#she's stuck in limbo currently | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

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. ✨

Support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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starredblood · 5 months ago

Text

CHIHIRO

PART ONE

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: as of recently, you can’t help but to feel useless—but you’re determined to change that.

wc. 4k

warnings: bullying towards reader

(chihiro masterlist)

(spring, 2021)

“Azalea, fox glove, oleander, wisteria, lily of the valley, belladonna, hemlock…Azalea, fox glove, oleander, lily of the valley…hemlock.”

It’s easy to overlook small everyday things like calling on the phone or walking to the corner store. The only time people do think long and hard about it is when they lose them. Now, they’re stuck in a limbo of wishing to go back to a time when they were able to do the small things and also hoping that one day in the future they’ll be able to do it again. Past and future—rarely does anyone think about the present. Not in this society. However, you are an exception to that rule because you are a librarian after all. And you know that in a library time is always stuck once you enter inside.

With the school kids still in the learning facilities and the adults still in their nine to five’s, you had a relaxing noon to sit in your desk and jot now notes. Two pages worth of notes. But writing with your non-dominant is still a struggle. Every now and then, you had to scratch your hand by sticking the pen inside of your cast.

Your mind was starting to get all fuzzy again from staring at the words in front of you, so you quickly shut your book before you feel another excruciating headache come back.

Shutting your eyes, you start murmuring the words to yourself instead, “…Azalea, fox glove, oleander, lily of the valley—“

A gasp escapes your mouth and you open your eyes back up, staring wide eyed at the stack of books suddenly piled up in front of you. Unknowingly, a small scowl forms on your lips. You can already feel her dark and intense nature without having to look up.

“Are you returning these?” you ask the girl, no enthusiasm in your tone.

The girl—tall, slender, small soft face yet eyes sharp like a fierce fox, unwavering plump lips, and short unruly dark hair. The epitome of mystic and obscure. You didn’t like it one thing.

She doesn’t move a single facial muscle as her eyes shoot daggers straight through your soul. Last month when she first came by, her murky gaze sent shivers down your spine—now it vexes you.

Of course, you were taught to be gracious and considerate for strangers, who’s lives you have no idea of. But she could at least say hello and thank you like everyone else.

You clear your throat, take her library card and the books, scanning each of them for return.

“All right, you’re all done—“ a smaller fleeting gasp escapes you once more when she drops three books she wants to borrow. Still not uttering a word. You try masking the dirty look you want to give her by gnashing your teeth instead. “Okay. Now you are all set.” you say flatly and slide the books across the table.

She doesn’t thank nor acknowledge you as she picks up the books and presses them to her chest. Like clockwork, she goes to her usual dark corner of the library (still at eyes view from where you’re currently sitting, unfortunately) and starts reading one of them. You flare your nostrils in annoyance before going back to focusing on your last dutiful tasks of your shift—organize the library materials.

You take the cart that’s full of returned books and start making your way to the different sections of the library.

What you like about libraries is that they stay the same no matter what. But a lot has changed these past few months and you still don’t feel ready to face the change—you had adulthood to thank for that. It took you much longer to find the proper section for the books as of recently. You often mistake going up the stairs of this dark academia building to put a book away when the book was meant to be put downstairs the whole time.

“History section is on the opposite side.”

You freeze up. That was a voice you never heard before, completely throwing you off. You wonder if you heard right. When you turn around, you see her—although her eyes were heavily trained on a book, you know her words were directed towards you. You start blushing red. If she noticed you were struggling to do such a simple task, did everyone else as well? It’s sad…A librarian who can’t organize things properly that’s unheard for but that’s your reality. You feel so useless at this moment.

“I don’t need your pity.” you whisper at her and tightly clutch onto the book you’re currently finding its place for. Thinking she didn’t hear you, you shamefully whisk toward the direction she told you.

“What did you say?” you hear her low tone voice say to your back.

You pause again and look at her from the corner of your eyes. “I’m not repeating myself. Just mind your own.”

By the time you finish putting everything back, you’re disoriented from all the twists and turns you had to take and you stayed an extra thirty minutes longer than scheduled. And your boss just recently gave you a lecture about staying longer than you’re allowed to, so in a panic you rush to put the empty cart in the back office and clock out for the day.

In the break room, you hear three sets of giggles from your coworkers all gathered around the table for their lunches. You head to your locker to gather your belongings. And when you toss your purse over your shoulder you send Dasom, the new hire who was your temporary replacement while you were away, a quiet skeptical glance that she reciprocates back. You don’t like her either—her round eyes lush of innocence when you know she’s the one talking bad about your character. She doesn’t say anything, but you see her lips curl upwards into a nasty smirk. You huff before exiting the break room and out the library.

“She’s so fucking incompetent.” Dasom says to her other coworker Haeun, grabbing the books you incorrectly put away and place them in the actual correct spot. Now that you’re long gone, it’s free rein for her to speak her mind. “I don’t know why she got her position back…Now that she’s back this place has been flipped upside down. I hope the boss notices soon so I can get my position back. Then everything will go back to normal again.”

“Well, let’s make sure she does.” Haeun smirks and takes the books Dasom was ready to rearrange and place them back the way you put them—incorrectly.

“Good thinking!”

While the two girls were plotting against you, someone across the other side of the tall bookshelves overhead their entire conversation. And little do the girls know, this person is not happy about what they heard.

“You’re thirty minutes late.”

You let out a groan when your hear your mom’s voice the second you step inside your family home. Slipping off your shoes, you head straight over to your childhood bedroom which is only a temporary stay until further notice. However, you miss living in your apartment—alone. Alone from your mom.

“I had to stay longer.” you mumble when you hear your mom’s footsteps trail behind you.

“You walked home, didn’t you?” you mom says, and although you aren’t certain you just know she has her arms crossed.

So, what if you did get a little bit lost on the way here? It’s better than taking a cab or any vehicle for that matter.

“So, what’s the problem? I like walking now.” you state plainly and open the door to your bedroom.

You toss your bag on the pink beanbag chair you bought in your middle school years before flipping face first on your twin size mattress. For a couple of seconds, you breathe in the sweet relish of relaxation before bracing yourself to hear the earful your mom is about to give you.

“You shouldn’t stress your body—not when you’re getting your cast taken off soon. Thank god.” she says, leaning on the doorframe.

“I know, I know.”

She sighs watching the messy state of your room. All the band posters from nearly a decade ago, the dusty figurines scattered around your old study desk. You feel her weight lower the mattress and her hand run through your hair. Closing your eyes, you try lulling yourself to the touch.

“How was work?” she asks.

“The same as always.” you mumble, almost inaudible. But she’s your mother, she can understand any gibberish you throw at her. “Except some girl—“

“What girl?” she interrupts, suddenly sounding defensive. You open your eyes this time, eyeing her from the comfort of your head resting on your flat pillow.

“I don’t know, mom. She’s been coming in everyday lately being all rude and stuff. Today she almost hit my injured arm with her mountain of books.”

“Tall, short black hair, angry face?”

This time you raise your head up.

It was bizarre how quickly and accurately she got the girl right. “Y—Yeah…?” you stammer in shock.

“Stay away from her.” she states, demandingly. “She’s a defector—nothing good comes out from them.”

You were about to question her, but like some sort of defense mechanism, she stands up from your bed and starts walking away like she knew you were going to ask something.

If she really was a defector—that explains her level of guardedness. In all honesty, you sympathize defectors more than criminalize them like anyone should. Of course, there’s always the bad apples but it’s not their fault the system set them up to fail. Especially defectors as young as the girl who goes to your library. Your mom is being way too harsh. But you know someone as hard headed as her can’t be swayed to change her mind.

“They’re just people.” you say before she exits your room.

“People who are criminals.” she says, her voice darkening. You internally roll your eyes. “Don’t go to sleep yet. I’ll run you a bath.”

