I need to outline the process.”

Chris raises an amused brow, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Go on.”

You nod, focusing on your notes. “The test requires me to take measurements—both in a flaccid and an erect state. This includes length, girth, and width to ensure the condom’s fit and elasticity.”

You glance up, expecting him to react professionally. Instead, Chris chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. You frown. “What?”

He smirks, taking a slow sip of his drink before meeting your eyes. “You’re so serious about this.”

Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the comment. “Well… it is a serious matter. This is research.”

Chris hums as if considering your words. Then, with a teasing lilt, he tilts his head. “Or are you just impatient to see me naked?”

Your body locks up. “What—? No! That’s not—”

But Chris only chuckles, leaning back against the sofa, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

You exhale sharply, feeling warmth creep up your neck. Without thinking, you grab your glass and take another sip, hoping the drink will calm the sudden fluster in your system.

Chris watches you with a knowing glint in his eyes, then lifts his own glass. “Alright. Once we finish these, we’ll start.”

You nod, trying not to overthink how nonchalant he is about all of this while you’re barely holding it together. This is just research. Just a product test. You tell yourself.

A few more sips and the glasses are emptied, the clink of crystal against the table sounding much louder in the quiet room.

Chris exhales, setting his drink down with ease before rising to his feet. Without thinking, you follow suit, standing just as he does—an instinctive reaction, though you’re not sure why.

The two of you find yourselves facing each other, the space between you charged with something unspoken. His gaze holds yours, steady and unreadable, and you realize you’re gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.

The silence stretches just long enough to make your pulse tick faster. Then, Chris breaks it with a low, amused murmur. “So… should we get started?”

His voice is smooth, casual, but the weight of the moment makes it feel heavier than it should.

You swallow, forcing a nod. “Y-Yes. We should.”

But your feet stay rooted in place and Chris notices. The corner of his mouth twitches—something between a smirk and a knowing smile. He tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s waiting for you to make the next move. Or if he’s simply enjoying watching you hesitate. Either way, you need to snap out of it.

Clearing your throat, you tighten your grip on your notes and take a steadying breath. “Let’s begin.”

Chris hums in agreement, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze as he finally moves. And suddenly, it feels as if the real test is not just the one you came here for—but something else entirely.

He moves first, unbuttoning the remaining buttons of his shirt with practiced ease. The fabric slips from his shoulders, revealing toned muscles beneath—broad chest, defined abs, and a confidence that makes the entire act seem effortless.

You keep your expression neutral, or at least you try to. “This is strictly professional,” you remind yourself silently.

Chris glances at you, catching the way your gaze flickers before you quickly refocus on your notes. “Do you need me to undress completely?” he asks, his tone smooth, almost teasing.

You press your lips together before answering. “For accurate measurement, I need access to the necessary area. So… yes.”

He chuckles, a deep, warm sound. “Straight to the point.”

You don’t respond, instead focusing on preparing the measuring tape and recording sheet. Anything to keep yourself occupied while he finishes undressing.

A moment later, you hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of a belt unfastening, the subtle shift of movement. You don’t look up until Chris speaks again.

“I’m ready when you are.”

When you finally lift your gaze, your breath catches for a fraction of a second. You do your best to maintain your professionalism—but the moment you see it, all thoughts momentarily leave your head.

Chris stands before you, bare from the waist down, his body relaxed yet radiating a quiet confidence. He doesn’t shy away, doesn’t fidget—he simply waits, watching for your reaction.

You knew he had to be on the larger side to even qualify for the study, but seeing it in person is something else entirely. Bigger than you expected. Definitely bigger than you imagined.

You barely catch yourself before audibly reacting, but your throat betrays you as you swallow air, a reflex you hope he doesn’t notice.

Chris, of course, notices everything. A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Something wrong?”

You snap out of it, quickly shaking your head as you reach for your measuring tape, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up your neck. “No, nothing at all. Let’s just get this done.”

Chris chuckles, but thankfully doesn’t press further. For now. You quickly move to retrieve a pair of latex gloves from your bag, slipping them on with practiced precision.

Chris raises an amused eyebrow. “You really came prepared, huh?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Of course. This is an official product test.”

His lips twitch in amusement as he peeks into your open bag, catching a glimpse of all the testing materials. “What else do you have in there? A microscope? A lie detector?”

You ignore his teasing and pull out the measuring tape, standing straighter to compose yourself. “Alright. Let’s begin with the flaccid measurement.”

Chris doesn’t move, doesn’t make it easier for you. Instead, he watches—patient, unreadable—as you kneel slightly, positioning the measuring tape against him.

Your fingers brush against his skin through the latex, and you swear you feel the slightest twitch beneath your touch. You pretend not to notice. But Chris does.

And as the test continues, you realize that maintaining professionalism might be the hardest part of all.

You keep your focus steady, guiding the measuring tape along the length of Chris’s flaccid state. Your gloved fingers work efficiently, noting the exact numbers as you move on to measure his girth, wrapping the tape around the thickest part before finally noting the width calculation.

Chris watches you work, amusement flickering in his eyes. “How do you measure width, exactly?”

You don’t hesitate as you jot down the numbers. “You divide the girth by 3.14.”

Chris lets out a short laugh. “Huh. I used to think I wouldn’t need math in real life.”

You smirk, a little too focused on your notes when you reply, “Well, here’s a practical use of Pi for you.”

His chuckle is warm, and you don’t notice how his eyes linger on you as you make quick calculations in your notebook.

Once you’re done, you lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Alright, now I need to measure—” You stop mid-sentence as realization sets in. His fully erect size.

The complications of that request hit you all at once. Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly catching your hesitation. And for the first time, you’re at a complete loss for words.

You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound casual. “I need to take your measurements when you’re fully erect.”

Chris tilts his head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement. “And do you have any idea how to get me there?”

You keep your expression neutral. “You can look at pornographic images or watch an adult film. That should help.”

At that, Chris grins, a small chuckle escaping him. He shakes his head, clearly entertained by your clinical suggestion. “That’s one way,” he muses. “But I have a better idea.”

You don’t like the way his eyes darken ever so slightly, the playful glint in them laced with something else. You try to stay calm, but your fingers tighten around your measuring tape. “And… what’s that?”

He stalls, watching you carefully before answering. “You can help me with it.”

Chris must notice your reaction because he quickly adds, “I won’t touch you unless you give me permission.” His voice is smooth, patient, almost reassuring—but his gaze stays locked onto yours, watching your every move.

You know he’s waiting for a response but all you can think about is the weight of his words. And the heat in the way he’s looking at you. You take a steadying breath before nodding. “Okay.”

Chris’s eyes flicker with something unreadable before he speaks again, his voice firm yet gentle. “If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop.”

You nod again, not trusting your voice. He takes that as his cue, stepping closer. You hold your ground, determined to remain professional, but the moment he stops in front of you—so close that your bodies are only inches apart—you feel the heat radiating from him. And then, when you think this is where he’ll stop, he takes another step forward.

Your pulse quickens as the space between you disappears. He doesn’t touch you—not yet—but his presence alone is overwhelming. He tilts his head slightly, his mouth hovering near your neck, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Chris stays there, simply breathing you in, dragging out the tension until your mind starts to blur. Then, in a low, hushed voice, he asks, “Can I hold you?”

You look at him, startled by the rawness of his request. His gaze meets yours, unwavering, intense. “I just need to hold you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something about the way he says it—like he’s asking for permission but also making a promise—makes you nod before you can second-guess yourself.

Chris doesn’t waste time. He closes the remaining distance, his arms slipping around your waist, drawing you fully against him. The contact is intoxicating. His body is warm and solid, firm in all the right places, and you feel every inch of it pressing against you.

His breath is hot against your skin as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. The tip of his nose brushes against you, and then, slowly, his mouth follows, dragging lightly across your skin.

“You smell good,” he whispers, his voice deep, laced with something that sends shivers down your spine.

You could say the same about him. His cologne, a mix of something woodsy and subtly sweet, blends with his natural scent in a way that makes your head spin.

He’s not even doing anything—his hands remain on the small of your back, respectful, unmoving—yet the moment feels unbearably intimate. Dangerously intimate. And the worst part? It feels good. Too good.

Chris lets out a soft, teasing hum. “You know, I don’t bite.” His voice is low, velvety. “You can put your hands on me if you want.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes even as you keep your hands hovering near his shoulders. “I don’t want to.”

He chuckles, a knowing sound. “Mmm. Sure.”

And yet, as if magnetized, your hands eventually land on him. First, just your fingertips brushing against the fabric of his shirt, then your palms pressing gently against his broad shoulders. He’s solid beneath your touch, his warmth seeping through his shirt and into your skin.

Chris stays buried in your neck, breathing you in, his chest rising and falling against yours. Then, just as your heartbeat starts to slow, he leans in further, pressing his mouth to your ear.

His next words are a whisper. “Even if I did bite…” He pauses, his voice dipping lower, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I think you’d like it.”

You keep your head turned away, refusing to acknowledge the way his voice alone sends heat curling through your stomach.

Chris chuckles, the sound deep and rich, vibrating against your skin. You’re not sure if it’s the heat of his body or your own rising temperature, but you feel warm all over. Your first instinct is to get a space so you can cool down.

Sensing you about to pull away, he tightens his arms around your waist, keeping you close. He lifts his head just slightly, his face now barely an inch from yours. His eyes are dark, lidded, fixed on you. “Just five more minutes,” he murmurs, almost pleading.

Your breath catches. “Five minutes,” you warn.

Chris smirks before dropping his head back against your neck, exhaling deeply as if settling in. This time, he draws you even closer, molding your body against his. His fingers press lightly into your lower back, holding you there as he murmurs, “I like the way you feel against me.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Then, his head tilts slightly, his lips grazing the column of your throat as he speaks again. “So soft,” he whispers. “So warm.”

You feel his head shift, his mouth now pressing against the curve of your jaw. His voice is barely a breath. “I was right,” he murmurs almost to himself. “Your body fits me just right.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a long second, neither of you moves. His gaze flickers down—to your lips. Your breath hitches, and he looks back into your eyes again. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in.

And without thinking, you close your eyes. Your instincts pulling you deeper into the moment but your body refuses to cooperate. You shift slightly on your feet and that’s when you feel it. Something firm presses against your thigh. Your eyes snap open.

Reflexively, you break away from his hold, your hands flying up as you step back. Your gaze darts downward before you can stop yourself. And there it is. His erection. Hard, prominent, taunting you with its size.

Your eyes widen, and the moment you realize you’ve been staring, you jerk your head away, heat burning up your face.

Chris exhales, his tongue swiping over his lower lip as he watches you, amusement flickering in his gaze.

You clear your throat, voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “It’s time for the measurements.”

For a split second, Chris looks almost… disappointed. But then he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he glances down at himself.

“Well,” he muses, smirking. “Guess I’m ready.”

You take a steadying breath, willing yourself to focus as you retrieve your measuring tape. Slipping back into professionalism, you kneel slightly to get a better angle, careful not to react to the sheer size of what you're working with.

Chris watches you with a smirk, his arms resting loosely at his sides. As you wrap the tape around him, he hums. “Are you always this serious?”

You glance up at him, momentarily thrown by the question. His eyes are amused, but there’s something else there—something unreadable.

“I’m working,” you say simply, jotting down the measurement in your notebook.

Chris tilts his head, watching you intently. “Still. You didn’t even flinch.” His smirk widens. “I’m kind of impressed.”

You roll your eyes, shifting to take the next measurement. “You’re not the first participant I’ve worked with.”

He chuckles at that, his voice dropping slightly. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Chris lets out a deep chuckle, shifting slightly under your touch. “So, you’re saying you do this often?” His voice is laced with playful curiosity.

You don’t look up, keeping your focus on writing down the numbers. “It’s my job.”

He hums. “Right. Your job.” There’s a pause, then a teasing edge creeps into his tone. “Do all your test subjects get this kind of personal attention?”

You snap your head up, eyes narrowing at the smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just being thorough.”

Chris bites back a grin, looking entirely too entertained by your reaction. “Thorough, huh? Should I be flattered?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you reach for your measuring tape again. “You should be cooperative.”

“Oh, I am,” he says smoothly. “But I have to admit, it’s kind of nice seeing you flustered.”

You pause for half a second—just enough for him to catch it—before quickly resuming your work. “I’m not flustered,” you mutter.

Chris chuckles again, low and knowing. “Right.” He shifts his weight slightly, and your fingers brush against his skin, making you tense. “You sure you don’t need to double-check any of those numbers? You know… just to be extra thorough?”

You shoot him a glare, but he just grins down at you, completely unbothered. You reach into your bag, pulling out one of the prototype condom packs. You hold it out to him, keeping your expression neutral. “Here. Try it on so I can check the fit.”

Chris takes the pack from your hand but doesn’t move to open it. Instead, he watches you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know…” He tears the wrapper slowly, his fingers deliberately smooth over the material. “Since you’re the expert, shouldn’t you be the one putting it on?”

Your breath catches, and you quickly shake your head, keeping your voice steady. “I think you can manage.”

Chris lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, I can. But wouldn’t it be more accurate if you did it? I mean, this is all in the name of research, right?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a challenge in his gaze, waiting to see how you’ll react.

You cross your arms. “Are you serious right now?”

He grins. “Completely.”

You exhale sharply, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.”

Chris sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Fine, fine.” He slides the condom out of the wrapper, still smirking. “But I have a feeling you’d do a much better job.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Just put it on, please?”

He chuckles again, finally following your instruction. But the way he keeps looking at you—as if he’s enjoying every second of your flustered state—tells you this won’t be the last time he teases you like this.

You take a step closer, eyes focused as you observe how the condom fits around him. Your fingers hover near, but you refrain from touching, keeping your professionalism intact.

“How does it feel?” you ask, glancing up at him.

Chris exhales slowly, rolling his hips slightly as if adjusting to the fit. “Honestly?” He looks down at himself. “It’s a little too tight.”

You immediately jot that down in your notebook. “Too tight…” you murmur, pen scratching against the paper.

“And I think it’s too short for my length,” he adds, pulling at the base slightly as if to emphasize his point.

Your eyes widen slightly before you catch yourself. You write it down quickly, nodding. “Alright, noted.”

Chris tilts his head, watching you with interest. “Are you sure you brought the right size?”

You don’t even look up as you answer, still focused on your notes. “Yes, these prototypes are all specifically made for extra-large sizes.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “It’s your penis that’s too big.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze.

Chris blinks. Then, slowly, a smirk curls on his lips. “Oh?” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something more amused—almost smug. “So you’re saying I’m too big?”

You clutch your notebook a little tighter, willing yourself to keep your composure. “Scientifically speaking,” you emphasize, clearing your throat, “it exceeds the parameters we accounted for in development.”

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

You take a step back, regaining your composure as you focus on the real reason you're here. Flipping to a fresh page in your notebook, you clear your throat. "How does the material feel?" you ask, keeping your tone professional.

He glances down at himself, rolling his hips slightly as if assessing the sensation. He hums, thoughtful. "It’s… okay. Smooth, but a little tighter than I’d like. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just a bit restrictive."

You jot that down quickly. "Restrictive how? Like it’s compressing too much or just not flexible enough?"

Chris watches you with a smirk. "Look at you, so serious about this."

You shoot him a pointed look. "Just answer the question. Please."

He chuckles, but obliges. "I’d say both. The stretch is good, but it’s still a little snug, especially at the base. If I were to wear this for a long time, it might get uncomfortable."

You nod, scribbling notes. "Noted. What about sensitivity? Can you still feel everything, or does it dull the sensation?"

Chris leans in slightly, and you catch the glint in his eye before he speaks. "I can definitely still feel things. Though, if you really want an accurate answer, I’d have to—"

"Don't even finish that sentence," you interrupt, already knowing where he’s going with it.

Chris bursts out laughing, hands raised in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, full functionality testing might be necessary."

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. "Noted," you say dryly, though you don’t actually write that one down.

Chris watches you with amusement before tilting his head. "So, what now?"

You glance at him—more specifically, at his still-erect situation—and then back at your notes. "We’ll discuss material modifications later." You pause, shifting on your feet. "But first… you should take that off."

Chris’s grin returns, playful and teasing. "You might want to turn around for this."

Rolling your eyes, you turn away just as you hear him peel the condom off while you put everything back into your bag.

A moment later, Chris has already discarded the condom and pulled his slacks back on, though his shirt remains unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves still rolled up. He leans against the desk, arms crossed, watching you with that ever-present smirk.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "What’s the verdict, Doc?"

You ignore his teasing tone and glance down at your notes. "The material needs improvement—more elasticity without sacrificing durability. The length also needs to be adjusted for better coverage. And the base should have a slightly looser fit to prevent discomfort over time."

Chris nods along, but you can tell he’s only half-listening. "So, in short, you need to make a custom size just for me."

You look up at him, unimpressed. "You're not the only man with this issue."

He grins. "No, but I bet I’m the first one to have you personally taking notes on it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. He’s not wrong, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "I appreciate your participation in this test. It was helpful."

Chris’s grin softens into something more genuine. "I’m glad. I mean it. I know this is important to you."

The sincerity catches you off guard. You hesitate, then nod. "It is."

A beat of silence stretches between you, the air oddly charged. Then Chris claps his hands together. "Well, I’d say that wraps up our very professional, totally scientific evening."

You huff a small laugh despite yourself. "Sure."

Chris pushes off the desk and steps closer, his voice lowering. "And I’m assuming this stays between us?"

You meet his gaze. "Obviously."

"Good," he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before he steps back.

As you gather your things, Chris watches you with a lazy smirk, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Just as you reach for the doorknob, he speaks up.

"You sure you don’t want another drink before you go?" His voice is smooth, almost coaxing. "I still have some left."

You glance back at him, shaking your head. "No, thanks. I have work tomorrow."

Chris tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "So do I."

"Exactly my point," you say, giving him a pointed look.

He chuckles, then raises his hands in surrender. "Alright. No more drinks. Just thought I’d offer."

You nod, gripping the strap of your bag. "I appreciate it."

Chris takes a slow step closer, his smirk softening into something unreadable. "Well then," he murmurs, "I guess I’ll see you at work."

You clear your throat, clutching your bag. "Yeah. See you."

And with that, you turn and walk out of the hotel room, acutely aware of his eyes on you the entire way.

The next morning, you arrive at the lab early, hoping to get a head start on your request for adjustments to the condom's materials and dimensions. You’re deep in thought, typing notes on your computer when Jane suddenly appears beside you, peering at your screen.

Her eyes narrow. "What’s this?"

You nearly jump out of your seat. "Jesus, Jane! Stop sneaking up on me like that!"

Jane ignores your reaction, leaning in closer to read. Her eyebrows lift as she scans the document. "Wait a minute... requests for material flexibility? Increased length and width?" She crosses her arms and looks at you, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Oh-ho. This is interesting."

You immediately close the document. "It’s nothing."

"Nothing?" Jane repeats, her smirk growing. "Sounds like the test subject was huge if you need to adjust everything."

You keep your face neutral. "It’s just data. The prototype wasn’t a perfect fit, so I have to make changes."

"Uh-huh," Jane says, tilting her head. "So? Who was it?"

"What?"

"Who was the guy?" She wiggles her eyebrows. "And don’t even try lying because I know you had a test subject last night."

You grab a random file from your desk, flipping through it as a distraction. "Confidential."

Jane groans dramatically. "Oh, come on! Throw me a bone here. Was he at least good-looking?"

You sigh, exasperated. "It’s not about that."

"But it is, isn't it?" Jane leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. "You had to see everything, didn’t you?"

You press your lips into a thin line, refusing to indulge her.

Jane gasps, then grins. "Oh my God. You totally did."

"I work in research, Jane. It’s part of my job."

She hums, clearly not buying it. "And yet, you're being all weird about it."

You shake your head, pretending to focus on your paperwork. "Just drop it."

Jane taps her chin, pretending to think. "Fine. I won’t ask any more questions." She pauses, then adds, "For now."

After lunch, the two of you step out onto the balcony before heading back to the lab. Jane lights a cigarette, taking a slow drag, while you sip on your iced coffee, letting the coolness settle in your throat. The sun is high, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, but there’s a nice breeze that makes it bearable.

“Man, I needed this,” Jane sighs, exhaling a stream of smoke. “I swear, if I have to deal with one more report about allergic reactions, I’m going to start developing a whole new drug—one for my patience.”

You chuckle, taking another sip of your coffee. “Maybe that’s the next project you should pitch.”

Jane hums in amusement, but her attention shifts suddenly. Her eyes lock on something—or someone—on the other end of the balcony. You follow her gaze and immediately spot Chris. He’s leaning against the railing, looking effortlessly put-together as always, engaged in conversation with a woman.

You recognize her instantly—Suze, the executive manager of another department. She’s beautiful, stylish, and carries an air of confidence that makes her stand out in any room. She’s also notoriously popular among the higher-ups and has a reputation for being both sharp and charming.

