#Do you know I have to open desk drawers and pull out filing cabinets as obstacles to keep people from coming behind my desk

[chimerickat]

I interviewed for a 100% remote job which would have gotten me out of working in the office (something I have had trouble going back to doing) and away from my current boss (I have found treating him like a stupid but belligerent customer is the most effective way of dealing with him).

Today I heard back that they would like to hire me, but have had to put a pause to their hiring. They hope to have a job to offer in 2-3 months.

[ms-demeanor]

Due to some stuff brought up in recent posts I believe it is time to once again extol the virtues of Ms-Demeanor's Patented Where Did I Put That Fucking Paper Organizational Binder.

Hello! I am a disorganized adult! This is the system by which I manage my important shit like pink slips for my car and medical records and tax information.

You're going to need:

A 3-Ring Binder

Transparent Sheet Protectors

Notebook dividers (optional but VERY useful)

A backpack (optional)

So the way this system works is you put the sheet protectors into the binder. You can either use the dividers to divide the binder into sections or you can label some of the sheet protectors to make different sections but what you are generally going to do is make sections of the binder labeled things like "taxes" or "vet" or "doctor" and put a few sheet protectors in each section.

Then all of your papers with important information get crammed in that folder. You don't organize them, you don't sort them by date, you don't alphabetize. You put things vaguely relating to taxes into the sheet protectors in the taxes section. You put things relating to cars in the cars section. You don't even attempt to make this readable - you're not using sheet protectors so that you can read each page and keep it legible, you're using sheet protectors because it's a cheap plastic bag that will sit nicely in a binder.

You CAN put stuff into the individual sheet protectors when you get it, but let's be realistic you probably WON'T do that, so just tuck individual papers into the front of the binder until you get to a critical mass of paperwork then take an hour to sit down and sort into categories and put it in the binder once every six months to three years (depending on how frequently you get paperwork). Sometimes these sections will outgrow their original allotted space - since my spouse had a transplant surgery the medical section has had to become its own folder - and that's okay. If you end up with multiple folders just keep them together (this is why the backpack is an option, and one I strongly recommend).

Because yeah, if my organization system relies on opening up a drawer and putting something where it belongs as soon as I get the paper, I will simply not be organized. It's not going to happen. But I can handle a messy stack of paper that sits in one place and grows until it is time to shove it into a binder. I can't organize things for thirty seconds a day every day but I can organize things for an hour once every year or so (maybe two hours every five years when I sort out stuff I don't need like copies of warranties for parts on a car I don't own anymore).

When my mom died she had about fifty pounds of paper files in her office that were neatly organized in a system that didn't make any sense to my dad, my sister, and I. I ended up sorting through those files for twenty hours, tossing out copies of paid invoices from ten years ago and student handbooks from my junior high school. I reduced one filing cabinet, two desk file drawers, and a foot-high stack to a six inch binder that I gave to my dad. My mom died five years ago; two months ago my dad asked me about a medical document and I was able to tell him to go look for it in the medical section of the binder. It was there, because ALL IMPORTANT SHIT GOES IN THE BINDER.

Where is my birth certificate? In the binder. Where is my tax return from 2017? In the binder. Where is the record of my dog's last rabies shot? In the binder. Where are the records for my life insurance? In the binder.

A lot of what people consider "being organized" breaks down to whether or not you can find the specific things that you're looking for. Does my binder look nice? Is it aesthetic? Does it have color-coded tabs and papers all laid out neatly? Absolutely fucking not. But if you ask me where to find a paper I know that I can do so within about five minutes of shuffling through the pile of letter-folded sheets that I pulled out of the appropriate section of the binder.

I've discussed the Where Did I Put that Fucking Paper Binder before, but now it is time to expand that concept to the Backpack of Important Shit.

You likely have Important Shit that does not fit in a binder. Some of my Important Shit that does not fit in a binder is stuff like jewelry and the spare key for my car. Other stuff - the reason I decided to bring this up at all - includes my backup hard drive and packaging (including product key codes) for pretty much all of the software that I own. This is also where I store printed out copies of the recovery codes for most of the online accounts that I have.

There's a lot of weird fiddly shit that we have to have that we might not access all that often. This is the kind of stuff that might end up in junk drawers or under sinks or in disused laptop bags or kicking around under a bunch of papers in a desk drawer.

It doesn't matter so much when that weird fiddly shit is a set of hex keys or a utility knife or a protractor or a copy of a student handbook but it DOES matter when it's something that you might need to put your hands on in a hurry. If your computer crashes, you're not going to want to track down the software in the back of a filing cabinet and the backup drive from somewhere in the bowels of your desk. If you lock your keys in your car you are not going to want to figure out if your spare is in a junk drawer or the old purse where you keep semi-important stuff or the tin on your desk that has buttons and pins and headphone covers. Just put it in the Backpack of Important Shit and when you need it you know where to look.

So anyway, if you are a person who is a minor disaster who has trouble finding important things when you need them please don't think that you have to get your life together and have a nice organized filing cabinet or clear plastic bins full of documents or a neatly divided storage closet where everything from board games to backup drives has its own neatly labeled place. Just assign ONE LOCATION for important shit and start putting the important shit there. It doesn't matter if you have a filing cabinet where you keep old copies of homework and printouts of online orders and family history records - you do not need to keep everything that is file-able in one place and depending on what level of catastrophe you are it might be detrimental to you if you try to do that. It doesn't matter if you have a jewelry box where you keep your collection of gauges and wrist cuffs; if you are going to stress out about where grandma's ring is when you're digging through your collection of cheap earrings and silver pendants then *do not keep grandma's ring or any other Important, Vital, Cannot Be Lost jewelry in with your day-to-day wear*.

I live someplace that has fires. My binder got upgraded to my Backpack of Important Shit when the fires were getting uncomfortably close to the house I was living in and I wanted to have one bag to grab if we had to get out fast. Once I did that, I never took the binder out of the backpack and the backpack has now made three moves with me and has meant that I've had my birth certificate handy when I needed it in the middle of a move between two states, I was able to provide a history of my cholesterol panel going back six years to a visiting nurse, and I was able to give the exact names and contact info of my spouse's previous surgeon to the hospital when I had unexpectedly moved to a new state with three bags and my work computer at the beginning of the pandemic.

Get yourself a backpack of important shit and a folder of where the fuck did i put that paper. It is so much easier to search a backpack for important shit than to go through an entire house and it is so much easier to flip through a binder than it is to dig through a filing cabinet.

Anyway good luck and happy adulting.

[swanlakebaby]

his secretary | pjm

prompt: jimin fucking his secretary

⸝⸝ pairing: dom!jimin x fem!reader

⸝⸝ warnings: smut, dom jimin, sub reader, boss jimin, secretary, kissing, risky, sneaky, risky sex, cumming, orgasm, 18+

⸝⸝ word count: 1.6k

⸝⸝ note: kinktober 🎃 day seven :) i’ve been reading a lot of mystery books lately and i’ve decided i want to start a mini mystery series (with jimin ofc). this wouldn’t be a jimin x reader since there’d be a main character and she’d have a name… but i don’t know if people will be into that? if you are, send me name ideas in my requests :3 1. that would help A LOT & 2. i’d know people actually want to see something like that from me :,)

nsfw, 18+, minors dni

-

the elevator door dings, indicating you’ve reached your desired floor. you step off and look around. the hallways were empty. you frowned at the unusual sight. where is everyone? you thought to yourself. you took a left and began making your way down the quiet hallway. you stopped at the end of it and peeked into one of the meeting rooms. empty. it seemed like everyone had already left for the day, but it was only twelve.

“what do you think you’re doing?” a familiar voice said from behind you. you jump slightly and spin around. jimin stood there, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he furrowed a curious eyebrow at you. “i was just—” you start before jimin cuts you off. “save it. come with me.” he turns on his heel, not allowing you to protest and heads toward the other end of the hallway until he reaches a private office space. his office was cold and neatly decorated, a large leather chair center of his computer desk with two smaller sets of the same style of his chair on the other side. “take a seat.” he says, closing his office door.”

he sits down and folds his arms over each other onto the desk. he doesn’t say anything and instead observes you. you began feeling tense and awkward, unsure of what the hell was even going on. “so, do you want to tell me why you were wondering around instead of doing your job?” jimin says finally, typing things into his computer. “it’s not like that…i got an email from one of the executives…he needed a refill on printer ink in his office. i was just going to replace it.” you explain to him. this explanation seems to irritate jimin more than reassure him. he combs his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“how long have you been working here?” he asks. “almost two years, you know this.” you say in response, getting annoyed yourself. “right, and you should know that the seventh floor is always cleared out during lunch time. right?” jimin says, standing up and walking over to a tall cabinet that stood against the wall of his office. he grabbed a box of printer ink out of it and placed it on his desk. “i will email him and tell him to pick it up on his own time. you don’t work for him, you work for me. remember?” jimin says, blinking a few times out of annoyance before sitting back down. “yes sir.” you say with a nod. “can i go now?” you began sitting up. “one more thing..” jimin reaches down and opens a drawer from the side of his desk, pulling out a few stacks of papers. “i need these put into official packets. i need fifteen printed copies of this packet and i need them stapled and ordered into individual files. i have an important meeting and i need them ready for it. understood?” he says.

you knew he wasn’t actually asking if you understood, so you just took the papers and stood up, adjusting your office skirt and turn around to leave his office. “dick.” you say to yourself as you reach the elevators and head back to your desk.

when the day was over, you tiredly took the elevator up to the seventh floor. you knocked on jimin’s door and a soft “come in” prompted you to open his door. you walk in and place the fifteen copies of files onto his desk. he grabs one of them and skims through it, making sure you did your job right. “excellent work per usual.” he says satisfied, placing the file back. he stands up and walks over to you, catching you off guard. “are you leaving for the day?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “it’s three thirty so…yeah.” you say, looking down at your watch. “well, i guess i was being a bit of an asshole earlier right? i don’t want you to think i was on some sort of power trip like every other arrogant executive here.”

