Make Me Your Villain - Collab

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, reluctant allies to friends, fake relationship

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: on escaping from the Russians, chan takes it upon himself to help you with the info you need. In exchange you learn more about him in the strangest ways.

Warnings: slow burn, violence, weapons, gore? a bit yeah, sarcastic Chan, ft. Jisung and Lix, mentions of Minho, time skips because why not?

A/n: Also, I think at one point I had a problem with the times of day...but I tried my best to make it sync. If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't. So not proofread.

previously...

The motel lobby was dimly lit, the old fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Chan stepped up to the reception desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the wooden counter as the night clerk barely looked up from his phone.

"One room. Just for the night," Chan said, voice low and firm.

The clerk gave him a once-over, his gaze flicking to Y/N, who stood just behind him. She could feel the man sizing them up, probably making his own assumptions about the situation. Chan didn’t seem to care. He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his pocket, slid them across the counter, and within seconds, a key was pushed toward him in return.

"Room 207," the clerk mumbled before going back to his phone.

Chan didn’t wait. He grabbed the key, gave a subtle nod in Y/N’s direction, and started walking. She followed him down the hall, her mind racing as she took in her surroundings. The hallway smelled of stale air and cheap cleaning supplies, the faded carpet muffling their footsteps. When they reached the room, Chan unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicking on the light. The room was exactly what was expected—two twin beds, a small wooden table with a single chair, a flickering TV mounted on the wall, and an old, beige telephone sitting on the nightstand. It wasn’t the worst place she had ever stayed, but it definitely wasn’t home.

Chan tossed the key onto the nightstand and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it onto the nearest bed. "You hungry?" he asked, turning toward her.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."

Without another word, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through a local takeout menu. Within minutes, he placed an order for two burgers and fries from a fast-food joint a few blocks away. Once the order was placed, he tossed his phone onto the table and leaned against it, arms crossed. The silence stretched between them until she finally spoke.

"Why didn’t you come back?"

His jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t look away. "Come back where?"

"The agency." She sat on the edge of one of the beds, watching him closely. "You found out what they were doing. You could’ve confronted them. Exposed them."

A humorless chuckle left his lips. "And then what? Be silenced before I could say a damn thing? You think I didn’t consider it? I saw what happened to the others who tried. People who were supposed to be on my side turned against me. The minute I started asking the wrong questions, I became a loose end."

She frowned, thinking back to the files she had uncovered. It was all there—the fabricated reports, the missing agents, the unexplained deaths. "But you were one of their best. Why would they—"

"Because loyalty only matters until you become a threat." His voice was sharp now, edged with something darker. "I stopped being useful to them the second I figured out the truth. So they made sure I wouldn’t be a problem anymore."

She let his words sink in, the weight of them pressing against her chest. But she still had questions—questions he wasn’t answering.

"Do you regret it? You know… disappearing?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he reached for the plastic bag of takeout that had just been delivered outside their door. "Eat." He tossed her a burger and fries before settling onto the other bed with his own meal.

She took a bite, but her mind was still turning.

"What about your family?" she asked carefully. "Did you ever—"

His whole body stiffened, his reaction instant, his grip tightening around the burger in his hand. His jaw flexed, his eyes darkening as he stared at the food like it had suddenly lost all appeal. He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her. Instead, he set his meal down, stood up, and walked toward the bathroom. "I’m taking a shower," he muttered before shutting the door behind him. The sound of rushing water filled the silence, but Y/N barely noticed.

You had hit a nerve. And you realized then just how much of Christopher Bang was still buried beneath the hardened shell of the man sitting across from you.

The bathroom door creaked open, and steam billowed into the room as Chan stepped out, his bare chest glistening slightly from the residual dampness. A white towel hung low on his hips, clinging to his sharp V-line as he ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back. His movements were unbothered, casual like walking around half-naked in a cheap motel room with a near-stranger was nothing new to him.

Y/N swallowed, forcing herself to keep her eyes on his face as he made his way toward his duffel bag. He crouched down, flipping it open, but after rummaging for a few seconds, he stilled.

Then he sighed.

"Shit." He ran a hand down his face. "Forgot to pack extra clothes."

She watched as he stood up and, with no hesitation, reached for the black trousers he had worn earlier, slipping them back on. The fabric clung to his still-damp skin, and for a second, she thought about how uncomfortable that must feel.

"Sorry… for earlier." Her voice was quieter now, hesitant. "I shouldn’t have asked about your family." Chan glanced at her, then let out a small breath through his nose—a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, but close. "It’s fine."

She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she didn’t push. Instead, he nodded toward the bathroom. "Go freshen up. Get some rest. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow." She shifted slightly, still sitting cross-legged on the bed. "You’re not gonna finish your food?"

"Not hungry." He gestured lazily toward the leftover takeout on the table. "Help yourself if you want."

She considered it for a moment but ultimately shook her head. "I’m good."

With that, she stood and grabbed her own bag, heading into the bathroom. The hot water did little to ease the tension in her muscles, but she welcomed it anyway, letting it wash away the grime of the past few hours. It wasn’t until she stepped out and reached for her bag that she realized, she hadn’t packed extra clothes either.

Her stomach sank slightly. She hadn’t planned for any of this. Sighing, she pulled her trousers back on, then hesitated before deciding to just stay in her bra instead of her now slightly damp shirt. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than wearing something uncomfortable to bed.

When she stepped back into the room, the lights were dimmed, casting a softer glow over the space. Chan was already lying on one of the beds, one arm resting behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, his other hand loosely draped over his stomach. His breaths were even, steady but she could tell he wasn’t asleep. She slipped under the covers of the other bed, turning onto her side so she was facing him.

Her eyes traced his features, the way his lips were slightly parted, the sharp angles of his jawline softened by the dim light. His hair was still damp, strands falling over his forehead.

She thought about everything that had happened that night.

About the gunfire. The way he had protected her. The way he carried the weight of his past like an unspoken burden. She wanted to ask him more. Wanted to understand him. But instead, she just watched. And before she even realized it, sleep started to pull her under.

You stirred at the sound of rustling, the soft shuffle of fabric and the faint clinking of metal. Your brows furrowed as you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the dusty motel curtains. Chan was already up fully dressed in the same black trousers and shirt from yesterday, though now slightly less wrinkled. He stood near the rickety wooden table, stuffing a few things into his duffel bag with quick, practiced movements.

"You didn’t wake me up?" your voice was rough with sleep as you pushed herself up on your elbows. Chan barely spared her a glance. "Oh, my bad," he deadpanned, zipping up the bag. "Next time I’ll throw a bucket of ice water on you for the full wake-up experience."

You rolled her eyes. "Asshole."

He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and turned to face her. "Get up. We’re going to Prague." You froze mid-stretch, staring at him in disbelief. "The fuck for?" Chan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you were giving him a headache before the day had even properly started. "I have an informant there."

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed for a second before dragging a hand down your face. "Of course you do." He eyed you, crossing his arms. "You also need a new passport. I’ve got someone we’re meeting before we head to the airport."

"Great," you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "At least let me shower first."

"No time."

"What do you mean, no time?" you asked incredulously.

"I mean we have to leave now, or I’m leaving you behind," he said flatly, walking towards the door. With an annoyed sigh, you quickly pulled on the same clothes from the night before, stuffing your things into your bag before following him out.

The lobby was empty as usual except for the bored-looking receptionist scrolling through his phone. Chan dropped the room key onto the desk without a word, and they stepped outside, the morning air crisp against their skin.

The car was parked where they left it, and as soon as they got in, Chan started the engine. He didn’t waste time with small talk, navigating through the quiet streets like he knew them by heart. After a while, you glanced out the window and frowned. "Where are we going now?"

"Getting new clothes," he replied, taking a sharp turn onto a side street.

A few minutes later, he pulled into a small clothing store, nothing fancy just practical. Inside, Chan moved quickly, grabbing things off racks with little hesitation hoodies, flannels, caps, t-shirts. He stuck mostly to dark colors, predominantly black. You watched as he barely even looked at anything outside that color scheme.

"You know," you noted, picking up a gray hoodie, "I think you might be allergic to color."

"Black is practical," he said, unfazed, handing a few items to the cashier.

"Black is suspicious," you corrected. "You look like an action movie cliché."

"Says the girl who almost got me killed last night," he shot back with a smirk, swiping his card.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bag of clothes, following him back to the car. As soon as you both were inside, she sighed. "I’m hungry." Chan gave her a look, deadpan. "Are you always hungry?" The answer to that was a straight yes but you just ignored him.

Luckily, he stopped at a gas station a few minutes later. While Chan focused on filling the tank, you made a beeline for the convenience store inside, grabbing whatever looked remotely edible; chips, bottled water, granola bars. When you got back to the car, Chan was already in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

"Took you long enough," he muttered as she climbed in. You tossed a snack at him, and he caught it with one hand, raising a brow. "What’s this?"

"Breakfast." Chan glanced at the granola bar, then at you. Then, with a small smirk, he shrugged and tore it open. "At least you’re useful for something." You shot him a glare as you unwrapped your own snack.

With that, he started the car again, merging back onto the road.

The bar was dimly lit, the scent of cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke lingering in the air. It wasn’t crowded just a few people scattered around, either drinking in silence or murmuring in low voices. A faint blues song played from the jukebox in the corner, barely noticeable over the quiet hum of conversation.

Chan led you to the back, past the bar counter where a middle-aged bartender barely spared them a glance. There, tucked into a booth, sat a man with light brown hair, sharp eyes, and a playful smirk that only deepened when he saw them approach.

"Well, well, well," the man drawled, leaning back in his seat. "Christopher fucking Bang. Thought you were a ghost." Chan slid into the seat across from him with ease, looking unimpressed. "Yes, that was the idea, Felix." You hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside Chan, watching as Felix’s gaze flickered to her. His smirk widened. "And who’s this? Don’t tell me you’ve finally made a friend."

"She’s the reason my ghost has lost its aura," Chan said dryly, tossing his duffel bag onto the seat beside him. Felix chuckled. "Poor you. And here I thought you liked your lone wolf act." Then he extended a hand towards you. "Felix. And you are?"

You shook his hand, still thrown off by how casual this felt. "Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. If you’ve managed to survive Chris’s bad mood for this long, you must be decent."

"Still debating that," Chan muttered, and you elbowed him. Felix laughed and gestured to the table. "So, what brings you to my fine establishment of illegal transactions?" Chan got straight to the point. "We need two passports for Prague."

Felix raised a brow, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass. "Prague, huh? Interesting choice. Who are we running from?"

"Nosy as ever," Chan remarked. "Hey, I like to know if I’m making passports for people who’ll get me killed," Felix said, then nodded toward Y/N. "That include her too?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Chan sighed.

"Oh, come on," You scoffed. "I’m literally helping you."

"And you’re doing a fantastic job at getting me into more trouble," Chan shot back.

Felix chuckled. "Same old Chris. Alright, let’s get to work."

He pulled out a laptop and a small suitcase filled with equipment—scanners, blank passport books, laminating sheets. The moment he unzipped it, you realized just how skilled he must be. Everything was neatly arranged, every tool looking well-used but carefully maintained.

"What names do you want?" Felix asked as he booted up his laptop. "Ryan," Chan said immediately.

Felix scoffed. "Real original."

"It works."

"Sure, it does. And for you, Y/N?"

She thought for a moment. "Andi." Felix nodded, already typing. "Andi and Ryan. Got it. What nationalities?"

"Keep mine Australian," Chan said.

"Make mine British," You added.

Felix hummed as he worked, fingers flying across the keyboard. "And here I thought you two would at least try to be creative. Guess not."

"We don’t have time for creativity," Chan muttered.

"We never do," Felix sighed, pulling out two blank passport books. "Alright, give me a bit. This’ll take an hour, maybe less. You two want a drink while you wait?"

"No," Chan said immediately. "I could use one," you said at the same time.

Felix grinned. "See? I like her." Chan just shook his head, leaning back in his seat while Felix got to work, the hum of the printer soon filling the air as new identities took form.

As he stood he walked over to the bar, poured you a drink with practiced ease, sliding the glass over to her while he took a sip of his own. The liquor burned going down, but it wasn’t unpleasant. you glanced over at Chan, who was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, eyes closed completely unbothered by the fact that they began talking about him right in front of him.

"You know, should be careful with the questions you ask," Felix said, swirling the liquid in his glass.

You exhaled. "I may have overstepped yesterday."

"Already? Sheesh. By the looks of it you did a really good job too," Felix said with a slight smirk, but then his expression softened. "Chris… He’s a good guy, you know? Just misread as a bad one. People like us, we don’t get the benefit of the doubt." You watched as Felix’s gaze flickered to Chan for a moment before he turned his attention back to you. "He’s done things, sure. But never without a reason. Just… don’t push too hard."

You nodded slowly, understanding the warning underneath his words. "He still should’ve come back instead of running."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Felix set his glass down. "You ever think that some fights aren’t worth it anymore?"

Before you could answer, the machine beeped, snapping both of their attention back to the task at hand. Felix grinned, standing up and stretching. "And that’s our cue. Looks like you two are officially new people."

Chan opened his eyes and sat up as Felix grabbed the newly made passports, flipping through them with a nod of approval before sliding them across the table. "Ryan and Andi. Welcome to your new lives."

Felix clapped Chan on the back as they stood near the entrance of the bar. "Be careful, mate," he muttered under his breath, just low enough for only Chan to hear.

Chan didn’t react immediately, just gave a slow nod before gripping Felix’s shoulder for a brief second an unspoken acknowledgment. "Appreciate it."