Jane clicks her tongue, watching the two of them. “Well, well. Looks like Miss Perfect is making her move.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Jane gestures subtly toward them with her cigarette. “You don’t know? Suze has been eyeing Chris for a while now. Apparently, she’s been dropping hints left and right, but he’s been playing it cool.”

You turn your gaze back to the pair. Suze is smiling, leaning in slightly as she speaks. Chris listens, nodding occasionally, but his expression remains unreadable.

Jane lets out a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, they’d make a ridiculously good-looking couple. It’s almost unfair.”

You don’t respond, just watching the way Suze tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her manicured fingers brushing the lapel of Chris’s blazer ever so slightly.

Jane exhales another puff of smoke. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. You think he’s into her?”

You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “I wouldn’t know.”

Jane side-eyes you, smirking. “You sound like you don’t care, but I know you care.”

You scoff, finishing the last of your coffee. “I don’t.”

“Sure,” she drawls, taking one last drag before stubbing out her cigarette. “And I don’t need nicotine to survive the workday.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on, we need to get back.”

But as you turn to leave, you can’t help but glance one last time at Chris and Suze. And for some reason, the sight of them together lingers in your mind longer than you’d like.

In the lab, you and Jane stand over a workstation where another team has been developing edible lubricants. Small sample bottles line the table, each labeled with different flavors—strawberry, vanilla, honey, and even some unconventional ones like mojito and buttered popcorn.

Jane picks up a small vial labeled “Salted Caramel” and gives it an experimental sniff. “Huh. Smells legit,” she muses before wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Wanna try some?”

You scoff. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

Jane ignores your protest and dabs a tiny drop onto her finger before popping it into her mouth. She hums in thought, smacking her lips. “Damn. That’s actually good.”

You shake your head, amused. “You do realize this is meant for other uses, right?”

“Obviously.” Jane grins before picking up another sample labeled “Piña Colada.” She dabs some onto her finger and holds it out to you. “C’mon, just one taste. For science.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes at her suspiciously. “You’re just trying to make me look ridiculous.”

She gasps, feigning offense. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am a woman of integrity.”

You snort, but before you can respond, a voice cuts through the room.

“Can I talk to you?”

You turn, your breath catching slightly when you see Chris standing there. His expression is serious, his posture relaxed but purposeful.

Jane, still sucking on her finger from the piña colada lube, slowly lowers her hand and looks between the two of you. “Uh-oh. That sounds important.”

Chris doesn’t react to her comment, his gaze fixed on you.

You clear your throat. “Right now?”

He nods. “If you’re free.”

You glance at Jane, who raises both hands in surrender. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll just be here taste-testing the entire catalog.”

Chris doesn’t wait for further response—he simply turns and heads toward the door, expecting you to follow.

You exhale sharply, setting down the sample bottle you were holding. Whatever this is about, it’s clearly not a casual chat. You throw Jane a look before heading after Chris, your heart thumping just a little harder than it should.

You inhale a long air before you reach Chris’s office door. After that night, you weren’t sure how it would go. Would he act like nothing happened? Would he bring it up? Would things be… weird?

Pushing those thoughts aside, you knock.

"Come in."

You step inside, closing the door behind you. Chris is at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but when he looks up and sees you, that familiar smirk tugs at his lips.

Chris gestures to the seat across from him. "Have a seat."

You hesitate but eventually do as he says. Your fingers unconsciously tighten around the side of your lab coat.

He leans back in his chair, studying you. "How are you feeling?"

It’s a loaded question, but you pretend not to notice. "Fine. Why?"

His lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re doing. "Just checking." He nods toward your bag. "Did you review our test’s results?"

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat. "The prototype was too tight and short for your size. I’ll have to make some adjustments to the material and dimensions before moving forward with mass production."

Chris hums. "So, you’re saying I’m too big for the product."

Your fingers twitch, remembering last night’s slip-up. You keep your tone professional. "Technically, yes. The size I brought was meant for extra-large measurements, but you exceeded expectations."

Chris grins. "Exceeding expectations… I like the sound of that."

You shoot him a look. "Excuse me?"

He chuckles. "Back to business." He sits up, his expression turning a little more serious. "What’s your next step?"

"I already sent in a request for adjustments to the prototype," you explain. "It’ll take some time, but I can get an updated batch for testing soon."

Chris nods. "And when that happens, will I be your test subject again?"

You hesitate. "That depends. Are you still willing to participate?"

He tilts his head slightly. "What do you think?"

Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—calm, confident, but with something simmering beneath the surface. You look away, keeping your voice even. "I’ll keep you updated."

Chris watches you for a moment before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You know… I have to admit, that was more fun than I expected."

You raise a brow. "Testing a condom was fun?"

He chuckles. "No, but watching you try to stay professional while clearly flustered? That was fun."

Your face heats up. "I wasn’t flustered."

Chris’s smirk deepens. "Sure you weren’t."

Then, as if the weight of the conversation suddenly lightens, he tilts his head slightly. “You’ll let me know when it’s ready, right?”

His words sound casual, but there’s an underlying meaning in them that you can’t quite decipher. You nod, keeping your voice steady. “Of course.”

Chris holds your gaze for a second longer, then leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Good,” he repeats, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your stomach flip.

Exactly three days later, the revised prototypes arrives in your lab. You carefully open the box, inspecting the changes you requested. The material feels smoother, the elasticity slightly improved. Satisfied, you make a note in your log—only to jump slightly when Jane suddenly leans over your shoulder.

“Length 8.07 inches and width 2.02 inches... Holy shit!” Her voice is filled with pure astonishment as she snatches one of the foil packets and flips it over in her hands. “Are you seeing this? This is huge.”

You try to stay composed, pretending to be preoccupied with the paperwork in front of you. “It’s within the expected range,” you say coolly.

Jane squints at you, then back at the condom in her hand. “Expected range, my ass. You’ve been working on this for weeks, and I’ve never seen a prototype this size before.” She pauses, then gasps dramatically. “Wait a second… did you finally find a participant?”

Your heart nearly stops. “What? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “I just figured… why stop at extra-large when we can push the boundaries even further? There’s always a demand for more variety in the market.”

Jane eyes you suspiciously, her lips pursed. “Hmm.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “Are you sure you’re not hiding some secret test subject from me?”

You force a casual laugh. “Jane, I would tell you if I had someone lined up. It’s just research.”

She doesn’t seem fully convinced, but she lets out a sigh and puts the condom back. “Alright, fine. But if you do have a participant, I wanna meet him.”

You quickly turn back to your paperwork, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your ears are burning. As soon as Jane leaves, you let out a slow breath, your fingers still gripping the pen you had been pretending to write with. You wait a few moments to make sure she’s really gone before pulling out your phone.

Your thumb hovers over Chris’s contact for a second, your mind briefly flashing back to the last test, to the way he had looked at you, the way he had—

You shake the thought away and type out a quick message.

The revised prototype is ready for testing. Let me know when you’re available.

You hit send, placing your phone face-down on the desk as you try to focus on your notes. But the distraction is already there, the anticipation simmering in the back of your mind.

A few minutes pass before your phone vibrates. You glance at the screen to read a reply from Chris.

Tonight. Same place.

Your breath catches slightly. No hesitation. No pleasantries. Just straight to the point. Your fingers tighten around your phone before you type back.

Understood. See you then.

You lock your screen and exhale, pressing your hands to your warm cheeks. This is fine. It’s just a professional test. Just like last time.

…Right?

As the workday winds down, you keep your head low, avoiding unnecessary conversations. You wait until Jane is nowhere in sight before discreetly slipping a box of the new prototype into your bag, carefully tucking it beneath your other belongings. Just as you zip it up, your phone buzzes. You pull it out, and your stomach does an unexpected flip when you see Chris's name.

Can’t do the test tonight. Something came up.

You stare at the message, an unfamiliar twinge settling in your chest. Disappointment? No, that’s ridiculous. This is strictly professional. You quickly type out a response before you overthink it.

That’s okay. Let me know when you’re available, and we’ll reschedule.

You lock your phone and sigh, shaking off the strange feeling as you hear familiar footsteps approaching.

"Hey," Jane leans against the doorway. "Can you give me a lift again?"

You figured as much. You nod, grabbing your things, and the two of you make your way down to the parking lot.

Just as you unlock your car, Jane grabs your arm, stopping you mid-motion.

"Oh my God," she whispers excitedly, nodding toward a sleek black car a few rows away.

You follow her gaze and instantly regret it. Chris is there. But he’s not alone. Suze is with him, sliding into the passenger seat like she’s done it a hundred times before. Chris gets in right after her, and within seconds, they’re driving off together.

Jane whistles low, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. "Damn. Guess the rumors weren’t just rumors."

You don't respond, just gripping your car keys a little tighter.

Jane, of course, doesn’t stop there. "I mean, it makes sense. She’s his type, isn’t she? Gorgeous, high-profile, and let’s be real, she’s been eyeing him for a while now. Wonder if they’re dating or just—"

"Can we go?" you interrupt, climbing into the driver's seat before Jane can read your face.

Jane laughs, sliding into the passenger seat. "Alright, alright. No need to get grumpy."

You roll your eyes, but as you start the car, you can't shake the odd heaviness in your chest. It’s none of your business. It shouldn’t bother you. But somehow… it does.

The entire company is in high spirits, and it doesn’t take long to remember why—tonight is the launch event for the newest collection of vibrators.

The venue is decked out with neon lights and sleek product displays, and there’s an open bar keeping everyone’s spirits high.

You mingle with your co-workers, drink in hand, while Jane, as expected, thrives in the lively atmosphere. She’s laughing, flirting, and making jokes that get progressively bolder with each sip of her cocktail.

At one point, she throws an arm around your shoulders. “This is fun, huh?” she grins.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Totally.”

It’s not that you aren’t enjoying yourself—you just need a breather.

“I’ll get you another drink,” you tell her, using it as an excuse to slip away from the group.

Jane waves you off without a second thought, already too invested in another conversation. You weave through the crowd and make your way to the bar, ordering another drink. As you wait, you take a deep breath, letting yourself relax. But before you can even take a sip—

“Hey, can we talk?”

The familiar deep voice makes you turn, and there stands Chris, looking effortlessly sharp in his suit. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are locked onto you with intent.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Chris doesn’t wait for an answer—he just reaches for your wrist and leads you away from the crowd.

Your pulse jumps as he guides you through the party, his grip firm yet careful. The noise fades behind you as he takes you into a quiet hallway, away from the music, the laughter, and most importantly—prying eyes.

Finally, he stops, turning to face you. His gaze is steady, searching.

Your heart beats a little too fast. “What is this about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

Chris exhales, running a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. “Sorry about bailing on you last night,” he says, his voice softer now. “Something came up.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. We can do it another time.”

There’s a brief silence between you. The muffled sounds of the party filter in from the other end of the hallway, but here, in this secluded space, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world.

Then Chris asks, “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

“I—uh—” You hesitate, quickly running through your mental calendar, but there’s nothing. “No, not really.”

Chris grins at that. “Good. Let’s do the product test tomorrow. Saturday night.”

You weren’t expecting that. The way he says it so casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, throws you off. But before you even fully process it, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you agree, your voice quieter than you intended.

His smile lingers as he pushes off the wall, standing tall in front of you. “I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

You nod again, almost dazed, and Chris watches you for a second longer before he turns to leave. Just as he’s a few steps away, he glances back, his voice dropping slightly. “Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

And with that, he walks away, disappearing into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You definitely need another drink. Or at least a moment to breathe.

Your phone buzzes early Saturday morning, and when you check the screen, it’s a text from Chris.

Dinner first. 7 PM. La Riviera.

That’s it. No unnecessary words, no emojis—just the time and place. You stare at the message longer than you probably should.

Dinner? This wasn’t how the last test went. You were expecting another hotel, another quick, professional meeting. But a restaurant?

You shake your head, telling yourself not to overthink it. It’s probably just to discuss the test before getting into it. But despite that rationalization, you catch yourself preparing more than you intended to.

Your outfit selection takes longer than it should, your makeup is a little more put together, and even when you tell yourself it’s just because you’re stepping out for the evening—not because of who you’re meeting—you know it’s a lie.

You arrive at La Riviera a little before 7 PM, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. The restaurant is elegant but not overwhelmingly fancy—warm lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and the faint aroma of wine and freshly baked bread filling the air and then you spot him.

Chris is already seated, dressed in a casual formal ensemble. A dark button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to tease his forearms, paired with tailored slacks. The contrast between the deep color of his shirt and his pale skin is striking, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

His eyes find yours almost instantly, and he smiles, standing up slightly as you approach. “Glad you made it.”

You sit across from him, suddenly feeling a little nervous because this—this doesn’t feel like a business meeting at all. The dim lighting, the quiet atmosphere, the way he leans slightly forward as he watches you—it feels like a date.

Dinner starts off casually enough, but then Chris begins asking you questions.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

His question catches you off guard, but you answer by shaking your head, then throw it back at him. When you ask if he’s seeing someone, he hums, picking up his wine glass. “I am.”

Your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Is it Suze?”

Chris freezes mid-sip, then lowers his glass, blinking at you. “Suze?”

You instantly regret your brashness, but it’s too late now. You clear your throat, trying to sound indifferent. “Yeah. You two seem close, and the rumor said—”

“The rumor.” Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course.”

You watch as he leans back in his seat, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And what exactly did the rumor say?”

You shift in your seat, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. “Just… that Suze and you are close.”

Chris tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And do you believe everything the rumor says?”

You purse your lips, looking away. “Not everything.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and amused. “Well, for the record, Suze and I are not a thing. She’s a great colleague, but that’s it.”

You should feel relieved—it’s not like you care who he’s seeing—but something about his tone makes you wary. You meet his eyes again. “Then who’s the someone you’re seeing?”

Chris doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes a slow sip of his wine, watching you over the rim of his glass. The silence stretches just long enough to make your stomach twist. Then, finally, he sets his glass down and leans in slightly, his voice lower now. “You.”

Your heart skips a beat and a second later, you blink. “Me?”

Chris grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Well, we are having dinner together, aren’t we?”

Your lips part, but no words come out. He’s messing with you—he has to be. You try to regain your composure, clearing your throat. “This is a business meeting.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, his fingers casually tapping against the stem of his glass. “Is it?”

You open your mouth to say yes, obviously, but the way he’s looking at you—the way tonight feels—makes you hesitate. The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken.

Chris tilts his head. “Tell me… if I didn’t bring up the product test, would you still be here?”

Your stomach twists again. You don’t know how to answer that. You feel your pulse quicken, the weight of his question pressing down on you. Instead of answering, you grab your napkin and mutter, “I—I need to use the restroom.”

Chris doesn’t stop you. He just leans back in his seat, watching with quiet amusement as you push your chair back and walk away, your heart pounding with every step.

The moment you step into the restroom, you grip the edge of the sink and take a deep breath. What the hell was that?

You turn on the faucet, letting the cool water run over your hands as if it’ll help clear your thoughts. This was supposed to be a simple dinner before the product test—so why does it feel like he’s pulling you into something else entirely? And worse, why aren’t you stopping him?

You glance at yourself in the mirror, your reflection betraying the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. No matter how much you try to convince yourself that this is just work, that Chris is just teasing, something about the way he looks at you makes it hard to believe that. You take another breath, steadying yourself. Just go back out there and keep it professional.

Easier said than done.

The car ride is quiet, but the tension between you is thick. You grip the hem of your dress, feeling the fabric twist between your fingers as you steal glances at Chris. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift. His sleeves are rolled up again, exposing the strong lines of his forearms, and it takes everything in you not to stare. Then, you notice something. The hotel he took you to last time—the one you were expecting—flashes past the window.

“Wait,” you blurt out, turning to him. “You just passed the hotel.”

Chris doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he grins slightly, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, I know.”

Your brows furrow. “Then where are we going?”

“I know a nicer hotel,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Then, as if reading your thoughts, he adds, “It’s not like you have anything to do tomorrow, right?”

No, you don’t. But the way he phrases it—like it’s already decided—sends a shiver down your spine.

Chris glances at you then, his gaze flickering down to your hands still gripping your dress. His smirk softens, but his voice is just as teasing when he says, “Relax. It’s just for the test, remember?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to loosen your grip. But you’re not sure if it’s his words or the way he says them that make your pulse race even more.

Chris pulls into the hotel’s driveway, the warm glow of the entrance lights reflecting off the sleek surface of his car. You step out, adjusting your dress as you follow him inside, your heart pounding a little too fast.

The lobby is luxurious, far more upscale than the previous hotel. The marble floors gleam under the chandelier lights, and the air is filled with a faint scent of expensive cologne and polished wood. You try not to fidget as Chris approaches the front desk.

“One suite, please,” he says smoothly.

Your head snaps toward him. “A suite?”

Chris doesn’t even glance at you, just slides his card across the counter to the receptionist. “Yeah.” Then, finally, he looks at you, an amused glint in his eyes. “Problem?”

You hesitate, glancing between him and the receptionist, who remains professional as she processes the request. You don’t know why you expected anything less from Chris—of course, he wouldn’t settle for a standard room. But a suite?

“I just thought…” You trail off, pressing your lips together.

Chris leans in slightly, voice low enough that only you can hear. “If we’re testing a product, shouldn’t we have more space to move around?”

Your breath catches at the implication, and he chuckles at your reaction before straightening up, accepting the key card from the receptionist. “Let’s go.”

You follow him into the elevator in silence, gripping the strap of your bag tighter than necessary. The numbers on the display climb higher, the anticipation pressing down on you.

When the doors finally slide open, Chris gestures for you to step out first. You do, walking down the plush carpeted hallway until he stops in front of a door and swipes the key card. The lock clicks open.

He pushes the door wide and turns to you with a smirk. “After you.”

You hesitate for just a second before stepping inside, and as the door closes behind you, you realize just how different tonight already feels.

Instead of taking a tour around the room, you hurriedly take a seat on the sofa, your hands clasped together as you watch Chris move around the suite with ease, like he belongs here. The room is larger than you expected—modern, sleek, and far too intimate.

Your nerves start creeping in, tightening your shoulders. It’s not that you haven’t done this before, but something about tonight feels… different. More deliberate. More dangerous.

Chris, on the other hand, looks completely at ease as he wanders over to the minibar, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the complimentary bottle of champagne. He plucks it from its ice bucket and grins. “Perfect timing.”

You watch as he peels off the foil and works the cork loose. “You don’t have to open that—”

Pop!

The cork flies off, the sudden noise making you jump. Chris bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Relax,” he drawls, pouring the golden liquid into two glasses. “You’re acting like this is your first time in a hotel room with me.”

You press your lips together, refusing to respond to that, and instead accept the glass he offers you. He raises his in a toast, his voice smooth. “To… scientific research.”

You huff a small laugh despite yourself and clink your glass against his before taking a sip. The champagne fizzes pleasantly on your tongue, cool and crisp.

But then—

“You know,” Chris muses, swirling his drink, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous. Maybe even a little flustered. But that can’t be right, can it?”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m not—”

And then it happens. Your fingers slip, and in your haste to retort, your glass tips forward, sending a splash of champagne straight down the front of your dress. The cold liquid soaks through the fabric instantly, making you gasp.

Chris freezes for a second, then— He bursts out laughing. You groan, setting your glass down as you grab a napkin from the table, dabbing at the wet stain. But it’s useless. The fabric clings to your skin, highlighting every curve.

He leans back against the minibar, arms crossed, watching you with open amusement. “Well,” he says, biting back another chuckle, “if you wanted to take your dress off, you could’ve just asked.”

His laughter still lingers in the air as he moves across the room, casually plucking a plush bathrobe from the hotel’s wardrobe. He turns to you, holding it up like a peace offering, his grin unrepentant.

“Here,” he says. “You can’t just sit around in a wet dress all night.”

You hesitate, gripping the damp fabric clinging to your skin. It’s uncomfortable, borderline unbearable—but the idea of slipping into a hotel bathrobe, of making yourself even remotely comfortable here, feels dangerous.

Still, you don’t have much choice. With a sigh, you accept the robe and head toward the spacious en-suite bathroom. Just as you’re about to close the door behind you, a shadow appears in the doorway.

Chris. You look up in confusion, but he leans against the doorframe, completely unfazed by your reaction. “Want some help?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, completely at ease. “I mean, it only makes sense, doesn’t it? You need me ready for the test, and I need a little… encouragement. Two birds, one stone.”

You gape at him, caught between indignation and sheer disbelief. “You—”

Chris lifts both hands in mock surrender, though there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Just a suggestion.”

Your fingers tighten around the door handle, and for a second, you actually consider slamming the door in his face. But then reality kicks in—the sooner you finish this test, the sooner you can leave.

With a deep breath, you step back and pull the door open just a little wider. “Fine.”

Chris blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting you to agree so quickly. Then, a slow smirk curves his lips as he steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

The bathroom feels smaller with Chris standing behind you, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting both of your reflections in the mirror. You keep your gaze locked on yourself, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body as he reaches for the zipper at the back of your dress.