“mr. park, i didn’t know my opinion of you mattered so much.” you tease with a smile on your face. he chuckles, leaning back on his desk. “it does.” jimin steps closer to you, until you feel his soft breath against your skin. “stay late and have dinner with me.” he says. it didn’t seem like an option. “isn’t that quite unprofessional? it’s not even working hours.” jimin shakes his head. “don’t worry about it. what are you in the mood for?”

he reaches over his desk and picks up his phone. “i’ll just take my food to go if that’s okay. i don’t mind indian.” you say. he quickly orders indian take out and places his phone back onto his desk when he’s done. he stands there, looking at you, the same way he did earlier that day. “what..?” you ask, becoming flustered. he suddenly made you feel giddy and anxious, like he was constantly checking you out. “you don’t realize it, but you can come off quite attractive.” jimin says casually. you began to feel heat rise to your cheeks over jimin’s words. “well— thank you.” you look down awkwardly. jimin cups his hand on your chin and tilts your head up. without warning, he plants a soft kiss on your lips. pulling away slowly as he looks into your eyes. jimin smirked, knowing the affect he had on you.

he smelled clean and masculine, making you feel weak at the knees. jimin didn’t have on his suit jacket, his white collared shirt tugging at his body, showing off his lean figure. it felt like a random spark was lit and then set off between the two of you.

within the next few seconds, he was shirtless and hovering over you on his desk. his naked chest brushed against yours each time he bent down lower to give you a kiss on the lips. he began trailing them down, further and further. he made his way back up to you, his boxers rubbing against the fabric of your thin panties. your legs dangled off of his desk as he stood in between them. he opened a drawer and rummaged through a small pack of condoms, taking one out and impatiently ripping it open with his teeth. “really?” you furrow your eyebrow. “condoms in your office drawer?”

he chuckles, sliding his boxers down and putting the condom on. “don’t think i just go around fucking my employees. i was meant to take these home, i just got lucky.” he said with a wink. he slid your panties down, pulling one of your legs out of the hole. the panties casually dangled from your ankle as jimin lifted up your legs. you lay flat on his desk, ready for him. it felt as if this wasn’t your first time hooking up with him, like this was another causal friday. he slid right into you, your walls wrapping around him. he groaned as he fucked you, trying to be quiet in case any of the cleaning ladies so happened to be on this floor.

you locked his legs around his waist as he pounded himself into you, his eyes rolling back as you pushed him deeper inside of you. you held onto his arms, your back arched slightly above the desk. he sits you up and wraps an arm around your waist, picking you up causally and gently placing you back on the ground on your two feet. he turns you around and bends you forward over the desk, lifting one of your legs onto it as well. he continued fucking you, giving you light snacks on the butt.

he reached over you multiple times, covering his hand over your mouth, trying to refrain you from making too much noise. you wanted to feel all of him, the plastic barrier making frustrating you. you pull jimin away far back enough for him to slide out of you. you look behind your shoulder and wrap your hand around his dick, slowly sliding the condom off. he looks at you, furrowing his eyebrow. “are you sure?” he asks. you bite your lip and toss the condom onto the floor, turning back around and shaking your butt at him.

he wastes no time and slowly slides back into you, a low groan escaping his lips. you bit your finger, trying not to moan and try out. nothing ever compared to the full, raw, real thing. jimin couldn’t help but groan, holding onto your hips as he fucked you. he squeezed at your butt cheeks, picking up the pace a bit. you gripped onto the sides of his desk and fucking yourself back into him.

jimin’s body began to shudder as he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily. he kissed you shoulder, stuffing his face into your neck and shutting his eyes. the intense session was too much to handle and you felt yourself craving more of him, but you knew that you had to stop now while you could get away with it.

jimin finally pulled himself off of you and pulled his pants up, you did the same and pulled up your panties, pulling your work skirt back down over your butt. he grabbed the wet condom and threw it into the trash along with the wrapper.

he then sat down at his desk, clicking away at the computer. you sat across from him until the food finally came, one of the front desk ladies bringing it up for us before heading back down. you both sat in silence, like as if nothing had just happened and you figured that was how it was going to be from now on. you would go to work tomorrow and the next day, and the days after that and pretend that nothing ever happened.

-

tags: @ririkookiemonster

(comment/ dm to be added)

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Office Romance

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: making out in elevators

Summary: How do you expect to get any work done if your boss is none other than Natasha Romanoff? Does she feel the same about you?

Squares Filled: secret romance (2021) for @avengersbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

It’s hard to concentrate on the words you’re trying to type when the most beautiful woman is sitting in the office next to you. Your eyes keep drifting over your computer to look at her through the small glass window next to her door. She is causally chewing on a piece of gum and popping it every so often. Her pretty red lips form a perfect O when she blows the piece of gum. 

What you wouldn’t give to be on the receiving end of that mouth.

“Bitch, are you listening?”

Your coworker, Wanda, throws a wadded piece of paper at your head. You snap out of your trance and look into her knowing eyes. She has a smirk on her face that doesn’t leave even as she goes back to her job.

“What?”

“I need those files over ASAP. I can’t do my job if you don’t do yours.”

“Right,” you mumble and focus on your computer instead.

“Thank you,” she says once you send her the files she needs, “now you can get back to daydreaming about the boss.”

“Shut up.” Your phone rings and you start to sweat when you see your boss is trying to conference you into her call. You smooth back your hair as if you’re going to see her and pick up the phone. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I need you to come into my office.”

“Of course.” you hang up. “She wants me in her office. How do I look?”

“Pull your shirt down a bit. Make the girlies pop.” You do as she says. “Now button your shirt up because you look ridiculous.”

“Fuck you.”

You get up without adjusting your shirt and walk the twenty feet over to Natasha’s office. You knock once even though she asked you to come in and open the door.

“You called?”

Your eyes can’t help but drift lower to her breasts. Everything she wears makes them look bigger than they are, so they are spilling over the top in a classy way. She is wearing a black pencil skirt with a white button-up that has the first three buttons undone because her shirt wouldn’t close otherwise. You quickly look up in hopes she didn’t see you checking her out.

“I need you to get these files sent over to purchasing right away.” You grab the files and are about to make your exit when she stops you. “Wait, I forgot one.”

You turn to see her walk over to her file cabinet and open the bottom drawer. She bends down with her ass sticking out towards you. Of course, you’re going to look. It’s like she wants you to look at how perfect her ass is. You bite your lower lip to stop the sinful thoughts from coming out. When she stands and turns, you snap back into reality and look as if you weren't checking her out.

“Thank you,” you say and grab the other file.

“No, thank you,” she smiles flirtatiously.

You quickly head back to your desk not missing the sly smirk Wanda gives you. It’s very hard to get your job done when your boss has an office right next to your desk, but it’s even harder when she makes a show of eating her lunch as if she wants you to look at her. There are times when you think she might be into you, but then you think that she’s your boss and that would be inappropriate.

The only work you get done is sending the files over to purchasing while the rest of your time is spent fantasizing about what you’d do if you got her into your bed. The end of the day comes quicker without you staring at the clock every hour. It’s time to go home and have a really long and cold shower.

“I’ll meet you down at the car, okay?” Wanda says as she packs her things up.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

You and Wanda live together and often ride in the same car. The only way you won’t is if one of you needs to leave early or do something after work. Natasha gets done with her work at the same time as you, so you two meet just as you’re leaving your cubicle and she is leaving her office.

“You know, I’m really proud of you and the work you’ve been doing.” You and Natasha walk to the elevators together. “Keep it up and I’ll put in a good work to the board about a raise.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you grin.

“Please, call me Natasha or Nat. Whatever you prefer. Ma’am makes me feel so old,” she chuckles and walks onto the elevator with you.

“Okay, Nat.”

You and Natasha are standing so close together in the already small elevator, that you can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin. The air is thick with tension, the kind of tension only touching might relieve. All you want to do is kiss her. Does she feel it? If she does, does she feel the same? You look at the digital number at the top of the elevator that tells you what floor you’re on, and it’s counting down very slowly. Has it always been this slow? You sneak a peek at Natasha to see her already looking at you. You quickly look away in hopes she didn’t see you checking her out, but the damage has been done.

Fuck it, Natasha thinks. She drops her bag onto the ground and grabs both sides of your face. She pulls you into her and kisses you like she was always meant to be there. You drop your bag in shock but you kiss her back like you’ve always wanted to. You’ve imagined this scenario ten different ways and all of them involved with you taking her back to your place regardless if Wanda is there or not.

You back up into the wall with her lips still attached to yours, and she slides her hands into your hair to get a better grip on you. The universe has it so that as soon as Natasha gets her lips on you, the digital number picks up speed because before you know it, you’re at the ground level. Natasha pulls away from you and grabs her bag as if nothing happened.

She looks perfect as always while your hair is a bit disheveled, your clothes are a bit wrinkled, and you’re pretty sure your lips are swollen.

“Tomorrow, come in a little earlier. I need to have a meeting with you.”

The elevator doors open and Natasha is the first one to step off.

“Yes, ma’am,” you whisper.

Wanda is waiting there with an impatient look on her face but once she sees you and Natasha, that disappears. Your boss doesn’t give Wanda a lick of attention as she walks by, and Wanda smiles widely when she sees the look on your face. She reaches into her purse to grab her small compact, opens it, and shoves it in your face. Natasha’s red lipstick is all over your mouth. It’s clear what you two were doing in there.

“Shit,” you gasp and fix as much of yourself as possible.

“If you’re gonna fuck her, at least give me some of the perks.”

“Shut up,” you chuckle, unable to stop the blush from spreading up your cheeks.

x

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[luveline]

maybe a reader and roan centered ficlet where roan gets to go to readers work for the day, be like her mini assistant because eddie couldn’t find anyone else to watch her while he had to do something?

ty for requesting ♡ fem reader

The phone rings at exactly 2PM as previously discussed. 

"Ro! Quick, come answer the phone for me, baby." 

Roan climbs out from under your desk where she's sorting paperclips into cuteness piles, the skirt of her best blue dress brushing your calves, her hair in a slicked back bun but coming undone as the day goes on. "What do I say?" she asks.

You pull her onto your lap. "You say, Hi, I'm Roan Munson with Cora Enterprise Limited, how may I help you?" 

She squares her features into a fierce, determined glare. Picking up your heavy grey phone, she presses her lips to the receiver and says, "Hi, I'm Roan! How can I help you, Cora?" 

Her eyebrows pinch together before smoothing, elation quick to take. "Daddy!" 

You can't hear what Eddie's saying, but you imagine it to be like, Hey, pumpkin, you sound so grown up! How's working for a mindless conglomerate as another cog in the machine working out for you? 

"It's fun." Roan tips her head back to look at you. When your gazes connect, she wiggles her thin brows. "She's fine, dad. We're having fun without you." 

Passionate garbled talk from the other side. Roan giggles and leans further into your chest, seemingly pleased when you wrap your arms around her stomach. 

"I learned how to do the printer, and the managing, but they wouldn't let me in the lab 'cos you picked shoes with cut outs. Yes, I know I asked for them, dad." Roan hands you the phone with an expression beyond her years. "He wants to talk to you." 

"Thanks, babe." You bring the phone to your ear. "Hello, Y/N speaking."

"Hello," Eddie says, his voice warm as usual, the sound like laying under the sun on a cloudless day. "Is she behaving?"

"She's being awesome. I told you, you don't have to worry about it. I'm practically alone in my office with Mel on maternity leave and Jessica trying to impress the Swedes." You stop Roan's little hand where it tries to open your top drawer, worried about the box cutter you use to unseal samples. "She's literally no fuss. I'd have her here every day if they let me." 