With that, he turned and led you out of the bar, the door swinging shut behind them as they stepped into the afternoon. The air was hotter now, the city’s hum buzzing into the background as they made their way back to the car. The drive to the airport was mostly silent, save for the occasional sound of Chan drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. His focus was set ahead, his jaw clenched slightly as you stole glances at him from the passenger seat.

"So, what’s the plan?" you finally asked, breaking the silence.

"We get to Prague, meet with my informant, and get the intel we need," Chan said flatly, eyes still on the road. "It’s a simple in-and-out. No unnecessary risks. We keep a low profile, and we don’t start anything we can’t finish." you tilted her head, studying his expression. "And what exactly are we looking for?"

"Proof." His fingers tightened on the wheel. "Proof that the agency isn’t what it claims to be. That I didn’t just vanish for no reason." You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "I genuinely want to help with this." Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, a short, humorless laugh. "Then do as you’re told and don’t fuck things up." His words came out sharp, blunt.

Your brows furrowed. "You’re still pissed about yesterday, aren’t you?"

"No," he said quickly. Too quickly.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. I totally believe that."

Chan didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

They arrived at the airport parking lot a little into the evening. They would have arrived earlier, save for the fact that you had become hungry again. The lot was half-full, the bright glow of overhead lights casting long shadows across the pavement. Chan pulled into a spot near the entrance, killing the engine before leaning back in his seat. "Grab what you need," he muttered as he reached for his duffel bag in the backseat. He shrugged on a black flannel over his t-shirt, pulling a cap down low over his face. A precaution.

You adjusted your own bag before stepping out of the car, slinging the strap over your shoulder. You glanced over at him. "You really think someone’s still tracking you after all this time?"

"It’s not about thinking," Chan muttered, adjusting the cap slightly. "It’s about knowing.” You didn’t argue.

They made their way into the airport, weaving through the late-night travelers and half-empty check-in lines. As they approached the counter, Chan handed over his fake passport with ease, his movements practiced, unbothered. You did the same, watching as both your boarding passes were printed and their bags weighed. Everything was going smoothly until you noticed Chan tense slightly beside you.

His posture didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his demeanor. His eyes flickered toward the far side of the terminal. A man. Dressed casually in jeans and a hoodie. Dark sunglasses despite it being well into the night. Standing near one of the pillars, his posture too relaxed, his gaze locked onto Chan. He stared back, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged.

Then the man turned and walked away. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just slow, deliberate steps.

You followed Chan’s gaze but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What is it?" you asked, shifting slightly. Chan’s expression didn’t change. "Nothing," he muttered, turning back as he grabbed his boarding pass. You obviously didn’t buy it, but before you could press further, the attendant gestured you forward. Both of you moved toward the security checkpoint, blending into the steady stream of travelers.

As you stepped into the lounge to wait for your boarding call, Chan’s eyes subtly scanned the area, his mind already running through possibilities. Someone had recognized him. And that meant trouble was closer than he thought.

---

The overhead lights in the plane flickered as passengers shuffled to their seats, the hum of quiet conversations filling the cabin. Chan and Y/N settled into their row, a middle and window seat on the right side of the aircraft. Chan sat by the aisle, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp as they scanned the boarding passengers.

The man entered.

He came in through the opposite aisle, stepping past rows of seated travelers with practiced ease. Y/N wouldn’t have noticed him if it weren’t for the way Chan suddenly tensed. His body didn’t move, but his gaze locked onto the stranger’s as he passed. The man didn’t break eye contact. Not until he reached his seat, a few rows ahead.

Chan let out a slow breath. "We’re being followed."

Y/N turned her head slightly, careful not to make it obvious. "Are you sure?" she whispered.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted in his seat, reaching into the back of his jeans and pulling out a compact, matte-black pistol. He kept it low, just below the armrest, so no one around them would notice. Y/N’s eyes widened. "How the hell did you get a gun on a flight?" she hissed under her breath, her voice barely audible over the boarding announcements.

Chan smirked slightly, his fingers resting lightly on the weapon. "Had help."

"Help?"

"People owe me favors," he said simply, tucking the gun beneath his jacket before anyone could see. "Now act normal." Y/N swallowed, shifting in her seat as the final boarding call rang through the speakers. The plane doors sealed shut, the hum of the engines growing louder as the aircraft prepared for takeoff. The man didn’t turn around again. He didn’t need to.

Chan knew better than to believe in coincidences. The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the flight settled into its long journey. Passengers were lost in their own worlds; some sleeping, some watching in-flight entertainment, some mindlessly scrolling through their phones.

With time, Y/N had made herself comfortable, pulling out the tray table in front of her. A half-eaten airline meal sat beside a small cup of juice, and she was fully engrossed in a movie playing on the tiny screen in front of her. Chan wasn’t watching anything. Not the movie, not the meal service. His attention kept flickering to her how relaxed she looked despite everything, how she absentmindedly chewed on a straw while focusing on the screen. He envied how easily she adapted.

Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up.

Y/N immediately turned to him, raising a brow. "Where are you going?"

"Relax," he muttered, voice low so only she could hear. "I’ll be back."

She frowned slightly but didn’t press further as he slipped into the aisle, making his way towards the rear of the plane. As he passed by the galley, a flight attendant—a woman with sharp eyes and neatly pinned-back hair—brushed past him subtly, slipping something into his palm with practiced ease, just the way she had slipped the gun into his hands earlier.

A silencer. Chan didn’t react, didn’t even acknowledge the exchange. He simply continued walking until he reached the lavatory, pushing the door open and stepping inside without a second glance. The door remained unlocked. He moved quickly, screwing the silencer onto the barrel of his gun with steady hands. Then, he leaned against the wall, letting the steady hum of the engines drown out his thoughts. Now, he waited. Because he knew the man had been watching him too as he stood up.

But the wait didn’t take long, the moment the man stepped inside, Chan’s grip tightened around the gun. The tiny lavatory instantly felt smaller, the tension suffocating. The man turned, locking the door behind him with a click. His eyes, concealed behind dark shades, flickered to the gun in Chan’s hands.

Chan didn’t waste time. "Who sent you?" he demanded, keeping his voice low but firm. The man didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers twitched, his stance shifting just slightly. It was enough of a tell. Chan moved first, but the man was faster. With a sharp pivot, the attacker lunged forward, his palm striking the inside of Chan’s wrist. The sudden impact sent the silenced gun skidding across the cramped lavatory sink, landing with a dull clatter.

Chan’s jaw clenched. "You shouldn’t have done that."

The next second, the fight erupted.

The man threw a punch aimed at Chan’s ribs, but Chan twisted, dodging at the last second. He countered, driving his elbow into the man's throat. It wasn’t enough to collapse his windpipe, but it sent him staggering against the sink, gasping for air. Before Chan could press the attack, the man recovered quickly, yanking open the flimsy overhead compartment and smashing it into Chan’s face. He barely had time to shield himself before the man grabbed his head and slammed it into the mirror above the sink. The glass spiderwebbed upon impact, fragments cracking away and slicing into Chan’s forehead.

A warm trickle of blood dripped down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, then grinned through the sting. "That all you got?" The man sneered but didn’t waste breath on words. Instead, he lunged again.

Chan sidestepped, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it violently. A muffled pop sounded as the joint dislocated. The man barely had time to register the pain before Chan drove his knee into his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs.

The man’s sunglasses flew off, revealing dark, bloodshot eyes that burned with hatred. "Who sent you?" Chan demanded again, this time grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the wall. Still, no answer. Instead, the man snapped his head forward in a brutal headbutt. Pain exploded across Chan’s nose, stars dancing in his vision. He barely had time to react before the man reached for a concealed blade in his boot.

Shit.

Chan instinctively twisted his torso, the knife slicing through the air where his ribcage had been a second ago. No more playing nice. With swift precision, Chan caught the man's wrist and smashed it against the metal sink. Bone cracked, the blade clattering to the floor. The man hissed but didn’t get a chance to retaliate before Chan grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the already-broken mirror. Glass shattered. Blood sprayed. The man groaned, slumping slightly, but Chan didn’t let up. He spun the guy around and pressed his arm against his windpipe, locking him in a tight chokehold.

"Last chance." Chan’s voice was dark, deadly, each word laced with unspoken violence. "Who sent you?" The man gagged, his fingers clawing at Chan’s arm. His face was turning purple, veins popping along his forehead.

Nothing.

No name. No last words.

Just a silent, defiant glare before his body went limp.

Chan held the choke for a few more seconds, ensuring the bastard was unconscious before finally letting go. The man crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from his forehead, nose, and shattered lips.

Chan exhaled, flexing his fingers. His hands were covered in blood—some his, some the guy’s. Mostly the guy’s. His reflection in the broken mirror was splattered with red, a fresh gash on his forehead still bleeding down the side of his face.

He wiped his nose, tasting copper, before bending down and retrieving his silenced gun. Then, as if nothing had happened, he straightened his flannel shirt, turned toward the unconscious body, and sighed.

"Should’ve just answered the damn question."

Chan crouched over the unconscious man, his breath steadying as he quickly searched the guy’s pockets. His fingers skimmed past a pack of cigarettes, a crumpled napkin, and finally, a folded photograph.

He pulled it out. His own face stared back at him.

Chan’s stomach tightened, but he shoved down the unease, slipping the photo into his own pocket. He continued searching until he found the man’s cellphone. He didn’t recognize the model, but that didn’t matter. Information was information. He pocketed it and stood up. Turning to the mirror, he sighed. Blood trickled from the gash on his forehead, staining the edge of his brow. His knuckles were raw, the bruises already beginning to form. He looked like hell.

He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, hissing at the sting when it hit the fresh cut. The metallic scent of blood mixed with cheap airplane soap as he washed away the evidence of the fight. Then, making it look believable, he flushed the toilet.

He unlocked the door, stepping out casually before pulling it shut behind him. As he made his way back to his seat, he rolled his shoulders, shaking off the remaining tension.

Y/N’s eyes widened the second she saw him.

"Chan, what the fuck happened?"

He slid into his seat, resting an arm on the armrest as if he hadn’t just nearly killed a man in the lavatory. "We were being followed," he muttered, his voice low enough that only she could hear. Her concern deepened. "Followed? By who?" He sighed, tilting his head back slightly. "No idea."

Y/N frowned, scanning his bruised knuckles and the drying cut on his face. "So, what—? You just fought him? On a fucking airplane?" Chan smirked, resting his cheek against his fist. "Kept it quiet."

"Yeah, real subtle, bleeding all over the place," she muttered. He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Trust me, the other guy looks worse." Y/N’s gaze flickered with unease. "Did you...?"

"He's alive. But I doubt he’ll be up anytime soon."

LIES.

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Shit... What did you find on him?"

Chan pulled the folded photograph from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it, her expression shifting from curiosity to unease the moment she recognized his face staring back.

"That’s you."

"Yeah. Seems like someone really wants me dead."

Y/N swallowed, gripping the picture tightly. "And you have no idea who sent him?" Chan leaned back, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "Not yet." But he would find out. And when he did, they’d regret ever sending someone after him.

As the plane touched down in Prague, Chan kept his posture relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning every passenger as they disembarked. Y/N could tell he was still on high alert from the incident mid-flight. She, too, found herself glancing around, paranoia creeping in despite her best efforts to stay calm. The moment they stepped into the terminal, Chan’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, checking the message. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Our ride’s here."

Y/N barely had time to process his words before a familiar voice called out.

"Look who finally decided to show up." She turned to see a young man leaning casually against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. He had messy brown hair, a confident smirk, and eyes that danced with amusement. Dressed in a dark hoodie and ripped jeans, he looked nothing like what she expected from an "informant."

Chan rolled his eyes. "Cut the dramatics, Jisung."

Jisung pushed off the pillar and walked up to them. "Come on, hyung, I was starting to think you got yourself killed before making it here." His eyes flickered to Y/N, and his smirk widened. "And who’s this?" Chan sighed. "Jisung, meet Andi. Andi, this is Jisung—one of the few people I actually trust."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You trust people?" Jisung barked out a laugh. "Right? That’s what I said." Chan groaned. "Both of you, shut up and get in the car." Jisung led them through the bustling terminal and out to the parking lot, where a sleek black SUV was waiting. "I pulled some strings to get you a safe house. Should be secure for now."

As they climbed into the car, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get more complicated from here.

---

The safe house was tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, an unassuming apartment building that looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years. Jisung led them inside, locking the multiple bolts behind them before gesturing toward the dimly lit living room. "Make yourselves at home," he said, flopping onto the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

Y/N and Chan exchanged a glance before setting their bags down. The space was minimalist barely any furniture except for a couch, a TV, and a cluttered desk stacked with papers and electronic equipment. The faint hum of a computer running in the background filled the silence. After giving them a few minutes to unwind, Jisung reappeared with a bag of snacks, tossing a granola bar at Y/N. She caught it, arching an eyebrow. "Not exactly a five-star meal, but it’s what I got," he shrugged before tossing a bag of chips toward Chan.

Chan caught it mid-air but didn’t open it. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His expression turned serious. "The data, Jisung."

Jisung sighed dramatically, rummaging through his hoodie pocket before pulling out a flash drive. "Yeah, yeah, Mr. No Fun. I got some of what you asked for, but—"

Chan’s jaw tightened. "But?"

Jisung plugged the drive into the TV. The screen flickered, and multiple files popped up—profiles, reports, security footage, transaction logs, and classified documents, some of which were heavily redacted. "Here’s what I managed to pull," Jisung began, clicking through the files. "I got dirt on Reynolds, his known aliases, offshore accounts, deals that he’s made with some pretty bad people. There’s a list of buyers who’ve worked with him, footage of his men moving shipments. But…"

Chan’s fingers drummed against his knee. "Spit it out, Ji."