“You don’t have to be so high maintenance with me mom. It’s only my arm.” you say matter-of-factly and stare pitifully at your bandaged arm.

“Don’t disregard your body like that.” your mom retorts, her frown growing deeper and your unfazed expression remaining. “Be grateful it was only your arm.”

“…And my head.” you whisper when she finally leaves.

A week later you had to deal with an immense throbbing headache as soon as you entered the library. It was fortunate that your mom slipped your medications into your bag when you didn’t notice. Although the medications were working, the symptoms of fatigue were starting to enter your body.

What’s worse is that today you had to close the library. And of course the world would align you to close with none other than, Dasom. She seemed just as thrilled as you were when she found out, scowling to herself and pressing her lips into a thin line whenever you passed by her. Ever since you met her all you do is try ignoring her—it was the only way. After all, her parents are large contributors to this library’s donations.

Luckily, it’s finals week so the library was swamped with students all day—which means you didn’t have to see Dasom as much tonight. By the time you finish researching and ordering more books for the library, the number of people started do dwindle out.

When you step outside the employee office room, you notice a small kid sitting by himself yet surrounded by older teens and young adults engrossed in their own work. His hands were pressed on the sides of his temples as he tried reading off of his textbook. By the furrowing of his eyebrows, you could tell he was struggling. You’ve been a librarian long enough to see the signs of a child struggling with reading. So, you head over to the boy—forcing your tired body to work with you just a little bit longer.

“Hi, there.” you gently greet him and pull up a chair to sit beside him. His eyes widen in fear for some odd reason when he looks up at you. However, you think it might be nerves getting to him. “Doing homework?”

“Uh…” he trails off and starts glancing around the library as if he was looking for signs of trouble. When he doesn’t see any, he gulps and timidly stares down at his textbook. “Yes.”

“School gets harder every year, doesn’t it?” you say to him with a gentle smile.

He curtly nods and sends you a fleeting glance. “Yes. I—I’m still not good at…”

“At what?”

“School.” he says even quieter. You barely heard him.

”That’s nothing to be ashamed about. School was hard for me too.”

“Can you help me?” he asks hesitantly. Your smile curls more upward when he finally glances up at you, doe-eyed.

“Of course.” you nod. “What’s your name by the way?”

“It’s, Cheol.”

“Okay, Cheol, tell me what you need help with.”

For an hour straight you’re sitting beside Cheol, helping him enunciate difficult words and decipher long sentences in his textbook until a tall lanky figure comes up from behind and pulls Cheol’s seat back.

“There you are.” It’s the girl. Your eyebrows knit together and you look at them back and forth. Were they related? Your heart sinks at the possibility that Cheol is also a defector. Now, you really want to help him more than ever.

The boy winces. “Sorry, noona I just—“

“What did I tell you?” she hisses, grabbing his textbook and stuffing it in his bag in a hurry. You observe all this—Cheol’s scarlet face and her avoiding your presence the whole time. She slings his school bag over her shoulders and points with her head to the entry door. “Come on, we have to go.”

You take one good look at Cheol and know that this isn’t right—he needs this help. So, you rise from your seat which definitely caught her attention. She starts eyeing you up and down, eyes obscure as ever. “I was in the middle of helping him with his homework.” you state with a tone of courage.

She stares into your eyes a second longer than you were comfortable with. Her dark expression faltered into something that you couldn’t decipher before hardening again. She scoffs, “He can finish it later.”

“No, he can’t actually. He’s struggling with reading I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, we don’t need it.” she retorts, her jaw clenching. Cheol is looking back and forth, clearly in distress.

Not wishing to cause a further scene you take a deep breath in and nod. “Fine if not from me then...at least be attentive of him.”

And with that, she didn’t say anything—didn’t react at all and brushes past you. Cheol looks back at you while they are walking out the door and bashfully waves to you. You wave back but found it was a task trying to hide the frown on your lips, which he clearly noticed.

“So rude.” you mutter underneath your breath, a jab at Cheol’s sister.

While you and Dasom start cleaning up, the place was just filled with intense silence. But you were too distracted by Cheol’s sister lingering in your head. You wonder if she’ll actually do as you requested and find a way to help him academically.

“Did you tell her to intimidate me last week?”

You blink back to reality and look at Dasom with a deadpan expression. Her nasty look was already making your stomach churn.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, breathily.

She rolls her eyes, stops sweeping, and starts making her way over to you. Your breath hitches when she’s only centimeters close. That’s when she jabs her finger at your forehead with a great force, making you stumble back.

“Quit with this innocent bimbo act you’re trying to make work and maybe I’ll tolerate you a little more. Got it?” she sneers through her teeth. “And don’t go telling your little friend who’s always around about this. She can’t do anything if you suddenly get—fired.”

Your jaw clenches and you refuse to look away from her eyes when she starts back up. From the way she’s smirking malevolently at you—she thinks she has scared you but quite the opposite. Your blood is boiling with silent rage.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

Gut feelings tend to not lie, at least not to you. Because you woke up this lazy Sunday morning with a feeling that your world is going to shift again—and you hate it.

Instead of staying home on your days off like you usually do, you woke up with your back sore from this stiff old mattress. The first thing you hear is your mom turning on the vacuum cleaner and you huff in annoyance. You love her, you truly do but her clinginess is what’ll ultimately be your last straw.

For the past couple of months, you’ve been cooped up in your old childhood bedroom and you’re tired of it. You want to go back to your apartment but your mom is so adamant about you staying here until you’ve fully recovered. But the doctors finally taken off your cast, making you somewhat more ready to tackle on the world by yourself. Your mom won’t be happy to be by herself again but you might just lose it if you stay any longer.

You get ready in a rush before she realizes that you have to be awake by now. You make it to the entrance door without having your mom spot you and put on your comfiest sneakers then quietly exit the house.

The only thing you have in mind for a day like today, where the sky is all blue, is to head to your favorite cafe. You challenge yourself to walk to your destination without the need to pull up the map on your phone.

You have a good feeling about today. So far, you aren’t getting lost.

With a little more pep on your step, you enter inside the cafe that resembles a quaint cottage and greet the worker standing by the register. Before you even open up your mouth to speak, the worker said your order for you—causing you to blush in embarrassment. You are officially promoted as their new regular. After you pay, you wait off to the side for your caffeinated iced drink.

When you take a glance around the bustling cafe, you didn’t expect to see what you just saw. You blink a couple of times to make sure it was Cheol’s sister actually sitting by the window, staring right at you. Her hands were folded with her drink already halfway finished, her posture square and stiff. Furrowing your eyebrows, you glance away the second you made eye contact with her. Your stomach feels funny—you aren’t sure if drinking coffee will be good for you now.

Her gaze must be incandescent because even when you aren’t looking, you can still feel her eyes on you.

You have the urge to confront of about what Dasom told you the other night. Because who else other than her spends time in the library everyday. It had to be her.

When your coffee order is ready you take it and suck a deep breath in. You straighten yourself up when you walk over to her—scorning at the fact that she couldn’t take her eyes off you.

“Did you…intimidate my co-worker Dasom the other day?” you say, standing across the other end of the small round table.

She finally blinks, in a very jaded fashion you might add. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she says flatly.

“She said it was you.” you point out, frowning.

Cheol’s sister finally takes her eyes off you and takes a long slow sip of her coffee. She doesn’t make any means to speak further on this. You give up, it’s not worth fussing over. Now that she totally kills your mood, you don’t want to stay in the cafe with her presence lurking. But you don’t know where to go from here—maybe it’s best if you do go home instead.

When you peer out the shop window, the anxiousness you feel starts making your heart beat race. You don’t know how to get back home. So, you look anxiously out the window and start pulling out your phone to check the map application.

“Do you need help getting home?”