Roan gasps like this is the very best idea in the world and nods at you until her head looks like it's going to fall off. 

"They might have to. I can't believe it's day four of no water at the elementary. We're lucky you could take her, what are the parents who work jobs like me supposed to do?" he asks. 

"Maybe I can have them all here. Roan's a good assistant for a six year old. In fact, she's doing a better job than I was on my first day. Right, bubby?" you ask the head of curls in your lap. 

"Right!" Roan lifts her head to the receiver, her full row of top baby teeth white and shiny in the office lights. "I'm going to do the flying cabinet next!" 

"Filing," you correct. 

"Oh. That doesn't sound as fun." She wrinkles her nose. 

"Lunch first," you say. It's a good pacifier. Boring office tasks are usually easier after one of Eddie's sandwiches. 

"I'll leave you guys to it, then," Eddie says, muffled slightly by the roaring of an electric saw. "I'll try not to feel too left out over here." 

"If I were you I'd feel very left out," you say. 

"Nice. Love you, miss you, see you at five." 

You put the phone against Roan's pale ear. "Tell dad bye," you say. 

"Bye, daddy. I hope you have a nice lunch." 

Loving babble. Roan's smile gets bigger and bigger the longer Eddie talks. She stretches tall in your chair to put the phone down before twisting to wrap her arms around your shoulders, her nose cold where it presses into your throat. You bring a hand to the back of her head. 

"What's this for?" you ask, hugging her. 

"Dad said to give you one. And to say you didn't say I love you back, so, um, you're in the bad books." 

"Not the bad books," you murmur. 

"Don't worry. I get out of them all the time." 

—

more eddie, roan and reader

[theewritingroomm]

A Wasteland Reunion

Summary: It's been more than 200 years since you've last seen your cowboy. Pairing: Cooper Howard x Reader Word Count: 1,070 (a drabble? what's that?) Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, A/N: Part of The Cowboy & The Movie Star series, a part 2 if you will. Let me know what y'all would like to see from this series. What snapshots would y'all like to see?

I do NOT consent to my work being translated or published onto third party sites - including AO3 and Wattpad.

A layer of dirt and grime covered every surface of the Red Rocket Gas Station. Outside the sun blazed down, covering the Wasteland in a blazing heat. The wind gave an occasional whistle as it blew more dirt into the gas station’s broken windows. Though you were paying attention to none of that, you were focused on the sound that should not be there. 

The thumping of heavy footsteps on broken concrete. 

So with your back against the checkout counter you reload your gun and cussed Ma June. If this ‘simple favor’ didn’t kill you, you were going to ring the older lady’s neck. 

As the heavy steps get closer your finger tightens around the trigger of your gun. The old bell chimes above the door and heavy footfalls turn into light steps as the newest customer to the Red Rocket navigates around the debris littering the floor. The footsteps grow quieter as the person heads towards the other end of the gas station. 

Taking the opportunity, you slowly crawl towards the open door a few feet to your right. The manager’s office was threadbare, a simple desk and chair sat in the middle of the room with a few filing cabinets sitting behind the desk. It did not offer many hiding places, however you had no interest in hiding. You were interested in getting the piece of tech Ma June was searching for and getting the hell out of the Red Rocket. 

After waiting a moment, with bated breath for the sound of footsteps to draw closer. You were surprised when they never did, coming to the conclusion that the person must have left. Likely abandoning their search when they came up empty handed. Not that you minded, The less people here, the less bullets you would have to use to make it back to Filly. 

Pushing the other person from your mind, you began going through the drawers of the desk. Where you found a handful of plastic forks, a loose cigarette and four caps. With another glance to the open door and a pause to listen for steps, you turned your attention to the filing cabinets behind you. 

The first cabinet was a bust, holding nothing but trash. You had moved onto the second cabinet, only starting to pull the first drawer out when the hairs on the back of your neck rose and a pit of dread opened in your stomach. Before you could turn to inspect, the hammer of a pistol was pulled back. The click echoed off the walls of the dusty gas station. 

“My, my,” A low voice drawled out behind you. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ all alone out here?” 

The voice was low, gravely, distinctly a man’s voice. It trickled down your spine like ice water, setting off every nerve ending within you. But deep down, there was a familiarity in the voice. A familiarity that had your heart tightening in your chest. 

“Just surviving,” you replied., hand tightening around your own pistol. “Wasteland’s a rough place.” 

You tried to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away any of your intentions or give the stranger a reason to pull his trigger. At this point you were ready to call this mission a bust, sure that the tech Ma June was after was not worth your life. 

“Stand up, leave your gun on the ground” the man demanded, leaving no room for arguments. 

Complying with the man, you left your gun in the dirt and stood. Muscles aching and protesting from being squatted for so long. Once fully stood you began to turn around. Wanting to see the man who was likely going to shoot you down. 

The man, no, the ghoul in front of you was menacing from looks alone. A long, leather trench coat covered the rest of his outfit, an ammo belt stretched across his chest, and a weathered cowboy hat was pulled low on his head. A sneer stretched his lips across yellowing teeth and fire burned in deep brown eyes. 

As you locked eyes with the Ghoul a weight of emotions crashed into your chest. If silence hadn’t consumed the gas station you would have thought he shot you.

“Cooper?” The name fell from your lips before you could stop it. 

The sound bubbled in the space between the two of you. Growing with the tension in the room before popping with a deep growl from the man. 

Quicker than you could realize, he was on you. A heavy arm pushing against your throat as he slammed you against the hard metal cabinets behind you. A handle dug harshly into your hip, surly going to leave a bruise. However, you could not find it in you to care. Not when Cooper Howard was standing before you two hundred years after you had seen him last. Two hundred years after you were sure he had died.  

“How do you fuckin; know that name?” He growled, pushing his forearm harder against your throat.

“Coop, please,” You coughed out, struggling to breath past the pressure Cooper was putting on your neck. “It’s me.”

His eyes darkened, a predator staring down at you. “Bullshit.” 

The arm not holding you to the cabinets began to raise, The metal of his gun was cold as he placed it to your temple. 

“I’m only gonna ask one more time.” He pulled the hammer back with a sickening click. “How do you know that name and why are you wearing her fuckin’ face?” 

He was nearly shouting at the end of his question. Fury beginning to take over his composure. 

Knowing you only had one more chance to prove to Cooper that you were standing in front of him, you dug into your memories with Cooper. Going back to a place you had long wished to go back to.

“I told you I loved you for the first time the day the bombs dropped,” you choked around the words, “I had a meeting at the studio and you were getting ready for a birthday party. We were standing in the driveway and you were wearing that damn cowboy getup, but I couldn’t wait anymore so I blurted it out.” 

The fire in his eyes diminished as another emotion took over. With a small sigh, your name escaped his lips in a whisper. Like a prayer he had long since forgotten.

[missvelvetsstuff]

No Benefits

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Sharon Carter

Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.

Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.

Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon

Chapter Notes: I'm really nervous with the direction my muse has taken with this story. I hope I can pull it off. LMK what you think, please.

Previous chapter:

"Cookie!" Bucky roared as he came striding up to her office "What the Hell is this bullshit?"

Chapter 3

Warnings: Swearing, angst, Bucky's a jerk, Sharon Carter sucks

Cookie looked at Bucky with a deep exhaustion caused by researching all night and early morning briefings with the top agents to figure out what to do with Sharon while Bucky was her guard dog. Maria was ready to tear into him. Cookie cleared her throat to gain Maria's attention then made a small shake of her head to ask her to back down, Cookie knew she could handle Bucky by herself.

Maria nodded and left to sit in her office across the hall, leaving the door open just in case.

Cookie straightened her shoulders and sighed "How can I help you Sargent Barnes?"

Bucky glared at her breathing heavily "You know damn well how you can help me. Who the fuck do you think you are making accusations at Sharon like this?" He waved the report in her face until she grabbed it and tore it from his hands.

Holding the partially torn report Cookie stood up to her full height, her heels bringing her eye level with Bucky. She stared at him in his cold blue eyes to show him she wasn't intimidated by him, then walked around her desk to close the door "I don't think it's wise to leave the door open while we discuss top secret intelligence."

She returned to her chair "Please have a seat Sargent." took a deep breath and spoke calmly

"I think, no I'm damn sure I'm the lead east coast Intel analyst who was hand picked from Quantico by Nick Fury while you were still on ice with Hydra, who kept our intel operation running during the Blip while Nick Fury, Maria Hill and....hhmm, oh that's right, You, were all dust in the wind. None of my conclusions were specious and I followed the facts, without prejudice, as my job requires. This has less than nothing to do with your personal, ahem, entanglements. There's solid evidence to back up every claim."

Bucky shook his head "Bullshit. You've been acting put out since I rejected you and found a way to hurt me back. You obviously faked the proof. You better fucking retract this garbage and clear Sharon's name."

Cookie scoffed and shook her head "No Barnes. You're the one who lied to me and decided on your own to end our friendship but this has nothing to do with that." she turned away before he could respond and went into the filing cabinet behind her desk, pulling a thick folder from the top drawer then dropping it heavily on the desk.

"Here is all of the evidence that I have been compiling on the Power Broker since they showed on our radar during the Blip, and spent most of the night organizing. The pictures and the stack with a red paper clip all came in the mail from Latvia a few days ago, the envelope is attached, and was opened in front of Fury and Hill. The night before we received them I was on the phone with my top informant, the one who sent that package, who tried to tell me something about the power broker but was killed while on the phone. Before disconnecting a woman's voice told me to back off of the power broker or I'd be next." She played the recording of that call and others from the same informant.

Bucky shook his head "You've been doing this long enough, you could have made authentic looking evidence. Especially with all the AI stuff. Or had someone do it."

Cookie looked at him like he'd grown another head "Are you serious Barnes? You think I would ever intentionally risk the reputation and career that I've worked my ass off for my entire adult life, over a broken heart? You think that I would ruin someones life and risk legal repercussions on myself over a man? You know what this job means to me and what I've been through to get here."

Bucky hesitated with a pained look on his face and shook his head like he was trying to clear it. There was a voice in the back of his head, telling him this was all wrong but something made him push it down and keep going.

"Well, maybe one of your people is doing it. Are you even sure that informant is dead? Maybe the family is trying to get paid. Or the real power broker is smart enough to lead you to Sharon and you're all too willing to believe the worst because of me."

He paused for a minute "And I heard you call me a liar but I've never lied to you."

Cookie laughed "You sure about that? It's been awhile so I understand if your memory is failing. That morning? The last time you actually acknowledged me outside of work related, yeah you lied to me. Twice actually"

Bucky tried to remember back to that morning, something he tried to avoid because he knew he made one of the worst mistakes of his life. He shook his head to clear the image of her heartbroken face "Yeah I don't know what you're talking about."