Jisung turned to face them, his expression more serious than usual. "There’s a key piece of evidence I couldn’t get. It’s too heavily guarded, even for me. Whatever it is, they know it’s important, and they’ve locked it down tight." Y/N frowned. "What kind of information are we talking about?" Jisung exhaled. "A hard drive. It contains direct links between Reynolds and the black-market trades—evidence that could get him convicted. But it’s not something I can hack into remotely. It has to be taken physically."

Chan leaned back, rubbing his chin. "And where is it?"

Jisung smirked. "That’s where things get interesting. There’s a high-profile event happening this weekend in Prague. A charity gala except the only charity involved is rich assholes patting themselves on the back while laundering money."

Y/N crossed her arms. "And let me guess, someone attending has the hard drive?"

Jisung nodded. "Bingo. His name is Viktor Ivanov. On paper, he’s a respected businessman, philanthropist, all that bullshit. But in reality? He’s got his hands in everything from illegal arms, human trafficking,to black market trades. And he’s worked with Reynolds before. If anyone has the missing piece of evidence, it’s him."

Chan’s gaze darkened. "So, we go in, retrieve the hard drive, and get out."

Jisung chuckled. "Easier said than done. Security’s gonna be tight armed guards, facial recognition, the works. This isn’t some back-alley operation. We’ll have to blend in, go undercover."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Undercover? Like… black-tie event undercover?"

Jisung grinned. "Oh yeah. Time to break out the fancy clothes, sweetheart. You and Chan are gonna have to play the part of a wealthy couple."

Chan let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Great."

Y/N smirked at his reaction. "Not a fan of suits, Ryan?"

Chan shot her a look. "Just focus on the mission, Andi." Jisung clapped his hands together. "Alright, lovebirds. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the gala. Hope you’re ready, ‘cause once we’re in, there’s no turning back."

---

The safe house was quiet at night, save for the faint hum of computers and the distant sound of cars passing outside. The air was thick with an eerie calm, a stark contrast to the chaotic lives they were leading. Y/N padded down the stairs in her socks, her initial plan being to grab a drink and head back to bed. But as she entered the dimly lit living room, she paused, noticing Jisung sitting by the window, his back to her.

Multiple monitors flickered in front of him, casting an artificial glow over his face. The TV beside him slowly transitioned through lines of data, profiles, security footage, encrypted messages. He had his legs pulled up onto the chair, one hand lazily clicking through files while the other tapped absentmindedly on the desk. "You don’t sleep?" Yn asked, leaning against the kitchen counter as she opened a bottle of water.

Jisung turned slightly but didn’t seem surprised by her presence. "Not when there’s work to do," he replied, eyes still glued to the screens. "Hyung doesn’t say it, but I know he’s stressed. Figured I’d help him sort out some of the security details before the weekend."

Y/N took a sip of her drink, watching the data flash across the TV. "That’s… actually really nice of you." Jisung let out a small chuckle. "I know, I’m an angel." He stretched his arms, his fingers cracking from hours of typing. "Oh, and I ordered what you guys are gonna wear for the gala. Should be here by tomorrow."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You already know my size?"

Jisung smirked. "Please, I’ve been in this line of work long enough to tell at a glance."

Yn rolled her eyes but smiled, walking over to where he sat. As she glanced at the multiple screens, curiosity gnawed at her. "Hey, Jisung… can I ask you something?"

He hummed, still typing away. "Sure. What’s up?"

"Were you also ex-FBI like Chan?"

Jisung snorted. "Me? Hell no. I wouldn’t last a day under all those strict-ass rules." He leaned back in his chair, finally turning to look at her. "I was just a hacker. A really, really good one. But that also meant I ended up working for some of the worst people."

Yn’s brows furrowed. "Then… how did you meet Chan?"

Jisung’s smirk faded slightly, and for a moment, he was quiet. The only sound in the room was the quiet whirring of the hard drive. Then, he sighed.

"Chan was supposed to kill me."

Y/N blinked. "What?"

Jisung nodded, his gaze distant now, as if remembering something far away. "Back then, I was working as an informant for a guy Chan had been hunting. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was just good with tech, and they paid well. But when Chan found out I was feeding them intel, he was sent to put a bullet in my head."

Y/N swallowed, watching as Jisung tapped his fingers against the desk. "I was on my knees," Jisung continued, his voice quieter now. "Gun pressed to my skull, and I was sure I was gonna die. But then, just as he was about to pull the trigger… my phone rang."

Y/N felt her heart tighten. "Who was calling?"

Jisung smiled faintly. "Minho. H-He was my boyfriend."

A heavy silence settled between them. Jisung took a deep breath before continuing. "Chan hesitated. He’s got this thing… he hates killing people who have someone waiting for them. Innocent people. I guess in his mind, if you have a loved one, you can’t be all bad." He scoffed. "So, he lowered the gun. And that should’ve been the end of it."

Y/N’s throat felt dry. "But it wasn’t."

Jisung shook his head. "No. Because after that, he found out the agency had lied to him. They told him I had no loved ones, no attachments. That I was just another loose end to tie up. But when he realized they’d fed him false intel, he snapped."

"So, what did he do?" Yn asked.

Jisung let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, he kept me. Bound me, made me work for him until the mission ended. Made sure I couldn’t run, couldn’t betray him. But instead of torturing me, he made me dig. He forced me to look into the agency. And that’s how I found it—the betrayal."

Y/N felt her chest tighten. "You’re the one who helped him uncover it."

Jisung nodded. "Yeah. I was the one who pulled up the records. The fake mission reports. The buried files. The orders that didn’t make sense. And when we pieced it all together… that’s when Chan knew he had to get out." Y/N stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. She had known Chan had gone through betrayal, but hearing it from Jisung, someone who had been tangled in the mess firsthand made it all the more real.

"So, after all that… he let you go?" she asked softly.

Jisung grinned, though there was something tired behind it. "Yeah. But instead of running, I stuck around. Guess I figured if someone like Chan, who was trained to be a weapon, could turn against the people who made him… then maybe I could, too."

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "That’s… that’s insane." Jisung laughed, spinning his chair around. "Yeah. But life’s more fun that way, don’t you think?"

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced toward the hallway where Chan had gone to sleep. Everything about him made a little more sense now.

She turned back to Jisung. "Thanks for telling me."

Jisung gave her a small salute. "Don’t mention it. And hey, try not to get killed at the gala, yeah? I worked really hard picking out that dress for you."

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she stood. "Goodnight, Jisung."

"Night, Andi."

As she walked back upstairs, her mind replayed everything Jisung had said, the pieces of Chan’s past coming together like a puzzle she wasn’t sure she was ready to see completed.

---

The smell of food lingered in the air, warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension of the past few days. The scent of eggs, toasted bread, and something slightly savory maybe sausage or bacon drifted through the quiet safe house. Sunlight filtered weakly through the dusty curtains, casting soft shadows across the living room. You groggily sat up in bed, stretching before slipping out into the open space that served as both a kitchen and living area. The sight that greeted her was unexpected. Jisung was sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling over the side, his mouth slightly open as he slept. His laptop was still open on the coffee table, its screen dimmed but faintly glowing with lines of code and security details he had probably been working on until he passed out. A blanket was lazily draped over him probably Chan’s doing.

Speaking of Chan…

You turned your gaze to the kitchen, where the man himself stood, finishing up breakfast. He was dressed casually, black sweatpants and a loose t-shirt but there was a methodical precision in how he moved, from the way he flipped the eggs to how he plated the food with practiced ease. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he set a dish down, and you had to remind herself not to stare too long.

He must’ve sensed your presence because he glanced over his shoulder. "You're up." His voice was slightly rough, as if he hadn’t spoken much yet this morning. "You good?"

You nodded sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. "Yeah… What time is it?"

"Late enough for breakfast." He turned back to the counter, grabbing a plate, and you assumed it was for you. Your stomach grumbled softly at the sight of warm food, and you took a step forward—

Only to watch as Chan walked straight past you. She blinked, caught off guard, as he headed to the couch, crouching down beside Jisung. With careful ease, he nudged the younger man's shoulder. "Wake up, Ji. Eat."

Jisung groaned, shifting slightly but refusing to open his eyes. Chan huffed, setting the plate down on the coffee table before nudging him again, this time a little firmer. "Don’t make me force-feed you."

Jisung cracked an eye open, barely awake. "Mmm, five more minutes…"

Chan’s response was unimpressed. "You said that three hours ago." Jisung groaned dramatically, but the smell of food seemed to win him over. With sluggish movements, he pushed himself upright, rubbing his face as he blindly reached for the plate. "You're a saint, hyung… a scary saint, but still."

You scoffed quietly to herself, shaking your head as you moved to the counter. You grabbed a plate and served yourself, but as you sat down at the small dining table, your eyes flicked toward the couch.

Chan’s actions weren’t anything grand, nothing overly affectionate, but there was a certain care in the way he handled Jisung. The way he made sure he ate first. The way he woke him up with just enough force to be effective, but not enough to startle him. Even the way he placed the plate within easy reach like this was second nature. Jisung, despite his usual joking and laid-back nature, didn’t argue. He simply ate, barely keeping his eyes open as he muttered a soft "Thanks, hyung."

Chan grunted in response before returning to the kitchen.

You quickly focused on your food, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in your chest.

After a few moments of quiet eating, Chan finally spoke again. "Hey, Andi. The drive—can you get it for me?"

You looked up, still chewing, before nodding. You wiped your hands on a napkin and pushed back your chair, heading toward your bag where you had stashed the device. Retrieving it, you walked back and held it out. Chan took it without a second glance and without even checking it first passed it straight to Jisung.

Jisung, now slightly more awake, caught it lazily and smirked. "Damn, no trust issues at all, huh?"

Chan shot him a look. "Just work."

You watched as Jisung plugged the drive into his laptop, the screen flickering to life. Whatever information was on there, it was important. But as Chan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and calculating, she couldn't help but wonder,

Just how much trust had been built between these two for things to flow this naturally?

Jisung sat slouched on the couch, still recovering from sleep as he shoveled food into his mouth with one hand while lazily scrolling through the files on his laptop with the other. His eyes flickered across the screen, scanning the reports and documents, occasionally squinting as if processing something particularly interesting.

Chan sat nearby, sipping his coffee in silence, while Yn leaned against the counter, observing the exchange. The safe house was quiet aside from the faint clacking of Jisung’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of cutlery against plates. Then, Jisung’s phone rang.

His head snapped up, eyes darting to the device on the coffee table. The second he saw the caller ID, a light pink hue dusted his cheeks.

You, ever the observer, caught the reaction immediately. Jisung coughed into his fist before scrambling to grab his phone, swiping to answer with a voice softer than either of them had ever heard from him.

"Yeobo?"

You’s eyebrows shot up. Chan blinked.

Jisung barely noticed their reactions, completely immersed in the voice on the other end. His entire demeanor softened, the playful smugness slipping away to reveal something more vulnerable more genuine. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of his laptop, his lips quirking up into a fond, almost dreamy smile.

"No, no, I’m fine. I just woke up, actually… Yeah, I know, but hyung made me eat, so don’t worry." He paused, listening intently. His expression wavered between shy and utterly smitten.

You smirked as you watched him, your curiosity piqued. Who could possibly turn Jisung the fast-talking, cocky informant into this lovesick mess? Chan, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, though a barely perceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Jisung hummed in response to something the caller said, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. His ears were definitely turning red.

"Mhm… No, I’m safe, I promise. I would tell you if anything happened."

There was a pause. Then Jisung chuckled, low and warm, his entire body relaxing into the couch. His voice dropped into something softer, more intimate.

"You always worry too much, Min. But I like that about you."

You nearly choked on your coffee.

Chan raised an eyebrow but said nothing, merely tilting his head as if evaluating how long this little lovesick performance would last. Jisung, oblivious to their reactions, sighed contently before mumbling, "난 널 너무 사랑해, 여보." I love you so much, honey.

He paused, biting his lip before grinning like a fool. "Mm, yeah, me too. I’ll call you later, okay? Take care of yourself. Bye, baby." He hung up with a dopey smile still lingering on his face.

A beat of silence passed before you, unable to help yourself, leaned forward with a knowing smirk. "So, he drives you that lovesick, huh?" Jisung scoffed, but the blush on his face gave him away. "Tch. I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You gave him an unimpressed look. "Jisung, you just called him ‘yeobo’ in the first two seconds of answering the call. And if I’m correct that translates to sweetheart." Chan finally spoke, his voice laced with mild amusement. "How do you know about Minho?"

Jisung, still stuck in his post-call haze, simply shrugged before mumbling, "I told her." Chan's expression shifted slightly, something calculating flickering in his eyes. He leaned back, arms crossed, studying both of them before exhaling through his nose. "Huh."

You turned to him. "What?"

Chan shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Just didn't think Ji would spill his tragic backstory so easily."

Jisung rolled his eyes. "It’s not tragic, it’s romantic." You snorted. "Yeah, because getting nearly executed was so romantic." Jisung pointed at you. "Exactly. Life-or-death romance is the best kind." Chan sighed, rubbing his temples. "You two are going to give me a headache."

You grinned, nudging Jisung. "Well, at least now I know what kind of mess you turn into when Minho calls."

Jisung groaned, throwing himself back onto the couch. "I will never live this down, will I?"

You and Chan shared a look before replying in unison.

"Nope."

Are you loving this? I am!!

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you.