Your body tenses, slowly moving your head to face the girl who’s still causally laying back on her chair with her drink in hand. “What?” you hiss, narrowing your eyes at her.

For once, she appears hesitant. “…I heard them say that you—“

“Yeah, you heard something and now you’re going to mind your own business, right?”

“Right…”

You two stare at each other and you can’t look away at the flicker of offense in her eyes when you snapped at her. The guilt you felt, however, was no match for the utter embarrassment of this situation. Twice, that’s how many times she caught you blundering. She probably thinks you’re useless like Dasom and everyone who dares to put up with you.

When you put on the directions to your house you don’t dare to look back at her.

By the time you make it home, the tears that were streaking across your face were starting to dry up. Even if they didn’t, your mom wouldn’t have noticed because she’s sound asleep in the living room couch.

You had enough. You’re tired of being perceived as this useless, dumb person—you weren’t always like this. And you have to prove that again.

When you march to your room, you take one good look at everything you’re taking back at your apartment. It’s time to go back to your place—you’re still paying rent there anyway. Why waste another month not living there?

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

(summer, 2020)

Sae-byeok was getting real festered now.

Cheol’s newfound spot as of recently has become the public library. Although she thinks this is great for him, it was particularly annoying because that means Sae-byeok has to walk to the orphanage to find out he’s not there and walk all the way to the library to fetch him then walk him back to the orphanage. This new routine is killing her after being on her feet all day snatching valuables from people’s pockets.

When the opens the doors to the library, the cool ventilation circulating the vicinity cools her sweaty face. She looks around for a moment and when she finds a small boy curled up on a beanbag chair in the kids section, she knows she’s found him.

It makes her heart full knowing Cheol’s favorite pastime is now reading. Once a timid and reluctant boy, he is now more talkative because he loves to ramble about the new books he’s reading—although he still struggles sometimes his determination will get him far.

Sae-byeok has never been interested in reading, not like him. She found reading boring and she doesn’t have the patience to sit down and imagine the words she’s reading in her head. Besides, she’s too busy nowadays.

“Cheol, we have to go.” she says.

Cheol lowers the book plastered on his face, revealing a pout. “But—“

“No. No buts we have to go back.” she says sternly.

“I hate the orphanage. I like it here better.” he grumbles and shuts his book.

Sae-byeok sighs. Everyday that she isn’t in guardianship of Cheol is another failed day. But she’s getting there…slowly but surely.

“You can come back tomorrow, it’s already getting late.”

Before Cheol can even react, someone starts walking over to them and whoever this person is makes the boy’s face light up. Sae-byeok’s lips start twitching and has to fight the urge not to grimace at you.

You’re the new librarian and like any new person, you’re full of optimism and naivety in regards to your environment. Because of you, Cheol prefers staying cooped up here rather than tag along with his sister. She doesn’t know how you did it—get a shy boy like Cheol to break free from his shell, but you did it. She will never admit it, but some part of her might be jealous. Jealous at how naturally charming and inviting you are.

“Did you like the new book, Cheol?” you ask him, grinning back.

“Yeah!” he beams and leaps up from the chair. “Unfortunate, I have to go now.”

Sae-byeok furrows her eyebrows. Also thanks to you, now the boy is speaking better Korean than her.

“Unfortunately. Don’t forget the ‘ly’, okay?” you advise him.

“Unfortunate…ly.”

When you smile, it’s not an animated smile adults give children to make them feel better. It’s a smile full of youth and enthusiasm. When Sae-byeok first met you, helping Cheol with his homework, she thought you were artificial with your behavior. But the past few weeks, she’s quietly noticed you’re always been your most authentic self. Not many have the capability to be themselves all the time.

“Let’s go.” Sae-byeok mutters and takes Cheol’s things to carry.

Cheol waves you goodbye and when Sae-byeok is about to turn around she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. Jaw clenched, she spins around slowly and looks at you, not even hiding her irritated face anymore.

“What?” she sighs at you.

You swiftly pass her a book called Heaven by Mieko Kawakami and Sae-byeok just stares at it, not trying to take it. “I think you’ll find this short read entertaining. It’s a little sad but I think that it will fit with your…fervent personality.”

“What are you trying to say?” she scoffs.

“Just take it and try to read it.” you say exasperatingly, pressing the book to her chest so she has no choice but to curl her fingers around it and clutch it. Sae-byeok’s mouth slackens, she didn’t expect you to be so straightforward. “If you can’t find yourself enjoying it then just give it back and I won’t bother you with this again. But if you do like it then I suggest getting a library card with us.” you flash her a small smile and wish Cheol a goodnight before walking away.

You left Sae-byeok standing here dumbfounded. Cheol concerningly glances up at his sister’s strange behavior.

She peers down at the book and scowls. Sae-byeok reading? That’s like finding a fish on land.

🏷️: @lyzem @monkey4lifer @tlouloser @bitchybananaflower @yenyu1s @marfe816 @gummyoonji @peelover25 @saebyeokbliss @knfthxv @we1rdth0ughts @monroesturnns @wiltingconquest @noaanotfound

#kang sae byeok #kang sae byeok x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #fanfic #kang sae byeok squid game #kang sae byeok x fem!reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #kang saebyeok #kang saebyeok x reader #sae byeok #saebyeok #squid game x reader

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wooahaeruby · 6 months ago

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Chapter 41: Stuck In Limbo

This chapter :D It hurts :D It's really sad and kinda fucky. I don't technically have any trigger warnings for it, besides making sure you have tissues on hand. I'm, again, so sorry for my transgressions. I am evil. I know. It…kinda gets better from here, promise. :D

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The space around you was bright white. You were floating on a blank canvas ready and begging to be colored to life.

Your head felt light, no ill thoughts currently gracing your mind. You tried to figure out where you were within this unknown light void, turning your head too and fro in hopes to get an answer. The void extended as far as your eyes could perceive. You attempted to call out but no words left.

Lifting your arms to look at yourself, there were no rope burns that you believed should be there. The step you wanted to take forward didn’t do much, but your body felt weightless yet heavy, like you were moving through mud or sludge. You took in the clothes you had on; a loose, white shirt and flowy, soft black pants. The pants contrasted heavily with the pristine white that surrounded you, yet it gave you peace that there was something that was different here.

Out of curiosity you started in the direction in front of you, taking the movement slow since your movement was slightly hindered. You couldn’t tell the time, but walked and walked through the empty space, hoping something would appear before you. Again, you tried to call out to no avail.

Were you dreaming? You didn’t remember a dream so void of anything in the past, but everything seemed fuzzy.

Why did you think you had rope burns? Where did that come from earlier? Swallowing thickly, you raised a hand to rub at your chest, flinching at the sudden pain just under your collarbone. You pulled the collar of your shirt, finding the fabric stuck uncomfortably to your skin. Glancing down, you could see a raised X on your chest. It stung and itched painfully but as you touched it, it didn’t hurt.

What?

Your eyes flitted to your wrist, cut up and dark, dark bruises staring back. Rolling your wrists, it hurt, however, like your chest, it didn’t hurt as you touched the wounds. It confused you, questions spinning in your mind.

Come on . A voice rang around you, whipping your head around to find where it came from. Help me get her up there.

Turning around, you came face to face with a black door. It appeared out of thin air in silence, but…the voice was coming from within. You’ve heard the voice before, it was familiar, yet you couldn’t place the name or the face.

Looking over your shoulder, you questioned if the void was safer – if it would protect you. Yet…something inside told you that it wouldn’t, that whatever was beyond the door was better than being here. Safer .

Taking a deep breath, you reached for the door handle and pushed it open, coming face to face with a second void, this one pitch black.

Yeah, let me get the x-rays, I’m going to get an MRI too so we don’t need to move her later.

You stepped inside, peering around curiously, and an unseen force slammed the door shut behind you.