Cookie scoffed "Of course you don't, I'm surprised you remembered my name when you came in here. First, you told me you weren't ready for a relationship but you jumped into one with Sharon before her car cooled down" Bucky opened his mouth to protest but she glared at him and he backed down "and second, you told me you loved me and wanted to stay friends but went to ignoring me before my tears dried."

She felt her eyes filling up and cursed "Fuck. You even started leaving the room if I was there. Do you know how it feels to have one of your so called best friends cut you out of their life like you were dog shit on their shoe?" She cleared her throat and wiped her tears.

"I would never frame someone, ever. No matter how I felt about them. Not even you."

Bucky stared at her then winced as though he was in severe pain and dropped his head into his palms before speaking again.

"Well something is going on somewhere because I know, in my gut that Sharon isn't the power broker. There's no way."

He picked his head up and looked at Cookie

"I'm not in a relationship with her, we're just friends. And I didn't lie, I was wrong. I thought I wanted to stay friends with you but I don't, I can't. You're always looking at me and making me feel guilty and I don't deserve that. Plus you've been nasty to Sharon since she got here, don't think she hasn't told me about the horrible comments you make to her."

Cookie laughed "This is the most we've spoken in months, I'm not doing anything to make you feel guilty. That's all on you. But Sharon has you all twisted around because she's the one making nasty comments to me."

Bucky bristled "I don't have anything to feel guilty for. I've done nothing wrong and Sharon wouldn't lie to me."

She shrugged "If you say so, I didn't say anything. Now I've given you the details and shown the evidence. What you do is on you."

Bucky stood up, winced again and shook his head "I don't know if you did it or someone you're working with but I do know someone is trying to frame Sharon and you're going along with it. I'll prove you're wrong, that's what I'm gonna do."

Cookie scoffed "Good luck with that, Barnes"

Bucky put his hands on her desk and leaned into her space, his voice quiet and cold "I'll prove you're doing this because of your jealousy and your job and reputation will be over."

Cookie spat at him "Go fuck yourself Barnes, if you think that poorly of me you obviously never knew me. I have never been anything less than thorough and professional. I guess I should be grateful you panicked and cut me out of your life before I let myself get too attached. Good luck with Carter and get the Hell out of my office."

She sat down and went back to the packets she was finishing.

Bucky stood and stared like he was expecting something to happen before turning around and stalking off to find Sharon.

He woke up in the dark, with Sharon curled into him and looked at his watch. 9pm? Not again, his last memory was yelling at Cookie after breakfast then finding Sharon but nothing after that. He decided he had enough and scheduled an appointment with medical in the morning to see if they could help him figure out why he kept losing time.

Cookie spent the rest of the day in more briefings with senior agents to discuss the Sharon Carter problem and how to negate it. Bucky Barnes attachment to Carter was discussed as well since he had already started causing trouble over the revelations and couldn't be trusted to do the right thing.

When she was asked why they couldn't just arrest Sharon and tranq Bucky if he caused a problem, Cookie told them about her concerns that Sharon had an ally in the intel department that needed to be weeded out before Sharon.

She was back in her office, cleaning up her desk for the day when Sharon Carter herself wandered in, sat down and waited expectantly for Cookie to speak.

"What can I do for you agent Carter? I'm a little busy."

Sharon smirked "I know what you're trying to do and I understand. You're in love with Barnes and he wants me. It sucks and I know you must be hurting but slandering me won't get him back. In fact he ran to me this morning to tell me what you were trying to do and wondering why you wanted to hurt him so bad. I told him I would work it out with you."

Her face turned nasty "So here's how this is gonna work. You are going to stop trying to smear my name and leave Barnes alone, he doesn't need or want you. Think you can handle that?"

Cookie kept her face blank. "I don't need you to tell me how to do my job, agent Carter, so get the Hell out of my office."

Sharon laughed "Don't mess with me Cookie, I'm not the girl you want to play with."

Cookie faked an exaggerated yawn "Sure Carter, I'm scared."

Sharon smirked "It doesn't matter what evidence you have, you know. Barnes won't believe you. You could record me telling you that I'm the power broker and want the Soldat to be my enforcer because that's the truth." She grinned and winked "and show it to him. He won't believe you, he's already mine." She sighed "Of course now that you're on to me I will have to adjust my plans but he will want to go with me, even beg to come to protect me from all of you.

Don't chase us little girl, you won't like what you catch."

Her grin grew to something that would rival the Joker "In fact, go ahead and show him. I know FRIDAY is recording all this so let's go and show him. I want you to see how pointless this all is so you can leave us alone."

Her face hardened "Let's go" she grabbed Cookie by her upper arm and dragged her away from her desk. Cookie tried to fight her but she wasn't great with hand to hand, give her a weapon and she might have a chance but Sharon didn't give her the opportunity to grab anything.

When they arrived at Bucky's room Sharon's face softened before Bucky answered the door.

"Hey doll, you don't have to knock just-" he stopped and frowned when he saw Cookie "What the Hell is going on, Cookie have you been harassing Sharon?"

He looked to Sharon for an explanation.

Sharon was able to squeeze a tear from her eye "I was by her office to talk to Maria and Cookie said she was watching me and knew she could prove that I'm the power broker. Listen to what she said. Friday can you play the audio from my talk in Cookies office a few minutes ago?"

"Of course agent Carter."

A recording started of Sharon and Cookies interaction in her office. Bucky started listening with a passive face but he grew angrier with everything Sharon said.

Cookie felt hopeful that he would finally see the truth about Sharon but he aimed his ire at her.

"Seriously Cookie? You just can't let it go can you? Sharon hasn't done anything except make me happy and it's killing you. Like I'm some prize to be won. I never thought you would compromise yourself like this but maybe I'll have a talk with Fury and Hill about your obsession with me."

Cookie just stared at him, trying to figure out what the Hell he was talking about. They both heard Sharon say she was the power broker but he still didn't believe it. "Are you listening to the same audio I am Barnes? She said right there shes the power broker and wants the Winter Soldier to be her enforcer."

Bucky glared at her "Jesus Cookie, that's not even close to what she said. Maybe you need to take a vacation because you're losing it."

He looked her up and down "Honestly you look like shit. When did you stop taking care of yourself? I definitely wouldn't have slept with you if you looked like this."

Sharon just stood next to Bucky grinning like a JackAss at Cookie. "I told you Cookie, he's mine so let it go."

Cookie took a breath then turned and walked away without another word. Sharon must have found some way to brainwash him again and Cookie knew there was nothing she could do right now except notify Fury and Hill that Bucky was under Sharon's control so they could work on getting him back. They scheduled a meeting for first thing the next morning at 5am.

Cookie was woken up by her phone ringing at 3am after just falling asleep. It was Sam, Bucky and Sharon were gone, Stark phones and tracking devices left sitting on the desk in his quarters.

Chapter 4

The Power Broker and The Winter Soldier, in the wind.

@erelierraceala @capswife @ozwriterchick @cjand10 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @browneyedgrli @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hhiggs @dontworryboutitsweetheart-blog @behindmygreyeyes @pattiemac1 @calwitch @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ordelixx

[beneathstarryskies]

Day 5: Face Fucking - Reno Sinclair

A/N: I am a day behind posting this but dammit I'm just a girl doing the best I can

Warnings: face fucking, blow jobs, Reno being a little shit, ass grabbing

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

Taglist: @actuallysaiyan, @loki-love

Reno never shies away from a challenge. The two of you have been fooling around outside of the office for a while now, but he secretly loves the idea of fooling around in the building. When he playfully made a comment about needing you on your knees for him, you’d rebuffed him because there was nowhere in the entire Shinra building where you could perform such an act without fear of getting caught. Instead of taking care of his reports (‘Who the fuck wants to do that anyway?’ he decided) he spends the majority of his day scouring the building in search of a quiet, sparsely populated area. He ends up settling on an old file room that mostly contains invoices for supplies and other trivial matters. 

Is it romantic? No. 

Does he care? Also…No. 

It checks all of the boxes for Reno, aside from atmosphere but he figures he won’t care much about that once your mouth is around his cock. All he has to do is get you here and on your knees. 

He makes his way back upstairs to the Turks’ office and finds you working diligently on a task Tseng had given you. He leans against your desk, and right away you can tell he’s up to no good even though he is trying his best to look innocent. The look has never worked for him. You see right through him every time. 

“Say, dollface, I could use some help,” he leans forward with his hand on top of your work. “You see there’s this file I need, but it’s in this miskept file room, you know how it is.” 

“Mhm,” you raise your eyebrow suspiciously. 

“You think you could help me look for it?” 

You know you should say no, but it is so hard to resist him when he’s like this; pretty eyes lit up with mischief. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he waits for your answer. You close the file on your desk and lock it away before standing. 

“Lead the way,” you say with a voice that seems a little too sweet and eager to help. In an office full of Turks, your act stood out. 

Reno resists the urge to place his hand on the base of your back as he leads you to the filing room. He just begins making up the details of this file he needs help finding.He slyly locks the door as you begin looking through the filing cabinets. There’s a box of old files on top of one of the cabinets that Reno pretends to look through, then he knocks it down. 

“Oh, clumsy me,” he sighs. “Will you pick those up, dollface?” 

Since you’re already kneeling to look through one of the drawers, you start gathering the spilled papers. All the while, Reno has his hand in the pocket of his slacks. He toys with his cock, getting himself nice and hard for you. Once it’s cleaned up, you feel his hand on the back of your head. 

“While you’re down there, I’ve got something else you can help me with.” 

He takes his hand out of his pocket and instead grasps the aching erection through his pants. He smirks as your eyes widen just from the sight of his bulge. 

“Give it a kiss, baby,” he purrs. “Come on, just a little kiss.” 

He pushes your head forward and you kiss his cock through his slacks. Immediately you find yourself wanting more. You look up at him to see if he approves, and you’re met with a smirk. He opens his pants and pulls his cock out. 

“One more, baby,” he pleads softly as he squeezes the head, “Look at it leaking for you.” 

You sigh, realizing you fell for his trap completely. You lean in to kiss the tip, and you can’t resist giving his slit a little kitten lick. 

“There,” you say, but he doesn’t release his grip on your hair. 

“Show me your tongue,” he bites his lip in anticipation. 

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out for him. He drags his tip along the flat of your warm tongue before pushing it in slowly. You choke when he hits the back of your throat. He pulls out only to shove it back in as far as you can take it. Your hand rests on his thigh as he begins thrusting his in and out of your wet mouth. 

“Good girl. Take it all, dollface.” 

Your mouth is stuffed full. All you can do is look up at him to acknowledge that he’s said anything at all. His hand tenderly strokes the back of your head despite the way he’s using your mouth for his own satisfaction. Your whole body is flush and the heat emanates from your core, spurred on by the way Reno can’t resist moaning like a slut for you. 