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @alisonyus @rockstarkkami @morkleesgirl @yoongiismylove2018 @imeverycliche @katchowbbie @pixie-felix @maisyyyyyy @katyxstay @day138 @necrozica @nebugalaxy @strsforjsb @iknowyouknowminho @pessimisticloather @imagine-all-the-imagines @jc27s @igotajuicyass @jitrulyslayyed @sh0dor1 @idiotmaterial @leeknow-minho2 @btskzfav @glenda2107-blog @jeonginnieswifey @makeawitchoutofme @nikki143777 @sharnnnnnn @akindaflora @chungdol @lillymochilover @lixies-favorite-cookie @idol-dream-catcher @heartsbystars @depressedarlling @hhwangsmoon @boyfiechan (thank you for the mention bubs 💗)

Check out my pinned if you want to be added to the taglist!

~kc 💗

Reposting for me (y is reporting and reposting only a one letter difference?)

Number Neighbor | Masterlist

pairing: Fanboy! Han Jisung x Youtuber! Reader

genre: Social media! AU; fluff, comedy, sightly angst.

↳ Jisung has been a fan of y/n since he can remember, what will happen when y/n posts her new youtube video texting her number neighbor who turned out to be Jisung?

Intro 01 | Intro 02

-

part 0 part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 7.1 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 27.1 part 28 part 29 part 30

(…)

[ 10:49 am ] Your eyes were fixated on Seungmin the whole lunch.

Your friends and his decided to have lunch together so that they could all grow closer together, but you knew your best friend had another reason for doing so.

Your eyes never left his face, and you knew it was wrong to stare but you couldn't bring it in yourself to look away.

He's so eye catching.

He looked up, feeling as if someone was watching him, but once he looked around, he couldn't find a pair of eyes on him.

Thanks to your amazing reaction time, you had looked down at your phone— that wasn't even on— the time he had looked up.

You wait for a few seconds, trying to pretend that you were listening to the topic of the conversations your friends were having, but in reality you just wanted to get back to observing Kim Seungmin.

Your patience ran out and you look back up to him, but you were met with familiar black pupils.

Seungmin.

Your eyes widened, and he smiles(at you? maybe), letting out a small giggle. Going back to having a conversation with Jeongin, leaving you in a state of embarrassment.

Sky’s Library:

If you’re finding this first PLEASE read this post

Welcome to my library!! Stay awhile!! 🤍📖

REQUESTS STATUS: OPEN

Guide:

🤍- Bangchan

💪🏻- Changbin

💐- Han Jisung

🐚- Felix

🍄- I.N

🌈- Hyunjin

🪐- Lee Minho

🫧- Seungmin

Stray Kids:

Fake Texts:

The Boys Are Jealous Of Your Date

Pt. 1[🤍💪🏻🪐]

Pt. 2 [💐🐚]

Pt. 3 [🌈🍄🫧]

Friends to Lovers Series: 🤍

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6…Loading

[1] The boys ask for intimate advice

{🤍💪🏻🐚💐🍄🪐🌈🫧}

[2] The Aftermath of Your Advice …Loading

{🤍💪🏻🐚💐🍄🪐🌈🫧}

Husband! SKZ Texts:

[💐]

[💪🏻]

[🐚]…Loading

[🫧]…Loading

[🪐]…Loading

[🍄]…Loading

[🤍]…Loading

[🌈]…Loading

SMAU’s:

…Loading

Written Works:

{By Request Only}

Chaumet Event [🫧]

RQ: @nightmarenyxx

Accidentally In Enemies

He accidentally made her hate him, now he's going to purposely make her fall in love with him.

Pairing : Seo Changbin x Reader

Synopsis : When they were together, she rarely saw him. Now that they're broken up, she sees him everywhere. Changbin ends up swooping in and saving her from embarrassment. Now she has a clingy enemy and a much too friendly ex.

Warnings : This series will contain mature subject matter such as : swearing, drinking, break ups, insults, heartbreak, sex (no smut), fake dating, and more. Each chapter will have its own list of warnings. Reader's discretion is advised.

Taglist : CLOSED

Release : February 2, 2024

complete

{Let the story begin}

Teaser (0.7k)

Prologue (1.5k)

Part 1 (2.9k)

Part 2 (3.6k)

Part 3 (2.7k)

Epilogue (1.4k)

Great work

Masterlist

Below you will find our new and updated Masterlist, containing the characters we’ve written for as well as events that we’ve held. Now I am aware that for some people on Mobile that these links don’t work, unfortunately I have no idea as to why they don’t work and there isn’t much I can do about it. Some of these links may not lead anywhere or come up empty because we haven’t written for some of the characters yet but rather they are ones some of us will be writing for from now on. I hope this helps all of you my Little Rogues.

Class 1A

Eijiro Kirishima

Izuku Midoriya

Katsuki Bakugou

Mashirao Ojiro

Denki Kaminari

Koji Kouda

Shouto Todoroki

Tenya Iida

Fumikage Tokoyami

Mezou Shouji

Hanta Sero

Yuuga Aoyama

Mina Ashido

Kyouka Jirou

Ochaco Uraraka

Tsuyu Asui

Momo Yaoyorozu

Tooru Hagakure

~

Class 1B

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Monoma Neito

Yosetsu Awase

Shihai Kuriro

Itsuka Kendo

Yui Kodai

Kinoko Komori

Ibara Shiozaki

Pony Tsunotori

Setsuna Tokage

~

Other Classes

Tamaki Amajiki

Mirio Togata

Nejire Hadou

Yuyu Haya

Hitoshi Shinsou

Mei Hatsume

~

Other Schools

Inasa Yaorashi

Camie Utsushimi

Yo Shindo

Tatami Nakagame

Kashiko Sekigai

~

Pro-Heroes/Others

Hawks

Tsunagu Hakamata (Best Jeanist)

Shinya Kamihara (Edgeshot)

Rumi Usagiyama (Miruko/Mirko)

Ryuko Tatsuma (Ryukyu)

Kugo Sakamata (Gang Orca)

Yu Takeyama (Mt. Lady)

Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fatgum)

Shino Sosaki (Mandalay)

Ryuko Tsuchikawa (Pixie-Bob)

Tomoko Shiretoko (Ragdoll)

Sir Nighteye

Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead) / Dadzawa

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic)

Toshinori Yagi (All Might)

Ectoplasm

Nemuri Kayama (Midnight)

Ken Ishiyama (Cementoss)

Snipe

Higari Maijima (Power Loader)

Sekijiro Kan (Vlad King)

Emi Fukukado (Ms. Joke)

Rei Todoroki

Sirius

Kaoruko Awata (Bubble Girl)

Eri

Nezu

Tensei Iida (Ingenium)

Shinji Nishiya (Kamui Woods)

~

Villains

Tomura Shigaraki

Kurogiri

Dabi

Himiko Toga

Jin Bubaigawara (Twice)

Shuichi Iguchi (Spinner)

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress)

Kai Chisaki (Overhaul)

Hari Kurono (Chronostasis)

Shin Nemoto

Kendo Rappa

Chizome Akaguro (Stain)

All For One

Gentle

La Brava

~

Type

Scenarios

Headcanons

~

Themes

Orange

Lime

Lemon

Grapefruit

Angst

Hurt

Comfort

Fluff

Platonic

Character x Character

Art

Poly

Emergency Requests

~

AU’s

Omegaverse

Villain AU

Fantasy AU

God AU

Witch AU

Dragon AU

Supernatural AU

Mermaid AU

Kitsune AU

Vampire AU

Shapeshifter AU

Demon AU

Zombie AU

Apocalypse AU

Stripper AU

Elf AU

~

Writer Mods

Mod Lady Lucifer (Lady Bitch Tits)

Mod Pasta

Mod Miss Magpie

~

Art Mods

Mod Void

Mod Kitten

Mod Bready

~

Retired Mods

Mod Eclipse / Momma Dragon / Undead Raven

Mod Inky

Mod Pumpkin

Mod Shortcake

Mod Pomme

Mod Sourpatch

~

Events

Explodoweek 2018

700 Followers Event

Mirio Weekend Event

Christmas 2017 Event

New Years 2018 Event

Demon Event

Birthday Event

PastaLosta Event

𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝙺𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Welcome to my masterlist! I hope that you enjoy 💕 I write a bit of everything and all of the readers in my work are people of color and/or chubby or plus size. I think it's important to provide this representation for my community! Of course everyone is welcome to read my work but I just wanted to note how I view the reader when I write my work! Thank you ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse !

Also Here are my request/ ask guideline! → Guidelines

Sparkle Banner by @anitalenia

Legend:

🔥 Smut - MDNI  - Explicit Sexual Content

⚠️Angst - MDNI - Emotionally Strong and/or Graphic Content

☁️ Fluff - Sweet and Sugary Content

♾️Fluff, Angst and Smut - A bit of everything [The most dominant theme will be next to the infinity]

✧Please pay attention to the warnings for each story! ✧

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐞?

𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙷𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙷𝚊𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚂𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙸.𝙽 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙾𝚃8 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

COCKY.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to be a participant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Nope. Not going there.

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

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

“What face?”

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

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

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

“Oh,” she whispers. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gape at her. “Stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet me tonight. Hotel Mira. 8 PM.

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

You blink, still recovering. “The station?”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Room 1003.

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

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

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

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

-

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

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m ready when you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “Completely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You meet his gaze. "Obviously."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Her eyes narrow. "What’s this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I talk to you?”

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

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

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

You clear your throat. “Right now?”

He nods. “If you’re free.”

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

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

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

-

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

Pushing those thoughts aside, you knock.

"Come in."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shoot him a look. "Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight. Same place.

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

Understood. See you then.

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

…Right?

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

You force a smile. “Yeah. Totally.”

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

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

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

“Hey, can we talk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Dinner first. 7 PM. La Riviera.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easier said than done.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One suite, please,” he says smoothly.

Your head snaps toward him. “A suite?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pop!

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

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

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

But then—

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

You shoot him a glare. “I’m not—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen slightly. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You feel perfect," he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scribble his words down, keeping your head low.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris tilts his head. "The durability test?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw tightens. “I’m not scared.”

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

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

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

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink your eyes at him, nonplussed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To his surprise, you whisper, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Chris is in the shower.

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

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

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

Your lips part in disbelief. "You what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I wanted to see you.”

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

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

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

“And what?”

He grins. “Feel better?”

You scoff. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

And that annoys you.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression softens slightly. “Ah.”

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

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

You look at him questioningly.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris’s fingers trail down your body with deliberate slowness, his touch igniting warmth everywhere he grazes. His lips brush against your ear as his fingers tease along your inner thigh, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re already trembling,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement and something deeper—something that makes your stomach tighten. “Are you nervous or just impatient?”

You don’t answer, not when his fingers finally slip between your legs, parting you with ease and easily finds your clit as it pulsates with each gentle rub. He does it for a long moment, waiting until you're wet enough for him to slip his two fingers inside you. A soft gasp escapes before you can stop it, and Chris hums in approval, pressing a lingering kiss just below your jaw.

“You always take me so well,” he whispers, his fingers moving in slow, calculated pumps that make your toes curl. “And you’re already clenching around me… How do you think you’ll handle me when I’m actually inside you?”

The words alone send heat rushing through you, but it’s the way he says them—low and coaxing, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. You turn your face into his shoulder, gripping onto him as if grounding yourself, but Chris only chuckles.

“Don’t hide from me,” he coaxes, shifting so he can watch your face. “I want to see everything.”

He curls his fingers inside to get to your sensitive spot, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you, and your breath stutters. Chris smiles against your cheek, his voice softer now, gentler.

“Just relax,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your body tightens around his fingers as the pleasure builds, your breath hitching with every precise movement of his hand. Chris watches you intently, his dark eyes flickering with something both possessive and admiring as he feels you getting closer.

"That's it," he whispers, his lips grazing your temple. "You’re so good for me."

His thumb circles your clit just right, and the tension in your body unravels all at once. A sharp cry slips from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you trembling in his arms. Chris doesn’t stop right away—he works you through it, dragging out every last wave until you're gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders for stability.

When you finally go limp against him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, his voice warm and full of praise. "So beautiful when you come around my fingers like that," he murmurs, his fingers slipping away only to trail soothingly along your thigh.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Think you’re ready for me now?" he asks, a teasing grin playing at his lips.

Despite his words, he gives you a moment to climb down your high, touching you, kissing you, keeping you heated just enough for the next one.

When he deems you're ready, he settles himself between your legs and take another moment to warm you up, sliding his cock between your folds, intentionally lubricating it with your essence.

The moment he starts to push his cock into your entrance, you whimper, your fingers gripping the sheets. He stills immediately, his brows furrowing.

“Still hurts?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, tinted with concern.

You shake your head instinctively, but he isn’t convinced. His large hands massage your hips soothingly, and for a moment, he just stays there, warm and solid against you. Then, as if making a decision, he leans down, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades before murmuring against your skin, “There’s more than one way to do this.”

Before you can ask what he means, he shifts, gently guiding you onto your stomach. His hands coax your legs together, and then you feel it—his length settling between your thighs, snug and heavy. He lets out a low hum of approval as he starts a slow, deliberate movement, sliding his cock against you, the condom still doing its job.

“This works just fine for the test,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. “No need for penetration.”

The new sensation sends a shiver through you. His body is warm against your back, his arms caging you in as he moves, taking his time. His above average cock allowing him to hit your clit for every time he thrusts forward. Every deliberate stroke of his tip on your clit has you squirming, and when he presses his lips to your ear, his breath hot, he whispers, “You feel so good like this… almost better than the real thing.”

His hands grip your waist, guiding you to match his rhythm, and before you know it, the tension in your body builds again. The sensation overwhelms you, and with one final push of pleasure, you come undone beneath him, trembling as the feeling washes over you. Chris lets out a low groan, his own release following moments after.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as your breathing evens out, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else disappears.