His fingers brush against your skin as he tugs it down, agonizingly slow, and the air shifts—suddenly heavier, thicker. The fabric loosens around your shoulders, slipping slightly, exposing more of your back. “You’re tense,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You grip the edge of the counter, willing yourself to focus on anything but the way his fingers ghost over your spine as he eases the zipper all the way down. “I wonder why,” you say dryly.

Chris chuckles, the sound vibrating so close that you can feel it. He places his hands lightly on your shoulders, his thumbs pressing gently into the bare skin there. “Relax,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “It’s just a dress.”

Just a dress. Just a simple, professional test. You exhale and let the straps slide off your shoulders, the silky fabric pooling at your feet. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, making you shiver slightly. You’re left in nothing but your underwear, standing there in front of him, vulnerable yet unwilling to let it show.

Chris doesn’t move right away. His gaze flickers up to meet yours in the mirror, something unreadable swimming in his dark eyes.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension. Then, after what feels like an eternity, Chris finally steps back, his lips quirking into that knowing smirk.

“There,” he says, voice softer now. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He grabs a clean washcloth, dampens it with warm water, and steps closer. You watch him through the mirror as he wrings out the excess water, his sleeves already rolled up, revealing his forearms.

“This might be a little cold,” he says, but before you can react, he presses the cloth against your bare shoulder, wiping away the sticky remnants of wine.

You inhale sharply—not because of the temperature, but because of the slow, deliberate way he drags the cloth down your arm, over your collarbone, and lower. His touch is gentle, almost too careful, as if he’s savoring every second of this moment.

“You have nice skin,” he muses, his voice taking on that teasing lilt. “Soft… delicate...”

You grip the edge of the counter a little tighter. “Chris.”

“What?” He tilts his head, eyes dark with amusement as he crouches slightly, now running the damp cloth along your side. “I’m just making an observation. It’s not every day I get to admire my researcher up close.”

You shoot him a glare through the mirror. “I don’t recall this being part of the test.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “No, but it’s a nice bonus.”

The cloth moves lower, skimming along the curve of your waist, across your stomach. His knuckles brush against your ribs, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s intentionally slowing down.

“You’re staring,” you point out, trying to sound unaffected.

Chris doesn’t even try to deny it. “Can you blame me?” He leans in just slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “You look incredible.”

Your pulse jumps. You keep your eyes on the mirror, on the way his hands move with too much ease, too much familiarity. The way his gaze lingers, dark and intense. It feels too intimate. Too much.

You clear your throat, shifting your weight. “Are you done?”

Chris smirks, but he finally straightens up, tossing the cloth into the sink. “Yeah,” he says, stepping back. “For now.”

Before you can even react, Chris's hands grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you onto the sink. A surprised gasp escapes you as your palms press against the counter for balance. "Chris—"

"I'm not done yet," he interrupts smoothly, already crouching in front of you, the wet cloth in hand.

Your heart skips a beat as he starts wiping down your legs, his touch slow, precise, like he's savoring every second. He starts at your ankle, dragging the warm cloth up the length of your calf, then to your knee, and higher still. His fingers brush against your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine.

Your entire body feels like it's on high alert. "You don’t have to—"

"Shh," he hums, amusement flickering in his eyes as he continues. "Let me do this properly."

You press your lips together, watching him through the reflection on the shower glass door. He looks entirely too focused, like this is some kind of ritual for him. And then, just as he finishes, he does something you don’t expect. He parts your legs.

Your breath catches as he steps between them, standing so close that his body heat seeps into your skin. His hands rest on the counter beside you, effectively caging you in. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t move any closer, just lingers there—his chest barely an inch from yours, his face so close that you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

The air between you shifts, thickening with something unspoken. You swallow hard, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when Chris is looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s daring you to react.

"Chris," you murmur, unsure of what you’re even asking for.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His voice is low, teasing. "Nervous?"

You straighten your shoulders, meeting Chris’s intense gaze with as much composure as you can muster. "No," you say firmly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "No?"

All of a sudden, his hands grip your waist again, and with one sharp tug, he pulls you flush against him. The sudden contact knocks the air from your lungs—his body is solid, warm, pressing into you in a way that makes it impossible to ignore just how close you are.

"Don't be shy," he murmurs, his voice edged with challenge. "Go ahead and put your hands on me."

You hesitate, feeling the weight of his expectation hanging in the air. Then, awkwardly, you lift your arms, wrapping them around his broad shoulders.

Chris watches you the entire time, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Good girl."

Before you can process those words, he moves again—this time gripping the backs of your thighs and lifting them, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The position forces you even closer, your core pressed right against the hardness growing beneath his pants. His arms snake around you, locking you in place as he leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear.

"You feel so damn good," he murmurs, his voice like silk against your skin. "Better than I even imagined."

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders, a shudder running down your spine at his words. And then—he moves.

Slowly, deliberately, he rolls his hips against you. The pressure is subtle at first, almost teasing, but the friction sends a wave of heat straight through your core. He does it again, this time with more intent, dragging his clothed length against you in a way that makes your breath hitch.

"You like that?" he whispers, his lips brushing your ear.

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, your body tensing against his. You don’t answer, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, your silence only encourages him. He grinds against you again, this time slower, more drawn out, savoring the way your body reacts to him. A quiet groan rumbles in his chest as he buries his face into your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"You feel perfect," he breathes.

You swallow hard, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it's slipping fast. The way he’s moving, the way he’s talking—it's intoxicating.

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. "Tell me to stop," he challenges, voice low and husky. "If you want me to."

He watches you, waiting, his lips hovering just a breath away from your skin. His body stays pressed against yours, his hands firm on your waist, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself sink into the sensation.

The warmth of his breath against your neck, the intoxicating way his body molds against yours—it’s dangerously easy to forget why you're here. You close your eyes, allowing yourself just one more second of indulgence. One more second of feeling him. But then—an alarm rings in your head.

Reality crashes down on you like a wave of cold water. Your eyes snap open, and with a quiet breath, you press your hands against his chest, gently pushing him away. Chris hesitates for a fraction of a second before letting you go, his gaze flickering with something unreadable as you quickly slip down from the sink.

The heat of his body is gone instantly, but the lingering effect still pulses through your veins. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move, to ground yourself back in the real reason you’re here.

You grab the bathrobe and hurriedly wrap it around yourself, securing the belt tighter than necessary. You can feel Chris’s eyes on you the entire time, silently watching, waiting for you to say something.

You clear your throat. "It’s time for the test," you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, running a hand through his hair as he takes a step back. "Right," he murmurs, amusement laced in his voice. "The test."

There’s something in the way he says it—like he knows exactly what just happened between the two of you. Like he knows how close you were to completely surrendering but he doesn’t push.

Instead, he watches as you gather yourself, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright," he says, taking a step toward the door. "Let’s get started."

Despite dressed in a bathrobe, you clear your throat and slip back into professionalism as you grab the pack of condoms from your bag. Without looking at him, you extend your hand, offering one of the revised prototypes.

Chris takes it from you with a small, amused hum. "Let’s see how this one goes, then."

As you make a move to turn around and step out of the room to give him privacy, his voice stops you.

"You can stay," he says, his tone casual but carrying that underlying teasing edge. "It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before."

You pause mid-step, fingers tightening slightly on your notebook. That’s true, but it doesn’t make it any less… distracting.

Still, you force yourself to act unfazed. You shift back to your previous spot, keeping your eyes locked on your notes as Chris continues undressing. The sound of fabric rustling fills the room, and when you finally glance up, your breath nearly catches.

The first time you saw him naked, he’d still had his shirt on. But this time, he’s taken everything off. Completely bare. Your grip tightens around your pen as you force yourself to maintain a neutral expression. But your eyes… they betray you. They keep flickering downward, drawn helplessly to the sheer size of him. It’s eye-catching, unfairly so, and despite your best efforts, you keep stealing glances.

Chris notices. Of course, he does. He smirks as he tears open the condom wrapper and then— "Want to put it on for me this time?"

You snap your head up, shooting him an unimpressed look. Without dignifying his question with a response, you roll your eyes and immediately focus on writing down the preliminary details of the product test.

He chuckles but doesn’t push. He sits down at the edge of the bed, takes the condom, and rolls it down his length with practiced ease. Your eyes flicker toward him again—just for a second—but it's enough for him to catch you looking.

You quickly redirect your gaze back to your notes. "How does it feel?" you ask, voice all business.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back slightly, spreading his legs just a little as he looks down at himself, inspecting the way the condom fits around his length.

You keep your eyes on your notebook, pen poised over the page, but your fingers are tense around it. Your pulse is unsteady.

"It feels better than the last one," Chris finally says, his tone casual, though there’s a smirk playing on his lips. "Not as tight. And the length is better, too."

You nod, quickly jotting down his feedback, willing yourself to focus on the task and not on the fact that he’s sitting there, completely naked, completely unbothered.

"The material feels smoother," he continues, running a hand along his length, testing the stretch. You don’t dare look up. "Not too thick, but sturdy enough."

You scribble his words down, keeping your head low.

Chris hums. "You’re really not gonna look, huh?"

Your grip on your pen tightens. "I don’t need to look. I just need your feedback."

"Right," he drawls, clearly amused. "And what if I had trouble putting it on? You wouldn’t have helped me?"

You finally glance up, rolling your eyes. "You’re a grown man, Chris."

He grins. "I know, but isn’t this a part of product testing? Hands-on research?"

You shoot him a glare, but he just chuckles, leaning forward slightly. "Relax," he says, voice low and teasing. "I’m just messing with you."

You sigh, shaking your head as you jot down the final notes. "If the fit feels good, then we can move on to the next phase of testing."

Chris tilts his head. "The durability test?"

You meet his gaze, keeping your expression neutral. "Yes."

A slow smirk spreads across his face. "I’m looking forward to it."

You walk back to your bag resting in a chair, you pull out the box of condoms from your bag and hand it to Chris, keeping your expression professional. “For the durability test, you can conduct it yourself and come back to me with your feedback.”

Chris blinks at you, clearly confused. He glances down at the box in his hands, then back at you. “Wait… what?”

You arch a brow. “You don’t need me for that part. Just use it and let me know how it holds up.”

Chris leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “I thought we agreed to keep this a secret.”

“We are,” you reply evenly. “Your sexual partner doesn’t have to know the condom you’re using.”

His eyes narrow slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought you and I were doing this together.”

“We are,” you say, nodding. “Just… not that way.”

Chris lets out a low sigh, tilting his head as he studies you. Then, after a pause, he says, “Isn’t it better if we do it together?”

Your stomach tightens, but you keep your expression neutral. “Chris—”

He leans in slightly, voice lowering. “That way, I can give you feedback right away. No outside variables. Just you and me.” His gaze lingers on yours, unreadable yet intense. “And this stays between us.”

You exhale sharply, trying to keep your composure. “Chris, that’s not how this works.”

Chris smirks, tilting his head. “Why not?” He taps the box of condoms against his palm, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re the researcher. I’m the participant. Wouldn’t it be more efficient if we tested it… together?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. “That’s not how clinical testing works.”

His smirk widens. “Oh? And what exactly is stopping you?” He leans in, his voice dropping just slightly. “Are you scared?”

Your jaw tightens. “I’m not scared.”

“Then why not?” His gaze flicks over you, studying your reaction. “You’ve already seen everything. Touched, even. What’s one more step?”

You scoff. “There are plenty of reasons why.”

Chris hums, pretending to think. “Is it because you’re not attracted to me?” His grin turns playful. “Because I don’t believe that.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

He leans even closer, just enough for you to catch the faintest scent of his cologne. “Or…” he murmurs, “is it because you are?”

That catches you off guard. His smirk deepens at your silence, clearly enjoying the way he has you cornered. You swallow, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact.

“It’s because we work together,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Chris lets out a low hum, tilting his head. “So it’s not because you don’t want to?”

You exhale sharply. “That’s not what I—”

He takes a slow step forward, closing the small space between you. “Because if that’s the only reason stopping you,” he murmurs, “then it’s not really a reason, is it?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Chris, workplace relationships are complicated.”

His smirk softens just slightly. “Who said anything about a relationship?”

You blink your eyes at him, nonplussed.

He chuckles at your reaction, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m just talking about product testing.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize his point. “Two consenting adults conducting a private experiment.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “You’re relentless.”

Chris grins. “I just don’t like wasting good opportunities.” He taps the box against his palm again. “And you can’t tell me you’re not at least curious.”

Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you—like he already knows the answer.

“Look,” he says, his voice softer now, more coaxing. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than product testing. No strings. No expectations. Just a controlled experiment.” He lifts the box of condoms slightly, as if to emphasize the professionalism of it all.

You let out a slow breath, glancing away. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a bad idea, that this is crossing a line. But then there’s the way Chris is looking at you, the way your body still remembers the way he felt pressed against you in the bathroom, the way your curiosity is getting the better of you.

You press your lips together, weighing your options. “Just product testing,” you repeat, as if saying it out loud will make it less dangerous.

Chris nods, his expression unreadable. “Just product testing.”

Another beat of silence. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you slowly nod. “Okay.”

The corner of Chris’s mouth tugs upward, a slow, knowing smile. “Good.” He takes a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. “Shall we begin?”

It's unclear how long you've been standing there, unsure on how to do this, or even to process that you, a researcher, are about to conduct a durability test on your product with your participant.

Chris watches you for a moment, then leans back on the bed, his legs slightly spread as he gestures toward you. “Take off the bathrobe,” he says, his voice smooth, assured. “Then sit next to me.”

Your fingers tighten around the edges of the fabric, hesitation gripping you, but you remind yourself—this is just a test. Just product testing.

Slowly and awkwardly, you untie the robe, letting it slip from your shoulders, revealing your body with your matching underwear covering your private bits. The cool air of the room prickles against your skin as you step toward the bed and lower yourself beside him. Your heart is pounding so loudly that you barely register the way Chris shifts, turning toward you.

A moment later, his hand reaches for your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. Instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut.

Chris chuckles, low and warm. “Why so nervous?” he teases, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “You’ve been so composed this whole time… but now?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is barely functioning. His touch is gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his breath warm as he leans in. Your lips part slightly, bracing for a kiss—

But instead, he presses his lips to your closed eyelid. Your breath stutters, the unexpected tenderness sending a shiver down your spine. Then he moves, kissing the other eyelid, his lips soft and lingering.

A small sound escapes you before you can stop it, a quiet moan slipping from your parted lips and that’s when Chris takes the opening, tilting his head and capturing your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

Chris deepens the kiss, his lips moving slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every second. His hand drifts from your face, down the slope of your neck, skimming the curve of your shoulder before sliding further down. His fingers find the strap of your bra, tracing it lightly before slipping it off your shoulder.

Your breath catches as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and firm, grounding you even as your mind spins. He kisses you deeper, his tongue brushing against yours, coaxing you further into the moment.

Then, with practiced ease, he reaches behind you, fingers deftly working the clasp of your bra. The fabric loosens, and he slowly pulls it away, his lips never leaving yours as he discards it to the side.

Chris shifts, guiding you backward onto the bed, his body following as he hovers over you. His hands smooth over your sides, his touch steady but unhurried, as if giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. But you don’t.

His fingers trail down to the waistband of your underwear, teasing along the edge before he hooks his fingers under the fabric. He pulls back just slightly, his dark eyes searching yours, silently asking for permission.

And when you give him the smallest nod, he slides them down, the slow drag of fabric sending a shiver up your spine. He discards them just as he did with your bra, then settles back over you, his body warm against yours.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze dark and intense, his lips slightly parted as if taking in the sight of you beneath him. Then he leans down again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your jaw, his lips trailing lower as his hands explore your body, mapping every inch of you. Your lips, your neck, your breasts and the way they fit his hands as if they were made for him. The dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, the ample flesh of your ass cheek. Then, there’s the miles and miles of soft skin, endlessly enthralling him.

Your body tenses beneath him, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders. “Chris, I don’t think you’ll fit,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat.

He stops, lifting his head to look at you, and for a brief moment, you catch the amusement flickering in his dark eyes. Then he lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers coming up to gently brush your cheek. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. “Just relax.”

His touch is warm, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin. Then, with ease, he presses you back against the pillows, his weight hovering over you but not pressing down. He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss—this time softer, slower, as if coaxing the tension out of you with every gentle movement.

His mouth leaves yours, traveling downward, leaving a heated trail along your jaw, your neck. His lips linger at your collarbone, pressing a kiss there before continuing lower. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver through you as he moves further down, his lips grazing the center of your chest, the valley between your breasts and then a quick lick on each of your hardening nipples.

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s impossible when he’s kissing down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, feeling, exploring. He’s deliberate with every touch, every kiss, giving you time to ease into the moment.

“Mmh... You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice hushed, almost reverent. Then he continues, his mouth mapping a path further down, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

Chris lingers at the curve of your hip, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin. His hands trail down your thighs, his touch both firm and teasing. You shudder as he parts them further, settling between them with an air of confidence that makes your pulse race.

He looks up at you through hooded eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Still nervous?” he asks, his voice husky.

You don’t answer—not because you don’t want to, but because the moment his lips press against your inner thigh, all coherent thoughts slip from your mind. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a ripple of anticipation through you.

Chris lands his plush lips on your cunt, his tongue skillfully part your folds so he can drown in your wetness. This time, his mouth moving in lazy, unhurried strokes. Every kiss, every brush of his full lips, sets your skin alight. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you still as he delves deeper, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns that have your fingers digging into the sheets.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as he finds the right spot, his rhythm precise, purposeful. Your body arches instinctively, a rush of warmth flooding through you as the sensation builds. Chris hums against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his tongue moving with a practiced ease that leaves you breathless. Your hand flies to his hair, gripping onto him as the pressure inside you coils tighter and tighter. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s relentless, determined to pull every last bit of pleasure from you.

Your head tilts back against the pillow, your lips parting on a shaky moan as your body gives in, waves of sensation crashing over you in a slow, intoxicating release. Chris doesn’t move away immediately—he lingers, pressing one last, lingering kiss against on your clit before finally pulling back, his hands smoothing up your trembling thighs.

He looks up at you, his lips glistening, a satisfied smirk curving them. “See?” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. “Told you to relax.”

Chris hovers over you, his hand smoothing over your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance. His gaze drags over your body, dark and hooded with desire. He exhales a slow breath, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your skin.

“You’re right. You're so little,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice filled with something close to awe. His hands roam over your waist, your hips, as if he’s memorizing the shape of you beneath him.

Chris takes one look at his cock, making sure the condom is still snug around him before he gives it a few pumps as if it's not hard, stiff enough. He takes your legs and puts them over his waist as he positions himself in between.

The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he slowly pushes forward, just the tip stretching you open, and a sharp gasp escapes your lips. A sudden twinge of discomfort has you clenching around him, your hands gripping onto his arms as you mewl softly in protest.

“Chris, I—” You can't even finish your sentence as the sudden sensation surges through you.

Chris stops immediately, his brows knitting together as he watches you, his fingers stroking soothingly along your thigh. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice gentle, “breathe.”

But even with just that little bit inside you, the feeling is overwhelming. A shiver runs down your spine as you try to adjust, your body tightening involuntarily. Your breaths come in shaky pants, heat blooming from where your bodies connect.

Chris watches you intently, eyes never leaving your face as he shifts slightly, and suddenly, a sharp pleasure shoots through you, unexpected and electric. Your back arches off the bed as a strangled moan escapes your lips, your body quivering around him. The pressure, the stretch—it’s too much, yet somehow, it sends a rush of pleasure so intense that your body trembles beneath him.

Chris stills, his expression flickering with surprise before it melts into amusement. A slow, knowing smile curves his lips as he watches the way you writhe beneath him, helpless against the sensation.

“You came just from that?” he muses, his thumb brushing over your hip in lazy circles. “That’s cute.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, embarrassment and lingering pleasure making your body feel even more sensitive. Chris chuckles softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against your parted lips before whispering, “Guess we’ll have to take our time, won’t we?”

Chris stays still for a moment, his warmth pressed against your back as he lets you catch your breath. His arms tighten around you slightly, anchoring you to him as he presses a lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder. You’re still trembling, body sensitive and flushed from your sudden release.

He exhales softly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You okay?” His voice is low, gentle.

You nod, swallowing past the tightness in your throat. The feeling of him still inside you, filling you completely, makes you shudder.

Chris shifts behind you, adjusting the way he’s holding you. His arm is draped over your waist, fingers spread over your stomach, grounding you. His other hand smooths over your thigh, soothing, patient.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he asks, voice laced with restraint, as if he’s willing to stop if you say no.

To his surprise, you whisper, “Yes.”

A deep, quiet groan rumbles from his chest, and you feel his fingers flex against your skin. His lips press into the curve of your neck before he moves again, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. The stretch burns slightly, but the pleasure laced in it makes your breath hitch.

Chris moves carefully, his thrusts slow and deep, keeping you flush against him as he spoons you. His hand trails from your breasts, to your stomach, splaying over your skin as if he wants to feel every reaction, every tremor that ripples through you.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice breathless against your ear. His pace remains steady, each push and pull measured, sending waves of heat through your body.