“You want my cum, baby?” he asks, mostly working himself up even more even though he knows his dirty talk gets to you too. “I know you do, baby. You love it when I cum down your throat.” 

His thrusts grow sloppier as he nears his release. His hands become rougher, grasping tightly to your hair to keep you perfectly still. His thick cockhead rams into the back of your throat over and over until his body goes stiff. His thrusts become frantic jerks as he cums. 

“Oh fuck,” he whines. “Oh my fucking god!” 

He’s panting by the time he releases the last shot of his thick cum into your waiting mouth. He thrusts lazily a couple more times before pulling out completely. He leans against the filing cabinet to catch his breath, and carefully wipes away some of your drool with the pad of his thumb. 

“Such a good girl,” he drawls, his voice raspy with arousal. “So good for me.” 

“I hope you plan to return the favor later,” you giggle as you stand up off your aching knees. Reno tucks his cock back into his pants.

“Do I ever let you down, dollface?” 

With those words, he leans in to kiss you. The two of you return to work, but not before Reno grabs a handful of your ass.

[corpsebasil]

If you’re taking requests !!!

This may not be much to go off of but maybe reader x Ethan Landry are coworkers and they both have the biggest crush on one another. He’s an awkward mess, but she finds it so cute. It can fluff or smutty, or both 😌😌

yes

“Pass me the stapler, E?” You asked, bent halfway over the receptionist’s desk at the Blackmore Puppy Resort, carefully tapping a stack of papers together.

You’d been sorting for over half an hour, making sure every dog’s paperwork was kept neat and organized for the filing cabinet. Your coworker, a brunet named Ethan Landry, was sitting on the ground near your feet, attempting to fix a broken collar. His tongue was pressed to his cheek, eyebrows furrowed as he fiddled with the metal and leather contraption. Finally he grumbled, moving to his knees to stretch to the opposite cabinet, snatching the stapler up off the top.

“This is fucking hopeless.” He grumbled, passing you the stapler and dumping the collar in the trash. “Boss is gonna kill me.”

“It’s not that bad,” you told him, stapling together the papers, but when your eyes darted down to the bin and saw the mangled collar, you barely suppressed a snort. “okay, yeah. You annihilated that collar.”

“Ugh.” He groaned, leaning his back against the desk, splaying his legs out in front of him on the floor. “Okay, what if I drove to PetSmart really fast and got a new one? Think she’d notice?”

“Before the owner comes to pick up her dog in—” you glanced at the clock. “—twenty minutes? Yeah.” He groaned again and you cracked a smile. “Told you not to take the collar off.”

“It was bath time.”

“You’re supposed wash them with the collars on.”

Ethan made a noise of complaint and leaned his head against the side of your knee as you worked, continuing to staple papers. You let a small smile form on your mouth. You and Ethan had been working together for months now and had become fast friends; you ate lunch together during your breaks, raced each other to answer the phone, and fought over who got to walk the small dogs instead of the huge, hulking German Shepard that stayed regularly at the kennel while his military dad was on tour.

And, to be honest, you liked him a bit.

He was cute, that was undeniable. And the two of you had a sort of easy friendship that had began practically the first shift together. He looked up at you, brown eyes fixed on the side of your face as you finished up filing some paperwork.

“Do you remember Jess?” He asked and you paused, glancing down.

“Jess as in…your ex?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, looking towards a spot on the wall. “She texted me yesterday. Wants to go to Shake Shack later and catch up.” His curly head tilted as he adjusted himself, sitting up straighter. “Should I go?”

“Do you want to go?”

“Do you want me to want to go?”

“Do you want me to want you to want to go—?”

“Y/N.” He laughed, tugging at your shoelace as he grinned, a stupidly cute smile that pulled at your heart. “Im asking for your advice right now. Help me out.”

You pretended to ponder for a while, even if the thought of Ethan going anywhere with Jess made you feel slightly violent. You shrugged, sliding him a casual glance as you opened the desk drawer and shoved the papers inside.

“I don’t know.” You said, tightening your ponytail before you moved to the computer, pulling up your schedule. “Maybe you should reconsider doing anything with your ex-girlfriend.”

“It’s not like I have other options.” Ethan said, watching as you tapped on the keyboard slightly aggressively. “Right?”

“You could always use Tinder. A much more advanced, entertaining route than the obvious heartache you’re gonna get from getting Shake Shack with her.”

“Come on, haven’t you ever gone back to an ex?”

“No, because I’m not a dumbass. And I’m going on my lunch break in like, ten minutes, so that’s all the advice you’re getting.”

Ethan stayed silent for a moment and you turned, glancing down at where he seemed deep in concentration on the ground. Then he stood, sighing loudly, and stretched. The boy had no business being as tall as he was, practically towering over you when he was by your side.

“What if we went to Shake Shack instead?” He asked, drumming his fingers on the desk as he peered down at you. You raised an eyebrow and he raised one right back. “What? I don’t want to be thought of as a dumbass.” Your amused smile was enough for him to crack one of his own, his hip bumping yours as he walked by. “What do I text Jess?”

“How about nothing?” You offered, following him as he moved towards the back where the two of you kept your bags. “Block her.”

“I was thinking, ‘I’ve found a better lunch date’, but that works too.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up your bag and slinging it over your arm.

“You’re so annoying. But fine. We can get burgers if you want.”

“That’s my girl.” He said, grinning as he flicked your ear, his finger hooking through your belt loop as tugged you along with him out of the back.

—

After lunch and then your afternoon shift with Ethan, the two of you wound up at his dorm, splayed out on his bed as you watched American Psycho. Ethan was laying on his stomach next to you, chin on his arm as he watched the film, both of your eyes glued to the screen.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He suddenly asked, and you glanced over in surprise.

“Hmm?”

“Do you—I mean, are you dating anyone?” He looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. Never-mind.”

“Why?” You asked, propping yourself on your elbow and turning your head to face him. He was close, barely half a foot away, his cheeks flushed a slight shade of pink. “You wanna ask me out on a date?”

“No.” He grinned slyly, his mask of awkwardness slipping a fraction into one of recognition at the line. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“You’re so cheesy.” You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder, the scent of his cologne invading your nose as he watched you with amused, soft brown eyes. “Quoting Stab like I haven’t seen the movie a thousand—”

Ethan moved quickly, surprising you, one hand sliding from your jaw to your neck, the other hand pressing the mattress for support as he kissed you hard, an involuntary noise leaving you at the rapid movement. He pulled away, forehead brushing yours as he spoke, the taste of his spearmint gum lingering on your mouth.

“Go on a date with me, Y/N.” He murmured, kissing you again, and you slipped a hand into his hair, tugging him further onto you as you whispered your assent.

—

HELLOO

[karatekels]

Okay so this one's inspired by your latest work🤭.

What do you think about an enemies to lovers kinda gig with kk3 Terry 👀

The reader is an employee at Dynatox, she's the best they have, other than Margaret of course. But she doesn't like him😏

He obviously finds it rather interesting that someone isn't quite charmed by him for once. A good game of cat and mouse and eventually she'd fall for him,but not after pushing his buttons at some event he's hosting. Maybe entertaining some guy for the time being to see the jealousy pour out of Terry...

I love love love your writing so this one was hard to resist 🤍

Ooooh, this one is fun! Thanks for the request, and I hope you enjoy! It's a long one, friends, so BUCKLE UP.

TW: Very inappropriate workplace relationships, rough sex, spanking, dirty talk, Terry being a possessive, controlling asshole (we love him for it)

Also, I will only half-apologize for using the “gay friend pretends to be boyfriend” trope, because *I know* that it’s a horrible cliché but I couldn’t resist.

---

Cat & Mouse

---

“Y/N, Mr. Silver wants to see the Cambodia report,” your assistant tells you, sticking her head into your office.

“It’s in the filing cabinet, second drawer,” you respond, not looking up from your desk. You had enough on your plate, and this was what assistants were for, after all. You still feel her eyes on you from the doorway after a moment, and look up at her expectantly. She hesitates.

“He asked for you specifically, Y/N,” she adds, and you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

“Of course he did,” you mutter, taking a calming breath. “Thank you, Jess,” you add, dismissing her with a smile, which you drop the instant she closes the door.

Your boss, Terry Silver, did this every so often, asking you to do things outside of your job description so he would have an excuse to pester you. It wasn’t overt enough to be flirting, but it was insistent to the point of getting annoying. You were here to work, and you were damn good at your job; you hadn’t come to a company like Dynatox to be eye candy for the boss.

Dynatox was always ranked among the top of Fortune 500 companies, and you knew that continuing to work your way up the ranks here would open all kinds of doors for you. It wasn’t as if you didn’t like your job – you loved it, and you were good at it, and if your boss would just let you be it would be an ideal position. If he could just stop with the teasing…

He likely wasn’t even actually interested in you; people like him – rich, attractive, successful – were just used to everyone fawning all over them, throwing themselves at them, and he was likely just put out that you didn’t have time for that bullshit. It was all probably just a cat and mouse game to him, and so he had decided to do what all children do when they don’t get what they want: pester, and prod, and tease, the equivalent of pulling on your pigtails in the schoolyard.

Fortunately, you were a professional, and had thus far been able to maintain a no-nonsense approach when it came to responding to his flirting, all while remaining respectful. He couldn’t be annoyed at your refusal to play along with his dumb little games.

Sighing, you retrieve the needed file from the cabinet and make for Mr. Silver’s office, just wanting to get this over with. Approaching the door, you knock twice, stepping inside after his “Come in!” and pointedly leaving the door open. This would be a quick delivery; no funny business.

He’s lounging in his office chair, feet on his desk, crossed at the ankles, casually looking over a file in his lap as though he hadn’t expected you to walk into his office. He looks up at you after a moment, smiling brightly at you, tossing the file onto his desk carelessly.

“If it isn’t Miss L/N! How’s my favourite employee?” he asks cheekily. You bite the inside of your cheek.

What a fucking schmuck.

“I have the Cambodia report for you, Mr. Silver,” you reply, ignoring his greeting. Approaching the desk, you slap the file down next to his polished shoes. He picks up the file, unperturbed by your clear annoyance, and lazily peruses it while you stand there, silently seething.

“Will that be all, Mr. Silver?” you ask, trying not to grind your teeth. He holds up a finger, not taking his eyes off of the document. You think you can see a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips and immediately start calculating your anticipated bonus check for the end of the year in your head, needing a distraction to prevent yourself from leaning over the desk and slapping his stupid, perfectly sculpted face. Why did the worst people seem to have all the luck?