Chris lets out a content sigh, his grip on you loosening slightly as he shifts onto his side, still keeping you close. He presses a lazy kiss against the back of your shoulder before murmuring, “Well, I gotta say, the condom held up pretty well.”

You blink in confusion, still trying to come down from your high. “What?”

He chuckles, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you. “You know… the test? The whole reason we’re here?” His smirk deepens when you don’t respond right away. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Heat rushes to your face as you realize he’s right. You were so caught up in the moment, in him, that you completely forgot this was supposed to be about work. You scowl at his teasing tone, but Chris only grins wider.

“That’s cute,” he muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re really slacking as a researcher, you know? Getting too distracted by your test subject.”

You groan, pushing at his chest, but he just laughs, rolling onto his back with a smug expression. “Don’t worry,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “We can always run more tests. Just to be thorough.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know you’re in trouble—because a part of you is already considering it.

Chris stretches his arms behind his head, still lounging in the bed with that smug expression. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Should we order some room service?”

You hesitate, still tangled in the sheets, still feeling the lingering heat between you. But the idea of food is tempting, and you nod. “Yeah… okay.”

Chris grins, reaching for the hotel’s menu on the nightstand. “Good. I was gonna order anyway, but I figured I’d be polite and ask.”

You scoff but let it slide, watching as he casually flips through the options. He orders for both of you without asking what you want, but somehow, he picks exactly what you would have chosen.

When the food arrives, the two of you settle onto the couch, eating in comfortable silence for a while. The tension from earlier has softened into something almost… normal. Like this is just another dinner, another night spent together. Then, as you poke at your plate, you find yourself speaking without really thinking. “Thanks, by the way.”

Chris glances up from his food. “For what?”

You shift slightly, feeling a little awkward. “For earlier. For not… pushing it when I said it hurt.”

Chris leans back, setting his fork down. He studies you for a moment before giving a small shrug. “I told you before, didn’t I? I wasn’t gonna do anything you weren’t ready for.”

You swallow, feeling something tighten in your chest.

Chris smirks, sensing the shift in your expression. “What? Surprised I’m a decent guy?”

You roll your eyes. “A little.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me.” But there’s something softer in his eyes now, something that makes you look away before he can read too much into your expression.

Chris doesn’t push. Instead, he just picks up his fork again, casually adding, “Guess that means we’ll just have to try again next time.”

Your stomach flips. “Next time?”

Chris just grins. “Unless you’re saying the test is complete?”

You don’t answer, and his smirk widens as he takes another bite of his food.

-

The morning sunlight filters through the hotel suite’s curtains as you fasten the last button of your blouse, trying to ignore the way Chris watches you from across the room. He’s standing by the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt, looking far too put together for someone who spent the night in a hotel bed with you.

"You’re quiet this morning," he comments, slipping on his watch.

You smooth down the hem of your dress, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. "Just thinking about work."

He looks relaxed—too relaxed, considering the nature of your conversation.

"So," he says, tapping the fork against his thigh, "how are you planning to refine the product?"

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus. "I need to get more participant feedback, obviously. We’ve tested the fit, but durability and performance still need more trials."

Chris hums in acknowledgment, but there’s a knowing glint in his eyes. "And how do I rank as a participant?"

You shoot him a look, trying not to let the memory of the night’s events creep back into your mind. "You're… useful," you answer carefully.

He chuckles at that. "Just useful? After everything?"

You press your lips together, ignoring his teasing tone. "I mean it, Chris. But I need more participants for a thorough evaluation."

At that, his amusement fades slightly. He sits up straighter, turning toward you. "More participants, huh?"

You nod, scribbling something in your notebook to avoid looking at him. "It’s necessary for better data."

Chris is quiet for a moment, then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warmth. "I get it," he says, voice softer now. "Just don’t forget who was here first."

You finally glance up at him, and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. There’s something unreadable in his expression—not quite jealousy, but not far from it either.

You swallow. "Of course not."

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he nudges your knee with his. "So, should I clear my schedule for next weekend?"

You exhale, shaking your head. "I’ll let you know."

Chris grins, leaning back onto his elbows. "Can’t wait."

You roll your eyes, not indulging him with an answer. Instead, you head toward the door, but just as you reach for the handle, Chris beats you to it, leaning down slightly.

"Leaving without a goodbye?" he teases, voice low.

You glance at him, hesitating for half a second before sighing. "Goodbye, Chris."

As you walk down the quiet hotel corridor, your thoughts swirl between the pressure of finalizing your product and the undeniable truth that you still need more data. More tests.

You tighten your grip on your bag, exhaling sharply. That’s what this is about—work. Research. A product that needs to be perfected before it can move forward.

And yet, as you recall the way Chris looked at you before you left, the way he smirked at the idea of "more participants," a different kind of tension settles in your chest.

Finalizing your product soon is the goal. But a small, dangerous part of you wonders if maybe… just maybe… you’re not quite ready to be done with the testing phase.

-

As you're walking through the office hallway, your mind is still clouded with the remnants of the weekend—Chris’s touch, his whispered praises, the way he held you close even after everything was over. Every time you close your eyes, flashes of that night play in your head, making warmth creep up your neck. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it as you step into your lab, determined to focus on work. But the moment you walk in, you freeze.

There’s a man already inside, leaning lazily against the counter, his posture relaxed yet confident, like he’s been waiting for you. The overhead lights cast sharp angles on his sharp jawline, his lips curled into a smirk that feels almost too self-assured. He straightens when he sees you, his eyes—dark, playful—sweeping over you in quiet amusement.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he steps forward. "Finally," he drawls, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "I was starting to think I had the wrong lab."

You blink, caught off guard. He doesn’t look like he belongs here—his presence too bold, too magnetic for the clinical atmosphere of your workspace. "I'm sorry but who are you?" you ask, wary.

He stops just a breath away, the distance between you charged with something you can’t quite place. Then, with a cocky tilt of his head, he offers his hand.

"Han Jisung," he introduces himself, his smirk widening as his fingers brush against yours. "Your new test participant."

Your stomach drops and for a second, all you can do is stare.

"Looks like we’ll be working pretty closely together," he adds, voice dripping with amusement. "I hope you're ready for me."

And just like that, your carefully maintained world tilts off its axis.

-

The second chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page. ✨

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I can't wait for some more 😍😍

The Songbird of Asgard

Chapter 1

Welp, I've been convinced. Please interact so I know if anyone actually reads this XD. Heimdall comes in about halfway through. He'll be more present in any upcoming parts.

Heimdall x fem!named reader, name is used as little as possible

Words: 9.8k.

Warnings: swearing, Heimdall being his bitchy self. Odin manipulating people, as usual.

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Blurb: To say your life changed in a matter of hours would be an understatement. 

The night before, you were alone in your room, a place that wasn’t even in this realm. But just twenty-four hours later, you were in Asgard, starting fresh, and on the back of a giant beast with probably the most pompous, condescending, and insufferable god that’s ever lived.

All this because Thor just so happened to crash through your roof. The norns are mocking you, surely… 

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The clinking of glass jars was the only sound. Bottles moved from your table up onto a shelf, no longer needed now that your chore was complete. Another round of elixirs, for what exactly you weren’t sure, you never kept track anymore. They were always useful for the elves.

Useful. That was what they always said. That seems to be all you were nowadays.

You sighed, breaking the silence in your tiny room. This was one of the largest outposts the light elves had in Alfheim, one of the few strongholds they had when the Light temple was not within their control, as it was now. Regardless of that, this was your home – the only one you knew, at least.

The jars were abandoned after you took a few strides to arrive at your bookshelf, a finger wandering across the spines of books you've read a hundred times. Another sigh, after you found no interest in reading one of them yet again. Your eyes scanned the room, filled with nothing but a wooden chest next to your bed and a table with a few chairs by a window. How mundane it felt. You thought you'd be accustomed to it by now. Being a tool of war must have made you immune to the comfort of consistency.

You shook your head at the thought, reminding yourself not to be so pessimistic. The elves cared for you, gave you a home. A goddess left with nothing and no one, they could have left you. But they took you in, and you had to help them in return. You weren't an elf, their war was simply something you couldn't possibly understand, that was all.

That's what you had been telling yourself for at least a century now.

The thought was shoved away again as you decided to retrieve your lyre from your chest. Sweet melodies that were plucked from its strings were among the few things you never tired of.

Then there was a sound.

Sound was the wrong word. A boom, a crash, an explosion. Something like that came from the distance. Normal, considering the constant warring within the real and therefore far from drawing attention. But this time it felt different.

Almost like…thunder?

You squinted at the window, seeing a flash of blue rocket into the sky. You took a single step to investigate before it happened.

It burst through your roof, the cacophony of destruction so shocking that you flew back until your back hit the wall by your bed with a hand over your chest, desperately trying to calm your pounding heart. The early morning sun was just barely over the horizon, leaving little light to help you see just what was before you. The dust was settling, thinning enough that you could make out some monstrous object in the center, but ultimately you were stumped.

Until it moved.

You jumped again as the entity twitched and groaned, slowly sitting up.

Okay…this was a man then. He slowly and clumsily rose to his feet, standing so high that his head was poking into the massive hole he had just made. He wouldn't even fit in the room if the roof was still there.

Based on that alone – well, and the lingering sparks of lightning – you had an idea of exactly who this was.

You heard a curse from him as he rolled his shoulders, turning around to have a look at where he was. His dazed eyes landed on you. He froze.

Silence. Then…

"Hey."

How eloquent, you thought to yourself. A son of Odin literally smashes into your home and can barely offer a greeting in return. "Hello," you replied, your disbelief at, well, everything in front of you, overwhelmed by the fear of the god. You knew all the stories, knew how much mayhem and carnage the Aesir would bring when crossed. You were not keen on becoming one of those stories.

Thor glanced up at the roof, then back down at you, only about half his size. "Hope I uh…didn't scare ya too much." The slur in his speech was stronger than the smell of alcohol emanating from him, and that was an impressive feat. He snapped his fingers, leaving you wondering what he was asking from you. Until the whir of electrified metal sounded and the signature form of Mjolnir rammed through your wall and into his waiting hand.

"Eh…sorry, 'bout all that. Lost control of Mjolnir for a sec," he shrugged.

"I…understand?" Really, you didn't, not in the slightest. But what would anyone say to that?

From the newly installed skylight came the flap of bird's wings until a caw sounded. A raven with blue-tipped feathers landed on one of the chunks of roof that was just barely staying in place.

You felt your heart nearly stop. With Thor here, there was no secret who that raven represented.

And yet…it didn't even look at tou. It's eyes scanned your room but skipped right over you. Like you were invisible.

Another caw rose from its beak, aimed at Thor.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm gettin' there. Can't you see I'm busy." Thor gestured towards you with his hammer, drawing the bird's eyes to you. Only this time they stayed. Noticing you.

You had a feeling you knew why, but thought it strange regardless.

The raven stared at you, hints of green flickering across its black eyes. "Well," Thor grunted, turning towards your door. How you dreaded his departure. As terrible as his entrance was, you worried for the door that he definitely wouldn't fit through. "I got shit to do, so uh…see ya, I guess." A hand was carelessly waved at you before reaching for the door. To your surprise and palpable relief, he managed to squeeze through without doing more than disturbing the dirt that settled on the walls.

And that was it. Thor left. But the raven remained.

For a moment you considered saying somthing to it. But this raven was a messenger, and you weren't sure just how much material it had to deliver already.

"Muninn!" Thor shouted from outside. The bird looked at you just a second longer before taking off after Thor. With the roar of hundreds of bird's wings and the silence that followed, the ordeal was over.

Twelve hours. That was all it took.

You were sitting on your bed, preparing to rest for the night. A bit earlier than usual, but cleaning the destruction left behind by the god of thunder was more than enough work for one. Stone wasn't easy to move after all.

Three knocks, thunderous and heavy, nothing like the knock of any elf you knew. You were too tired to care exactly who needed you at the moment and simply went to answer it, intending to send them away as soon as possible. It could be Ymir for all you cared, now was not the time.

Or so you thought. Upon opening the door you found Thor, once again. Not alone this time. An old man stood in front of him, two ravens taking off from his shoulders and into your room.

Suddenly you wished it was Ymir at your door. At least he wouldn't have sucked the fatigue out of you as Odin did.

"Pardon the intrusion, miss. Mind if we come in?" You nodded silently, still processing the scene before you. Thor was close behind his father as he entered.

"Please, take a seat at–" You stopped mid gesture, realizing your table was no more than splinters now.

Oding chuckled, sounding friendly. "My son's handiwork, I'm sure. Part of the reason I'm here, actually." He reached in his pocket while Thor dug a bottle of mead from somewhere (you didn't want to know where) and started chugging it down. Odin held out his hand, prompting you to do the same.

Coins were dropped into your palm.

Absolutely bemused, you looked back at him.

"For the roof," Odin explained. "Thor breaks just about everything he finds, so I've made a habit of compensating his victims."

"Oh, um…thank you?" was all you said. That was it?

He pulled up a chair from against a wall, the only chair to survive Thor's fall, and sat down, requesting you to sit on your bed. Odin seemed to ignore his son completely then.

"Now, my dear, you have me curious." You cringed at the pet name he used but said nothing. "I don't pay too much attention to elves, but never did I find a goddess to be among them…where did you come from, exactly?"

His tone was light but the sting of something lying underneath his words shone through. He was clearly irked that he didn't know about you. "I've lived here my entire life, actually." You tried to sound as confident and collected as you could despite your heart feeling like it was about to spring from your chest.

"Really? From the look of you I'd say you're Aesir."

"I'm of Asgardian descent, on my mother's side."

A grey eyebrow rose. Not out of curiosity. Surprise. Like he knew something.