“Hello?” You called out, surprised to find you could talk. “Anyone?”

Biting the bullet, you took another step, hoping for a change, anything – but whatever you considered the floor was gone and you were falling. You screamed, sharp pain in your sides, face, chest, and soreness through your limbs creeped up quickly, only to be soothed by a numb sensation washing from head to toe.

I gave her some pain meds and antibiotics. Another voice started. When will they get here?

Unsure, I just called that we have her in a bed but they could still be listening to Wonwoo and Seokmin. That…Yeah, that sounded like Jihoon’s voice.

The falling feeling stopped, now simply floating aimlessly in the dark space.

She has a lot of injuries. Definitely a concussion, her heart is beating a little weird too. Broke ribs, internal bruising probably. She had some water in her lungs too. Let alone anything else we can’t see along with that branding. That sounded like Seonghwa’s voice now that you thought about it, laced with concern.

You focused on his words for a moment, and everything hit you like a truck.

Kihyun, Monsta X, and the torture they put you through. It was vivid like the first time it happened. You swore you felt someone’s hand on your hand, holding it gently, and you wished you could pull away and hide.

I won’t know the real extent until Mouse wakes up. That is the part that is worrying me more.

I don’t think she will be okay. Jihoon had sighed from what you heard. Look at her, Seonghwa. I’ll be surprised if she is anywhere close to the same when she wakes up.

Enough of that. Just focus on being there for her when she wakes up. His voice was further away and the sound of a door opening followed. Leave her alone for a bit. We have food here.

But-

Doctor’s orders.

Dude, you don’t even have a PhD.

I basically do at this point, but hush, come on.

You felt the grip on your hand loosen and fade away, a sigh of relief leaving you. The feeling was…uncomfortable. You didn’t want anyone to touch you right now.

At least you had confirmed you were safe, hopefully your mind wasn’t playing any tricks on you about that. You probably hadn’t been out long, maybe a few hours, and they had given you some medicine. The question you had was why weren’t you waking physically? If they were actually there and you were listening, conscious in your mind, shouldn’t you be awake?

“Maybe to let me heal.” You answered yourself out loud, relaxing in the vacant space.

You couldn’t tell if you were facing in the right direction, though you weren’t sure there was a correct direction. There was nothingness all around you, a numb feeling from whatever medicine they pushed through you. You wondered when you’d wake up. How long would your body need?

Yes, you could rationalize here in the in-between space, you could tell yourself you wouldn’t change, but the reality could be much different once your eyes open. Day to day might be horribly different. That left a foul taste in your mouth.

You heard heavy footfall, a shout from someone and the door slamming open loudly. There were many voices surrounding you, someone grabbed your hand tightly and a head rested near your shoulder.

Oh, my baby. The sob in Jeonghan’s voice was heartbreaking, but your skin crawled at his touch.

Someone else brushed some hair back from your face and you flinched in the void. We are here, Mouse… That shaky voice was Joshua’s.

Why isn’t she waking up? You think that was Jun but his voice wasn’t that close.

I have no answer for that, only some guesses. Seonghwa’s voice got close and there was the beep of a machine or two. She was tortured, starved for a few days, and dehydrated. Shock could be a good reason, self preservation to get her energy and strength back. That’s the medical thoughts.

Medical? Do you have some other thoughts? Jun didn’t sound happy.

Someone cleared their throat. Spiritually, she could be in her own Limbo. That was Mingyu, voice rough.

You sound ridiculous, Gyu.

He…isn’t though. Seonghwa sighed. I’m not saying you have to believe it, but if her heart stopped at any point, some say the person questions whether to come back.

But her heart is beating now .

It doesn’t matter. Mine stopped and started again. Mingyu continued. I...I got to pick. I chose to stay. We might need to let her…pick.

Staring into the darkness, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

Had your heart stopped earlier? You had no clue if it did, but there was a chance after Kihyun pumped epinephrine through. You remembered how fast your heart raced and it slowed so quickly before you passed out. Thinking about it, the chance could be a strong yes…

But…you thought going through the door earlier into this space was your decision to want to come back. You were hearing your family as your physical body laid unconscious wherever you were taken to.

That meant something, right?

It meant you wanted to wake up…

Right?

New rule because you all are way too many here. Three to visit each. There was a chorus of complaints flying around. Unlike your warehouse, I do open this place to people in need of free medical care.

Then why not transfer her to us instead? Seungcheol asked, sounding tired and concerned.

You guessed Seonghwa sighed. You and I both know that isn’t a good idea. If something was to happen, heavens forbid, your team might not be able to handle it professionally.

Clearing his throat, it sounded like Minghao spoke next. Cheol…It’s okay. I agree with him on this…

You all can visit any time, I’ll keep the back unlocked but no groups bigger than three. I need to be able to violently push you out of the way if anything happens.

That is so unfair. Jeonghan sniffled, the grip on your hand tightening.

It is unfair, but she won’t recover any faster with all of your hovering. I’ll have a guard on her twenty-four seven with you here or not. Yunho, Yeosang, and I will be no more than fifty feet away in the other room most times. Seonghwa continued. Plus, SVT isn’t going to be the only ones that would like to see her.

Give them, like, half an hour. Yeosang advocated somewhere in the room.

There was a pause before Seonghwa reluctantly agreed, stepping out of the room to leave you with your family.

How sure are you that it was them? Minghao asked, to who you didn’t know yet.

I’m fifty percent sure, but I don’t have any way of confirming it until Mouse wakes up and tells us. Wonwoo sighed and a warmth was present beside your leg and you felt the bed dip as if he sat down. Whenever she wakes up.

Someone sat on the bed opposite of him and the claustrophobia panic settled in your chest. Everyone was too close. You couldn’t push them away if you wanted to. The once comforting presence they had when close was replaced with the overwhelming need to be alone, away from everyone – far away from everyone.

Then we wait. Seungkwan said reassuringly, confident even. When she wakes up, hopefully we will have an answer. For now, we just pray she wakes up soon and that she remembers who did this. We just need to be here when she wakes up.

Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol were the first three to stay under Seonghwa’s new rule. The rest said goodbye but said they would, in fact, be drawing straws for who comes in next to kick them out, along with the other groups getting a turn.

They were silent for a good while, the only thing you were able to hear was the occasional sniffle and a sigh. Jeonghan still held your hand tightly and Joshua, you believed, was resting his head next to your other arm. His hair always felt different from Jeonghan’s. It still left that icky feeling in your stomach.

I- Seungcheol started but groaned. I should have given her that tracking thing we talked about or something like that. It could have prevented-

Jeonghan cut him off. You didn’t now, none of us knew this would happen.

Still-

No, Cheol. It happened, okay? Don’t go around blaming yourself like Seokmin did, it isn’t going to change anything in the past.

What he said. Joshua sounded exhausted, voice muffled. We just need to take steps forward.

Another bout of silence came before a groan and a sharp inhale was heard, along with Cheol speaking.

Fuck- This sucks. He sounded like he started crying. I’m sorry, Mouse- Fuck! I- We should have found you sooner. I’ll kill them, whoever they are, for them. I promise this will be made right.

Why did Seungcheol crying pull something in your chest? Why did your heart feel heavy?

He tried to keep himself quiet, the sound muffled but he choked out a breath. The space where Joshua’s head was growing cold, probably moving to comfort the leader. Soon, all three were crying. Tears were felt wetting the skin of your hand, the one Jeonghan was holding. Subconsciously, tears welled up in your eyes, floating off your cheeks and into the ether out of sight.

“I just want to wake up.” You pleaded the unknown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Why won’t you let me?”

I don’t think I can stop crying . Seungcheol gasped, clearing his throat. I- We are a mess-

I am so tired and have no energy to cry but shit, I can’t stop crying. Joshua signed, clearing his throat. I just want her to come home.