Nodding once, he snaps the file shut, extending it towards you with a smirk. You move to take it from him, but he doesn’t let it go.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” he asks, blue eyes twinkling at you. His flirting had become outright brazen lately, and you briefly wonder if HR would even bother with a sexual misconduct case against the Big Man himself. You doubted it.

“Yes, Mr. Silver,” you lie, tugging the file out of his hands. “I need to finish on time today,” you add pointedly, and he smiles placatingly at you.

“Very well then. Thank you Y/N, that will be all,” he dismisses you. You turn on your heel and leave his office without another word, grumpy that he had wasted your time in order to ogle you yet again.

--- Terry’s POV ---

Terry takes the time to check you out as you all but storm out of his office, his eyes running from your high heels up your toned calves to where your legs disappeared into your pencil skirt, grinning wolfishly at your back.

God, he loved riling you up.

You had been with the company for two years now, working your way up the corporate ladder, but he had only been introduced to you a few months ago, when you’d been promoted to the point that you would be working on the same floor as him. He had heard your name before, of course, as everyone praised your work ethic and talent, but he hadn’t been told that you were fine as hell, especially in your tight skirts.

He had wanted you immediately, going out of his way to call you into his office at the earliest opportunity for a casual “introduction to the boss.”

He had been incredibly charming, planning on reeling you in by that single meeting alone, and he knew that you were aware of his intentions, but you brushed him off, seemingly unaffected by his flirting.

Initially, he had been baffled.

He was Terry Silver, international playboy extraordinaire. He was rich, handsome, successful, charming… he was the whole package, and you had dismissed him without a second thought, your face impassive except for the raising of one elegant eyebrow, asking him if that would be all.

Fuck no, that wouldn’t be all. He had far more in store for you, and he intended to get to work at the earliest opportunity.

The more he pursued, the more determined you were to refuse him, and it was starting to drive him batty. There had been a few nights at home, high out of his mind on cocaine, where he debated just taking you, wanting you out of his system by any means necessary. But no, you also had to be an exemplary employee, and he knew from experience just how hard those were to find.

Was it so much to ask for you to pull double-duty, working hard for the company and letting him work you hard on your time off? Terry didn’t think so.

So, he had been biding his time somewhat, settling for increasingly salacious flirting at the office, making excuses to be in your presence as often as possible. And damn but if he didn’t start to actually like you; your sarcasm and quick wit making him actually look forward to seeing the fire in your eyes as he came onto you yet again.

Yes, the chase had become quite fun… but the time had come for the predator to snatch up his prey.

He needed a way to get you to loosen up around him, somewhere where you couldn’t use work as an excuse to escape him.

Terry presses the intercom on his desk, summoning Margaret into his office.

They had some planning to do.

--- Reader’s POV ---

The office is abuzz the next day as you arrive to work, and it has you on edge immediately. People excitable at a company like Dynatox was never a good sign. Was it another lawsuit? Some scandal at one of their competitors? Deciding not to try to guess the source of the gossip, you walk to your office to get to work; it would find its way to you eventually.

Sure enough, your assistant sticks her head in your office within the first hour of the day.

“Y/N! Did you hear?” Jess exclaims excitedly, looking mildly annoyed by the blank stare you give her in response. “Ahh, check your mail and read the memo from Mr. Silver! It’s going to be great!”

Sighing, you pull the stack of papers out of the “incoming” basket for mail on your desk, flipping through until you come to the memo, printed in glossy colour. Skimming it quickly, you see that Mr. Silver has announced a mandatory gala for all employees the weekend after next, to celebrate the success of the company.

So now you were going to have to come in on the weekend and deal with his crap? Lovely.

There was a post-it note stuck to the bottom of the memo.

See you there. – T.S.

Seething, you crumple the note in your palm, tossing it into the bin. You half-believed this party was just some scheme to further annoy you. It was ridiculous to think so, but the man was ridiculously persistent, and you wouldn’t put it past him. What was it going to take for him to finally drop it and leave you alone?

You move to toss the flyer away, but text at the bottom – previously covered by the Post-It – catches your eye.

Those who wish to bring a guest should RSVP to Margaret as soon as possible.

You bite your tongue to fight back what would have been a particularly wicked grin. Bingo.

Sticking your head out of your office door, you tell Jess that you were taking an important call and were not to be disturbed, closing the door firmly behind you.

You had some planning to do.

---

Your scheming had gone on for longer than you had anticipated, so you had had to stay late at the office to finish your work, but you were now finally ready to go home. You were exhausted, but it had been worth it; you were almost looking forward to the party now.

You head into the elevator, enjoying that you were the only one that stuck around this late and could breathe comfortably for once in the normally cramped space. That is, until a large, bejeweled hand appears between the nearly-closed doors, causing them to open again.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Mr. Silver looms in the doorway, smiling down at you before striding into the elevator, standing far closer to you than necessary in the otherwise empty space. You tense up, but don’t take the bait, standing your ground.

“Hey, Y/N! Wow, you’re here late – burning the midnight oil?” He quips, irritatingly chipper for this time of night.

“Yes, Mr. Silver, I had a few loose ends to tie up,” you respond, trying to keep the smirk out of your voice.

“It’s dedication like that that makes this company so successful,” he replies cheerily. You nod tightly in response, wishing for the first time you hadn’t worked your way up to such a high-up office. The elevator was taking forever.

“That’s why I couldn't help but put on the gala next weekend,” he continues, clearly goading you. You feel his gaze at the back of your head, but stubbornly refuse to turn around. “I hope you’re excited!”

With only a couple floors to go, you can’t resist the opportunity to wipe what is most assuredly a shit-eating grin off the man’s face. You turn to face him, giving him a beaming smile that definitely takes him by surprise.

“Absolutely, Mr. Silver,” you say, forcing every shred of enthusiasm you can muster into your tone. “Me and my date will see you there, boss!”

The elevator doors open at the perfect time, and you turn to exit, walking away without another word to the man, fighting the urge to turn around and see his reaction. You’d have the chance to appreciate it at the gala.

--- Terry’s POV ---

Terry broods in the back of the limo on the way home, trying not to bite the end off his cigar in his anger. A date? There was no way. He regularly paid employees to feed him gossip, asking several in particular to get information about you from your assistant; the girl was an open book. She had never mentioned you being in a relationship; you had told her you were focused on your career. Had you lied to her? You didn’t seem the type, but then, you were a private person.

He had a couple of weeks to get to the bottom of this – and he would get to the bottom of this – and was more than willing to spend the necessary resources finding out who this other man was, if he even existed. Terry Silver was not threatened by competition, but he didn’t enjoy being out of the loop.

“Margaret, take a note,” he requests, exhaling smoke from his cigar. The woman, poised to help as ever, clicks her pen.

“Get a group of PIs together. I want them watching Y/N L/N from tomorrow until the gala. Look for any men she speaks to for more than a cup of coffee and get me background checks on them.”

“Yes, Mr. Silver,” she replies, keeping judgement out of her tone as always. That was the main difference between Margaret and you, he realized; well, apart from Margaret practically being a surrogate aunt to him. You were both excellent employees, but while she easily removed her own opinions and feelings on his business dealings from her work, you were a firecracker, barely able to keep yourself from blowing up at him at every opportunity. He did so want to push you over the edge, in every way he could…

Terry takes another drag of his cigar, satisfied. A lover didn’t present a threat to him; he’d just find out what it would take to get rid of him – money, blackmail, a good, old-fashioned beatdown. You’d be his by the end of the gala.

He’d make sure of it.

---

A week has passed since he put the order out, and so far nothing had come of it. You had barely left your house other than to work, and he’d had people stationed outside your home 24/7. No one had come or gone beyond the odd deliveryman. You hadn’t been seen out in public with any men beyond the odd family member, either. He was now convinced that the man in question didn’t exist, and finds himself surprised at your tactics. He figured that if you had thought making up a boyfriend would be enough to deter him – it wouldn’t – that you would have done so by now, and you hadn’t.

Surely you knew him better than that by now, didn’t you? He’d be disappointed otherwise.

There are a few days left before the gala, and he uses them to poke the bear further, seeing if he can get you to admit that there is no mystery man in your life.

On Wednesday afternoon, he shows up himself at your office door, not even trying to be subtle about pursuing you anymore. Everyone else knew to get out of his way and leave him to his antics. Boss’s orders.

“Y/N, sorry to drop this on you last minute, but I need this taken care of by the end of the day, alright?” he says in his best innocent voice, dropping a stack of file folders on your desk. You don’t look up at him or respond right away, but he sees your grip on your pen tighten, and smirks.

You look up at him after a long moment, your face a neutral mask. “Yes, Mr. Silver,” you reply, not giving him anything. Breaking you was going to be so much fun…

“I hope that staying late doesn’t interfere with a hot date with your man or anything,” he adds, unable to resist pushing you on the subject.

“No, not tonight,” you reply absently, looking through the stack of papers he’d tossed your way. He decides to drop the matter there, and turns to leave.

“We’re looking forward to blowing off some steam the night of the gala,” you call out when his back is turned, your voice deliberately husky, and his back stiffens. You were such a fucking tease…

He leaves your office without another word, immediately making plans to go to the dojo and blow off some steam of his own.

--- Reader’s POV ---

You finally get your hair just perfect, managing to look both elegant and sexy as it cascades down your shoulders. You’d been at it for what felt like forever, but you were finally ready: hair half up and curled, smoky makeup, a pair of pumps, and a deep red dress that made you feel like sin personified.

You had had a great time messing with Terry over the past couple of weeks, really laying it on thick the closer to the event you got. His visible frustration at your insistence that you had a boyfriend had been amusing, and there had been a couple of times where you were briefly worried you had pushed him a bit too far with your teasing. Hopefully after tonight, he would get the message and leave you be. You were almost regretting it; giving the man a taste of his own medicine had made work downright enjoyable.

There’s a knock at the door, and you head over to greet your “date” for the evening. You open the door, revealing your friend Mark, looking dashing as always as he leans against the doorframe, a small bouquet of roses in hand. You take him in with your eyes: tanned skin, short curly hair, deep brown eyes, in a perfectly fitted black suit with a shirt that matched your dress, the first few buttons undone.

“Well hellooo, gorgeous,” he purrs, and you roll your eyes at him, tugging him into a hug and laying a kiss on his cheek.

“We’re not there yet, Mark, you don’t need to start with that yet,” you laugh, pulling him inside.

“I figured I’d practice now, make it more convincing,” he jokes, grinning at you like a loon. You and Mark had met in college, in an elective theatre class, and had bonded right away over your love of wine and beautiful men, and had been friends ever since. He had spent many nights passed out on your couch, and you were happy to finally call in one of the (many) favours he owed you by having him play your boyfriend for the evening.

“Thank you again for doing this,” you tell him earnestly. You knew he would play the part perfectly, and he had been on board from your first phone call to him when the gala had first been announced.