You didn't dare ask.

"Those though," he pointed halfheartedly at your arms, where tattoos marked your shoulders and extended to your elbows on both arms, but only your left had a thin line down your forearm that ended to your knuckles. Runes were drawn on your middle fingers, though you had no idea what any of these markings were for. "Those are Vanir."

The horror of the situation was settling in. Odin found a goddess with Vanir symbols on them hiding from him. Truly not the finest way to go out. You swallowed to moisten your dry throat. "I…I'm Vanir on my father's side. I've had them for as long as I can remember," you replied weakly.

You flinched when Odin laughed jovially. "Relax, my dear, I'm just asking questions, I don't mean to scare you." As reassuring as he sounded, you couldn't take his words to heart. Thor had no reason to be here after all, other than intimidation.

Said unnecessary god offered a reverberating belch at that moment, proving your point. His father shot him an annoyed look before returning his attention to you. "I take it you don't know your parents?"

He already knew. He seemed to know a lot about you despite admitting he didn't know you existed moments ago. Those twelve hours since Thor busted into your life, that was all he needed to find out. The concept was as terrifying as it was creepy.

"No," you said sadly, eyes falling for a second. "The light elves found me as a child and took me in."

Odin hummed, dissatisfied if you had to guess. "So you don't know of any spells they may have cast on you? Are there any spells you put on yourself?" You shook your head. The old god's voice grew just a bit darker. "Then why couldn't my ravens see you?"

A shiver ran down your spine, seeing how displeased he was at your lack of explanation thus far. You quickly elaborated, "I've always had a natural immunity to certain types of magic. I assume whatever magic your ravens have is among them. And perhaps…" you were grasping at straws, trying to answer the question you had asked yourself that morning. "Perhaps the immunity loses effect if someone your ravens can track interacts with me." Sure, that works.

More than you thought it would, seeing how Odin relaxed a bit and nodded. "That would make sense. They did notice you after Thor pointed you out, and they had trouble before you answered the door."

You had to bite your tongue to hold in the outburst the statement incited. He had been trying to spy on you up until now, experimenting. It wasn't something you appreciated in the slightest. "So what, you just stay here, make protection spells and staves and other crap for a bunch of elves?"

The quick swerve into the topic left you dumbfounded. You sputtered in shock, "W-well, yes. I owe them my life so it's only fitting that I help them."

Odin leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, the old wood creaking at the motion. "Well, if you ask me…that's a waste." Again, you were baffled at the sudden statement.

"You see, I have a little project that I’m working on. Something that will benefit all the realms once it’s completed. And based on my findings, I think you’re perfect for it…" He trailed off, staring at you expectantly. It took a moment for you to realize what he wanted.

"Eivor."

“Eivor. That’s a beautiful name, very fitting for you.” The more he said the slower your surprise faded. It would seem that with all his questions answered he was much more…respectful, gentle. A part of you still recalled all the stories about him and how cruel he was, but in that moment you thought he wasn’t as bad as everyone said. Then again, he did crush your hope of finding change by admitting he wanted something from you.

Odin must have sensed your disappointment. He stood from his chair and paced as he continued. “Now, I know what that looks like. If I came all this way because I need you for something then I’m no better than the elves, letting someone with value waste away with simple tasks. But that’s not the case here.” He paused, turning back to look at you with kindness and some type of…intensity that you couldn’t describe. “I don’t want to just use you and throw you out, no. No, this is an invitation. To live among your kind in Asgard.

“Do you know what that means, my dear? Once you’re done with this tiny, tiny chore for me you’ll have a world of possibilities. You can move on to something better.”

Try as you might to remain cautious, the flicker of hope rose up within you. Something better, something other than elves coming to you when they wanted something, more than just waiting to be needed.

Again, Odin saw through your thoughtful silence. “Think about it. In Asgard, you’d be serving the realms, protecting people, promoting peace.” He wandered to your shelves of elixirs that the light elves were waiting for you to deliver. “No more useless trinkets, no more sitting around while they constantly war.” He turned his head to you while lazily lifting his arm to the shelf. A single finger extended and tapped one of the bottles, tipping it off the shelf and shattering on the floor.

Odin let you ruminate to the sound of the glass for a moment, then went back to the chair he abandoned earlier. He sat up straight, his posture displaying what a powerful god he was. Contrary to that, his next statement was soft, like he was comforting a scared child. “You said you owed the elves your life. Well, you’ve served them for more than a lifetime, haven’t you? Your debt is paid. Isn't it time you made your own choice?”

It was so much information to take in. It felt exhilarating, the thought of not only something new, but finding other beings that didn’t just pretend to care for you just to get what you could offer them.

Even so, you were still scared. Not just by the suspicion you felt, knowing this could easily not be what it seems. It was the…novelty of it all. Something you knew nothing about. Perhaps the security of the mundane wasn’t as bad as you had always thought.

And yet, the chance of finding your own purpose was too tempting to ignore.

“Forgive me for rushing you,” Odin began. “But I’m afraid I’ll need an answer now. I would give you time to think, but unless you don’t plan on moving a muscle while you do so, any raven I leave with you might lose track of you. And I can’t stay forever, I’m a busy god after all.”

The clock was ticking, and your one chance was here. You could finally be something you wanted to be. And perhaps get away from all the coercion and lies. Away from wondering how truthful the elves' declarations of gratitude were. Away from wondering if any of them loved you as you thought they did.

But many of them didn’t. And you knew it. You just didn’t want to accept it.

And you were tired of it.

Odin was right. You wouldn’t wait for your problems to go away. You would find the place you were supposed to be. A deep breath passed through your lungs, your steeled determination showing in your eyes. A determination that Odin smiled at.

“I’ll go,” You said, feeling the rush of excitement as you spoke.

In the background, Thor raised his now empty bottle of mead like he was celebrating, although you doubted he was sober enough to really be paying attention. Odin stood from his chair with a clap of his hands and a big smile adorning his face. There was something almost sinister about it, but you ignored it. Whatever was tipping you off couldn’t be worse than wasting this chance.

“Perfect! Then let’s get going!” Odin said, his ravens gliding back over to him. One, who you recognized as Muninn, morphed into tattoos on his right arm. The other, this one with red tipped feathers, stood on his shoulder, ready for orders.

You also got to your feet. “Wait! Can I have a moment to pack my things?”

A chuckle. “My dear, you don’t need anything here. I’ll provide a room, new clothes, and Asgard has an expansive public library that likely has all those books of yours.” Your eyes went to the wooden chest at the end of your bed.

You couldn’t leave those behind. Nothing had been as constant as their presence. “Could…could I bring just a few things?”

“If it’s something that can’t be replaced.”

You nodded and rushed to the chest, opening it and taking the instruments within, handling them with care. You’d had both your entire life. A simple bone flute, with carvings of patterns like the ones on your arms. It was old, scratched, and chipped in a few places, but the sound was still rich. The other was a lyre, a simple rectangular shape with no special decorations that also had its share of nicks, though the strings were new. You always replaced them when it was necessary. Both of them went into their respective thin leather bags, then you returned to Odin. He didn’t even look at them, like they meant nothing to him. Which, to be fair, they probably did.

“Ready, then?”

You nodded, watching Thor reach his father’s side while the raven, presumably Huginn if your memory served, took off, forming a cluster of ravens around the three of you. Just as the vortex closed and the last of your room faded, Thor leaned down and mumbled to you, “You made a good choice,” while fixing you with a sincere stare.

His serious tone caught you off guard. It made you wonder what would have happened if you refused Odin’s offer.

You didn’t want to think about it. It was too late now anyway.

The ravens cleared, and once they were gone you were in front of the Great Lodge. The sunset of Asgard greeted you, the sight of Gladsheim leaving you stunned at the size of the city. And the wall, of course.

"Welcome home!" Odin cheered with a smile. It fell quickly when he saw Thor, still idling next to you. "What are you still doing here? Go! Don't you have somewhere else to drink?"

Thor nodded, glancing at you, looking almost worried. He said nothing, planting a heavy hand on your shoulder as he walked past. He clearly was still too drunk to mind his strength because he nearly knocked you over with the gesture.

"Now I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but it is getting late, and I want you to have some time to settle in. I've arranged for you to have a tour of Asgard with Heimdall in the morning. He knows everything about everything in Asgard, he'll tell you all the things you want to know…and what you don't want to know, probably."

You chuckled, thinking he was joking. Since he didn't you assumed there was something there you were oblivious to.

Hopefully it wasn't something awful.

"For now," Odin continued, "I'll be off. Sif here will show you to your room." Just as the goddess's name was mentioned, a tall blonde woman came from behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. "Sif, I trust you'll make sure she finds her way?"

"Of course, All-Father." You could help but notice the smell of mead on her breath as well. Was being drunk just a thing in Asgard?

"Good. I'll be off then, I'll greet you in the morning, Eivor." You bid the old god goodnight and he disappeared with his ravens. Sif turned her attention to you and offered a friendly smile. “Well, I hope you’re ready to see your new home.” She waved a hand and two servants scuttled over. “They’ll put your things away, that way we can take our time getting to your cabin.”

You looked at your leather bags worriedly, afraid to let your precious instruments out of your sight. Ultimately you put your trust in Sif and gave them to the servants, muttering a thank you to them as you did. Both of them appeared shocked that you did so, or that you even acknowledged them. And you could see why, Sif didn’t even look at them as she started down the path in front of the lodge. You thanked them again and followed after her. But then a streak of read flew past you, nearly mowing you over as it passed.

Sif spun around at the sound of little feet tapping on the dirt, smiling when the red you saw came to her. A little girl, no older than five winters, holding a wooden sword. “Mama, I almost got you that time!”

Sif chuckled and ruffled the fiery hair on the girl’s head. “Almost, you’ll have to keep practicing if you want to catch me though.” She then looked up to you. “I hope you don’t mind if my daughter comes with us? She’s trouble without enough supervision.”

“Of course!” You knelt down to the girl’s height and asked, “And what’s your name, little one?”

“I’m Thrúd! And I’m not little!” She protested. “I’ll be big like my daddy and brothers.”

That’s right, this would be Thor’s daughter. That would explain why she seemed tall for someone so young. If you were honest with yourself you weren’t sure how to act with children. Warzones in Alfheim were not for the young and that was where you spent most of your time. Before you came up with something to say to the irate girl, Sif interjected. “Don’t be rude. And you aren’t big yet.” Thrúd pouted for a moment, a moment that ended when her mother was moving again. She took off, running ahead of her mother while you caught up.

You felt…shy, to say the least. These people were very different from the elves. With your habit of being sarcastic and occasionally sassy you were doing your best to bite your tongue while Sif engaged in small talk.

The Light elves were constantly drilling into each other how crucial winning their war was, how it was no laughing manner. Every elf should be treated as a respected soldier, every high ranking official like a king. There was an excess of formality and decorum, forcing you to reserve any laid back energy for the few private moments you had with the even fewer elves you trusted not to take it to heart. Out of habit you defaulted to this type of exchange, offering quick and succinct answers to everything she asked, offering little to any comments she made. It wasn’t long before you noticed that she seemed to get bored as a result. She paused the conversation for a minute, grasping for anything to make the interaction more interesting. That moment somehow acted as the cue for an Einherjar to fly from behind a building and trip onto the path in front of you, a moment when Thrúd was thankfully close to her mother. The man shouted something in an old language, another one leaping out with a club in his hand, missing completely. The two squared up again, only this time the one with the club was holding it upside down, the thin end making contact with the other’s thick armor. It was then that they both stumbled before engaging again. So being drunk apparently was a thing in Asgard.

You stared incredulously while Sif rolled her eyes. Thrúd, clearly confused, looked up at you and Sif. “Why would he use the stick like that?”

“I…think he’s a little confused,” you commented, attempting to avoid any accusations.

Sif, however, was not. “They were probably part of the drinking game that was going on this afternoon,” she huffed.

“What’s that mean? Is he dumb?”

“Well–” You didn’t get a chance to offer a neutral explanation. The Einherjar threw his club at the other from about a foot away from the other. It bounced off of his opponent’s armor and straight into his exposed gut, making him double over as the armored one laughed hysterically. In that moment, you decided being courteous wasn’t possible. “Yes, he is.”

To your surprise, Sif laughed. “That’s definitely not far off.” You stood, relieved that no one was bothered by your humor. Perhaps, you thought, because not everyone was a hardened footsoldier or a jaded general like you were so familiar with, they were more tolerant of not taking things so seriously.

You should relax.

And so you did. Once the two Einherjar were shooed away by Sif you tried to actually contribute to your interactions, mentioning Thor’s entrance. A troll squeezing through a mouse hole was how you described Thor stumbling through your front door. Sif had a good laugh at that one, taking no offense to poking fun at her husband. And how you used to use your flute to lull overworked guards to sleep so you could sneak out of your room to play in the sand of the barrens when you were a child. Sif was more at ease as well, despite Thrúd constantly circling her and waving her toy sword around carelessly. She told you about the time one of her sons toppled over an entire kennel for the servants' work dogs, scaring them all enough to send them yipping and howling into the middle of Odin observing the valkyries training new Einherjar. You seemed to have shenanigans in common, although yours were born from your rebelliousness, Sif’s from a family of boisterous gods.

You two had stopped in front of a moderately sized building while you exchanged a few more remarks, laughing once more before Thrúd started to constantly tap on her mother’s hip, complaining that she was bored. Sif shook her head at the girl, still smiling fondly. “You hear the girl, this is where I’ll leave you for the night.”

You stiffened, realizing the building you’d been loitering around was yours. “This is mine? All this for me?”

Sif smirked. “And why not?”