Your hands grip onto his arm, holding onto him as pleasure coils low in your stomach once again. Every movement is intimate, every breath shared in the quiet space between you. Chris’s lips ghost over your shoulder, his soft grunts vibrating against your skin as he continues to move within you, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, pressed against him so completely, you find yourself lost in the way he makes you feel—like you were meant to fit together like this.

Chris’s breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Feels good,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin. “Fits just right… but I think it could be thinner. Let me feel you more.”

His slow, deliberate thrusts send a shiver through you, your body tightening around him in response. He chuckles, the sound deep and breathless. “You like that, don’t you?” He presses a lingering kiss to your jaw, his hand gripping your hip to keep you steady as he rolls into you again, deeper this time.

You don’t answer, too lost in the pleasure unfurling inside you. Chris doesn’t mind. He continues to move, the tension building between you both. “Maybe I should test a few more,” he muses between ragged breaths, his voice laced with amusement. “Make sure we get it just right.”

His words make you whimper, and he groans in response. “You’re so cute moaning like that,” he breathes, his pace quickening as he nears his peak. His grip on you tightens, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic. The coil in your stomach tightens, and before you know it, you’re coming again, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Chris groans against your neck, his hips stuttering as he follows right behind you. His grip on you never loosens, holding you close as he spills into the condom, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling. Chris presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder before shifting, turning you gently onto your back so he can look at you. His dark eyes flick over your face, taking in your dazed expression before he leans down, kissing you deeply.

When he pulls back, a smirk tugs at his lips. Then, he reaches for the duvet at the foot of the bed and carefully pulls it over both of you, tucking it around your bare body. The warmth is instant, but not nearly as comforting as the way he wraps himself around you right after.

His arms tighten around your waist, drawing you flush against his chest. His breath is warm against the back of your neck as he settles in, his lips barely grazing your skin. For a while, neither of you speak. The rise and fall of your breaths eventually sync, the exhaustion from the night settling into your limbs. Just as your eyes begin to flutter shut, his voice breaks the silence—low, drowsy, and laced with something softer than usual.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, the word barely more than a breath against your skin.

For a moment, you hesitate, but then, in the safety of the dimly lit room and the comfort of his arms, you whisper back, “Goodnight.”

Chris hums in contentment, tightening his hold just slightly before finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel suite. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you're disoriented—until the sound of running water brings everything back.

Chris is in the shower.

Your stomach tightens as memories from last night flood in, and instinct kicks in. You need to leave. Carefully, you slip out of bed, scanning the room for your clothes. But just as you reach for your bag, the bathroom door swings open, and there he stands—his hair damp, beads of water clinging to his toned skin, a white towel hanging dangerously low around his hips. You freeze in place.

Chris notices your reaction and grins. "Unless you want to walk out of the hotel naked, I don’t think you’re going anywhere."

Your brows furrow in confusion as he tilts his head toward the chair. "I sent your dress for dry cleaning."

Your lips part in disbelief. "You what?"

Chris walks up to you, holding out a plush bathrobe. “Relax. It'll be back soon.” He doesn’t just hand it to you—he steps closer, draping it over your shoulders and helping you slip your arms through the sleeves, his touch far too gentle for how casual he's acting.

"Go shower," he tells you, his voice softer now.

You hesitate but eventually nod, dragging yourself toward the bathroom. Just as you reach the doorway, he calls after you, "Better hurry. I ordered room service for breakfast."

Your body tenses at his words, but you say nothing. Instead, you step inside and shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment—just processing everything from last night to this very second.

The test, the sex, everything blurs into one and before you recall more memories from last night, you get into the shower in hope to wash it away.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the suite as you step out of the bathroom, now wrapped in the bathrobe Chris gave you. He’s already seated at the small dining table by the window, scrolling through his phone while absentmindedly sipping from his cup. A full spread of breakfast is laid out—omelets, toast, fruit, and two cups of coffee.

Without a word, you take the seat across from him. He glances up briefly but doesn’t say anything, just pushes a plate toward you in a silent invitation to eat.

The quiet stretches between you, thick with unspoken thoughts. You focus on your food, taking small bites, though you barely taste anything. Chris, on the other hand, eats leisurely, like this is just another morning. Then, he finally breaks the silence.

“So,” he says, setting his fork down. “What’s your conclusion on the product test last night?”

You almost choke on your coffee. Your eyes dart to him, but his expression is unreadable, as if he’s genuinely asking for a professional evaluation. You hesitate, gripping your fork a little tighter.

"Well?" he presses, taking another sip of his coffee. "Did it pass?"

You clear your throat, setting your coffee cup down carefully. “I think… to be thorough, it’s better to run a few more tests.”

Chris quirks an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “A few more tests, huh?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t expect you to be so dedicated to research.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s just proper procedure.”

“Proper procedure,” he repeats, his smirk widening. “You sure it’s just that? Because last night, it kinda seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

Your jaw tightens, and you stab a piece of fruit with your fork. “That’s not relevant to the study.”

Chris chuckles, clearly entertained. “Right, of course. All in the name of science.” He tilts his head slightly, his gaze locked onto you. “So, how many more ‘tests’ are we talking about? Two? Three? A full trial period?”

You sigh, exasperated. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Chris hums, taking another bite of his toast. “Well, just let me know. I’m happy to help.” His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip.

You quickly focus on your breakfast, pretending not to notice the way he’s watching you.

Chris leisurely takes a sip of his coffee, playing it cool as he glances around the suite. “You know,” he muses, “I’m really liking this hotel. Feels… comfortable.” He leans back slightly, stretching his muscular arms before resting them on the table. “I think it’d be a great place to conduct another test.”

You pause mid-bite, eyes flickering up to him. He’s watching you, but his expression is unreadable—except for the slight curve of his lips. Then, he grins. “Maybe next weekend?”

You nearly choke on your food, quickly taking a sip of water to recover. “You’re already planning the next one?”

Chris shrugs, feigning innocence. “Just being proactive. You said it yourself—we need more tests for accuracy.” He lifts his coffee cup again, smirking over the rim. “And I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

You exhale sharply, placing your utensils down. “I haven’t even analyzed the results from last night.”

“Take your time,” he says easily, “but don’t overthink it too much.” He tilts his head, studying you. “Unless… you’re backing out?”

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how flustered you are. “I’ll let you know,” you say, keeping your voice even.

Chris chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “I’ll be waiting.”

Monday morning, you walk into work with an unusual lightness in your step. You try not to think too much about that night—about Chris, his touch, the way he whispered in your ear—but the memories flash unbidden in your mind, making your face warm. You force yourself to keep your expression neutral, not wanting to attract any suspicion. Especially from Jane.

Speaking of which… you realize she hasn’t come to bother you like usual. Curious, you make your way to her lab, where you find her hunched over her workstation, deeply focused.

“Hey,” you call out, stepping inside. “What’s got you so busy?”

Jane barely glances up before turning back to her notes. “I have to finish my reformulation today,” she says quickly. “Final presentation’s tomorrow, and if I don’t get this right, all my work’s going down the drain.”

You nod in understanding. The pressure of finalizing a product before launch is no joke, and seeing Jane—who’s usually so carefree—this stressed means she’s really cutting it close.

“You got this,” you tell her sincerely. “Good luck.”

She lets out a deep breath, finally pausing to give you a smirk. “I better. If I crash and burn, I’m dragging you down with me.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Noted.”

Back in your own lab, you try to push all thoughts of Chris aside and focus on your own work. But as you review your notes and the adjustments you’ve made to the product, an uncomfortable realization creeps in—you’re running out of time.

Jane’s stress reminds you that your own product is also in a critical stage. If she’s giving her final presentation tomorrow, that means your deadline isn’t far behind. You tap your pen against your clipboard, staring at the latest batch of data, and suddenly, the pressure starts to settle heavily on your shoulders.

You sigh and grab your phone, quickly sending an email to the team in charge of screening participants. A few minutes later, you receive a reply:

Final stage of screening participants. Will update once selection is complete.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. Final stage. That means any day now, you’ll have another participant to help move this process forward—another participant who isn’t Chris. For some reason, that last thought lingers a little too long in your mind.

A few days later, Jane is a walking ball of stress, and unfortunately, it’s rubbing off on you.

She paces back and forth in the break room, arms crossed, her fingers tapping against her upper arm impatiently. “I don’t get it. They should’ve given me an answer by now,” she mutters before turning to you with a sharp look. “What if they hated it? What if they’re just trying to figure out a way to reject it without making me throw a fit?”

You sip your iced coffee, trying to keep your own anxiety in check. “If they hated it, they would’ve told you already,” you reason, though you understand her panic completely.

Jane groans and drops her head onto the table. “I can’t take this anymore. The waiting is worse than the presentation itself.”

You don’t say it out loud, but you completely agree. Because the uncertainty of your own project’s progress is starting to gnaw at you too. You haven’t received any updates on the new participant, and without that, you can’t finalize the product. And without a finalized product, you can’t meet your deadline.

You exhale and press your fingers against your temples, suddenly feeling the weight of everything piling up. “Your stress is contagious, you know that?” you mumble.

Jane lifts her head just enough to give you a weak smirk. “Misery loves company.”

Later that day, you get a message from Chris’s secretary, asking you to stop by his office. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should prepare yourself for whatever he has in store this time. But you shake off the thought and head over.

When you step inside, Chris is leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, looking effortlessly good as usual. He grins when he sees you. “Hey, right on time,” he says, and you do as told, walking over to his desk.

“I wanted to let you know I’m available this weekend for the test,” he says, watching you closely.

You nod, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Okay. That works.”

Chris tilts his head, his grin faltering slightly. “That’s it? No excitement?”

You blink at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

His brow raises. “I don’t know… maybe something like ‘Great! Can’t wait!’” He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “What’s wrong with you today?”

You sigh and rub your temples. “I’m just stressed about my product. There’s still so much to do, and I don’t even know if I’ll have another participant before the deadline.”

Chris hums in thought, then leans back again. “Well, you’re doing your best, right?”

“I guess.”

He smirks. “That’s all that matters. Besides, I’m the one doing my best for you.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitches at his teasing. “Of course, how could I forget?”

Chris chuckles, pleased with himself. “Exactly. So stop stressing. I’ve got you.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, still feeling the weight of your stress pressing down on you. “You know… you could’ve just texted me about the test instead of calling me to your office.”

Chris scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I could’ve.”

You wait for him to continue, but he just looks at you like you should already know the answer. When you don’t say anything, he leans forward slightly, voice dropping a little.

“But I wanted to see you.”

His words catch you completely off guard, and you freeze for a second, unsure how to respond. He watches you closely, amused by your reaction.

Your mouth opens, then closes. You clear your throat, trying to brush off the sudden shift in atmosphere. “Well… you’ve seen me now,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze.

Chris chuckles. “Yeah, I have.” He tilts his head. “And?”

“And what?”

He grins. “Feel better?”

You scoff. “No.”

Chris just laughs at your flat response, shaking his head. “Liar.”

He leans back in his chair, still smirking as he watches you squirm under his gaze. “I think you do feel better,” he teases. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “If I’m stressed, I’m stressed. Seeing you doesn’t magically fix that.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe not, but I bet it helps a little.”

You scoff, looking away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The part you hate the most is because he’s not entirely wrong. Despite everything weighing on you, there’s something about his presence—his confidence, his teasing, the way he acts like he’s got everything under control—that makes you feel just a little lighter.

And that annoys you.

The hotel lobby is dimly lit, elegant but not overly extravagant. You step through the entrance, scanning the space until your eyes land on Chris, who’s waiting near the elevators. He’s dressed casually but polished—dark slacks, a fitted shirt with the top two buttons undone, looking unfairly good as usual.

Just as you take a step toward him, your phone buzzes in your bag. You fish it out and sigh when you see Jane’s name flashing on the screen. Pressing the phone to your ear, you barely manage a greeting before she starts rambling.

“I swear, if they don’t approve this formula, I’m quitting,” she huffs. “I mean, not really, but you get what I mean. I haven’t slept properly in three days, and I think I’m running on caffeine and pure delusion at this point.”

You let out a small laugh, even though the stress in her voice weighs on you. “It’ll be fine, Jane. You worked hard on it.”

“That’s what people say before something blows up in their face,” she groans. “Anyway, where are you? I need to rant.”

Panic flickers in your chest. You glance around, as if she could somehow see you through the phone. “Uh… just out,” you say vaguely. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

She huffs again. “Fine. But if I have a breakdown, it’s on you.”

You chuckle. “Duly noted.” Ending the call, you sigh, but the stress clings to you, the tension knotting in your shoulders refusing to ease.

You take a deep breath and walk toward Chris, who straightens when he sees you. He starts to say something, but before he can get a word out, you grab his face and kiss him.

Chris barely has time to react when you press your lips to his, the kiss sudden and hurried, almost desperate. His hands instinctively settle on your waist, grounding you for the few fleeting seconds before you pull away.

Your lips are still parted as you mutter, “Why don’t we just skip dinner and head upstairs?”

Chris blinks, momentarily surprised by your forwardness. Then, slowly, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Someone’s eager tonight,” he muses, his voice low and teasing.

You huff, looking away. “I just—” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temple. “I'm just a little stressed.”

His expression softens slightly. “Ah.”

“It’s work. I'm stressed about work, and I just—I don’t know.” You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s like I can’t escape it.”

Chris tilts his head, studying you for a moment before his hand finds yours. “Then let’s go.”

You look at him questioningly.

He squeezes your hand. “Upstairs,” he clarifies. “Since that’s what you want.”

You nod, letting him lead you toward the elevators. As the doors close behind you, sealing you both away from the rest of the world, Chris turns to you, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Want me to help you take your mind off work?” he asks, his voice rich with suggestion.

You swallow, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “Yes.”

The hotel suite door barely shuts behind you before Chris pulls you in, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. The kiss is deep, heated, and rushed—both of you hungry for each other. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, dragging him closer as you stumble toward the bed.

Chris’s hands slide down your back, finding the zipper of your dress and pulling it down in one swift motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you in your lingerie as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You gasp, arms looping around his neck as he carries you to the bed, laying you down gently against the plush sheets.

He kneels above you, his dark eyes drinking you in before he reaches for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undoes them, his toned chest coming into view, and once the shirt is off, he tosses it aside without a second thought. Then, he leans in again, claiming your lips with his own, his body pressing against yours as the heat between you intensifies.

For a moment, the purpose of tonight is forgotten. There’s no product test, no work stress—just the two of you tangled together, lips moving in sync, hands wandering, breaths coming out in soft, desperate gasps.

Then, your fingers trail down his chest, lower and lower, until you feel the growing bulge beneath his pants. Chris groans softly against your lips, his body tensing slightly at your touch. That’s when reality crashes back into you.

You break the kiss slightly, your breaths mingling as you whisper, “Chris, the condom. In my bag.”

Chris hovers above you for a second, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a slow smirk, he leans in, brushing a teasing kiss against your lips before murmuring, “Yes, ma’am.”

He gets off the bed, heading toward where you left your bag, and as you watch him, heart racing, you can’t help but think—maybe this test is just an excuse now.

You watch as Chris retrieves the condom from your bag, his fingers expertly tearing open the wrapper. He steps out of his remaining clothes, his bare form illuminated by the dim hotel lighting. Your eyes are drawn downward, and despite having seen him before, the sheer size of him still makes your stomach flip. It’s intimidating—taunting, even—and the nerves creep up on you all over again.

Chris notices the way you tense, the way your thighs press together involuntarily. Rolling the condom over his length with practiced ease, he turns back to you, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.

“You need to relax,” he murmurs, his voice smooth yet edged with something deeper, something almost reassuring.

He crawls back onto the bed, hovering over you once more, his hands running along your sides as if to coax the tension out of your body. “You’re overthinking it,” he adds, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw, then another just below your ear.

Your breath hitches when his lips trail lower, down your neck, his touch slow and deliberate. It’s almost distracting enough to make you forget your nerves—almost. But when he settles between your legs, his gaze locking onto yours, the anticipation coils tightly in your stomach once more.

Chris smirks, tilting his head. “You trust me, don’t you?”

And the way he asks it—soft, teasing, but with a glimmer of something genuine—makes your heart skip.

His hands roam your body with a deliberate slowness, his fingertips tracing the curves of your waist, the dip of your stomach, the softness of your thighs. Each touch is meant to ease the tension out of you, to replace your nerves with something warmer, something deeper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone. “So soft… so perfect.”

His voice is a lull, smoothing over your anxiety like silk. He drags his mouth lower, his breath fanning across your skin as he continues whispering praises—how good you feel, how much he likes touching you, how you have no idea what you do to him.

You shudder beneath him, your body instinctively responding to his words, his touch. The tension in your muscles slowly unravels, and Chris pulls back just enough to take in the sight of you. His gaze sweeps over your bare form, dark and heavy with admiration. He doesn’t rush. He just looks.

“Gosh,” he breathes out, a slow grin forming on his lips. “I could look at you all night.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch, heat rising in your cheeks. He leans in again, his hands framing your face as he brushes his lips over yours.

“You okay now?” he asks, voice low, his forehead resting against yours.

And maybe it’s the way he’s holding you, or the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—but you find yourself nodding, your nerves fading into something else entirely.

Chris’s fingers trail down your body with deliberate slowness, his touch igniting warmth everywhere he grazes. His lips brush against your ear as his fingers tease along your inner thigh, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re already trembling,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement and something deeper—something that makes your stomach tighten. “Are you nervous or just impatient?”

You don’t answer, not when his fingers finally slip between your legs, parting you with ease and easily finds your clit as it pulsates with each gentle rub. He does it for a long moment, waiting until you're wet enough for him to slip his two fingers inside you. A soft gasp escapes before you can stop it, and Chris hums in approval, pressing a lingering kiss just below your jaw.

“You always take me so well,” he whispers, his fingers moving in slow, calculated pumps that make your toes curl. “And you’re already clenching around me… How do you think you’ll handle me when I’m actually inside you?”

The words alone send heat rushing through you, but it’s the way he says them—low and coaxing, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. You turn your face into his shoulder, gripping onto him as if grounding yourself, but Chris only chuckles.

“Don’t hide from me,” he coaxes, shifting so he can watch your face. “I want to see everything.”

He curls his fingers inside to get to your sensitive spot, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, and your breath stutters. Chris smiles against your cheek, his voice softer now, gentler.

“Just relax,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your body tightens around his fingers as the pleasure builds, your breath hitching with every precise movement of his hand. Chris watches you intently, his dark eyes flickering with something both possessive and admiring as he feels you getting closer.

"That's it," he whispers, his lips grazing your temple. "You’re so good for me."

His thumb circles your clit just right, and the tension in your body unravels all at once. A sharp cry slips from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Chris doesn’t stop right away—he works you through it, dragging out every last wave until you're gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders for stability.

When you finally go limp against him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his voice warm and full of praise. "So beautiful when you come around my fingers like that," he murmurs, his fingers slipping away only to trail soothingly along your thigh.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Think you’re ready for me now?" he asks, a teasing grin playing at his lips.

Despite his words, he gives you a moment to climb down your high, touching you, kissing you, keeping you heated just enough for the next one.

When he deems you're ready, he settles himself between your legs and take another moment to warm you up, sliding his cock between your folds, intentionally lubricating it with your essence.

The moment he starts to push his cock into your entrance, you whimper, your fingers gripping the sheets. He stills immediately, his brows furrowing.

“Still hurts?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, tinted with concern.

You shake your head instinctively, but he isn’t convinced. His large hands massage your hips soothingly, and for a moment, he just stays there, warm and solid against you. Then, as if making a decision, he leans down, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades before murmuring against your skin, “There’s more than one way to do this.”

Before you can ask what he means, he shifts, gently guiding you onto your stomach. His hands coax your legs together, and then you feel it—his length settling between your thighs, snug and heavy. He lets out a low hum of approval as he starts a slow, deliberate movement, sliding his cock against you, the condom still doing its job.

“This works just fine for the test,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. “No need for penetration.”

The new sensation sends a shiver through you. His body is warm against your back, his arms caging you in as he moves, taking his time. His above average cock allowing him to hit your clit for every time he thrusts forward. Every deliberate stroke of his tip on your clit has you squirming, and when he presses his lips to your ear, his breath hot, he whispers, “You feel so good like this… almost better than the real thing.”

His hands grip your waist, guiding you to match his rhythm, and before you know it, the tension in your body builds again. The sensation overwhelms you, and with one final push of pleasure, you come undone beneath him, trembling as the feeling washes over you. Chris lets out a low groan, his own release following moments after.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as your breathing evens out, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else disappears.

Chris lets out a content sigh, his grip on you loosening slightly as he shifts onto his side, still keeping you close. He presses a lazy kiss against the back of your shoulder before murmuring, “Well, I gotta say, the condom held up pretty well.”

You blink in confusion, still trying to come down from your high. “What?”