“Are you kidding? Acting out gay cliches is what I live for!” he quips. “But really, run me through this again; I don’t want to fuck up.”

You rattle off the plan again: he would wait at a distance for Terry to approach you when you were alone – you had no doubt that he would – and then swoop in, all good looks and dazzling charm, acting like you were the perfect couple for the evening, doing your best to assure your boss that pursuing you was a pointless endeavour.

“Just keep your wits about you, alright? This guy is a sneaky bastard, and ridiculously persistent.”

“Oh, to be pursued endlessly by a wealthy man,” Mark laments, and you snort at him. “What’s this guy look like? How will I know who I'm looking for?”

“Tall, ponytail, annoying; you won’t be able to miss him,” you rattle off. “Oh, I know!”

Walking over to the coffee table, you pick up the most recent copy of Time magazine, flipping through it to the article on Dynatox. “Here, this is him,” you offer the magazine to Mark, pointing to the glossy photographs of the man in question. He whistles lowly.

“Damn, he’s fit. Why are you rejecting him again?” he asks, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t care if he’s Eros in the flesh,” you snap. “He’s pretentious, he’s annoying, and he thinks he’s entitled to anyone he bats an eye at.” Mark puts his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright! Sorry I asked. You ready to go?” You nod at him, making for the door, but he doesn’t follow. You look over your shoulder to see him staring at the magazine on the table, his lips quirked.

“What?” you demand, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You sure found that page fast,” he comments, tapping the magazine with a finger. “Flip to it a lot?” he asks innocently.

“Shut up, Mark.”

“Uh-huh. So, do you think your boss may be hitting on you because he’s compensating for something? Closeted homosexuality, perhaps?” he asks in a hopeful tone. You can’t help but laugh at this, pushing him out the door towards the cab.

---

The massive main lobby of Dynatox’s building had been done up to the nines for the event, looking even more opulent than usual, and you find yourself taking in the view as you enter on Mark’s arm, despite walking through this very room nearly every day for years now.

Mark helps you out of your coat, ever the gentleman, folding it over his arm to go to the coat check. He leans in to whisper in your ear, making sure to look particularly intimate as he does so. Mark did nothing halfway – much like another handsome man in your life…

“I’ll go check this and then find somewhere to wait in the wings. Go look gorgeous and knock him dead, love!” He kisses your cheek with a smile, disappearing into the growing crowd, and you can’t help but blush, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

You find a large, marble pillar to lean up against with a glass of wine, surveying the crowd and trying to appear natural. Sure enough, it doesn’t take long before you are approached by the man himself.

“Good evening, Y/N. So wonderful to see you,” croons a voice from behind you, and you suppress a shiver, turning to look up at Terry, dressed in a stunning tuxedo. You pointedly keep your eyes on his face.

“Hello, Mr. Silver. Happy to be here,” you reply sweetly, peering up at him over the rim of your wine glass.

“And where is this man I’ve heard so much about?” he asks with obvious fake interest. You resist the urge to smirk. This was going perfectly.

“Oh, just checking my coat,” you say dismissively, waving your hand in the vague direction Mark had left in. “And what about you? Do you have a date for this evening?”

“Oh yes, my woman is here,” he doesn’t miss a beat, his eyes locked with yours. You feel your face heat at his implication.

“Oh, wonderful! Make sure that you introduce me at so–”

Your remark is cut off as an arm wraps around you, a body pressing up against you from behind.

“Boo,” Mark says lowly in your ear, and you giggle, letting him pull you to his side with an arm firmly around your waist. You press your body into his, kissing his cheek, pleased to see Terry looking appropriately flabbergasted at the appearance of your, ahem, lover.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, darling,” Mark purrs, loudly enough to make sure that Terry hears.

“Sorry, honey! I got caught up talking to my boss,” you reply, making sure to emphasize his role. “Mark, this is Terry Silver. Mr. Silver, this is my boyfriend Mark,” you introduce the two, watching them exchange what looks to be a needlessly firm handshake. Fortunately, Mark holds his own. You could kiss him for how well he was playing this, giving Terry a look as though he was sizing him up as competition.

“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Silver,” he grins at the man, making it clear he doesn’t perceive him as a threat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to steal my woman away for a dance!”

He takes your empty wine glass and reaches past Terry to place it on a table, pulling you away from him and over to the dance floor without another word to the man. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he rests his forehead on yours as you sway to the music.

“You are a wonderful, devious man,” you praise him quietly, smiling brilliantly and he beams at you, twirling you around before pulling you back into his arms.

“If only my “tall, dark, and handsomeness” could help me win over my own “taller, darker, and handsomer” man,” he replies wistfully, and you see him glancing over your shoulder, presumably at Terry. You grin up at him.

“We’ll make that our next project, darling,” you promise, laughing at your use of the pet name. “Seriously though, thank you. I could kiss you for how well you played that back there.”

Mark sighs dramatically. “For the cause,” he murmurs in a self-sacrificing tone, leaning down to kiss you gently, holding you closer.

Neither of you feel the wave of absolute rage that radiates out of Terry Silver’s rigid form.

--- Terry’s POV ---

The elevator doors open to the deserted top floor of Dynatox Industries, Terry stepping out and stalking to his office at the far end of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

How the fuck had this happened?

He’d had you tailed for days, and not once had that prick shown his fucking face anywhere near you. None of his sources inside the building had ever heard you mention a Mark. Where the fuck had he come from?

The fax machine in the corner starts making noise, and he moves over to it, seeing that the PIs had sent over photographs of this guy picking you up for tonight. Oh, now they find him. Terry flips through the black and white shots of you embracing the man, laughing with him, kissing his cheek.

He’s torn the pictures to shreds before he even thinks about doing it, seeing red.

How long had you been together? Had he fucked you yet? You were meant to be his.

He walks over to the globe in the corner, spinning it to open the bar hidden inside, and quickly pours himself a shot of whiskey, then another. He had to calm down.

He had planned for this, for the event that your lover ended up being real, after all. Get the man alone, find out what made him tick, and send him on his way, leaving you in his far more capable hands. He would have you tonight, of that he was certain.

The alcohol settling his nerves, and restoring his confidence, Terry returns to the party, determined to put his plan in action.

Sticking to the sidelines or pretending to listen to the inane chatter other employees came to bother him with, his eyes are always on the two of you. Every touch between you, every laugh Mark draws out of you, he tallies them all up in his head, determined to make you pay for them at some point. Finally, you part ways from your little paramour, heading for the Ladies’ Room, while your partner makes his way to the bar.

Terry closes in on the man, waiting for him to retrieve his drink before all but backing him into a corner, using every bit of his size to appear effortlessly intimidating. Mark gives him a look up and down, and his lips quirk, but he appears unfazed.

“So where did you and Y/N meet?” Terry asks, as though they’d been in the middle of a conversation this whole time.

“College.”

“Which college was that again?”

“UC Berkeley.” Damn, he was telling the truth about that; he’d looked over your CV again recently, nearly having it memorized at this point. He’d find something, some slip up he can use against the man to get him out of here…

“And how long have you been together?”

“Almost a year now; we got together on Valentine’s Day; horribly sappy, I know,” the man jokes, and a flash of you, naked on a bed covered in rose petals flashes in Terry’s mind. He gnashes his teeth.

“She’s really something,” he continues, having clearly had quite a bit to drink. “Completely insatiable – I’ve been over at her place every night this week!”

Terry is about to reach over and break the man’s neck with his bare hands, when something suddenly clicks in his head.

No man had visited you any night this week; he’d made sure of it.

This man was lying, and he had no reason to lie to Terry unless you had put him up to it. You weren’t dating this man at all, he realizes. You crafty little minx…

Terry steps closer to the other man, suddenly all smiles.

“What will it take for you to admit that this is all a ruse, huh?”

The man valiantly tries to keep up the act for a moment, but eventually breaks eye contact with Terry, laughing quietly.

“What gave us away?”

“Don’t worry about that, just know that I know.”

The man snorts, polishing off his drink. “God, you’re as cocky and proud as Y/N. Don’t know why you both don’t just cut the bullshit already, since you’re apparently soooo smart.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Terry asks the man, impatient. Now that the charade was up, he seemed to have loose lips, the alcohol going right to his head. You would be furious if you found out he had betrayed you… Terry smirks at the thought.

“You both clearly want to fuck each other; I don’t know why you don’t just get to it.” Really now…

“What makes you say that?” Terry asks, crossing his arms and staring the man down.

“Don’t worry about that, just know that I know,” Mark repeats mockingly, parroting Terry’s words back at him.

“Fine,” Terry snaps, sensing he won’t get much more of substance out of the man. “What will it take for you to drop the act and leave her to me?” He’s all business once more, already reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. Mark waves a hand at him dismissively.

“Don’t worry about that; I’ve got my eye on something over at the bar,” he purrs, looking over to the bartender with lust in his eyes. Well, that settled that then.

Now to find a way to get you alone…

Terry approaches one of his favourite gossip-mongers, reaching for his wallet once more.

--- Reader’s POV ---

“Y/N, there you are!” A voice cuts through the crowd as you re-enter the lobby, scanning the room for Mark. You’d caught Terry staring at the pair of you several times throughout the night, but he had finally seemed to leave off. Probably off tending to his bruised ego, you think to yourself, brushing away the slight pang of guilt. You wanted to find Mark and get out of here, having fulfilled your mission for the night.

The woman who had called your name approaches you – Alice, you think her name was. She was a newer employee, and apparently a notorious gossip, so you had avoided her the best you could.

“Yes?” you ask, still craning your neck to look for your date.

“Could you do me the hugest favour? I accidentally put a file on your desk that was meant for Marissa, and she’ll kill me if it isn’t on her desk first thing Monday morning. Would you mind moving it for me?” she begs. You groan internally, but know that not doing this for her could have you branded as the “Office Bitch,” and you really didn’t need any more drama at work. Giving her a fake smile, you reassure her you’ll get right to it, and make for the elevator. The sooner you did this, the sooner you could go home.

The elevator doors open on your floor and you make for your office, noting with brief annoyance that the cleaning staff have closed the blinds despite your repeated requests to leave them open. Finding your keys, you unlock your door, flicking the light on and making your way to your desk with a sigh. You look over everything, but nothing is on it that you hadn’t put there yourself.

Where the hell was this file?

The door to your office closes loudly behind you, and you turn to see Terry Silver leaning against it casually, but his eyes are blazing. Your heart rate takes off immediately, and you gasp, your hand going to your throat.

“Looking for something?” he asks, and you start to feel very claustrophobic, very quickly.

“Yes, Alice came and asked me to look for something in here,” you explain slightly breathlessly, cursing the woman in your head with everything you had. “But I can’t find it, so I think Mark and I will just head home.”

“Is that so?” he questions, an amused tone to his voice that you don’t like.