She will come home soon…

You wiped your face, signing heavily.

There was nothing you could do to fix the situation. You didn’t know how to wake up or help yourself to begin with. Nothing made a lot of sense at the moment. Your attempts to find your footing didn’t find any solid place to stand or lay, leaving you suspended in the air.

You didn’t enjoy the unknown, not that anyone really did, but this was another level of unknown that was harder to traverse. How long would you need to contemplate in the void before you were given a chance to decide your fate? What was there even to contemplate in the first place?

She was only gone for a few days and I miss hearing her talk. I miss her smile. Joshua spoke softly. I miss talking to her about anything.

Seungcheol hummed. This is going to sound a little weird, but I miss her cooking. Everything was thought out, homemade, and like she genuinely wanted to cook.

I miss curling up on the couch and just being close to her. She is so…comforting. Jeonghan’s hand released yours then gently ran a hand up your arm to your shoulder. She is so gentle. A calm presence. I’m scared she will be so different later on when awake.

Trauma changed people. We just need to support her through the changes. Minghao’s voice piqued your interest, not hearing the door open of anything else really.

Are you kicking us out? Cheol huffed.

Yeah kinda. Mingyu answered next. We won the coin toss against most of Dreamcatcher and I made food back at the penthouse.

There was a loud, gurgly grumble heard close to your body and a stutter left Jeonghan.

That- okay, maybe I am hungry…

Go, we’ll keep watch. Minghao sounded close, near Joshua’s side you believe.

Someone kissed your forehead then a soft whisper from Jeonghan to tell you he’d be back soon. Someone took your hand and kissed your knuckles and the last kiss was to your cheek. That sick feeling of being touched jumped tenfold when you were kissed and you desperately tried to push it down. The nausea didn’t last long, they moved away thankfully, but you hated it. Hated that you didn’t, somehow, didn’t feel fully safe. Only Safer than what you were. It didn’t make sense.

They exchanged goodbyes and the scrapping of chairs surrounded you.

Do you think she can hear us? The tremble that accompanied Seokmin’s voice had you focusing and trying to internally force yourself to wake up.

I’d like to believe so. Minghao hummed. Even if she couldn’t, I’d still think she could to give me a sliver of peace.

Mingyu sighed. Once she wakes up, I’m going to cook all her favorite foods like she did for me.

I don’t think any of us will let her raise a finger for herself for a while. Seokmin’s comment had the three snickering.

She might go crazy if she doesn’t get to do something.

“He isn’t wrong.” You scoffed. “I’d like to see them try to make me stay still.”

Mouse is putting up one hell of a fight in there.

Of course she is, she is a fighter! Mingyu huffed. And when she wakes up, we can tell her that she is a strong person. Mouse’ll feel like she lost all confidence and will feel really weak. We gotta hype her up.

One of them took a deep breath before a long, wobbly sigh followed. You felt the air on your arm and shivered in the void.

Wonwoo is getting a note for an emergency leave of absence from work, but…She might have to quit. I don’t want to make that decision for her but the people above me are starting to ask too many questions. Seokmin groaned . And I have to go back, but I told Cheol that I am gonna quit too. There is no way I can stay there with all the questions and rumors.

Minghao clicked his tongue. Maybe it's for the best. Whoever did this could be vindictive enough to expose us and you both should get out of there. I never liked the idea to begin with.

I spoke to Jongho earlier. Mingyu hummed and you felt a pinkie link with yours. He said we need to tear apart her apartment and find this chicken pot pie recipe she has from her grandma. He rambled that she made it when needing comfort or during special occasions.

Didn’t she make it for Christmas?

You sighed and laughed, smiling at nothing. “Of course that little shit would remember that to tell them.

Have either one of you told her what happened before you joined SVT? The question from Minghao caught your interest.

Last week she asked and we talked . Seokmin answered. Why?

I dunno. I thought telling her would let her know we’ve all had some sort of trauma. That we understand that moving forward isn’t easy sometimes.

Mingyu snorted. Okay, dude, some of your stories are insane though. I was just a gambler that was really good at card counting.

You spend six months in jail, scammed other inmates with your card counting, and got the shit kicked out of you. There was an unamused tone in Seokmin’s voice.

Seven months in jail and a five-thousand dollar fine, thank you very much. Oh! And I’m banned from ten casinos worldwide. I’m the only one in this group with a federal record and was on probation.

Congrats, you were a prison bitch.

Nothing wrong with that. It was stupid how proud Mingyu sounded, but he was one of your idiots so… Out of the three of us, Hao, yours is the most complex.

I won’t compare our stories, we all have had different experiences with life. Minghao tried to justify but the silence that followed had him scoffing. Okay, shut up with your expressions.

Yeah, can’t compare mr. ‘I’m a trained assassin’. Sure. Mingyu snarked but chuckled either way. Truly you are the drama movie life here.

Him and Jun.

For two cry babies that could barely breathe earlier, you both sure yap a lot.

Don’t act like we didn’t see you silently crying in the corner.

“You all argue like children.” This was a nice change from the tears you guessed.

They shared a laugh, a warm, fuzzy feeling flooding your heart.

Come on, tell Mouse your story, or do we need to leave the room to give you some privacy? Seokmin snorted his words out, hearing Minghao sigh in return.

Both of you are insufferable.

Insufferably irresistible~ Mingyu hummed.

Maybe you should leave, both of you. Minghao cleared his throat.

Fine, but I’m going to see if Yunho has food here. Come on, Seok.

The pitter patter of footsteps faded and a familiar hum came from the youngest of the three.

I’m not really sure if you can hear me… Mingyu said he kinda could when he got shot… Minghao sighed through his nose. I grew up in a place that trained children to be assassins. Think…Avengers Black Widow but not as dramatic. Though- Okay, maybe from the outside it is dramatic.

He laughed to himself, his voice sounded closer when he spoke next. Anyways…Jun and I have similar backgrounds actually. Trained killers that really didn’t know any other way of life. It’s why I indulge a lot in the finer things now. I didn’t even know my parents because of my upbringing. It’s why Jun is also a little childish, but we understand each other decently. It’s why I’m great with a gun and fighting. It’s why I know every way in and out of a building I walk into.

I’ve hurt many people, seen horrors I didn’t and still don’t know how to explain. Most of my scars couldn’t even compare to the ones you’d be waking up to.

I used to be told that emotions were faulty things that hindered the job I needed to get done. If we cried, they’d punish us. If we, as children, threw tantrums, we were locked in these pitch black rooms so we could reflect on our mistakes. For so long, it was all I knew. Missions, debrief, repeat, nothing else mattered.

He took a shallow breath, linking pinkies with you as Mingyu did earlier.

Someone that managed me – I guess I’d call her my handler – was sweet, always trying to break the emotionless shell I was. She was an amazing cook and made me try food from all over the world. Looking back, in a lot of ways, you remind me of her. Maybe that’s why I became close with you. You both are easy to talk to, when I learned to speak for myself in her case.

She was the one that helped me leave them. It took a while but she did it and I was…free for once. However, for a period of time, I was alone until she got out too. He chuckled quietly. I survived off ramen and rice for two weeks until she came. She said we needed to flee the country so we came here. We weren’t here long until someone came to kill us.

“Let me guess…Jun.” You laughed.

And that is the story of how I met one of my brothers in person- Minghao giggled. But really, he tried to kill us under orders and I knocked him the hell out. Don’t think he expected the lamp to the back of the head, gave him a decent scar under his hair. Truthfully, I can’t even place how we got him to defect so easily.

“Maybe it was the concussion you gave him, Hao.”

The only problem after was finding a purpose. All our lives were as I said earlier. Then…she died in an accident. She was crossing the road and a truck’s brakes stopped working and it hit her. She died instantly, thankfully she didn’t suffer, and it was the first time I cried since I was a child. Jun and I were really alone after that. We applied to jobs with no experience and we stumbled upon Seungkwan and Chan by accident.