He chuckles, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you. “You know… the test? The whole reason we’re here?” His smirk deepens when you don’t respond right away. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Heat rushes to your face as you realize he’s right. You were so caught up in the moment, in him, that you completely forgot this was supposed to be about work. You scowl at his teasing tone, but Chris only grins wider.

“That’s cute,” he muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re really slacking as a researcher, you know? Getting too distracted by your test subject.”

You groan, pushing at his chest, but he just laughs, rolling onto his back with a smug expression. “Don’t worry,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “We can always run more tests. Just to be thorough.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know you’re in trouble—because a part of you is already considering it.

Chris stretches his arms behind his head, still lounging in the bed with that smug expression. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Should we order some room service?”

You hesitate, still tangled in the sheets, still feeling the lingering heat between you. But the idea of food is tempting, and you nod. “Yeah… okay.”

Chris grins, reaching for the hotel’s menu on the nightstand. “Good. I was gonna order anyway, but I figured I’d be polite and ask.”

You scoff but let it slide, watching as he casually flips through the options. He orders for both of you without asking what you want, but somehow, he picks exactly what you would have chosen.

When the food arrives, the two of you settle onto the couch, eating in comfortable silence for a while. The tension from earlier has softened into something almost… normal. Like this is just another dinner, another night spent together. Then, as you poke at your plate, you find yourself speaking without really thinking. “Thanks, by the way.”

Chris glances up from his food. “For what?”

You shift slightly, feeling a little awkward. “For earlier. For not… pushing it when I said it hurt.”

Chris leans back, setting his fork down. He studies you for a moment before giving a small shrug. “I told you before, didn’t I? I wasn’t gonna do anything you weren’t ready for.”

You swallow, feeling something tighten in your chest.

Chris smirks, sensing the shift in your expression. “What? Surprised I’m a decent guy?”

You roll your eyes. “A little.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me.” But there’s something softer in his eyes now, something that makes you look away before he can read too much into your expression.

Chris doesn’t push. Instead, he just picks up his fork again, casually adding, “Guess that means we’ll just have to try again next time.”

Your stomach flips. “Next time?”

Chris just grins. “Unless you’re saying the test is complete?”

You don’t answer, and his smirk widens as he takes another bite of his food.

The morning sunlight filters through the hotel suite’s curtains as you fasten the last button of your blouse, trying to ignore the way Chris watches you from across the room. He’s standing by the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt, looking far too put together for someone who spent the night in a hotel bed with you.

"You’re quiet this morning," he comments, slipping on his watch.

You smooth down the hem of your dress, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. "Just thinking about work."

He looks relaxed—too relaxed, considering the nature of your conversation.

"So," he says, tapping the fork against his thigh, "how are you planning to refine the product?"

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. "I need to get more participant feedback, obviously. We’ve tested the fit, but durability and performance still need more trials."

Chris hums in acknowledgment, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. "And how do I rank as a participant?"

You shoot him a look, trying not to let the memory of the night’s events creep back into your mind. "You're… useful," you answer carefully.

He chuckles at that. "Just useful? After everything?"

You press your lips together, ignoring his teasing tone. "I mean it, Chris. But I need more participants for a thorough evaluation."

At that, his amusement fades slightly. He sits up straighter, turning toward you. "More participants, huh?"

You nod, scribbling something in your notebook to avoid looking at him. "It’s necessary for better data."

Chris is quiet for a moment, then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warmth. "I get it," he says, voice softer now. "Just don’t forget who was here first."

You finally glance up at him, and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. There’s something unreadable in his expression—not quite jealousy, but not far from it either.

You swallow. "Of course not."

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he nudges your knee with his. "So, should I clear my schedule for next weekend?"

You exhale, shaking your head. "I’ll let you know."

Chris grins, leaning back onto his elbows. "Can’t wait."

You roll your eyes, not indulging him with an answer. Instead, you head toward the door, but just as you reach for the handle, Chris beats you to it, leaning down slightly.

"Leaving without a goodbye?" he teases, voice low.

You glance at him, hesitating for half a second before sighing. "Goodbye, Chris."

As you walk down the quiet hotel corridor, your thoughts swirl between the pressure of finalizing your product and the undeniable truth that you still need more data. More tests.

You tighten your grip on your bag, exhaling sharply. That’s what this is about—work. Research. A product that needs to be perfected before it can move forward.

And yet, as you recall the way Chris looked at you before you left, the way he smirked at the idea of "more participants," a different kind of tension settles in your chest.

Finalizing your product soon is the goal. But a small, dangerous part of you wonders if maybe… just maybe… you’re not quite ready to be done with the testing phase.

As you're walking through the office hallway, your mind is still clouded with the remnants of the weekend—Chris’s touch, his whispered praises, the way he held you close even after everything was over. Every time you close your eyes, flashes of that night play in your head, making warmth creep up your neck. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it as you step into your lab, determined to focus on work. But the moment you walk in, you freeze.

There’s a man already inside, leaning lazily against the counter, his posture relaxed yet confident, like he’s been waiting for you. The overhead lights cast sharp angles on his sharp jawline, his lips curled into a smirk that feels almost too self-assured. He straightens when he sees you, his eyes—dark, playful—sweeping over you in quiet amusement.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he steps forward. "Finally," he drawls, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "I was starting to think I had the wrong lab."

You blink, caught off guard. He doesn’t look like he belongs here—his presence too bold, too magnetic for the clinical atmosphere of your workspace. "I'm sorry but who are you?" you ask, wary.

He stops just a breath away, the distance between you charged with something you can’t quite place. Then, with a cocky tilt of his head, he offers his hand.

"Han Jisung," he introduces himself, his smirk widening as his fingers brush against yours. "Your new test participant."

Your stomach drops and for a second, all you can do is stare.

"Looks like we’ll be working pretty closely together," he adds, voice dripping with amusement. "I hope you're ready for me."

And just like that, your carefully maintained world tilts off its axis.

The second chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page. ✨

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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

Text

Love Letter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Other people write love letters, Felicity Piastri reengineers tire degradation.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who actually knows what she is talking about and is the genius behind the science. She said this science "was understandable and accurate enough for fic." (Also I am aware that this is not believable, but hey, let me have fun 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

By the time McLaren hit mid-season in 2024, Andrea Stella had become something of a veteran in the art of bracing for impact — the kind that came not from a crash, but from the Piastri household.

He had gotten used to it.

Oscar’s precision. His unnerving calm. The way he drove with the composure of a man triple his age and none of the ego.

Felicity, who wasn’t technically on the payroll, but might as well have had a desk in R&D. Who was so liked in the engineering department that Andrea had overheard an engineer asking Oscar like an overexcited puppy when his wife was going to come back and play with them.

Felicity was always lingering at the edge of a race day.

Always watching. Always noticing.

And then there was Bee — small, serious, and so wildly intelligent it made his engineers nervous. She had literally seen an issue with their suspension during her first trip to the garage. Now, she asked about downforce balance mid-lunch and then drew airflow diagrams on her juice box.

Andrea had learned to expect brilliance from them.

But what Felicity handed him that morning wasn’t brilliance.

It was revolution.

It came in the form of a single-page drawing.

A3 paper. Hand-sketched. Neat annotations in clean block lettering.

She passed it over casually, like it was a grocery list. “Was thinking about deg last night. Couldn’t sleep. Just a theory. Don’t know if it’s actually useful, sorry.”

Andrea glanced at it.

Then really looked.

And stopped breathing.

At first glance, it looked like a cooling solution — rim cooling, a variation on brake duct design. Not uncommon. Not radical.

But then he saw it.

Phase. Change. Materials.

His eyes darted to the margin where she’d written:

PCM core set to activate at 276°C. Peak drawdown window ~30 seconds, reset threshold <210°C. Tapered air channel design for directional retention. Modeled after CPU heat-sink transfer.

Andrea looked up.

Felicity just shrugged. “Everyone’s been trying to brute-force cooling through airflow. I figured… maybe it’s not about keeping it cool. Maybe it’s about controlling the peak.”

It wasn’t theoretical.

It was elegant.

Andrea’s brain kicked into high gear.

PCM — phase change materials — had been a whispered concept in F1 circles for years. The holy grail of thermal management.

The idea that you could insert a material that would melt in response to a precise temperature range, absorbing energy as it changed state — holding a system in a stable thermal window. It worked in CPUs. Data centers. Rocketry.

But no one had ever made it viable in an F1 brake drum environment.

Not until now.

Not until this.

Not until it came from Oscar Piastri’s wife, at 2 a.m., in the quiet space between insomnia and motherhood.

Andrea blinked hard. “You know we’ve had engineers — PhDs — trying to crack this for years?”

She just shrugged.

He had no words.

Just respect.

And the rising sense that something seismic had shifted.

He handed it straight to the sim team. They ran a closed simulation. Quietly. Then another. And another.

By the time they tested it under controlled parameters, the engineers were whispering about windowed degradation curves. About temperature floors. About thermal consistency that shouldn’t be possible.

Oscar was suddenly able to manage medium compounds like they were hard. The performance drop-off curve flattened — flattened. Andrea had never seen anything like it.

No magic bullet in F1 ever worked this fast.

But this?

This wasn’t a magic bullet.

It was physics. It was material science. It was control — without compromise.

They ran it again during a private test at Silverstone. And then — stealthily — implemented portions of the system into the race package.

By the time the 2025 season came around, Red Bull was accusing them of cheating. Mercedes was sulking. Ferrari was confused.

The paddock wanted to know what the hell McLaren had done.

The answer?

Felicity Piastri.

When Andrea called her into his office, holding the latest race run data in one hand and a calculator in the other, she sat across from him sipping tea out of a mug with Bee’s name on it.

“You realize you’ve just solved one of the biggest unsolved problems in modern F1?” he said.

Felicity blinked. “I was just tired of watching Oscar hemorrhage tire life while driving perfectly.”

Andrea stared at her.

She added, a little awkwardly, “I didn’t… mean to change the whole season. I just wanted him to stop overcompensating for a thermal flaw no one was fixing.”

Andrea leaned back in his chair and said — for the first time in his career — “I am both terrified of and completely in awe of your entire family.”

Felicity just smiled and said, “Would you mind printing a copy of the new tire envelope profiles? Bee wants to compare the heatmaps to the old ones.”

Andrea buried his face in his hands. “Tell her to go easy on us.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

They were rocket ships now. Every track. Every compound. Consistent, controlled, deadly fast.

And somewhere, deep in the McLaren server, the drawing still existed. In a scanned file. Named Piastri_Insomnia_Fix_v1.pdf

Andrea renamed it later that week.

"Found the Window."

Because that’s what it was.

A window — held open by a woman who thought differently. Who didn’t need the spotlight. Who just loved someone enough to stay up all night figuring out how to protect him from heat, chaos, and failure.

And somehow, she’d done the same for all of them.

***

Mark Webber had seen a lot in his career.

Title deciders. Broken bones. Politics dressed up as progress. He’d seen technical miracles and driver meltdowns and the rare, perfect moment when both came together and worked.

But he had never seen a technical revolution arrive folded in half on a single piece of A3 paper, annotated in gel pen and handed in like someone had just scribbled down the grocery list.

And he certainly hadn’t expected it to come from Felicity Piastri. Maybe he should have.

He was standing trackside in China when Andrea Stella handed him the printout — not the PDF version with simulations, but the original. The drawing. The one that changed their 2025 season from promising to dominant.

“She gave me this on a Tuesday,” Andrea said, voice flat with disbelief. “Said it was just a thought. I’ve had people with entire departments fail to model this. She did it because she couldn’t sleep.”

Mark turned the page over once. Then again.

It was neat. Clean. Not showy.

Pressure curves, airflow vectors, the highlighted activation band of the phase change material she’d used to stabilize tire temp near the brake drum.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “She’s a genius.”

He knew that. He had been aware of it for years. But it was something else entirely to see it in action.

Andrea didn’t argue. “She just… wanted to help Oscar.”

Mark stared at the drawing again.

That’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t a flex.

This wasn’t about glory. Or proving herself. Or showing up a paddock full of men with degrees and dynos.

It was a love letter.

Written in airflow.

Signed in melting point theory.

Stamped in the stable temperature range of a tire that could now go ten laps longer without falling off.

Felicity hadn’t just solved degradation.

She had — quietly, brilliantly — rewritten the way Oscar raced.

Because he was hers.

And this was what loving him looked like.

Not flowers. Not poems. Just… making the world easier for him. A little softer. A little kinder. A little less brutal at 300km/h.

Mark let out a slow breath.

“Do you think she knows what she did?” he asked.

Andrea shrugged. “I think she knows why she did it. That’s probably enough.”

Mark folded the paper again — carefully, reverently — and tucked it back into the folder.

And in that moment, he didn’t see the terrifying engineering breakthrough.

He just saw a woman who loved her husband enough to change the laws of tire life —So he wouldn’t have to carry the weight alone.

***

Oscar had just come back from a long run on used mediums when Andrea called him into the office.

Nothing dramatic — just a quiet, “Got a sec?” as Oscar peeled off his gloves and handed his helmet to a mechanic. The kind of thing that sounded normal. Routine. Like maybe they were going to go over sector data or tire drop-off or which curb had tried to kill him today.

So when Andrea closed the office door behind them and reached into his drawer without saying a word, Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Then Andrea handed him a sheet of paper.

A3. Slightly folded. Faint graphite smudges along the margin.

The original one. Still folded along the crease Felicity had made when she handed it to Andrea like it wasn’t the single greatest thermal breakthrough in modern tire strategy.

Oscar took it automatically.

Looked down.

And stilled.

There were notes in clean block print. Equations. Angled airflow paths, subtle thermal gradients, annotations on phase change material melt points and rim temperature drawdown.

Oscar’s throat went dry. His eyes scanned the drawing again, heart starting to race—not from adrenaline, but from recognition.

He knew that handwriting.

It was so her. The tidy script. The neat arrows. The absence of drama.

Just a brilliant mind trying to fix something that made the person she loved suffer.

He’d seen it on post-it notes stuck to Bee’s whiteboard. On margin scribbles in books Felicity had left lying around. On every note she slipped into his suitcase before he went to a race….every note that he then slipped into his racing gloves.

Oscar looked up, voice quieter than it should’ve been. “This is Felicity’s.”

Andrea nodded once. “She gave it to me three months ago. Said it was probably nothing. Just an idea she had when she couldn’t sleep.”

Oscar sat down.

Because suddenly, his knees weren’t quite up to the task.

He stared at the drawing like it might vanish.

This was it.

The fix. The reason their tires held. The reason he didn’t fall off in stint two. The reason strategy meetings had shifted from damage control to aggression. The reason the car felt like it trusted him back for the first time in forever.

He felt it like a punch to the chest.

“She… she did this?”

“She did,” Andrea said. “And she didn’t want credit. Said she just wanted you to stop overcompensating for bad thermal management. That you were too good to keep bleeding lap time for other people’s mistakes.”

Oscar swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

He looked back down at the paper.

At the numbers.

The calculations.

Oscar turned the page over.

A post-it was pressed to the back, Andrea’s handwriting.

“From Mark: ‘This isn’t just engineering. This is her love letter to Oscar — making the world around him easier.’”

Oscar’s heart stopped.

He stared at the sentence for a long, long time.

He read it again. And again.

The words didn’t feel like compliments.

They felt like someone had taken a flashlight and pointed it directly into his chest — illuminating something he hadn’t dared to articulate, even to himself.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

The sketch. The concept. The whole damn thing.

Felicity hadn’t set out to change a season.

She’d just wanted him to stop hurting.

To stop watching his tires fall apart under perfect driving. To stop fighting physics he couldn’t control. To stop carrying all that frustration on his own.

She’d stayed up at 2 a.m. not because it was her job — but because it was his dream.

She had never once made him feel like he had to win for her.

But God, she made him believe he could.

He blinked hard.

Thought about the way she kissed his temple when he came home late. The way she labeled Bee’s lunchbox with thermal guidelines for optimum snack temperature. The way she never said I love you like a performance — only like a truth.

Then he looked up. “Mark… he really said that?”

Andrea’s voice gentled. “He did.”

Oscar stared at the page again.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’s her.”

And in his chest, where the engine noise usually lived — Where the pressure, the expectations, the sheer weight of competition settled — He felt something loosen.

Because winning was nice. The championship would be incredible.

But this?

Being loved like this?

That was better than anything he’d ever drive for.

***

The house was dark when he got home.

Not silent — not entirely. There was the low whir of the dishwasher. The cluck of a chicken outside, ruffling in its sleep. The soft creak of floorboards as he kicked his shoes off at the door and padded down the hall in his socks.

It was late. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t needed to.

The bedroom door was open.

Bee was curled up in the middle of the bed like a starfish in mismatched pajamas, one hand still clutching the tail of her stuffed frog. Felicity was beside her, lying on top of the duvet, eyes closed, one arm slung across Bee’s little body like she was anchoring her in a dream.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a long time.

Just… watched them.

His wife and his daughter. One terrifying genius and one tiny one-in-training. Both of them unknowable and brilliant and his.

He swallowed around the knot in his throat and moved quietly to the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Bee as he lay down beside them.

Felicity stirred almost immediately, her breath catching as her body registered the warmth beside her.

Her eyes opened — drowsy, soft.

“Oz?” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “You’re home late.”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. Just slid his hand beneath hers and laced their fingers together. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, slow and steady.

She didn’t push.

Didn’t sit up.

Didn’t ask.

Just waited.

And because she didn’t ask — because she already knew — he found his voice again.

“Mark saw the drawing,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “The one you gave Andrea.”

Felicity blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“He said it was a love letter. That you were making the world easier for me.”

She was still for a beat.

Then: “He’s not wrong.”

Oscar exhaled sharply. Pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve figured something out eventually.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to the crown of his hair.

Her voice was quieter than ever. “I’d do it again.”

Oscar’s breath hitched.

“I’d do it again tomorrow,” she said. “And the next day. And the day after that. If it meant you could breathe easier. If it meant you didn’t have to fight so hard just to keep pace with people who were working with better tools.”

He closed his eyes. Let the weight of her words settle over him like a blanket. Warm. Certain. Steady.

She ran her fingers through his curls once, twice.

And then she whispered: “You make the world easier for me, too. You just don’t notice it. You make it softer.”

Oscar kissed her shoulder. Didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew.

And he’d carry that with him — into every debrief, every qualifying lap, every moment on the podium.

This wasn’t just about racing.

This was home.

And it felt a hell of a lot like winning.

***

Lando found out in the most Lando way possible: completely by accident and one week too late.

He was in the simulator debrief when the topic of “thermal management integrity stability” came up — words that immediately made him want to die a little inside.

They were talking about their tire performance. Again.

Specifically, the fact that they could now absolutely cook it through mid-stint without falling off the cliff. And no one else could.

Lando was half paying attention — until one of the engineers muttered something about “F. Piastri’s material integration concept.”

Lando blinked.

“Sorry, whose what now?”

The room went quiet.

Andrea didn’t even look up from his screen. “Felicity. The drawing. You’ve seen it.”

“No, I have not seen it. Unless it was attached to a meme or came with a side of banana bread, I was not included.”

Will Joseph — Lando’s race engineer — slowly slid a printed diagram across the table.

Lando took one look.

Paused.

And said, “Wait. This is her?”

Andrea nodded without looking up. “Came up with it over insomnia. Gave it to me like it was a shopping list. It works.”

Lando stared at the airflow map, the PCM trigger temperatures, the annotated note that literally said ‘the goal is to stabilize the moment he usually starts slipping — give him room to breathe.’

He felt like someone had sucker-punched him with science and sentiment at the same time.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re telling me Felicity Piastri — as in, Oscar’s wife who wears motor oil like perfume and once fixed the coffee machine with a literal wrench — came up with the strategy that made our car an actual rocket ship?”

“Yes.”

“And it works.”

“Yes.”

“And she just gave it to you? No credit, no fuss, just… ‘here, I fixed the entire concept of high-deg tire strategy because I couldn’t sleep’?”

Andrea finally looked up. “Correct.”

Lando sat back, stunned.

He knew Felicity was scary smart. Knew she could rebuild a gearbox while calculating orbital velocity. Knew Oscar worshipped the ground she walked on and never made a big deal out of it because he didn’t need to.

But this?

This was something else.

“She didn’t do it for the team,” Lando said quietly, the realization hitting all at once. “She did it for him.”

Andrea didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Lando looked back down at the page — the margins, the equations, the gentle note that said “he’s too good to be held back by bad thermal behavior.”

And he felt it in his chest — that familiar ache.

Because that wasn’t engineering.

That was love.

The quiet kind.

The kind that doesn’t shout or show off.

The kind that stays up at 2 a.m. fixing something no one else thought could be fixed — just so the person you love can breathe easier.

So he doesn’t have to carry it all alone.

So he can go faster, safer, freer.

It was a love letter.

Not in flowers or poems.

In airflow and melting points.

Lando leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Jesus Christ. She built him a better world.”

Will snorted. “She rebuilt tire degradation, but sure, let’s make it poetic.”

Lando didn’t even blink. “It is poetic. He’s the quiet guy. And she’s the quieter genius who knows exactly where he hurts and rewrites the laws of physics to help him anyway.”