You shook your head. “It’s so much bigger than the tiny room I had in Alfheim.”

Sif hummed, her smirk growing just a tad. “Afraid you’ll get lost in there?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “I hope I'll make it out before I wither away into dust.”

Sif let out another guffaw, all while latching onto Thrud’s shoulder before the child wandered off. Once the girl was secured (for the time being), Sif put her hands on her hips, looking much more pleased than she had all night. “You know, I like you. You’re much more fun when you let go.”

Without you realizing it your face lit up. Not once had someone said they liked you just for being you, not since you were…you couldn’t even remember how young you were. “You really think so?”

“What reason would I have to lie?”

For once, you didn’t have an answer to that question, and you felt overjoyed. It was one you asked about the elves so much that it practically became your mantra. Now you really could believe that there weren’t strings attached to everything you did.

Finally, you could leave that part of you behind.

You swallowed all that emotion down, wanting to hop back into the mood that had been set. “So you can get me out of your hair and get a handle on Thrúd?”

Sif sighed, watching as Thrúdwas tossing her sword around for a servant she’d cornered a few doors down, swearing that she could do tricks with it. “There’s no handling her. She’s learned too much from her brothers already.”

When Thrud’s toy sword was getting hurled too high above her, Sif saw fit to bid you goodnight and get her calmed down enough to get to bed relatively soon. And once you entered your cabin you found that Odin had kept his word. Simple but sturdy furniture, thick furs on the bed, a closet with cloaks and dresses ready for you, even if some of them didn’t look like they would fit. Much to your relief, your instruments were placed on a table below the window, safe and sound, and exactly how you left them. There was even a full bookshelf, but you chose not to inspect its contents for now. The fatigue from the day had settled in now that you had a moment to breathe, and you were in dire need of some sleep.

To think Thor had literally dropped into your life this morning. It already felt like so long ago.

The next morning, you awoke to a bashful knock at your door. Upon answering it, you found it to be a seamstress, timidly requesting she get some measurements to tailor some of the clothes Odin had given you. You obliged and welcomed her inside, even asked if she needed a drink. It made you sad to see her so confused at your kindness, shining a light on how she, and likely many others, were treated by higher ranking Aesir. Once the measuring was underway, she began to unwind, as if she was feeling safer than she did outside. Upon her leaving, you expressed your gratitude, which made the seamstress smile with, as far as you could tell, relief. When she opened the door she nearly bumped into Sif. And just like that, the servant was back to curling into an invisible shell, apologizing profusely and scampering off.

You liked Sif, and you were already beginning to see her as a friend, but you hoped she was not the reason the servants always seemed so on edge. You would have to find that seamstress sometime, tell her you were open to being friends. You were all for forging bonds now, thanks to Sif, and why limit yourself to the elite?

Sif barely noticed the seamstress, choosing to greet you with a warm smile. “New wardrobe already?” She asked, noticing the freshly altered Asgardian dress you wore over simple leather pants.

“Odin certainly works fast,” you chuckled, joining her outside.

Sif’s smile fell a tiny bit. “All-Father certainly does," she replied, pointing out your mistake without saying it outright. You found it odd, considering the Aesir seemed much looser than the elves, except when it came to the gods here. “Aside from that, I’ll be dropping you off at the lodge for now, I’m just making sure you find your way there.”

Disappointment washed over you at the information. Sif had promised to introduce you to her sons sometime, and based on what you heard about them, they sounded like they would be…entertaining, to say the least. “Where will you be?”

“Tending to my regular duties, mostly handling affairs we have with the dwarves for today. You, however, will be getting a tour of Asgard, courtesy of the watchman himself. I’ll be handing you off to Heimdall, our resident mind reader.”

Your eyes widened at the casual remark. “He reads minds? That’s…terrifying.”

Sif laughed, making you think you were overreacting. “Well, he reads people more than minds, but he can find more details and pick up precise thoughts with eye contact. But I doubt it will matter much since he’s just giving you a tour.” They entered the courtyard of the lodge, Odin’s ravens dropping him there just as your feet met the mud in front of it. Sif leaned down and whispered to you, "And for that…I apologize in advance."

You raised a brow at her. "What?"

"Eivor!" Called Odin from the doors of the lodge. Sif gave you a rueful smile and left as Odin approached. "How was your first night in Gladsheim?"

"It's been…nice. Thank you, I've never lived in this much comfort." You didn't have the heart to admit most of it felt unnecessary to you. You secretly hoped you'd get used to it.

"One of the many perks of serving the greater good, my dear. Now, the city has a lot going on, and I'd hate for you to feel overwhelmed. That's where your tour guide comes in."

The doors to the Great Lodge behind him opened and a man stepped out. For the first time since you arrived, despite the gods you'd seen thus far, you felt starstruck. Not because you knew who he was, you hadn't the slightest. You couldn't help but notice that he was your type of handsome, his tall but lean frame a stark contrast to the bulky men you had seen already. Sharp facial features framed by ornate golden hair, but his eyes…a glowing purple like you'd never seen. Piercing, almost intimidating, but beautiful all the same. Those eyes met yours for a heartbeat before you looked back to Odin, embarrassed that you were caught ignoring him.

The man approached, stopping by Odin as he finished his last statement. You suddenly knew who this was.

"This is Heimdall." The fair god gave a slight bow to you, the smirk he wore showing just how confident – or cocky – he was. He looked directly at you when his head rose. Within a moment the smile melted, and he looked…confused.

"He will be taking good care of you while you get acclimated. Right, Heimdall?" Odin gave him a stern glare, almost like a warning.

"Of course, All-Father. When have I ever disappointed you?" His voice, though smooth and soothing to you, carried something that made you think he may be more on the cocky side than confident. His glowing eyes raced back to you after addressing Odin. His jaw clenched.

"Good. I'll leave you to it then. Have fun!" Odin gave you no chance to reply, he simply fluttered away in a whirlwind of feathers, as he seemed to so often. You're left alone with Heimdall. It was silent for a few seconds, like you two were sizing each other up. It gave you a chance to notice he was almost a full head taller than you…which you admittedly liked.

Heimdall was the first to speak. "So, you're the stray from Alfheim I've heard about, hm?"

You felt your brow twitch at being referred to as "stray." You chose not to react. This was a stranger, after all. He might not have meant anything by it. "...I guess you could say that."

His expression grew even more sour, painting a sneer on his lips. He looked…angry? He harrumphed, then brushed past you rudely. "Very well then, stray, let's get on with it."

He definitely meant something with that nickname. Unease stirred in your stomach, feeling that this wasn't about to go as well as you would have liked. A deep breath was what you needed, so you took it while you turned and followed him to the edge of the courtyard. He whistled, then waited for a barrage of thumps to reach them. A giant armored beast launched into view and raced down the path to you. You thought it would trample Heimdall with how fast it charged toward him, jumping back once it finally stopped just in front of him.

Heimdall laughed, patting the beast's neck while giving you a condescending smile. "Relax, stray, Gulltoppr won't hurt you…" he effortlessly climbed onto its back, settling comfortably on the golden saddle before adding, "...unless I command it." You thought you knew what a shit-eating grin looked like, but you saw that you never did until now. Heimdall jerked his head to the space behind him, signaling you to mount. The beast towered over you, and getting on its back would be a chore without help.

…which Heimdall clearly had no intention of offering. You waited a moment at Gulltoppr’s side to see if he would offer any sort of assistance, but all you got was an impatient frown.

You held back a sigh and leaped as high as you could, just barely grasping the saddle enough to pull yourself up. You were panting a bit once you finally sat with both legs on one side, all while Heimdall mocked you with fake pity.

This couldn't possibly get worse.

Of course, you were wrong.

He had something to say about everything. The first thing he pointed out to you was the very obvious Great Hall, as if you were too stupid to notice it was there. You let that one go, thinking he was just being thorough. But then you passed by a commercial area, where Asgard’s resident craftsmen carried out their business. “This is where the finest goods in the realms are made, by the hands of pureblood Asgardians, for pureblood Asgardians. So you shouldn’t soil it with your presence.” Your jaw dropped at that. By now you figured out he was naturally rude, but flat out prejudiced and spiteful had to be added to the list of his worst qualities.

No, you wouldn’t sink to his level, at least not so fast. You prided yourself on your patience, and you wouldn’t let this prick force you to abandon it. “I see…” You began, desperately trying to find something cordial to say. It was harder than finding a specific grain of sand at the bottom of the ocean. “I don’t want to be a nuisance, so I’ll stay away as best I can.” A complete lie, you had no intention of bending to his perceived rules. Heimdall looked at you over his shoulder, saying nothing. After a moment his jaw clenched tighter than before.

You came across the training grounds next. Armored men were clamoring about, nearly beating each other to death, it seemed to you. “Isn’t this a bit rough for training?” You asked after his introduction to the area.

A scoff was his reply. “Are you too daft to see? They’re Einherjar, they’re already dead. Why hold back anything?”

“Because dying again probably isn’t pleasant?”

Heimdall gave you a theatrical sigh. “Oh of course, what a loss it would be if they did something twice. Do you think it makes any sort of difference? Or should I start explaining every little thing to you?”

Gods, he was irritating. Did he have to be so dramatic about it? “I just mean–”

“What you mean doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid question.”

You balled your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. Oh, how you wanted to tell him how stupid he was for completely missing the point. But no, you were better than him. You were better than him, you swore. “I suppose it is,” you said curtly, having no desire to say any more.

Again, Heimdall glanced at you over his shoulder, brows knitting together in addition to his clenched teeth.

Then Gultoppr strolled past a much shabbier part of town, lacking the grandeur of the buildings near the Great Lodge. “These are the servant quarters. Do I need to explain this to you, or are you finally beginning to understand anything at all?”

An impatient sigh passed through you, this one you made sure he could hear. Though you doubted it made any difference to him. “No.” That was it, a single word was all you could manage to say politely at this point.

“No useless questions this time? Good, perhaps you will get the hang of things before the next century.”

You didn’t entertain him with a response, and he didn’t seem to be looking for one either. From there you both were silent, watching the cabins go by as Gultoppr meandered across things you’d already seen. As much as you hated hearing what Heimdall had to say, it was starting to feel awkward. And maybe this period was a good time to patch things over and hopefully –hopefully– get him to stop being such an ass. Clearly asking about Asgard was a mistake, as he had an unfortunate talent of finding a flaw in just about everything you said about it. His ego certainly seemed big enough for your chosen approach to work.

“While we’re passing through these familiar parts, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Heimdall?” You asked, forcing the irritation out of your voice to make your tone pleasant. Heimdall looked back at you for a second, this time with suspicion. Was he really so against talking about himself with how much of an elitist he was?

“What, pray tell, would make you ask?”

“Well, if we’re both serving the All-Father it’s likely we’ll come across each other again. There’s no harm in making our interactions more personal.”

Another glance at you, this one longer. “All you need to know is I am the scion of the Aesir, watchman of the gods, and herald of Ragnarok. It is my job to keep this realm safe from any harm whatsoever…whether it comes from the giants or a foolish stray from Alfheim.”

Of course he had to tack on an insult somewhere in there. You had to admit, however, that you did hear the pride in his voice when describing his role. It didn’t feel like it was born from the prestige of his position, but the joy of having it. It was almost enough to make you think there might be some parts of him that are bearable. Almost.

“It appears you love the realm very much.” You felt some of the anger recede as you made a genuine statement.

“Of course, it is the peak of perfection…At least it was, before you got here.”

The anger was back.

“Oh really?” You mocked, not thinking about what you said before you said it. “I’m sure just about everyone else in the realm would say the same about you.” As much as you wanted to be nice, the snark you threw right back at him felt so good.

Heimdall yanked on Gulltoppr’s reins, making the beast yelp in protest. He turned around as much as he could on the saddle and snarled, “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to already?” You recoiled, not expecting such a violent reaction. It hadn’t occurred to you until now that you had no idea exactly how much of a fighter Heimdall was, but based on this sudden threat he must have been enough of one to hurt you if he wanted to. And yet, it was not enough to scare you into caring. You shot back, “I think it’s you who's forgotten. What was it All-Father said? That I would be ‘taken care of?’ I don’t feel taken care of.” Your reply was as much of a threat as his, reminding him that you could drop him right out of Odin’s good graces if you wanted to, and considering how much more respectful he was to the older you guessed that would mean a lot to him.

All he did was glare harder. It was then that you noticed something. He didn’t seem to be angry. Well, he was, but not just angry. He looked…frustrated?

For a moment you felt like you had unknowingly been the problem and felt a tinge of guilt. Before you could ask him if you were in the wrong he turned away and instructed Gulltopr to move again. “If you think the All-Father would take your word over mine, then I assure you, I will revel in the look on your face when you realize you are nothing compared to me. A mongrel next to a dragon”

You didn’t care if you had done something wrong anymore. He deserved whatever it was that made him tense.

Finally, Gulltopr made it to something new, a large building not too far from the cabin Odin gave you. “Here is Asgard’s public library. All the finest pieces of literature have been collected and are available to read at your leisure. Can you even read, stray? I seriously doubt it.”

Don’t react, don’t react… you repeated to yourself. Just keep in mind that the library is there and you can read some new books for the first time since you were a child, that was all that mattered.

“Aww, did I hurt your feelings, stray? Don’t worry, I’m sure you have something that can be considered a redeeming quality.”

That’s it. Sif had said you were better when you let go. So you did.

Without warning, you reached across him and pulled on Gultoppr’s reins, the gradungr coming to a halt. Heimdall caught your arm as you pulled it back, looking like you had severely offended him. Before he opened his big mouth you slapped his arm away and leaped off Gulltoppr’s back. “What are you doing?” Heimdall demanded, drawing attention from other residents. Every single one cowered at his voice.