“Note to self, ask about Seungkwan’s background…” You snorted.

Seungkwan took us in, no questions asked and gave us a home. We all ended up meeting Jeonghan together and worked to build up Pledis and SVT. I…it was dumb maybe, but I asked if I could continue to do as I was trained, even if it was a little bit, if needed. It was the only thing I was good at at that time. They helped me grow into the person I am today, and I’m grateful for them always supporting me and having my back.

He gripped your hand gently in both of his, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. When you wake up, Mouse, I’d like you to learn her name, my handler, but you need to ask me once-

Alright, loser, we gave you plenty of time to spill your guts. And we have raided their snacks. Mingyu’s voice boomed through the room, the sound of bags crunching and crackling getting closer. I left a hundred bucks so no one gets mad.

Slowly, their conversation came secondary to the tired, lethargic feeling that crept up. Your brain was fatigued, overworked, and you let their voices ease you into full unconsciousness.

Your eyes fluttered open to the divine smell of freshly baked, warm pot pie.

Confused, you weren’t met with the dark void, but rather your childhood bedroom laying in bed with your childhood sheets.

You barely remembered it truthfully. The furniture and all the pictures on the wall were so foreign, a distant memory, long forgotten. You weren’t even close to the same person this room reflected. This person, this girl , had very different dreams, a blood family even if it was hiding an addiction secret, and a decent amount of stability. She wanted to be a nurse to help people like her father did.

All those dreams got crushed the day her parents died.

“Little Bear, are-” The door to your old room opened and your breath caught in your throat, seeing your grandmother standing before you. “Oh! You’re awake, I made your favorite.”

Staring at her, any words that were in your mind slipped into the abyss and faded away.

She looked so full of life, smiling brightly at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Her hair was neat, make up neatly done, and her favorite wash-faded, fuchsia apron wrapped around her front that you got her many many years ago.

“Aren’t you hungry, Little Bear?” She stepped over and brushed some hair over your shoulder. “You haven’t eaten in so long, you must be. You are looking a little thin.”

“I’m-” Swallowing thickly, you continued to take her in, seeing her for the first time since she passed away. “How-”

“Come on, I’ll explain downstairs.” Your grandmother took your hand and gently got you up, leading you out of the room.

Your home was the same as you vaguely remembered, homey and orderly. Your mother never left a mess, a busy body needing to fulfill her stay at home wife role. The floral scent with mild hints of cinnamon was nostalgic to say the least. Mom always loved making common buns…Dad’s favorite treat…

“Are-”

“It’s complicated, Little Bear.” She started, bringing you into the kitchen. “You and I don’t have a whole lot of time together. I wanted you to myself for a little while before they returned.”

“I don’t understand, Gigi. How am I seeing you?” You sat down on a stool by the kitchen island, trying to wrap your head around everything.

“Because you are here to choose, Y/N. You need to choose what you want.” She patted your cheek gently. “But you already knew that, sweetie.”

“This doesn’t make any sense. Aren’t you supposed to make me want to stay?”

“Now why would I do that? You have a home waiting for you out there.” She busied herself with getting the food from the oven, placing them on the counter to cool. “I’m here to see you and only you, not lead you to a place you don’t want to be. You don’t wanna be here, Little Bear. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Are mom and dad-”

“They will be here a little later.” She hummed, sliding a ramekin over to you with a fork. “They are the ones you need to fight against.”

Eyeing her signature dish, you deflated, letting tears rim your eyes. “I miss you, Gigi. Nothing has been the same without you.”

Lifting your head, you watched her come to your side and pull you into a hug, kissing your cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this to happen, but it’s too soon. You don’t deserve to be here.”

She sat down beside you and for a while, you rambled on about your life, what happened and how things have turned out. You told her all about your idiot plan of breaking into a warehouse but how it led you to an amazing (fucked up) group of people that you love. She gave you a high five when you told her you didn’t have one but two significant others and laughed when you told her how you ended up with each of them.

Gigi ended up leading you into the living room and sat you down on the couch, kissing your forehead. She took a seat beside you and booped your nose, smiling all the while grabbing the remote. Furrowing your brow, you went to voice why she was going to turn on the TV, but a harsh gust of air whirlwinded you into a movie theater, the big screen staring back at you.

“I remember when you first joined me in the kitchen to help me cook. You were about four and a half and you cried your eyes out until I got that step stool for you to stand on.”

The screen came to life with your standing beside her, kneading dough for biscuits that she was making for a small family gathering. You were all giggly and smiling, flour covering your shirt and cheeks. Gigi stood beside you, hands on her hips and she shook her head. She said something about you needing a thorough bath later and you squealed with joy. She got you a circular cookie cutter, helping you cut and shape each ball and placing them on a baking sheet.

“And I’m so glad that your love for cooking never stopped as you got older.”

The scene faded to you standing in SVT’s kitchen, laughing at the absolute mess Vernon made of a container of ricotta cheese.

He, wanting to help and learn something to cook, asked if he could be your pseudo sous chef to make the multiple pans of lasagna. You gave him the first easy task of mixing the ricotta in a bowl with parmesan and mozzarella cheese to make a perfect blended layer in your dinner. Vernon went to dump the tubs of ricotta into the bowl but the container slipped from his hand and splattered all over the floor.

He looked like a deer in headlights, mouth agape and he stared down at the mess he caused. You were going to pee yourself from how hard you were laughing.

Seungkwan had rushed in from down the hall as you screamed, gasping for air. He too stared at the mess, disbelief written all over his face, before helping you clean everything up. He grumbled that the cheese got everywhere, but laughed when Vernon continued to apologize.

“And I’m glad you’ve found other people that you care about and love.”

Your second to last 99 line meet up at your apartment flashed on the screen. Games, movies, and a lot of drinking. You laughed and enjoyed the night despite the downfall that was happening around you. They cheered you up and made you feel safe at that moment.

“Those SVT boys are waiting for you. You’ve found yourself a nice family, Little Bear. Though, you’ve seemed to have gotten into some trouble recently.”

You peered over to her and sighed, sinking into your seat. “I know. They are good people and they make me happy…Me getting hurt…I don’t blame them for that.”

She reached over and placed her hand on yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And you shouldn’t but will you be able to handle the reality of waking up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sweetie, you know what I mean.” Gigi looked you in the eyes before glancing to your joined hands and that skin crawling uncomfortability creeped up once more.

You flinched your hand back, leaning away from her.

Another gust of wind whipped you back into your living room. Looking around, your grandmother was standing at the front window, peeking past the curtains then rushed to you, grabbing your shoulders.

“You need to wake up, Y/N. Don’t let them tell you otherwise, do you understand me?” She was a little frantic, giving you a shake so she knew you were paying attention. “I love you, Little Bear. It was so good to see you after so long-”

“Y/N, we’re home!” The crystal clear ring of your mother’s voice was heart stopping.

Right before you, your grandmother was gone. You looked around but she was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping into the living room, your mother smiled brightly, placing her worn but well loved purse down on the coffee table. She took your hands and pulled you to your feet, taking you in from head to toe. She cupped your cheeks and swiped the stray tear that you didn’t know fell away. You heard the door open again and your father came into view, dressed in his police uniform.

“It’s good to see you back home, Y/N.” Your mother said, stroking your cheek with her thumb. “I missed you, Sweet Pea.”

“Look at you,” The joy and astonishment in your father’s tone had you holding your breath. “My little girl is all grown up. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Come, we need to eat dinner, we need to talk! There is so much we need to catch up on. You have to tell us how life has been. I bet everything has been great-” Your mother pulled at your hand, and her words had you tugging out of her grip.