Andrea tilted his head. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“I’m right,” Lando shot back, still staring at the page. “He’ll win the title because she didn’t want him to bleed for it.”

He tapped the margin with his knuckle. “This is the kind of love that never asks for a podium. Just builds the car to get him there.”

And for once — no one had a comeback.

Because they all knew it was true.

***

They were in the driver’s lounge two days later, when Lando struck.

He’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

And Oscar, blissfully unaware, had just taken a bite of his protein bar like he wasn’t about to get emotionally roasted.

Lando stretched out across the sofa like a cat in a sunbeam and said, far too casually, “So… what’s it like being loved so much your wife reinvented tire degradation for you?”

Oscar blinked mid-chew. “…Sorry?”

Lando grinned. “Just curious. I mean, some of us get love letters or handmade birthday cakes. You? You get full-phase material integration strategies and temperature-controlled brake ducting. Romantic stuff.”

Oscar groaned, immediately regretting not hiding in the sim room instead. “Lando.”

“I’m serious,” Lando said, sitting up now, fully energized. “Felicity took one look at your stint data and said, ‘this man needs help. Let me just rewrite thermodynamics real quick.’”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“No, no,” Lando cut in. “Don’t you dare downplay this. The rest of us? We have to manage deg. You? You have a thermodynamic guardian angel in your marriage bed.”

Oscar flushed, the tips of his ears visibly pink. “She had a theory. That’s all.”

“‘Just a theory,’” Lando mimicked, using air quotes. “‘Just a casual bedtime sketch that turned McLaren into the most stable tire platform on the grid.’ My God, Oscar. She loves you so much it’s physically measurable.”

Oscar sank lower in his seat, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re married to the Nikola Tesla of tire temp control. I deserve to be insufferable.”

“Lando—”

“She built us a better car because she hated watching you suffer.” Lando flopped dramatically. “Imagine. Being loved with that level of efficiency. Can you even comprehend?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s just… always been smarter than all of us.”

Lando stopped mid-rant.

And smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause.

Then Lando added, “Anyway. If she ever wants to fix my brakes, tell her I’m emotionally available.”

Oscar snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“What about Bee? Can she be bribed with juice boxes and data sets?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing now. “She’s already running her own simulations. She’s got standards.”

Lando grinned. “Just like her mum.”

Oscar looked down at the McLaren logo on his hoodie — the one Felicity stole all the time — and felt something warm settle in his chest.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

But when he went home that night, he kissed Felicity extra softly — and whispered thank you against her temple like a promise.

And Felicity?

She just smiled, wiped her grease-smudged fingers on her jeans, and said, “Don’t thank me yet. Bee thinks we can improve the airflow angle by three degrees.”

Because love — in their house — was always a work in progress.

And always worth the effort.

***

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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satoblue · 3 months ago

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satoru keeps every single moment of your pregnancy documented — from pictures of your bump at each stage to a video recording of the actual conception. you don’t know about that last one necessarily . . . it’s really for his eyes only. but some normal things to keep was all the pregnancy tests you took, the empty jars of prenatal vitamins, the packet of birth control that failed to work (which he thanks the company for and he plans on buying from them only from now on), and writing down every position he took you in + how many times he came inside you in a little journal marked with the date and time during the moments you needed a break from his strokes. he was meticulous, keeping track of your cycle and your period, noting any fluctuations. and when it’s time for the baby shower? he’ll showcase all of his data and findings to everyone (yes, your friends and family) which detail every step it took to come to this moment. satoru enthusiastically speaks very knowledgeably about how certain positions are actually very effective in baby making. he’ll even demonstrate — with you clothed, obviously — but it does nothing to quell your utter embarrassment and shame. your husband doesn’t see the problem though, he’s just sharing his helpful tips and tricks!

#— the honored one #tw pregnancy #and someone actually benefits from it and thanks satoru and he’s so happy but you just wanna punch him (softly on the lips with your lips)

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psychoticallytrans · 2 years ago

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There's this idea, fairly common in society, that mental illness is for teens and up. Children are happy little creatures, generally, right? Sometimes they're abused and the trauma can make them mentally ill, but that's not common.

There are two fundamental problems with this attitude. One, it's incorrect to assume that trauma is the only reason a young kid can be mentally ill. Two, trauma is more common than people think. I'll be covering the first problem in this post through the lens of my particular experience.

Where I live, you can be diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18 years old. You cannot be diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a minor. This poses a problem because my age of onset was in first grade, roughly six years old. Because of the fact that I was very young and new to the world, this was also the age of my first suicide attempt. Thinking I wouldn't be able to pass a spelling test genuinely felt like something worth trying to die over. So, I ate some hemlock, since I'd read about Socrates being killed with it. Luckily, I ate western hemlock, an unrelated species, and just felt kind of sick.

I'm not recounting that for fun or pity. I'm recounting it because children with mental illness are in genuine danger because they have little to no experience with managing their emotions, have little to no concept of the idea that their life can change and improve, and are dismissed by adults. I told a teacher that the test made me want to die, though not that I'd attempted to, and it was brushed off as little kid hyperbole. If I had used a method that was effective rather than one I thought would be, I would have been dead at six years old.

I would not receive medication that worked even a bit for another two years. I would not receive treatment for bipolar disorder specifically for ten years, and that required my PCP fudging the reason for the medication because she was afraid I would die if she didn't, and diagnosis was still two years off at minimum. I received a formal diagnosis at age 19, thirteen years after onset.

But surely that's uncommon, right? This story is a huge edge case, right? I actually have no idea, because age of onset and age of diagnosis are massively conflated for most disabilities. Policies like the one in my area that restricted bipolar diagnoses by age can artificially raise the age of "onset", in my case by thirteen years. The general idea that children are somehow immune to mental illness can also delay diagnosis by several years, perpetuating the idea that young children can't be mentally ill. The data on when people start experiencing mental illness is inherently skewed upwards, and I frankly don't have a good estimate on how bad that skew is. If anyone does have that data, please chime in.

Listen to children. If they're saying they're sad all the time, that they don't care about anything, that they don't see a future for themselves, those are signs of depressive symptoms. If they say that tests make them feel sick, that they can't do anything because they're scared, that they can't breathe and freeze up, those are signs of anxious symptoms. Many children talk about imaginary things, and that's just fine, but slip in a question or two about them to make sure that the kid is just playing, and not experiencing psychosis.

Children are new to the world and vulnerable, and they don't know what's normal and what isn't. They need people who are more experienced watching out for problems they might be having, and listening when they talk about having problems. If you can, try to be the person who perceives them, and tells them that things can be better.

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cryptotheism · 10 months ago

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Occultist from 1910: "I want to explore this magical concept, but I need someone who is extremely experienced with ceremonial magic, and has no shame or fear. I need the magic equivalent of a crash test dummy for data gathering purposes."

Aleister Crowley:

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quicksilversnails · 6 months ago

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Took some notes from the Wild Life retrospective episode of the Imp & Skizz podcast featuring Grian because I thought the behind the scenes info was really interesting!

(3:15) The wild cards were all kept totally secret from the players (apart from Grian), with the exception of the superpowers and finale (as they required the players to set keybinds)

(3:45) The players were given files containing the required mods each week, which were named things like "creeper rain" to throw them off

(4:12) Wild cards were a combination of data packs and mods

(4:38) Grian told them not to read the folder name to avoid spoilers (which is kind of impossible), so everyone fully believed there would be creeper rain lol. Grian was saying it in jest but everyone took it seriously and were apologetic about having seen it, to which Grian told them not to worry

(6:58) Grian originally contacted a data pack dev called Brace for help with programming the wild cards. Some, like the shrinking/growing could be achieved with minecraft attributes, but the snails were too janky and unusable. Grian still liked the idea though, so he reached out to mod developers Henkelmax and Breadloaf, who designed the pathfinding/behaviour from scratch

(8:49) They had a debugging mode used to test the pathfinding of the snails, shown in the podcast and in Grian's credits

(10:09) Grian wants most of the credit to go to the development team and artists, as he was mostly in charge of ideas & organization!

(10:39) Grian's only regret with the snails was that they were too fast in session 3, leading to unexpectedly many deaths. They were apparently not so difficult to get away from during testing, but perhaps the testers were more used to them than the players were

(11:44) Grian: "We did develop to the lowest common denominator" ie. prioritizing how players would struggle over how worrying about if players would do too well

(12:56) Oli's voice for the snails was iconic. It cost Impulse a life because he intentionally stayed closer to it to hear the voice lol

(13:42) Danny was in charge of the snail models and animations

(14:11) During testing, the snails just sounded like Oli, which made it feel weird. They pitched up his voice so that it'd be less immediately recognizable

(15:18) The snails' jumping attack was meant to be clearly telegraphed: they would stop, wiggle, make a "ooeee" sound before jumping. Many players had their friendly creatures volume turned very low/off (as cows and other mobs are loud), which made this attack much less obvious for them

(16:57) The growing/shrinking had the least testing done for it, as it was the simplest conceptually and to program. This meant that the falling off of blocks due to the shrinking hitboxes wasn't anticipated

(17:55) Before the 1st session, Grian told them that he didn't think anyone would die to the wild card. Pearl's death made Grian pretty nervous, as he didn't want everyone dying too early in the season

(19:29) 6 lives were given, knowing that many of the death to the wild cards were unexpected/unfair. The intent was for ~3 lives to be allocated for wild cards, and ~3 for PvP.

(21:13) The developers were all fans of the Life Series!

(22:43) The shrinking/growing was intentionally pretty simple to ease players/viewers into the concept and build up toward more dramatic wild cards like the snails

(25:38) In the hunger episode, Grian didn't know which foods would be good

(25:58) Grian thinks that "it's unfair that Grian already knows everything" is valid criticism, but that it's important for him to be involved with the ideas. Having someone else do that is like having someone else record his videos: Life Series is his brainchild

(26:35) Well before the season began, while they were still developing the concept, Grian asked the other players for wild card ideas that would meet a few criteria. All of them ended up being unused for one reason or another. Impulse thinks his ideas were very "inside the box" because he was viewing things through what was possible in vanilla Minecraft. His idea was to have a scavenger hunt where the players would search to find a relic. The first person to find it would get a buff. Skizz's idea was for every player to turn into a random passive mob for every given interval of time. They would have to find every other player of the same mob type as them or else the whole group loses a life.

(29:44) The food qualities were weighted by the rarity of the item, so very common blocks like dirt and cobblestone would never give anything good. The other items were randomly selected

(30:23) Regular blocks/items cannot be made edible normally, so they had to circumvent that and custom code a fix for items not stacking correctly

(32:41) While a lot of players do want to win, the main priority is creating entertainment, which prioritizes playing recklessly

(33:20) The food wild card wasn't included in the finale because it would've felt like "too much". There was a higher risk of technical issues since it changed the data values of items, and Grian didn't want someone's last death to be because they ate their sword. In his mind, it was a good and fun wild card, but didn't need to be repeated in the finale. Impulse points out that they all would have collected more rare items by that point, removing the incentive to search for blocks to eat

(33:46) The wild cards in the finale were nerfed from their original sessions. The shrinking/growing had a smaller height range, the snails moved slower, etc.

(36:21) The personalized snail skins were a late addition by Danny, who made 18 skins very quickly

(36:49) Grian did not anticipate the snails becoming as popular with fans as they were. After the session released, they had the idea to release the snail merchandise, which directly funded the rest of the season

(39:20) Grian spent what "felt like every day" testing with the developers. They'd record the sessions on Tuesdays, meet up with the dev team, talk about what need to be done, testing, bugs, etc, edit and upload on Saturday, and would get a few days grace before starting again

(40:01) After the snail session, Grian was worried that the season would be very short due to all the deaths. They were considering toning down the later wild cards but ultimately didn't change them too much

(40:36) The time wild card was carefully balanced. If it had gone even a little faster, many players likely would have died because they wouldn't have time to react to threats like baby zombies or creepers.

(40:57) While sessions normally run for a variable amount of time, session 4 was hardcoded at 2 hours. Grian ended the session ~10 minutes early, just after they hit max speed, because he felt like things were getting dicey

(42:46) When the wild card first activates, it looks a lot like the server had frozen or crashed. Grian told the players before the session started that it would look like the game was broken, but that it isn't broken. Skizz tabbed out anyway and missed the beginning 😔

(43:30) Having the rain start just as the wild card began was a good visual indicator of time slowing down. This was a suggestion from the dev team (probably Brace)

(44:41) Impulse and Grian "cheesed" the end of the session by going branch mining. Grian wanted players to take advantage of the wild cards (eg. mining quickly, helping to kill someone), and not have them just be an annoyance.

(45:30) Keeping the client and server-side time stay in sync was challenging. The sky's motion was changed to be smoother on client-side. The players were also not as fast as the server (around 2x faster), the server was going faster than that, and the time of day was even faster

(46:56) The sounds were pitched up/down based on the speed to add to the effect

(27:46) In testing, if the players were made 7x faster, it would be basically unplayable, which was why it was capped at 2x speed. This made mobs very dangerous, as they were now faster than players and could catch up to you and kill you easily

(49:01) On several occasions, they had to extend the fuse duration of creepers to make them more fair. In the time session, their speed was only increased by ~10%

(49:39) Usually, Grian was the one to test the wild cards and notice when things like creeper speed would be an issue, since he was the one with experience making videos

(50:50) A challenge with balancing wild cards is accounting for the playstyles of so many players: reckless players like Scar and Skizz, "kind and gentle" players like Bigb who would stay off to the sides, and "the sweat squad" (Scott, Impulse) who play very cautiously

(52:48) Trivia Bot was the only wild card that was not planned in advance. Grian was struggling to come up with a wild card for that episode, and wanted to have a wild card available that could give people lives in case many people died to early wild cards without it feeling cheap.

(53:33) Trivia seemed a little boring on its face, so presentation was essential

(54:34) This one made Grian the most stressed due to all the moving parts involved in making it (coding and pathfinding mostly by Henkelmax, visuals by Hoffen, audio/music, questions)

(55:08) Trivia Bot's design was based on Grumbot and Mettaton from Undertale. Hoffen drew concept art shown in the video

(58:32) They show Trivia Bot's custom animation for becoming a snail and it's really cool

(59:12) The music was the most stressful part of the project. Grian spent 2-3 days looking through Epidemic Sounds for a Trivia Bot theme song and couldn't find anything good. He commissioned Zera @hopepetal for a theme song, which is played in the podcast. However, Grian realized he needed a full audio package, so he commissioned Oli late in development, who created the final soundtrack and many audio variations

(1:01:38) Grian wants to send appreciation for everyone who worked on the project, even if their work ultimately went unused

(1:02:58) Skizz was happy to give back however he could by staying on standby in the final episode as a zombie, as the players were able to "reap all the benefits" of the hard work of the development team

(1:05:21) Grian didn't know any of the trivia questions beforehand, which were done by fans of the series. The goal was for ~50% of the questions to be answered correctly, which was approximately met

(1:07:11) Players couldn't get questions about themselves because it would be too easy. This would encourage players to leave their bot, allowing other players to mess with them

(1:07:57) Grian felt a little left out from the discovery element of the wild cards, and decided to mess with Scar by hiding his bot. He wasn't expecting Scar to die from it, and could tell that he was genuinely a little upset by it. Grian felt bad about it, which led to a genuine in-game alliance between them

(1:12:32) Grian was very close to letting Trivia Bot give lives as rewards, but decided it would feel too cheap

(1:14:38) Mob swap was slightly toned down, with more camels and sniffers spawning

(1:15:07) Evokers didn't drop totems anymore. Instead, there was a minuscule chance a warden or wither would spawn, which would drop a totem if killed. Grian was a little disappointed that the warden got cheesed in the end

(1:17:45) Having the mobs start passive and turn hostile was mostly for the presentation, building anticipation, and so players could predict where mobs would spawn and react accordingly, making things feel less unfair

(1:20:32) There was no superpower made for Skizz (or Mumbo presumably)

(1:20:38) The superpowers were another late addition. There was a large design doc where Grian created all the powers, which were handed over to Henkelmax and completed over 4 days

(1:21:42) Grian avoided superpowers involving strength, that could cause someone to die easily. Most of the powers were social or movement-based, which couldn't be used for offence as easily

(1:22:25) Some powers were randomly assigned, others weren't. Impulse's was random. Cleo's, Bigb's, Lizzie's, Grian's were assigned.

(1:24:25) Grian gave himself the mimic because it could easily backfire (like in Grian's fall damage death), and because it would've been confusing for a player who wasn't aware of the other powers. They likely would've spent the episode just figuring out how everything worked and not actually using the power to its best ability

Lots of discussion about the superpowers and how they interacted in the episode itself, go watch if you're interested :)

(1:33:38) Talk on how the series "standard" rules evolved since 3rd Life. There was no keep inventory, and no restrictions on enchanting levels or potions, which created slow or unbalanced fights

(1:36:23) 3rd Life was designed to be an experimental series, which made Grian eager to improve it. For example, some people just weren't dying in 3L, leading to the boogeyman in LL, and so on

(1:37:17) The goal with the seasons isn't to one-up the previous one, but to create a different experience every time, which keeps things engaging for the creators

(1:38:31) At the end of each session, Grian would ask the group if they had fun and how they felt about the wild cards. According the Skizz, the answer was "a resounding yes"

(1:39:08) Grian had moments throughout the season where he personally felt like things didn't go well for him, and was anxious for the rest of the group's episodes. Things worked out while editing the raw footage, though. His issues were never with the wild cards themselves, but his own actions (traps not working, spending too long branch mining), but would always find funny moments in his footage

(1:43:41) Everyone in the Life Series cast genuinely likes and genuinely respects everybody else in the group. This allows them to make the show and get mad at each other, because they know it's all just in-character

(1:44:50) It'd be hard to top Wild Life in spectacle, and Grian doesn't want to start an arms race with himself. The next season could potentially be closer to 3rd Life, but Grian's not sure yet. For Grian, Wild Life was the most enjoyable

(1:45:20) Grian: "As long as people keep enjoying [the Life Series] then I'd love to keep doing it"

(1:49:35) With the finale, Grian knew how the wild cards played out the previous sessions and was able to adjust them

(1:49:56) Grian's goal was to create safe chaos where everyone knew what was happening and wouldn't die to them, which didn't go entirely to plan. The snails were 60% of their original speed and people still died

(1:51:03) Grian made a precise timeline of when each wild card would start/stop, it wasn't randomized.

(1:54:16) All the superpowers were randomized, with Bdubs' power being removed from circulation because it didn't have much use in a finale setting

(1:56:10) It was important for Grian that in the final moments, the wild cards were removed, so there were no interruptions. The timing worked out well because there were a few people left and it ended within ~10 minutes (this implies that the change wasn't based on # of players alive, as people had speculated based on Gem's death)

(1:58:48) The players all randomly switched to zombie skins throughout the session to mess with people on NameMC. Well-played :)

#og post #wildlife #grian #impulse #impulsesv #skizz #skizzleman #imp & skizz #mc meta #wild life smp #wlsmp #life series #trafficblr #traffic smp #<- dunno which life series tags are most commonly used but i hope i got all the major ones #long post #“i should write down the behind the scenes!” i thought. “it'll be quick!” i thought :')#as someone who did had some critiques about the structure of the season #i found it really insightful to hear about the design decisions from a behind the scenes perspective #digging into why it was made the way it was and what exactly about it worked/didn't work honestly helps me to appreciate #it more for what it was!#and it helped to truly understand and appreciate all the work that went into it #i probably included more details than needed but i just thought they were all really fascinating #like trivia bot being designed to have the option to give lives in case the early sessions were too deadly!#i was also surprised that the snail merch wasn't planned ahead of time #and i also tried to keep all the credits grian listed bc i think it's important!#i would recommend watching the full podcast ep! i didn't include a lot of imp & skizz's commentary since i was focusing on the technical &#behind the scenes details but they had lots of great insight

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icedq-toranainc · 1 year ago

Text

Data Testing Automation Tool - iceDQ

Discover the best data testing automation tools for assuring data validity and reliability. Uplift your testing strategy with cutting-edge data validation tools. Gain a deeper understanding of the data testing concept and achieve data quality with our innovative solutions. Read more here - https://bit.ly/4aYWcat

#data testing automation tools #data validation tools #data validity and reliability #data testing concept #data testing tool

0 notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

Text

Understanding a Scientific Article

Abstract

A brief description of the key points you will find in the paper. This can include:

Objectives: What questions the researchers hope to answer.

Methods: What type of study the researchers used to conduct the study.

Results: What the researchers discovered.

Discussion/conclusion: What the results mean and/or the author’s interpretation of the results.

Look at the date of the study.

Was it conducted in the past year? 5 years? 15 years? As new information is learned, scientific standards and techniques change, and practices evolve.

New research may support results from older studies as well as lead to new methods to diagnose and treat conditions and diseases.

New research can, at times, also contradict other research, which may require additional research to explore and resolve these differences.