You turned around and gave a mocking curtsy to him. “I’m so sorry, but frankly, I’m sick of you.”

“We’re not done here,” he growled, turning Gulltoppr to face you. It did nothing to change your mind.

“Yes, we are. If that’s a problem, then you can figure out how to explain it to Odin.” You spun on your heel and started marching away.

“All-Father,” He emphasized, correcting you, “ordered you to get acquainted with the city. This defies a direct order!”

“That’s your problem!” You shouted back.

Your patience was gone and you were not going to waste your time humoring the jerk any longer. Not even the hammering of Gulltopr’s heavy footfalls racing towards you were frightening. You waited for the perfect moment to stop walking, until Gulltopr was just a few bounds away. You raised your hand, summoning a barrier of golden magic swirling above the ground, positioned just in front of Heimdall’s upper body. Gulltopr kept running full speed, and Heimdall was hurled directly into the barrier – the equivalent of sprinting face first into a stone wall. He let out a pained yell and was thrown off of Gulltoppr, who skidded to a halt as soon as he realized his master was no longer mounted.

You didn’t register the sound of the astonished gasps from passersby that witnessed the event. Heimdall fell directly onto his back, having the wind knocked out of him, but the pain did nothing to stop him from standing up immediately. This time you were the one to look over your shoulder at him, finding exactly what you expected: the most hateful, menacing glare he’d shown all day. You didn’t pay any mind to it at the time, but you did notice something else in his purple eyes that was new.

Fear. So subtle that you weren't sure if even he knew it was there.

“I said,” you hissed, “that’s your problem.” With a flick of your fingers the barrier you created disappeared in a flash of golden sparks and you flounced off without another word. Any onlookers quickly scurried out of sight.

You were appalled that you thought he was handsome earlier. Live and learn, as they say.

Heimdall’s fists shook with rage, his teeth ground together like he was trying to break them, his breaths quickened with fury. He opened his mouth to call after you, a hand reaching across his torso to unsheathe his sword but he never got the chance to. A raven's call from the top of a nearby roof stopped him in his tracks.

He knew exactly what that meant. Heimdall snarled to himself and nodded at the bird, commanding Gulltoppr to return to his enclosure alone, which the beast obeyed without question. As the black feathers surrounded him and the scenery faded, so did his anger, slowly replaced by the sickly sting of dread. It only doubled when the vortex dropped him off in front of the doors to Odin’s study, not inside the study. Odin had no patience with people who weren’t calm and rational. It was his way of silently commanding Heimdall to collect himself before entering. He felt like he had been stabbed in the gut knowing Odin was so displeased with him.

No. No, he would prove to the All-Father that he needed no such treatment. He was calm, level-headed, and ready to accept the criticism he knew was coming. Heimdall straightened his back and squared his shoulders, head held high, and pushed the door open with confidence. Odin was standing behind his desk, Huginn and Muninn were on their wooden perch while the god studied maps of Muspelheim and books that were scattered across the tabletop. He didn’t lift his head to address Heimdall.

Whatever confidence Heimdall had when he entered was steadily deteriorating the longer he was ignored, not daring to rush Odin. It was a few minutes before his superior finally grumbled, “You’re done early. All of Gladsheim so soon?”

The utter shame Heimdall was inundated with left him speechless. He never failed Odin. He made sure of that. Never did he disappoint the Aesir king with shortcomings of any kind. That was his job, his responsibility. One he held with pride. Knowing that he should feel none of that pride at that moment was eating him alive. Heimdall resisted clearing his throat, refusing to show how much he loathed the talk he was about to get. “The str–She was not interested.” That was it. That was all he could manage.

Odin finally looked up, and the sheer dissatisfaction and impatience nearly made Heimdall shake with guilt. “And why would that be?” Heimdall had no answer. Odin simply sighed in frustration, pacing around his desk as he spoke. Even Huginn and Muninn looked at Heimdall like they were deeply unimpressed. “One job, Heimdall. I gave you one thing to do, and you couldn’t do it!”

Heimdall visibly winced. Odin was exactly right, and in more ways than one. “I mean,” Odin continued, more exasperated. “It was so simple. Let her look around, and take enough time to figure out if she’s hiding anything, see if she’s not telling me something, anything. And look at this! Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes was all it took for you to fuck it up!” Normally these words would make Heimdall grin with pleasure, relishing in the complete incompetence and worthlessness of the receiver. But that was because he wasn’t the receiver. He was never the receiver. He was always better than them. Until now. Thanks to you.

“All-Father–”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Odin barked at him, Heimdall’s mouth instantly closing at the command. He had already committed the sin of failing Odin, he wouldn’t dare make it any worse. He wouldn’t stoop so low to make excuses. “You’ve made this so much harder, and for what? Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut? Because you can’t stop being…yourself for a mere hour? You couldn’t just focus on reading because you couldn’t help but be you?”

Heimdall schooled his expression into one of an emotionless soldier as best he could, but that…that hurt. And he hated that he could feel the hurt showing. Not because the lecture hurt his feelings, no. His feelings were irrelevant. What hurt was hearing Odin himself say that Heimdall as a whole was the problem.

His entire life had been proving his worth, proving that he was more than a simple henchman, a lackey, an assistant. No, NO. He was worthy of his role as a valued confidant and loyal chancellor. He accepted orders willingly and carried them out to a T because he was capable of doing so without fail. But if Odin said that he himself was the flaw…then he had been wrong in believing he earned the All-Father’s certitude in his reliability. And worst of all, he knew that Odin’s harsh reprimand was justified completely. He had ruined his goal because he wasn’t willing to let the newcomer think she was one of them, that she belonged here in any way, even though that was what Odin wanted her to feel. He undermined Odin’s plans. He let himself be the obstacle in the way. He had to fix that.

Unfortunately, what he needed to say wouldn’t make that easy. “That is the problem.” His muttering was barely audible, just enough for Odin to hear it. He returned to his desk, resting his hands on it while he waited for Heimdall to clarify. “I…I can’t read her. When I look into her mind it’s like staring into a void…I see nothing.” He despised that his voice wavered and shook as he spoke, that he was showing how affected he was by Odin's disappointment. Heimdall waited for him to continue on his rant, to chastise him for his defeat as he deserved. That way, once Odin expressed the full extent of his resentment, he would understand exactly how to never beckon it again.

He would be perfect for the All-Father again. He would make sure of it.

To his dismay, Odin loosened up just a bit, turning his attention to his two treasured ravens and stroking their feathers. “I figured as much. She’s immune to my ravens as well. Your foresight having no effect is to be expected.” Odin paused, his hands dropping back down to his sides. “And?”

Heimdall blinked as he processed what Odin said. “What?”

“And? Yes, I knew she would be immune, but I still expected you to break through. My ravens can see her under the right conditions, which means she’s not invulnerable. All you have to do is find a way past her defenses. That’s why I assigned the tour to you, so you’d have enough time to experiment.

“Really, Heimdall, when I tell you to do something, I plan on it happening. But if you give up at the first problem you come across, then what good are you?” Odin posited, throwing his hands up.

The pit Heimdall felt his soul falling into swallowed him whole at last. He couldn’t lose his value to the All-Father. He CAN’T. “I haven’t given up!” Heimdall screeched, reeling his emotion back in to sound less frantic. “I will find a way, I swear to you. I was simply unaware that reading her would take more than others. I will find everything you need to learn from her.”

Odin calmed considerably, though his reaction was not enough for Heimdall to judge how convincing his declaration was, with his harsh gaze piercing through him. Heimdall hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. “See to it that you do,” Odin said, finally sitting down in his chair. “But I doubt you’ll do it quickly, thanks to this dereliction. So, to make sure you’ll be able to keep her around enough – without causing much more trouble – I’m putting you on babysitting duty.”

“For who?” If he had to atone by taking care of Sif’s little muskrat of a daughter he would surely lose his mind.

“She’s going to be finding some things for me throughout the realms. You’re going to go with her and keep her safe.”

Babysitting Thrúd didn’t sound that bad to Heimdall all of a sudden. “All-Father, with all due respect, I’m concerned that my absence will put Asgard at jeopardy.”

“The realm will survive if you’re gone every once in a while. Don’t try to get out of this because you don’t like her. Consider this punishment as well. I was going to send Thor with her to do the heavy lifting, but hopefully this will remind you how important it is to meet my expectations.”

Heimdall put a hand on his chest and bowed. “Of course, All-Father. I will not disappoint you again. You have my word.”

Odin nodded. “Dismissed.”

It had been a long, long time since Odin had excused his watchmen so coldly. He made no protest and promptly exited the study. As Heimdall stomped through the lodge and back outside, he felt his fists clenching, his back constricting, his arms locked up and ready to destroy the next thing his hands touched. Something anyone who passed him noticed and backed away from before they were in the line of fire.

And you came in and destroyed it. All because you thought you were special.

How dare you.

He had a perfect record. Always succeeding, always surpassing Odin’s expectations with flying colors. Never too slow, never too fast, always on time. There was not a single time in his life that he recalled falling short, showing that even the most miniscule parts of him were efficacious. Everything about him was laudable. He was worth keeping.

No, oh no no no. He wouldn’t allow that. And he would prove to Odin that he was not so useless that he should take one of Thor's lowly tasks, that he could easily do more than be a glorified bodyguard. He would find a way into your head before your little quest began. You had to be around Gladsheim somewhere, and he would find you and start prodding at your mind right away.

Well, after he found the Einherjar and sent some of them back to Valhalla to blow off some steam. He didn’t want to unleash it on you. Not yet, at least.

If this gets interactions I'll post on Ao3 and keep going. Thanks for stopping by! :)

masterlist

bold is nsfw, scenarios is italicized, normal is head-cannons and sfw. <3 click here for rules.

Heroes/Sidekicks

Aizawa

Chubby Reader HCs 

Mirio

Busty S/O

Slim Thicc S/O HCs

“Tell all those other guys/girls you don’t need them ‘cause you got me.”

Tamaki

coming soon

Yamada “Present Mic” Hizashi

Happy Birthday

Students

Awase

“I think I’ve been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again.”

Your Saviour

Giving Oral HCs

Bakugou

👑 TEAM BAKUGOU 👑

Bakugou Katsuki A-Z (NSFW)

Bed Rest

Being Called Daddy HCs

Blue Balls

Boasting About Bakugou Over the Phone HCs

Bottom (female) Bottom (male)

Busty S/O HCs

Caught

Consider This Thirst Quenched

Crying Kink HCs

Cuddling w/ Neko!S/O HCs

Wolf!Bakugou HCs (Domestic AU)

Daddy 

Fem!Muslim S/O HCs

Get Groovin’

Giving Oral HCs

Helping Fem!Reader Get With Her Girl Crush HCs

His Little Omega

Hugs From Bakugou

“I’m not Jealous”

Jealousy’s In the Air

Mineta Hitting on S/O HCs

Omega!Bakugou HCs

Sassy S/O HCs

Pups

Receiving Bear Hugs From Reader

Riding Bakugou for the First Time

Scared to Love S/O

“Shit sorry, am I going to fast?”

Show Me

Sleeping w/ S/O HCs

Slim Thicc S/O HCs

Somnophilia HCs

Study Buddies

Squirting for the First Time

There for You, part two

Time to Love, part two

Wipe That Smirk From Your Face

Woke, part two

Iida

Dick Size HCs

Proper Punishment

Thicc Reader HCs

Relationship HCs

Kaibara

Cock Blocked By Pupper Scenario

Sassy S/O HCs

Kaminari

“You saved my nudes?”,  part two

Low Self-Esteem S/O HCs

Warn Me Next Time

Kirishima

Being Called Daddy HCs

Called Red Riot During Sex HCs

Daddy

Dick Size HCs

Hot Days

Kinky Fem!S/O HCs

Kiri Taking Care of Stressed Fem!S/O HCs

Sassy S/O HCs

Low Self-Esteem S/O HCs

“Why do they make this look so easy in all those porn movies?! This hurts like fuck!”

Midoriya

Busty S/O HCs

Dick Size HCs

GG (Villain AU)

Only Because I Love You

Scared to Love S/O

Monoma

We’re In Public

Sen

Cock Blocked By Pupper

Just Checkin’

Mineta Hitting on S/O

You Want to What?

Shindou

Cock Blocked By Pupper

Chubby S/O HCs

Low Self-Esteem S/O HCs

We’re Just Getting Started

Shinsou

Scared to Love S/O

Sit Still

Shiozaki

Is This What You Wanted?

TetsuTetsu

Next Time

Todoroki

Todoroki Shouto A-Z (NSFW)

Caught

Clingy S/O

Dick Size HCs

Fem!Muslim S/O HCs

“Give Me Attention”

Mineta Hitting on S/O HCs

Relationship HCs

Tsubaraba

First Date

Sassy S/O HCs

Villains

Dabi

Consider This Thirst Quenched 

Deepthroating HCs

Dick Size HCs

I’ll Give You Plenty

Somnophilia HCs

Giran

Hero Kink HCs

Relationship HCs

Sugar Daddy HCs

Chisaki “Overhaul” Kai

Dick Size HCs

Relationship HCs

Relationship NSFW HCs 

Get Well Soon, I Guess

Toga

Giving Fem!S/O Oral for the First Time

Secrets

Sleeping Beauty

Bubaigawara “Twice” Jin

See You Again

Shigaraki “Shigaraki Tenko” Tomura

Somnophilia HCs

Civilians

Todoroki Natsuo

Relationship HCs

Vigilantes 

coming soon,,, maybe.

~ Series Masterlist ~

~ Drabble List ~

~ Writing Playlist ~