“Great? Are you kidding?” Frowning, you stared at both of them. “For so long, nothing was remotely okay. You both died and no one in the family wanted me!”

“But- But look at you now!” She waved you off, motioning you over. “Aside from the little mishap here, you are doing great! But…we miss you, Sweet Pea. You should stay. Stay right where you belong with us.”

Your father stepped close, placing an opened hand on your upper arm. “You shouldn’t leave us, Y/N. We could all be a family again, just like you’ve wanted.” He tried to gently push you into the kitchen but you resisted, moving into the middle of the living room.

“No, we can’t do that more. I…I don’t want that anymore.” You shook your head, trying to collect your thoughts. “Both of you chose addiction over your own child! You are dead and I’m laying in some clinic bed wanting to go back to the people I call my family now!”

“But they aren’t your family, Y/N. They aren’t blood. Look what they let happen to you!” Your mother rushed towards you, turning you around to come face to face with a long mirror.

Your shirt was gone but your chest was covered, able to see every cut, bruise, scabbing skin, and the branding staring back. Your heart beat oddly, like it skipped a beat, and the heaviness settled in your chest that was felt in your throat. Shaking off the fluttering feeling in your chest, you turned back to them and the pure white void surrounded you, both of your parents dressed in white while you were in black.

“Baby, just come with us. You won’t have to be in pain when you wake up. You can be with your grandma too!” Your mother begged, hugging your father’s arm. “Forever, Y/N. You could be with us forever. You don’t have to hurt anymore.”

“I-” Frantically, you looked around, anxious in the bright space, needing a way to escape. “I want to go home – going with you, that isn’t home anymore. That stopped being home the day you left me.”

Taking a step back, you felt that same flutter in your chest, gasping for air to ease it.

“They want me,” You forced out a breath, tears in the corner of your eyes. “SVT wants me, ATZ wants me, DC wants me, so many people want me to wake up. They’ve wiped my tears, they’ve brought me genuine happiness, and they’ve never judged me for being myself. They’ve made me remember what familial love is with you gone and I’m not going to break their hearts like you broke mine.”

“We never meant to hurt you, Y/N.” Your father held your wife, looking remorseful.

“But you did and somewhere along the way I forgave you, and I need to get back to them. I need to wake up, mom, dad…” Approaching your parents, you pulled them into your arms and hugged them tightly. “I love you both for bringing me into this world, but I love them more for saving me from myself.”

“You…You have grown up into an amazing woman, Sweet Pea.” Your mother and father kissed your cheeks, tears running down their faces. “I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“I don’t wanna see you go.” Your father wiping his head, sighing. “But…your grandmother is right…you aren’t meant to be here. Be happy with them…”

“I will, and I am.” Parting them from, you turned around, facing the familiar black door, watching it open and beckoning you inside.

“Go one, I think they are waiting for you.”

Looking over your shoulder, you gave them a sad smile. “I love both of you…and I’m sorry…”

You gave them a wave, whispering a goodbye as you stepped through the door, letting the darkness consume you.

…fuck up- I don’t want us to get caught. Yunho sighed, I snuck you in to be nice but if Seonghwa sees or hears us, I’m screwed.

Then be quiet, idiot. Mingi snickered.

You felt more…lucid, or what you thought was lucid.

Well, you didn’t have to bring us in here. Wooyoung teased and the sound of a slap followed. Ow, hey!

None of you left him or Yeosang alone to get us in here. Gahyeon sounded close, sighing and someone, probably her, fixed your blanket.

Ah…99 line were all there, not just ATZ.

She’s been out for five days. There was worry and exhaustion in Chan’s voice when he spoke up opposite of Gahyeon. None of the guys and I have had a moment of good rest in days.

You’ve been out…for five days? How is that possible? It couldn’t have been that long?

She just needs time, Chan. Gahyeon spoke again. We don’t know what demons she is fighting in there.

While you were still semiconscious, you weren’t floating or falling in the void. Any attempt to look around was only met with darkness, you couldn’t see yourself. There was a chill on your skin, a twinge of pain in each hair from what you guessed was IVs. Pain subtly radiated through your limbs, the brand on your chest itched excruciatingly, but your arms were heavy, probably from no proper movement in days. Your mouth was horribly dry and your throat hurt when you breathed in through your nose.

Things were starting to come back to you, the reality of the whole situation, not something conjured up by your head.

You were waking up – or, you were getting there.

“She looks so peaceful despite everything.” Yeonjun hummed to your right. “I hope the time she has spent resting will be good once she wakes up.”

“Mingyu and Jongho found the recipe in her kitchen and keeps trying to recreate it from what he remembers from Christmas. He has had so many of us trying it.” Chan huffed, “Nothing has been close to her though. She…made it so perfect.”

“What are you all doing here?” Jongho’s voice had the rest going quiet. “You are lucky Seonghwa is asleep right now. He texted me earlier to check on her since you two were supposed to be resting too.”

You assumed he meant Yunho and Yeosang.

“Did you expect anything else?” Mingi asked.

“No, but there are a lot of you here. What if she wakes up and you all crowd her?”

Changbin chuckled. “Then we back up.”

“Shut up, loser.” Wooyoung scoffed.

You took a deep breath in, swallowing dryly.

“Guys-” Gaheyon slapped someone a few times to get their attention.

When your eyes first opened, you grimaced at the bright light, struggling to adjust. The white ceiling stood out to you before multiple heads popped into your blurred vision. Both of your hands were grabbed and too many people were rapid fire talking at once. Someone was crying, you couldn’t tell who, they crowded closer, and you were getting overwhelmed.

You flinched away from them, inwardly with nowhere to go, and your breathing started to quicken. They were too close, not enough space to breathe. The heart monitor started to beep loudly, feeling the organ beat violently in your chest, and the sound was the tipping point to send you into a panic attack. They started to back off, giving your space, and your hands were released. There was an angry shout before Seonghwa came into your line of sight. In your panic, you didn’t realize you had ripped the IVs from your hands and you were bleeding.

You tried to voice that you couldn’t breath, gasping for air as your hands moved frantically to convey your distress. He – thankfully – picked up on your message and grabbed an oxygen mask and blasted the air as he helped it over your head and onto your face. You weakly pushed yourself up and Yeosang hurried to raise the back of the bed for you.

“All of you out!” Seonghwa ordered with a boom to his voice, standing before the group of your friends, all in different states of confusion and concern. “Now.”

“Guys…come on.” Yunho’s head hung but 99 line left with tears and whispers of apologies in their wake.

Once the door was shut firmly behind them, Seonghwa turned back towards you, eyes riddled with worry. Your breathing started to even out but your hands shook vigorously at your panic, trying to clasp them together to the best of your abilities.

“Mouse…” Seonghwa slowly strided closer, sitting on a chair beside your bed.

Unintentionally you flinched away from him and hugged yourself, protecting yourself weakly. He cringed at the reaction, eyes scanning over you while giving a moment of brevity before diving into what needed to be done. Squeezing your eyes shut, you breathed in through your nose and out your mouth.

“I won’t touch you unless I really need to.” Seonghwa spoke softly, reassuring your worries. “But you will need to at least talk to me. I promise you I will not say anything to anyone if you don’t want me to, but if you plan to harm yourself in any way, I will break that promise.”

“Can I have some water?” Your throat was screaming, hoarse and sore from how dry and unused it was. “Please.”

He was quick to get you a cup of water and straw, placing it on the small table beside your cot so there would be no touch shared. You downed it in one go, gasping at the sweet relief that flooded your throat. He took his seat once more after getting another cup just in case, sighing through his nose.

“I’ve been giving you some painkillers and antibiotics. You are probably hungry so I can get you whatever you’d like – anything you’d like. I think it’s well deserved.

“Have I really been out for five days?”