Research can separate the good results from the bad results. In this way, the scientific method is self-correcting, which is reassuring.

Looking at the date can provide insight into how the study fits into the larger evidence base on a particular topic.

Methods

Detailed information on the type of research or approach used, the study’s design, the participants, the measurements or outcomes recorded, and steps taken to avoid bias.

Types of Research

Basic research: Scientists ask questions about theories or concepts, and test hypotheses to improve scientific knowledge. It’s the first step in any research.

Translational research: Researchers build on the observations and results of basic research to develop and test new ways to prevent, detect, or treat conditions and diseases.

Clinical trials: Well-planned clinical trials are done with people and may vary in size and type. Clinical trials give the clearest information about whether a treatment or a lifestyle change is effective and safe in humans. However, because they are complicated, lengthy, involve many research participants and can be very expensive, they are usually done only after smaller preliminary studies have been completed.

Systematic reviews and meta-analyses: When researchers review each other’s research to check for quality and look for converging evidence among studies, they may write systematic reviews and meta-analyses. These look at different studies on the same topic. When many studies come to the same conclusion, it helps us know that the results are reliable and valid.

While all research studies are important and contribute to our knowledge base, clinical trials are the types of studies you probably hear about most often in the news. They can have the most immediate impact on improving health and treating disease.

Results

What the study showed.

The data, summaries, and analyses of the study are presented in this section. Tables, graphs, and charts that show the results are often included.

To better understand the results, you can ask these questions:

How do these results compare with previous studies?

A single study rarely provides a final, definitive answer.

Repeating a study using the same methods with different volunteers and investigators helps us know that the results are reliable and valid.

What do “statistically significant” and “clinically significant” mean?

Statistically significant means the differences observed between the groups are real and not likely due to chance.

Clinically significant is a measure of the size of the effects observed in the study, which shows the impact of the treatment.

A study can find statistically significant differences between two treatment groups, but the differences may be so small that they are not clinically significant in terms of usefulness for patients.

Are there potential conflicts of interest?

Did the study sponsor or the investigators have any financial or reputational "stake" in the outcome?

Most medical journal articles include information about relevant financial relationships.

Discussion

What the results mean.

This is where you can often find out how the study relates to your own health.

This section includes the authors’ explanation of, and own opinions about, what the results mean.

Since the conclusions are the authors’ own, others may or may not completely agree with their explanation of the results.

References

Previously published articles the authors used to review what related research was done before, to help design the study and interpret its results.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

#research #writing reference #dark academia #writeblr #studyblr #spilled ink #literature #writers on tumblr #writing prompt #light academia #science #writing resources

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hazymoonlinh · 4 months ago

Note

🤔 how about phainon x scientist!fem reader like what you do with mydei, I like your writing 🤭 about that too

“The Coldest Star Meets the Brightest Light”

Part 1| part 2|

(Phainon x Researcher!Reader | Soulmate AU)

She did not believe in soulmates.

Not in the way that others did, anyway.

The concept was nothing more than an anomaly—an unexplained phenomenon of the universe that had no scientific basis, yet persisted in countless cultures across planets. Some claimed it was fate, an unbreakable bond destined to unite two people. Others called it a curse, binding individuals regardless of their will.

She categorized it as biological interference. A chemical reaction. Nothing more.

And yet—when she set foot in Amphoreus, standing amidst the blinding light of a battle between the Astral Express crew and an unknown warrior—her entire understanding of reality fractured.

Because the moment he turned, the moment his piercing blue gaze locked onto hers—her entire being froze.

A Fateful Encounter

Phainon had appeared in an instant, his entrance marked by a slash so swift that Dan Heng’s weapon shattered upon impact. His presence was radiant, overwhelming—like standing too close to a sun, its heat and gravity pulling everything toward it.

But he wasn’t looking at them.

He was looking at her.

“You.” His voice was deep, steady—yet beneath it was something else. Something shaken. “Who are you?”

She didn’t answer. Her brain was still processing the impossible.

This feeling—this pull—was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was not logical. It was not quantifiable. And yet, it was absolute.

Soulmates.

No.

No, no, no.

“That’s not important,” she finally replied, forcing her voice to remain level. She ignored the way her heartbeat threatened to betray her. “Stand down. We’re only here to investigate—”

Phainon stepped closer, ignoring her words entirely.

“No,” he murmured, as if he were speaking more to himself than anyone else. “No way… It’s you.”

His expression was unreadable—somewhere between disbelief and something softer.

It was unbearable.

She refused to acknowledge this.

Soulmates did not exist.

“I have no connection to you.” Her words were cold, detached—the same tone she used when analyzing test subjects. “Do not mistake me for something I am not.”

Phainon blinked.

And then, to her absolute horror—he laughed.

It was a soft chuckle at first, then a full, warm, delighted laugh, as if her rejection was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

Phainon grinned, and it was the kind of grin that spelled trouble.

“You think you can just walk away?” His tone was playful, but there was something deeper beneath it—something sure. “Like it or not, we’re connected now. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

Her fingers twitched against the data pad she had instinctively grabbed. “I am not yours.”

“Not yet,” he agreed easily. “But you will be.”

Escape Was Not an Option

She left.

Of course she did.

After her mission ended, after she left Amphoreus, she returned to Herta’s Space Station. Back to her research, back to normalcy.

She had hoped the feeling would fade. That the inexplicable warmth lingering in her chest would disappear over time.

It didn’t.

Worse, she soon found that no matter where she went, she felt watched. Not in a threatening way—no, Phainon’s presence wasn’t the kind that instilled fear. It was something far more annoying.

Persistent. Playful. Patient.

He was waiting.

And then—one day—he stopped waiting.

An Unwanted Visitor

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

His voice was warm as ever—too warm, considering he was currently standing in her pristine laboratory, arms crossed, looking like he belonged there despite absolutely not belonging there.

She stared at him, unamused. “First of all, I left. Second of all, how did you even get in here?”

Phainon shrugged. “I have my ways.”

A pause.

“…Trailblazer helped you, didn’t they?”

His grin widened. “I have my ways.”

She exhaled slowly, setting her data pad aside. “I’m busy. If this is about that ridiculous soulmate nonsense—”

“It’s not nonsense.”

The sudden shift in his tone made her pause. It wasn’t teasing anymore. There was no mischief in his gaze. Only certainty.

Her chest tightened.

“Look,” Phainon continued, stepping closer. “I get it. You’re logical. You like things that make sense. But you felt it too, didn’t you?”

She remained silent.

His expression softened. “It’s not something you can explain. It just is.”

“That’s exactly why I reject it.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “I refuse to let something dictate my choices. Even if—” She hesitated. “Even if this connection exists, I won’t be forced into it.”

Phainon studied her for a long moment.

And then, instead of arguing—he smiled.

“Good,” he said simply.

She blinked. “…Good?”

“I don’t want you to accept it just because fate says so.” He tilted his head, the golden glow of the station’s lights reflecting in his icy blue eyes. “I want you to accept it because you choose me.”

That caught her off guard.

“…And you think I will?”

Phainon’s grin turned knowing.

“I know you will.”

She scoffed. “Have anyone told you you’re insufferable ?”

“And you’re adorable when you pretend you don’t care.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re coming with me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Back to Amphoreus.” His tone was far too casual. “We need to spend more time together. Y’know, bonding.”

“I have work—”

Phainon tapped her data pad, causing it to turn off.

“You have me now.”

She stared at him.

He stared right back.

For the first time in her life, she had no calculated response.

Phainon only chuckled, offering a hand. “Come on, genius. Let’s see if I can change your mind.”

Against all logic—she hesitated.

And for Phainon? That was already a victory.

TO BE CONTINUED…

How’s that for a start? Phainon’s warmth clashing with her cold logic, their instant connection, and his playful yet patient pursuit—this is gonna be fun. Let me know if you want Part 2!

I took extra time to polish it since you have waited for a week hehe.

Have anyone seen 3.1 trailer ? So cool.

#honkai star rail #phainon x y/n #honkai star rail phainon #phainon x you #phainon honkai star rail #hsr phainon #phainon hsr #phainon x reader #phainon #hazymoonlinh #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Note

Remember when I mentioned that Veritas would bite his s/o for "science" to see their reaction? Could you make a fic about that concept and make it suggestive, maybe? Only if you're comfortable, of course.

“For... Science”

Summary: When Ratio decides to "experiment" on his significant other's reaction to being bitten, he claims it's all in the name of science. However, the playful tension between them suggests there's more to his methods than pure academia.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Established Relationship, Playful Banter, Science Shenanigans, Suggestive Themes, Light Humor.

Warnings: Mildly Suggestive Content, Light Biting (consensual, playful).

The soft glow of the study’s golden sconces bathed the room in a warm light as Ratio meticulously flipped through the pages of a thick tome. His focus was unshakable, each note jotted down with precision and care. Across the room, you were seated comfortably in a plush chair, trying to read a novel, but your attention kept drifting back to him. His waves cascaded elegantly over one eye, his form a picture of otherworldly allure.

You admired him endlessly—his sharp wit, his passion for knowledge, his unrelenting confidence. But that same confidence often led to... eccentric experiments. Tonight, judging by the glint in his eyes as he closed his book, one of those experiments was brewing.

He turned toward you, his lips curling into a sly smirk. “Dearest,” he began, his tone smooth but with an edge of mischief, “have I told you about the latest hypothesis I’ve been pondering?”

You raised a brow, setting your book aside. “What is it this time? Another philosophical debate? Testing gravitational constants in a low-gravity zone?”

“Hardly,” he said, rising from his chair with an air of intrigue. He crossed the room in a few confident strides, standing before you, his arms crossed. “It’s a matter of behavioral response to physical stimuli. Specifically... biting.”

You blinked. “Biting?”

“For science,” he assured, leaning down so his intense gaze met yours. “The sensory and psychological reaction varies from person to person, and I’d like to collect data on how you would react.”

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. “And you thought this was the perfect moment for such an experiment?”

His smirk deepened. “Is there ever a wrong moment to pursue knowledge?”

Before you could protest further, he tilted your chin up with a gentle touch, his fingers cool against your skin. “I promise, this is purely academic,” he murmured, though the playful lilt in his voice betrayed otherwise.

You sighed, feigning exasperation. “Fine. Just... be gentle, okay?”

His eyes sparkled with triumph as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your neck. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and you gripped the arms of the chair for stability.

The first graze of his teeth against your skin was surprisingly soft, almost teasing. Then he bit—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your heart skip a beat. A quiet gasp escaped your lips, and you felt his smirk against your neck.

“Interesting,” he mused, pulling back slightly to observe your reaction. “Increased heart rate, slight dilation of the pupils, and... was that a gasp? Fascinating.”

You glared at him, though your flushed cheeks undermined the attempt. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me for it,” he countered, his confidence unshaken.

He straightened, brushing an errant strand of hair from his face. “I must say, your reaction aligns with my initial hypothesis. However,” he added, leaning down once more, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I may need further tests to confirm my findings.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “You’re incorrigible, Veritas.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to the spot he had bitten, his touch surprisingly tender. “But you must admit, the pursuit of knowledge is never dull with me around.”

And as you watched him return to his desk, already jotting down notes from his “experiment,” you couldn’t help but agree.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #veritas x reader #veritas #veritas ratio #ratio x reader #dr ratio #ratio x you #established relationship #playful banter #science shenanigans #suggestive themes #light humor

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 2 months ago

Note

Au where Stanford is obsessed with anomalies, but the anomalies are obsessed with Stanley instead. Stanley is in deep denial of this, of course, and its driving Stanford mad.

Especially since there is legit no reason for this, no reason at all for Stan to be so magnetic to the weirdness in the world, especially compared to Ford.

He’s tested for magic, nope. Tested dna, tested mental scans, curses, blessings, even his urine that one regrettable time in the midst of sleep deprivation. All negative for any kind of reasoning.

He finds this out due to his studying of the weirdness magnetism law, which leads him to Stanley in Nevada, big fight, big emotional reconciliation, blah, blah, blah.

Long story short, Stan gets dragged to Gravity Falls and only some of the reasons are research related! A win in Stan’s book!

Stan is having a good time, living with his bro, eating regularly trying to ignore Ford’ crazy talk and the fact Ford might(?) be on drugs.

Ford is trying to not feel wounded that everything loves his brother and not him (he legit saw the gnope police ignore his brother’s butterfly traficking, while Ford’s gnome criminal record only grows) but also immensely proud that Stanley fits in to his research.

Also is trying really, really hard to not acknowledge the fact Stan thinks he’s on drugs and keeps giving him knowing nods.

Anyway, hilarious scenarios ensue:

Ford, baffled and slightly angry: That was a leprechaun, a legit leprechaun gave you gold!!

Stan, holding handfuls of gold a short, Irish stranger gave him, giving Ford a ‘not cool’ look: …i’m pretty sure your not supposed to call people with dwarfism that, Ford.

Ford, about to explode:…

ALSO:

Ford, three in the morning, passionately explaining his work to Stan, manid excitement running through his veins: AND UNICORNS STAN, UNICORNS.

Stan, extremely experienced in the art of drug use: Uh-hu, tell me more Ford.

There's a similar au called Home Is Where The Weird is on Ao3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63746020/chapters/163433704

But i'd be lying if i hadnt thought of something similar before learning it existed. The idea that Ford is attracted to the strange, but the strange is attracted to Stan is such a fun one to think about. Stan just being a natural Weirdness Magnet for no reason Ford can find, and might also be the reason Ford himself is strange is such an interesting concept to me. Just- Ford being born with six fingers because Stan's weirdness magnetism was already at work in the womb? The idea would haunt Ford.

More under the cut!

And just like there's no visible reason that Gravity Falls has such a powerful Weirdness magnet, there's no reason for Stan to have one either! But its there, and Ford can see the effects of it at work!

I like the idea of Ford tracking Stan down on accident. Man's just looking for other magnets so he can compare data, and discovers evidence of a mobile one! How exciting! Why! How! He needs to figure out what it is!

And then he finds Stan, in the same town he's tracked the anomaly. There's a stiff sort of fight, and Ford sort of ignores him while trying to do his research, except everything he's following goes straight to Stan. Every signal, every strangely shaped jelly bean, until he's hit with the realization of 'oh my god, its Stan. Stan's the magnet.' Then he tackles his brother and forces him to show off where he's been for however long Fords been tracking the anomaly, and just like he suspects its the exact same route at the exact same times. Just confirms it for Ford that his brother is a natural weirdness magnet, and he needs to figure out why.

Which would make Stan's denial so so infuriating for Ford. Stan's lived his whole life explaining away every supernatural experience, he's not about to let his brother on drugs try and shove 'proof' in his face or whatever he's going on about. Ford, in his fury and need to know what Stan's deal is, drags him back home under the guise of 'studying him' which is a thin cover for 'oh my god Stan's homeless' and Stan allows because 'my brothers on drugs and i need to make sure he doesn't OD'.

Which is where i'm going to go on about my idea. When i thought about it, i was struck with the idea of how magnets repel each other if they have the same charge. Why?

Because Stan and Gravity Falls both attract Weirdness, they repel each other. Stan cannot enter Gravity Falls. Its like shoving two opposing magnets together, he physically cannot go past a certain point. There's an invisible force that pushes him back. Of course Ford's not going to let something like that stop him, and drags Stan into Gravity Falls anyway. It gets physically painful before Stan stumbles and is suddenly fine. he's in town, so everything is good, right?

Wrong.

Now he can't leave either. Gravity Falls Magnet has hooked onto Stan, and now the field is a little bigger now he's inside. He's trapped. My original idea was this would happen when Ford sends him the post card, and Stan gets more and more uneasy as he gets closer to Gravity Falls, until he hits the breaks suddenly, overcome with the need to not go any further. But Ford called him, and Ford needs him, so he's going to make it happen.

Except he physically can't. Gets out of the car to go on foot and just hits a wall. Theres a mini freak out that this is the reason Ford called him, and he drives to the closest phone along the invisible wall to call Ford. Fingers tapping and agitated, and then Ford never picks up, or it doesn't go through, because Fords deep in paranoia territory and hasn't paid his phone bill in some time. So Stan's gotta just push on through anyway.

And he does! Because he's Stan Pines and he's not going to let an invisible wall stop him! But it does mean he has to leave his car behind, because the effort of using it to shove himself in sort of broke it. Quickly figures out he cant go back either, then shrugs and moves on. Ford needs him here after all, he can figure out how to get out later. Goes the rest of the way to Fords cabin on foot/hitchhiking and everything goes mostly the same, except when Ford asks him to take the journal far away Stan stutters over his anger with the

"And how am i supposed to do that with the giant invisible wall!"

Much to Fords confusion. They yell at each other over it, Stan insisting he there was a force field around the town and Ford thinking Stan's just being stubborn, until he finally, in a burst of anger, drags Stan back to where he left his car (which is still there!) and shoves him over the boundary line.

Or tries to, because Stan hits an invisible wall. The wall that was not there before, and does not exist for Ford. No matter what he does, if he's holding his book or not, he cannot drag Stan past that line. It actually looks like he's shoving Stan against something physical. He gets like a centimeter of success before Stan is shoved back, like what happens with magnets.

Now Fords grand plan of having Stan drive off has failed, because he's accidentally trapped Stan in Gravity Falls. And they're both angry at each other, Ford hasn't slept, and Stan's freezing and also in pain from bursting through the first time and all of Fords attempts at shoving him the second.

And also theres a giant portal and Bill.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #ford pines #stan pines #the idea lives in my brain #i wont!#write it!#yet

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woradat · 7 days ago

Text

HALL OF RECORD

SUMMARY – once he was chief advisor, once you were archivist. Now they are not

PAIRING – sentinel prime x reader

NOTE – I read this fanfic and oh my god, the concept is so awesome?? I really couldn't help but have to write this one out after I finish reading

—

“You always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m not being appreciated properly”

—

The restricted archives of the Hall of Records didn’t have doors

Instead, a shimmering energy curtain flickered in the threshold—neither entirely solid nor passable without resistance. It hummed faintly, a curtain of containment and silence, casting the interior in a calm, undisturbed glow

Inside, You was standing at the center of a semi-circular array of holographic control panels. The light from them cast soft reflections across your plating, washing your frame in gentle hues of blue and gold. Your optics were narrowed, fingers dancing across the controls as lines of Proto-Cybertronian text hovered and rotated before being carefully sorted into branching timelines. Names, eras, battles—entries from the Age of Origins that most bots only heard of in myth or prayer—floated across the air in spectral luminescence

You were so focused you didn’t notice the energy curtain shift. Didn’t hear the quiet approach of footsteps echoing off the polished floor outside. But you did hear him “It’s so quiet in here, I half-suspected you'd unplugged the whole room just to keep people like me out”

That voice. Smooth as always, laced with that specific flavor of smugness only one bot had perfected into an artform. You didn’t turn around, just kept your optics on the console

A voice followed. Predictable as clockwork “You know, if you're trying to make this place uninviting, you're doing an excellent job. It feels like a tomb in here"

“Then do us both a favor and leave the tomb” You tapped a glyph to dismiss a particularly long-winded transcript, expression unreadable – the tone was dry as sand

The kind that scraped slightly on its way out

“Oh, temping” Sentinel replied easily, his silhouette now visible beyond the flickering field. He stepped closer, the energy parting around him in a faint shimmer. Every movement he made was deliberate—graceful in a way that suggested performance, not necessity. His arms folded behind his back as he glanced around, as if pretending to study the room when it was obvious who had his attention

“but I’m waiting for Alpha Trion. He told me to collect a report from you” He paused, letting silence settle, then added in a quieter, almost conspiratorial tone “Though... I suspect he meant for me to wait. Probably figured you wouldn’t hand anything over unless someone stood here breathing down your neck”

You sighed—long and theatrical—and flicked a glowing folder through the air toward him. It hovered just beyond arm’s reach, daring him to step through the last layer of distance

“Fine. Take it” But instead of grabbing it, Sentinel stepped into the room. Through the field. Through the silence. He walked with the sort of casual confidence that suggested he was used to testing boundaries—and getting away with it

Your shoulders stiffened “I said—”

“I heard you”

He smiled that smile—the one that never reached his optics but somehow always reached your nerves

“I just had to wonder... Do you archivists actually read all this? Or is the dramatic lighting part of the job description?”

That made you turn

You pivoted slowly, lifting your gaze with the kind of patient menace that suggested this was not the first time you’d had to deal with him while resisting the urge to throw a data-pad. Your voice, however, was calmer than expected — not fast, not irritated. Just a calm, evaluating glance—like a scholar measuring a hypothesis before entertaining it

“Sometimes we don’t have time”

You glanced past him at the glowing panels, timelines shifting silently in the background “But I make time. Because if we don’t read the past... the ones building the future will start thinking they were the ones who invented counting"

Something in your voice held weight. Not anger, not sarcasm—but purpose. A quiet kind of conviction that echoed beneath the words. Sentinel, for once, didn’t speak right away. His optics dipped to the floor for a breath, then lifted again—expression softer. The faint smile remained, but it was... tempered. Less a smirk, more a trace of something else. Maybe thoughtfulness

“Tell me this, then. All these hours poring over the past—do you honestly think it’ll change what happens next?”

“No. But if we don’t remember where we’ve already walked, we’ll keep falling into the same holes. Just with better boots”

“You sound like Alpha Trion when he hasn’t recharged in a week"

“That’s rich” you muttered “Coming from someone who thinks leadership is about dramatic speeches and hero poses"

"I do not pose”

"You paused in the middle of a battle to stand on a cliff"

“It was tactically advantageous!” Sentinel protested “The high ground—”

“It was sunset, Sentinel"

He made a strangled noise—equal parts indignant and caught "…Alright, maybe the lighting was good"

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp. It was still. Reflective. As if the room had paused with them—time stretching between two minds not in agreement, but in rhythm

“You know.." Sentinel finally reached out and took the data-folder from the air, fingers brushing the edge of the projection with practiced ease

“You’re probably the worst assistant Alpha Trion’s ever had…”

He turned the file over in his hand, optics skimming the surface—but he didn’t leave “ and he once told me you’re the only one who reminds him he’s not a god. I thought he meant it as an insult. Now I think it might’ve been gratitude”

You blinked. Your gaze flicked to him, surprised—but not in disbelief, didn’t say anything. But your stance eased. Just slightly. Like a string that had been pulled too tight for too long had finally loosened a notch — Sentinel turned then, walking toward the exit. He passed through the energy field, static dancing across his armor—but paused, halfway through. One foot out, one still in

“Next time, could you maybe not sound like you hate me so much? ease up on the open hostility? Some of us bruise easily” He turned his helm slightly, optics glinting with that old familiar mischief

You raised an optic ridge, mouth twitched “Is that what you’re calling your ego now?”

Sentinel chuckled—low, and far too pleased with himself “Among other things” he replied, already vanishing into the shimmer

“But good luck getting rid of me, I haunt well" with that, he disappeared through the barrier and the room was quiet again. But it wasn’t the same kind of quiet anymore. It lingered differently. Like the space between pages, before you turn to the next

Like a history book left open

Still waiting to be finished

—

The Hall of Records was supposed to be a place of reverence

KEYWORD: SUPPOSED TO

Vaulted ceilings soared high above, ribbed in glimmering alloys and etched with flowing script older than most functioning civilizations. Stained-glass data channels cast shifting patterns of cyan and violet across the marble floor, and the soft hum of ancient servers echoed like distant chanting

It was a place meant for quiet awe, for scholarly silence. It was not designed to accommodate Sentinel’s ego. Ever since he’d discovered that the shimmering energy curtain at the entrance didn’t shock intruders—merely issued a stern sonic warning in a disapproving librarian voice—Sentinel had made it his personal mission to stroll in whenever he pleased. No authorization. No warning. No respect for the rules of spatial awareness

Usually mid-shift. Always mid-sentence

“You changed the lighting layout again”

His voice preceded him, gliding in a split second before his tall frame breached the energy field with a dramatic flicker “What is this now, mood lighting for monologues?”

You didn’t look up

You sat in the central alcove, surrounded by a web of holographic panels arranged in concentric arcs, your fingers flicked through three overlapping treaty records—each with footnotes, post-conflict amendments, and suspiciously contradictory date entries. A headache wrapped in bureaucracy, topped with illegible seals "It adjusts based on optic strain”

“You wouldn’t know anything about that"

Sentinel grinned as he sauntered in, clearly unbothered. His stride was the kind that echoed on purpose—heels angled just enough to produce a satisfying click with every state

“You wound me” he said, placing a hand over his spark in mock offense

“I have very sensitive optics, thank you"

He attempted to lean against one of the translucent crystal data pylons that jutted from the floor like frozen lightning. There was a sharp snap of static, and he jerked back with a hiss as a warning glyph lit up in disapproval

Again

You didn’t even flinch

“Stop touching things” you muttered, still scanning through sub-clause annotations

“Every time you lean on one of those, it reroutes a quarter of the data flow”

“Oh?” Sentinel said, perking up like a mech who had just found a big red button labeled Do Not Press

“So this one messes with the stream?” he asked, already reaching toward a pulsing glyph marked in ominous red. A symbol that all but screamed catastrophic protocol override — You looked up, finally. Your optics widened “Sentinel—!”

Too late

His fingers brushed the glyph. There was a soft ping, a hum like an engine hiccuping, and then— All the lights dimmed to a dull amber. The panels around you flickered, rippled... and then recompiled. All at once. Every menu, every label, every command—rewritten in looping, sharp-edged characters

You stared “You rewrote the interface in Old Vosian" It wasn’t even a living language anymore. Not really. Mostly used in ceremonial inscriptions and bad poetry

Sentinel blinked, stepping back with a shrug and zero remorse “…You’re welcome?”

“GET OUT" Your’s shoulders tensed like they were physically restraining themselves from launching a stylus across the room

“Too late” Sentinel said, lowering himself into the spare console seat like he absolutely belonged there “I live here now”

He leaned back with that satisfied sigh he always made when he thought he was being hilarious. One foot kicked up against the base of the pylon. The interface flickered again, this time turning the archive’s auto-index into a rotating wheel of Vosian proverbs. You slowly, very deliberately, pinched the bridge of your nasal ridge

There was no reverence left in the Hall of Records today

Only Sentinel

The worst part wasn’t that he kept coming back It was that somehow, he always managed to bring food This time, it was a ration cube with what looked suspiciously like hand-scraped energon drizzle—artisanal he’d claimed, from a street vendor in the lower spires “Do you even like these?” you asked, eyeing the cube on their desk with wary suspicion

“Not particularly” Sentinel shrugged “But you get weird when you don’t recharge or eat”

“I don’t get weird”

“You cataloged two hundred years of war records in reverse chronological order because you were cranky”

“That was for cross-referencing purposes—!”

“You growled at a light”

Some days, Sentinel brought things that absolutely, unquestionably, did not belong in the Hall of Records

One cycle, it was a cleaning drone the size of a knee joint, scuttling around your workstation with a high-pitched hum and a sensor that kept mistaking ancient dataplaques for dust "To help you declutter” – Sentinel had said, setting the bot down with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t read a single regulation about archival containment. Another time, he’d arrived with a battered datapad in one hand and a suspicious grin on his face

“Found this under a floor panel. Probably cursed. Or priceless. Or both"

You barely looked up from indexing screen “You can’t just bring things into the archives without logging them"

“What if it’s historically significant?”

“It’s a receipt for wing wax. From a Seeker bar"

Sentinel had held it up like a trophy “Exactly! Cultural anthropology"

You pinched the bridge of your nasal ridge and sighed, the kind of sigh one developed only after multiple encounters with the same brand of madness “One day you’re going to knock over a whole building”

“Then you’ll just have to yell at me until I help you rebuild it" He said it with a smile so falsely innocent it could have been carved from polished smugness. You didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. The silence you gave him was honed, practiced, and about 80% ineffective now and yet. For all the chaos he trailed behind him—misfiled reports, rerouted light fixtures, at least one energy spike traced back to an extremely suspicious pastry— You had long stopped trying to keep him out

Somewhere between the first complaint logged and the thousandth ignored intrusion, his presence had settled into something else

Routine

A break in the quiet

A reminder that not everything needed to be orderly to be valuable

That cycle, the ambient light had dimmed to its evening hue, fading into soft golds and purples that streamed through the stained dataglass and washed over the polished floor. The archive felt half-asleep, hushed and slow – Sentinel’s voice came from the doorway, framed by the low gleam of the setting shifts “You’re staying late again"

He leaned one shoulder casually against the frame, his figure lit from behind in dusky silhouette “Trying to impress the scrolls?”

You didn’t glance up—still combing through a data tangle from the war of the Thirteen Clades, most of which seemed written in ego and coded pettiness. But your voice lacked its usual bite

“Trying to make sense of a thousand years of ego and bad handwriting" There was a pause, and then— “You’re included in that”

“Naturally”

Sentinel stepped inside

This time, no jokes, no data pylons knocked over. Just the quiet tap of his footsteps and the warm scent of a synth-brewed energon cube he placed gently beside them. You looked at the cube first—steam curling into the low archive air – then at him – then... they just shook your helm with a faint huff, like amusement trying not to be seen “…You’re not as intolerable as you were”

Sentinel smirked, folding his arms and leaning slightly closer “I’ll take that as a heartfelt declaration of affection”

“Take it as a warning. You’re wearing me down”

“Good” Sentinel murmured, pleased “Makes it easier to sneak into your schedule”

You didn’t tell him to leave

And he didn’t ask to stay

They just worked. Side by side. Occasionally brushing data windows toward each other, occasionally sharing quiet that didn’t feel like silence. Like this was normal now. Like somehow—without anyone announcing it—he’d become part of the footnotes in your day

—

The archives had always been quiet. But this… was too quiet

You sat before the central validation terminal, optics narrowed as lines of processed data ran across the screen. Normally, your work involved verifying temporal consistency, cross-referencing source authenticity, and cleaning up language input from field bots who treated historical reporting like casual gossip — but this wasn’t gossip

This was a timestamped field report. From a Prime-tier outpost. And it didn’t match the report Alpha Trion had handed them this morning

Same event. Same operative. Different wording. Different outcome

And this was the fourth time this week

You brought up both documents—parallel, floating side by side. At a glance, identical. But not quite. The phrasing was just clinical enough to avoid suspicion. The numbers… just plausible enough to escape casual audit. Some were altered more subtly than others. Some inserted new information. Others erased things. Patterns began to form—certain names vanishing from records. Certain decisions scrubbed clean of dissent. A slow, deliberate redirection of narrative

But You didn’t read casually, you read like the future depended on it. Because sometimes, it did

You leaned closer. Opened the metadata. Something flickered – an override signature

Sentinel

Not the full one. Not overt. But his code was in the chain. A sublevel authorization ping—probably buried deep in a rerouting command. Too clean to be a mistake. Too careful to be a coincidence

And why is that? That is the question

—

The chamber was silent but it wasn’t the silence of order and it wasn’t peace. It was the kind of silence that came after something broke— Suddenly – Violently —So completely that even the echoes didn’t know where to go

You sat alone in the central atrium of the Hall of Records. The room—once alive with soft lights and quiet, rhythmic humming—now felt vast and hollow, like the inside of a broken bell. The archive’s main lights had dimmed themselves hours ago, following protocol that couldn’t tell the difference between motionless focus and simple absence. Holographic glyphs still hovered faintly above the console. Fragmented, flickering. Half-rendered thoughts waiting for a directive

They pulsed softly in the darkness, as if uncertain whether their purpose remained

You hadn’t moved. Not since the message came through. Not since the declaration hit them like a blade made of code and finality

The Thirteen Primes have been lost

No battle. No footage. No grand sacrifice — Just... a report. One sentence. Cold, clean, absolute and a follow-up notice:

They will not return

Not “they cannot” Not “they may not” they will not. Your hands had been still on the console ever since. Locked in place. Not gripping—clutching, with pressure that only now began to tremble from strain. You hadn’t moved. Not from disbelief. You had seen enough in your long life to know that nothing—no matter how vast—was immune to destruction. Not even from grief, not yet. The pain hadn’t taken shape. It was numbness. Cold, static-lined void. Not like losing a person. More like watching the stars themselves turn off, one by one, and not knowing if you were next

If someone had asked you yesterday whether the Primes could die, you would’ve said no. Not because you were naive. You had never been one to place blind faith in divine myth. But the Primes were not just icons — They were anchors — Mountains, carved into the structure of Cybertron itself. Fixed points around which history rotated. You didn’t believe in them, the way you believed in stories

You relied on them and now? Gone

Gone, without a trace. Without a last word. Without even a record. Like they had never been

You hadn’t noticed the way your joints had locked until you finally loosened your grip on the console. One finger twitched first, then another. The sensation returned slowly, pins and needles rippling down your arm as you exhaled for the first time in what felt like megacycles. The silence pressed back in

And then—

Footsteps. Slow. Unhurried. Too measured to be uncertain. Too composed to be innocent You didn’t need to turn. You knew

“You’re still here”

The voice came low, as though reluctant to break the stillness—but unable to resist doing so. Controlled, almost gentle but not quite — Sentinel stepped past the edge of the darkened corridor and into the atrium, his frame outlined in the cold ambient glow of the failing terminals. Even his footsteps sounded louder than usual here, every contact with the stone floor ringing too sharp, too deliberate “Everyone else has gone to the Spire"

You didn’t answer, didn’t even blink. Your gaze remained fixed forward, eyes dim and distant, staring through the projections as though trying to read something that hadn’t yet been written

Something that should have been there

Sentinel’s footsteps echoed again as he moved closer—slow, even, deliberate

“The official rites are being drafted” he said, after a moment “They want you to verify the final accounts. For the records"

He didn’t phrase it as a command. Not exactly. But the weight behind it was undeniable. At that, Your helm dipped slightly. Not in obedience. Not in agreement. Just… acknowledgment. Your voice came a moment later. Quiet. Hoarse in a way that had nothing to do with their vocalizer

“They’re dead..” A beat “All of them”

The words didn’t echo, simply fell, flat, lifeless, like corrupted data hitting a locked node

Sentinel didn’t respond right away. He stood behind them now—just a few paces away—but made no move to reach out, no pretense of comfort. Only the silence, shared “Yes”

One word. Heavy as a headstone

The word lingered. Not in grief. Not in reflection. Just—confirmation. Neatly clipped. Perfectly balanced. As if he had been waiting to say it

You didn’t move at first. Only optics shifted—quietly tracking the flickering remains of the central display. The soft wash of light from the terminal painted shifting glyphs on the metallic floor, but no new data came. No emergency alerts. No last pings from the outer sectors. No autologs from the Primes. Nothing — Your hand moved slowly, brushing a few dormant glyphs back into focus. The last outbound transmissions. System traces. Anything

But the logs were clean

Too clean

“They didn’t send anything” you murmured, the words soft, but weighter “Not one of them. No burst signal. No fail-safe ping. Not even a corrupted echo"

The words turned brittle. The disbelief was not loud—but it was cutting. You turned—just slightly. Enough to glimpse him standing behind, his figure still and controlled, as though carved from the archive walls themselves. Hands clasped behind his back. Shoulders squared. That same unreadable expression he always wore like armor

But now… it felt wrong —Too smooth. Too complete. Like a statue placed just a little too soon after the funeral

“And you…”

“You’re very calm”

There it was: a twitch

Not obvious—just the faintest narrowing of Sentinel’s optics as he turned his helm slightly toward them “Would you rather I fall to my knees?” he said. Tone level. Not mocking—but not grieved, either

If it was meant to soften the moment, it failed

Your optics didn’t waver “I’d rather you look like someone who just lost everything"

The air between them was thin now. Like atmosphere stripped bare. Sentinel stepped forward, one pace only. Careful. Measured “The rites must be prepared. The Council needs stability. Cybertron needs structure. If I crumble now, what will they cling to?”

“Structure..?” The word tasted sour on your tongue. You turned to face him fully. The low light caught the edges of your frame, casting a faint halo over the lines of wear fatigue had etched over long hours

Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to “Funny how fast structure came together... considering how sudden this all was"

Something flickered across Sentinel’s face. Too brief. A pause, like static between signals. He recovered quickly. But you had seen it “You think I planned this?”

“No" They took a step closer, boots clicking softly against the stone floor “I think you expected it”

Sentinel didn’t reply. So you pressed forward, calm as a scalpel’s edge “The sealed Spire. The rites drafted before the message even reached all districts. The in memoriam archives already preloaded" your optics glinted now, cold and sharp

“You don’t prepare that fast, Sentinel”

Silence. A heavy one

Sentinel’s gaze held steady—but his stance had shifted. A subtle set to the jaw. A flicker of tension behind the shoulders “There are contingency plans” he said at last

“But you didn’t react like this was a contingency – You moved like someone whose schedule had simply... advanced" you weren’t shouting. This wasn’t anger. Not yet. This was worse. It was the kind of quiet that cracked glass — you took another step forward. Sentinel didn’t move “You knew”

You said it not as a claim—but as a data point “You knew something. And you didn’t say anything. Not to me. Not to the Archives. Not to anyone who might have asked why”

Silence stretched again, pulled thin between them like a wire ready to snap. Even the terminals seemed to hold their breath

Then— “Knowing…” Sentinel said slowly “isn’t the same as choosing”

“Then whose choice was it?”

That stopped him. His expression didn’t break—but it no longer looked composed. It looked constructed and still, he said nothing. Which, perhaps, was the loudest thing yet

The Spire bells had long gone quiet. The mourning banners were still up, but the tones of grief had already begun to shift—less raw now, more ceremonial. Official. Muted into symbols

In the weeks that followed

Sentinel did what he had always been best at: He moved forward. Quietly. Confidently. Like a mech simply answering a call no one else could. No one declared him the new Prime. Not at first. But decisions began flowing through his office. Emergency coordination. Transition logistics. Security restructuring. Public reassurance. Every corridor that once ended in silence now echoed with orders signed in his glyph. And no one stopped him. Because no one knew what else to do

At first, it was small. A council meeting held without you—an oversight, you were told. A briefing rerouted to a secondary terminal—misfiled, the assistant claimed. Requests for archival access began to be reviewed then delayed then quietly ignored. One by one, your permissions shifted. Not revoked—restricted. Not banned—just... paused, pending Sentinel’s authorization “Just protocol” he said with that same calm smile “We’re all adjusting to new parameters”

And yet—those parameters always seemed to shift in one direction. His

The chamber above the New Arc Circuit was always cool, always dark. A half-circle of open air overlooked the hall below—a place once alive with debate, bright with the thrum of Prime-forged voices. But now, like so many places in recent cycles, it stood hollow. The ancient lighting had dimmed itself to a low ambient hue, cool silver washing over the stone and metal in shadows and soft reflections.

You stood near the edge, hands resting on the curved railing polished smooth by centuries of counsel. Below, the great speaking floor stretched wide and silent, a ceremonial space untouched since the Spire bells fell quiet. You didn’t turn when you heard the footsteps. Didn’t need to

They had learned the cadence of his walk. Smooth. Steady. Never rushed. Never loud. The stride of someone who believed he already belonged in every room he entered “You’ve been reallocating my permissions"

No anger in your voice. No shock. Just cold, deliberate observation — The kind of truth that left no room for denial. Sentinel didn’t slow. He crossed the polished obsidian floor behind them, his reflection a ripple of dark armor and gold filigree beneath their feet

“Temporarily” His tone was light. Gentle, even. But too balanced to be mistaken for casual

“You didn’t inform me” your gaze fixed on the empty floor below—an echo chamber now. The ghosts of the Primes no longer stirred. Sentinel stopped a short distance behind you

“I didn’t need to” he said quietly “The system recognizes my authority now — Your position, on the other hand, is being... redefined”

That made you turn. Sharp. Controlled. But sharp, optics caught the low light, glowing brighter than he remembered—like you had finally reawakened from grief, only to find anger waiting behind it

“Redefined?”

“By whose decision?”

“By necessity” he replied so so simply

“Your role was constructed under the old paradigm. The Primes are gone”

He took a step closer—not threatening, but deliberate “You served history well”

He meant it. He did. He had watched them work for vorns—methodical, incorruptible, brilliant in ways few ever saw. You had been the voice behind the curtain. The invisible measure by which even the Primes were kept honest. He respected that even… envied it.. But it couldn’t remain

"But I am building something new”

Now he looked at them fully. Not like a subordinate. Not like a rival. Like a problem that used to be a person “And history… isn’t what we need right now.”

You didn’t respond. Not with words

But he saw the tension in your jaw. The stillness in your hands—too still. Like someone holding a thought so tightly they feared it might shatter if spoken aloud. He waited a breath. Two. Then smiled. Just barely “Let it go” he said, voice low. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… final

“Let the past rest” He took one step more. Just near enough to stand beside you. His voice dropped even lower. Almost a murmur and for a moment—just a moment—he thought they might yield. That the weight of it all—the grief, the isolation, the slow, quiet cuts to your place in the world—had finally worn you down “You don’t want to turn yourself into a relic chasing ghosts”

He didn’t want to erase you

Not like he had erased others

He remembered the way you used to speak in the early days, side by side during cross-era briefings. He remembered the dry wit. The spark of challenge in your optics. You had once made him feel watched. Not in the paranoid way—but in the way that reminded him to stand taller. To be better. But this wasn’t then and if you couldn’t see the necessity of what he was doing…

He would have to act, eventually

But not yet

“Let the archives sleep a while” he added, almost soft “We’ll find a better use for you”

He turned then, the floor catching his reflection as he walked back across the chamber and you remained behind, silent at the rail, watching as your world—your work—shifted underfoot like sand in the tide. They said nothing. But in your chest, something clenched. Because they could hear it now. You quiet, subtle shape of a lie forming in every document you weren’t allowed to see

And it carried his glyph

#transformers #transformers one #transformers x reader #transformers x cybertronian reader #sentinel prime x reader #cybertronian reader #reader insert

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