Seonghwa gave a small nod. “You were taken on the thirtieth. We searched all day and night. And we didn’t find you until January first. Today is the sixth and it’s-” He glanced down at his watch. “Four in the morning, Jesus Christ.”

You glanced around the room, taking in the different cots, the multitude of locked medical cabinets, and a shiver shot down your spine. Your skin crawled, out of place and uncomfortable; it was too white, clear, pure , and it reminded you too much of your void you escaped.

“You don’t have to give me any details, however I’ve been running around trying to figure out what has made your heartbeat a little weird when we got you here.”

Sucking in a deep breath, you turned your attention back to him. “They…They injected a higher dose of epinephrine than what's in an epipen. I-” Dropping your gaze, you tried wrapping your head around everything. “I heard you question or whatever that my heart stopped. I remember my heart was beating really fast, like it was in my throat and ready to jump out, then it slowed down quickly and I passed out or maybe-”

Seonghwa stopped you, holding his hand out so as to not push you further. “It’s okay. It just means I’ll want to monitor your heart a little while longer. Would it be okay to ask about the burns on your sides?”

“Wet sponges and either a generator or something, some things are still fuzzy and my head hurts.” Your lie was weak, you simply didn’t want to relieve all of the pain right now, there was already a pit in your stomach as heavy as a boulder.

“Yeosang, Jihoon, and I bandaged and cleaned you up the best we could. I asked Sona and a few women she trusted to do anything else since I didn’t know how comfortable you were… We could only do so much about the…branding. Once it heals, we can look into plastic surgery for you-”

“When can I go home?”

“Home-?” He stuttered, collecting his thoughts and nodded, this soft, caring side of him show. “If you let me examine you one more time and promise to rest, I don’t see why you couldn’t go home later today. I’ll get a portable heart monitor you could wear on your chest that is all for you as well. I need to order it though.”

Only nodding to him, Seonghwa stood and you flinched once more. “Do you just want to get this done before people show up and I’m already awake?”

Wordlessly, you nodded for the second time and he quickly shut the privacy curtain just in case. Seonghwa took his time mainly for your sake. He touched you as little as possible and apologized each time you flinched, but overall asked you to move your limbs to show him what he needed. He did get bandages for your hands that you placed on independently. He explained the signs of a concussion; heightened agitation, lack of focus, weird eating patterns, and asked to let him know if your headache persisted longer than a few days. When you needed to stand, your knees buckled and you fell to the floor, yelping in pain.

It took all your willpower to let him help you up. If he noticed how you tensed up despite him gripping your clothes more than you, he said nothing. He gave you plenty of space after, giving you breathing room before you attempted to stand again, holding into the bed. Seonghwa explained it was mostly from being bedridden for days and to not beat yourself up about it.

When he was somewhat satisfied with your mobility, he further went on about wanting to change the bandage on your chest, but offered to take you to the bathroom with the mirror and walk you through the process on your own. As per…third degree burn treatment, he had been changing the sterile bandages and placing an antibiotic cream on it to not risk any infection so close to your heart. It would, sadly, take a month or two to fully heal, but he was sure it would heal without an issue as long as you cared for it. You took his offer to learn how to change the dressings for at home care, but you wanted to see how it looked…

Seonghwa hesitated for a moment, the discomfort evident on his face, but he agreed, knowing you’d have to see it sooner or later either way. He guided you into the bathroom after gathering what was needed and stood silently in the corner of the bathroom, staring at you concerned as you unbuttoned your shirt enough to remove the bandage.

It looked…gross to put it lightly. The skin was swollen and irritated, dry as hell around the edges of it. The brand spot itself was white with spots of brown and red, blistering too, seeing the lower layer of your skin, which looked slimy and had bile burning the back of your already sore throat. You were lucky the shirt they changed you into was button up style and you could cover a majority of it while resting here.

As promised, Seonghwa guided you through the proper dressing procedure and cleaning, saying he’d send enough supplies for a little while home with you. He pointed to himself a lot which you watched in the mirror to guide you, answering any questions you had.

You could already hear commotion outside as you placed the last piece of medical tape to secure the bandage. Hesitantly despite the curiosity, you rolled up the sleeves and stared at the healing handprint bruises on your forearms and upper arms.

Staring at yourself for a moment, you cowered at the memories that raced through your mind. Every moment felt fresh, you would probably feel scared and uncomfortable for a long while. Hell, you were kinda scared to shower giving the drawing you experienced. Your body ached and all your nerves were alight with anxiety.

“Do you want me to ask them to leave?” He asked, placing the garbage in the trash. “Or-”

“I-” You fully buttoned your shirt, sighing at your bruised face and split lip. “I want to see if I can handle it with them…”

“Are you sure?” Glancing at him in the mirror, Seonghwa looks nervous for you. He didn’t look a smidge confident.

“I don’t have much of a choice, Seonghwa.” Sighing again, you made sure your sleeves were fully rolled down and checked yourself one last time in the mirror.

You looked tired, one could say ragged. Someone had braided your hair so it didn’t get knotted and tangled, probably Sona. Your skin was begging for a proper shower and you wanted your coziest sweater to sleep in. Everything was going to be weak as you healed, you just hoped that you’d be able to have some normal feelings soon.

“Let’s do this.” You whispered to yourself and moved to the door.

You could feel Seonghwa’s looming presence behind you, that prickling anxiety giving your goosebumps. With one final breath in, you pushed the door open, tensing at the hoard of eyes full of worry and tiredness staring at you.

Chan tried to call out to stop them, but Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seokmin rushed forward and you recoiled away from them. They were talking quickly, loud , and at least one of them was crying. They were touching your hands, arms, and someone was holding your face gently. Someone else was telling them to stop, but they argued, not that you could hear the exchange with the blood rushing past your ears. You were breathing hard again, heart beating out of your chest, trying to push them away and struggling as the rush of the members of Monsta X holding you down flooded back. You didn’t know if you were verbalizing things, your panic attack scrambling your thoughts, but your body felt like it was on fire. Your lungs burned, your skin growing flush, and you were starting to sweat.

Every fiber in your body screamed that it was in danger – you were in danger.

Someone yelled – wait – you think you yelled, screamed .

“Back up!” Seonghwa yelled like earlier, grabbing you and pushing you back into the bathroom.

Your back pressed into the freezing cold tiles and you slid down to the floor. There was shouting and the door slammed with a harsh thunk, the sounds outside muffled.

Hugging your knees, you tried to stop yourself from shaking, rocking yourself back and forth comfortingly, sucking in short breaths to regulate. The pins and needles feeling was slowly building in your hands and feet, you were lightheaded and so glad for the cool temperature in the bathroom.

You didn’t know how long it was until the bathroom door opened next. It was much quieter, but Jongho and Sona stared down at your broken form when you looked up. You tried to look past their legs, able to see many other sets of feet in the distance still.

“It’s okay.” You’ve never heard Sona speak so softly before. She squatted down, keeping her distance. “You can come out.”

“Everything hurts.” You sounded congested, complaining tiredly, and she scoffed while Jongho gave a sad smile.

“Well yeah, that’s what happens when you pull out your IVs and don’t have any pain meds and have two panic attacks. Duh.”

Jongho looked over his shoulder and huffed, whispering his words. “Seonghwa is giving them an earful.”

“They deserve it for being fucking stupid.” Sona rolled her eyes, clearly unhappy after learning what happened.

Slowly you peeled yourself off the floor, huffing out in exertion. Your sides hurt, your chest itched, and you think you were hungrier under all the heightened emotions. Sona placed herself between you and the rest with Jongho trailing behind, walking out to the open medical room.

“That was the most reckless thing you could have done, do you know that?” Seonghwa’s tone and the tearful expressions most wore was enough to know the scolding and scare they got.

“I want to go home.” You cut Seonghwa off before he could continue and there was a mix of reactions staring back. “I want to go home now.”

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