“Yes, so if you’ll excuse me…” you trail off pointedly.

He doesn’t move away from the door.

“Mark was trying to convince the bartender to go home with him when I left him,” Terry informs you, and your blood feels like it freezes in your veins. He knew you had played him.

You open your mouth to make an excuse, a snarky comment, to say anything, but nothing comes out. Terry is staring at you with a smirk, the air around the two of you thick with tension.

“I think you’ve done enough toying with me, don’t you?” he asks innocently, slowly stepping towards you. “It’s my turn.”

You manage to convince your feet to back away from him, moving to keep your desk between you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, trying to keep your voice and your body from shaking.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Terry mocks, coming up to the desk and laying his palms on it, leaning across it towards you. Your eyes follow his hands, and looking just past them, you see he’s rock hard. You bite back a whimper of desire.

“Don’t even think about it, Terry Silver.” You’re relatively pleased with the way you growl out the threat, but he doesn’t seem fazed. He straightens up slowly, giving you a wide smile, and without moving his eyes from yours sweeps everything off your desk to the ground with one fluid motion of his arm.

“Get on the desk,” he requests in a calm, quiet voice, as though he was asking you to hand him a piece of mail. A jolt of pleasure moves from the butterflies in your stomach down to your clit. You scowl at him, refusing to give in.

“Bite me, you arrogant, entitled asshole,” you snarl at him, and he smiles at you patronizingly, but his eyes harden.

“Get on the desk or I will throw you on the desk,” he warns, and your knees nearly buckle at the dominant tone in his voice. You force yourself to walk a wide berth around him and your desk, suddenly hating your favourite pair of pumps as you make your way for the door.

“Even if I did want you,” you hiss back at him, though you both know that you do, “I’m not just going to let you treat me like some obedient little puppet that you can just –”

He reaches out and snatches your arm in his large hand, yanking you between him and the desk. Bending you back against it, he tangles a hand in your hair, keeping you at an awkward angle you couldn’t squirm out of and attacking your lips in a punishing kiss.

You let out a growl of indignation against his lips, reaching up to roughly grab his ponytail, trying to pull him off you, kissing him back fiercely all the while. When that fails to get a reaction out of him you try to shove him off you, your hands pushing on his broad shoulders with all your might until he seems to get annoyed, moving his hands out of your hair and away from your waist to snatch up your wrists, bending you fully to lay back against the desk and pinning your hands above your head with ease.

You snarl, and he nips your lower lip, running his tongue along yours in a way that has you moaning, your toes curling. He doesn’t let up until you’re both dizzy from lack of oxygen, pulling you upright into his arms before breaking the kiss. You both pant heavily, tasting each other in the air as you catch your breath.

“Get on the desk, little hellcat,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with lust.

“Go fuck yourself,” you snap back at him, and he gives you a wicked smile.

“Fine, we’ll do this the fun way,” he replies, seemingly unperturbed by the insult. He flips you over and bends you over the desk before you can say or do anything else, grinding against you through your clothes with a hand in your hair, pinning you down again. You fight back a moan as you buck your hips back against him, your eyes rolling back into your head at the feel of him. The way this man set your whole body on fire…

You feel his hand leave your hair and stay put, focusing on using your grip on the edge of the desk to give you leverage to grind against him at a better angle. He lets out a growl of approval, his hands moving down to your thighs, lifting your tight skirt over your hips, kneading your ass in a way that has you crying out for him. You can feel him smirking at your response, the arrogant bastard…

He slides his hands from your ass up the sides of your body, pulling you up against him, kneading your breasts roughly over your dress.

“What was that, hmm?” he asks patronizingly, nibbling your ear. “What was that noise I just heard from you?”

“I hate you,” you growl out, pressing your ass against his hard cock through his pants, desperate for friction, for him… and you’d bite your tongue clean off before you asked for it.

“I can’t believe you ever managed to pull a fast one on me; you’re a terrible liar,” he purrs against your skin, running his lips along your shoulder, his hands tugging your dress down and baring your breasts. You squirm in his clutches as his fingers move to your nipples, switching between feather-light teasing and pinching in a way that has you clutching the edge of your desk, your nails digging into the wood. You would not make another sound.

“Last chance. All you have to do is hop up on your desk like a good girl and I’ll give you exactly what you want, Y/N,” he tells you teasingly. Your hands go to your chest, trying to slap his hands away from you, and he’s got you bent back over your desk in an instant, your now-tender nipples pressed against the wood hard enough to sting.

“Alright, you’ll beg for it, then,” he says, completely unbothered by your resistance, nudging your legs apart with his knee. Your thighs tremble in anticipation.

“Never,” you growl, one cheek pressed against the wood. Your panties are tugged down your legs, and then his fingers are at your entrance, teasing you, coating two of his fingers in your juices before reaching just above and stroking your clit masterfully.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” Terry groans in your ear, and you debate banging your head into the desk to distract yourself from the overwhelming lust that’s clouding your every thought. It would probably just make matters worse at this point.

“Were you this wet when you were thinking up your little plans for tonight, you fucking cocktease?” he continues, pumping two fingers into your pussy as he moves his thumb to your clit, unrelenting. You’re close already, and you’re furious about it, biting your lip until it bleeds in your desperation to keep quiet.

“Didn’t work out the way you thought it would, did it Y/N?” he taunts, curling his fingers inside you. You slam your hand over your mouth to muffle your screams as you come around his fingers. He snatches your wrist, pulling your hand away and catching the tail end of your moans. He observes the drops of crimson on your fingers with a calculated expression, pulling you upright and turning you to face him.

“Stubborn hellcat,” he murmurs fondly, holding your chin in his iron grip so that he can survey the damage you’ve done to your lip. Leaning forward, he sucks your lower lip into your mouth, lapping the blood with his tongue, and a violent shudder goes through you as you see him lick your blood off of his lips.

“Still not going to give in, huh?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he takes in your murderous expression. “You’re going to at some point tonight, doll. I’m going to have you begging for my cock, and then I’m going to fuck that tight little hole until you can’t walk straight.”

“Terry!” you cry out, half in need and half in shock at his filthy language. He actually shudders, his eyes rolling back in his head briefly.

“Fuck, you sound so good when you’re screaming my name,” he growls, reaching for his belt. “I’m going to hear it a lot tonight.”

“Like hell you… will…” You start out angrily, but as he pulls his cock out, you find your mouth going dry, your train of thought completely evaporating from your mind. The smug grin he levels you with has you feeling both defeated and desperate to have him. You lick your lips, and a noise of approval emanates from somewhere deep in his chest, catching the depraved motion as you stare lustfully at his cock, your dress bunched up around your waist.

“Ask me to fuck you, Y/N,” he commands, and you cling to your last shred of resolve, stubbornly not replying.

“I suppose I could just come all over this pretty dress,” he says as if truly contemplating the idea, pumping his hand up and down his shaft. Why did he have to rile you up all the time?

“It just seems like such a waste when I should be coming inside your tight little cunt, pumping you full of m–”

“FINE!” you shriek, glaring daggers at him, hopping up on your desk. “I want you, Terry Silver! I want you to fuck me hard with that hard cock on my desk like I’m the office slut! Just shut the fuck up and do it already!”

He flashes a wicked grin at you, and between one blink and the next is perfectly positioned between your thighs, his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Was that so hard?” he asks innocently, and you let out a cry of frustration, trying to pull his hips closer to yours.

“Oh, now you’re stalling? Do you even know what you’re doing, you stupi–”

He thrusts into you in one motion, your insult dying in your throat and being replaced by a wanton moan as he sets a brutal pace.

“Damn defiant little tease,” he growls, his hips pumping hard and deep as he stares down at your body, tits bouncing for him from the force of his thrusts. “You thought you could get away from me, huh? After mouthing off at me in your tight little skirts for months, acting like you didn’t want me to take you like you deserve?”

“YEEESSS!” you wail, clinging to the desk for dear life as he pounds into you, giving you the hardest, roughest fucking of your life.

“You’re not gonna make that mistake again, are you, my little hellcat?” he demands, his fingernails digging into your hips as he pins you down against the desk. You would feel this tomorrow – probably for the next week – and you know that that’s his intention.

“No, Terry! Fuck!” you whine out desperately, creaming around his cock as you climax a second time. He shows no signs of slowing down, let alone stopping, merely lifting your legs up, throwing them over his shoulder and taking you even deeper.

“That’s right,” he growls, spanking you hard. “What are you going to do the next time I call you into my office, huh?” He spanks you again after you’re too incoherent to respond. “Tell me!” he commands you, reaching a hand down your body to wrap around your throat. You arch up against him desperately, clawing into his forearm, feeling like you were going to pass out from the overstimulation.

“Fuck, Terry, I don’t know! Bend over your desk, get on my knees, whatever you want, just please don’t stop!” you whine, digging your heels into his back.

“Good girl,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss you fiercely, adjusting his hips to take you at an angle that has his cock hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You come for him again with a cry of his name, your voice hoarse, and this time he comes with you, moaning your name in your ear as he fills you up, his upper body coming down on top of you. You both take a moment to catch your breath before he sits up, pulling you into a sitting position beside him. The contrast between how rough he had just been with the gentleness of the gesture has your body tingling.

Neither of you say anything for a long moment, looking at the ground. You spot streaks of red on one of his forearms.

“I clawed your arm up,” you comment, not able to keep the note of vindictive pleasure from your voice. He lifts his arm, examining the damage.

“So you did,” he replies absently.

“Maybe it’ll teach you not to fuck around with your employees,” you suggest cheekily, unable to resist. He gives you a look that has your knees going weak again, and you briefly worry he’s going to bend you over the desk again for another round.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” he replies brightly, slowly coming to stand in front of you. He grabs your chin in one hand. “You look good after I’ve ravaged you.”

“Bite me, Terry.”

“Let me get you home, first.”

---

You use the car-phone in Terry’s limo on the way to his place to leave a voicemail for your assistant, telling her you wouldn’t be in that coming week.

“See? Isn’t cooperating so much better?” he asks condescendingly once you’ve hung up the receiver, patting your hair affectionately. You glower at him, slapping his hand away.

“Do you think you could go even ten minutes without being a pretentious asshole?” you ask, crossing your arms in a huff. “I don’t need to spend any of my time off with you.”

“Oh Y/N,” he croons, tugging you into his lap despite your mild protestations. “I have no intention of letting you be anywhere else.”

---

…I got carried away.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Office Romance: Part Two

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: smut, fingering

Summary: Work is so much more fun when you're sneaking around with your boss.

PART ONE

Squares Filled: clothing: lace (2021) for @mcukinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Should you be doing this? If anyone catches you, then you and Natasha could lose your jobs. She is very good at what she does and has often stated how much she loves it, so are you willing to risk all of that just because you have a major crush on her? Based on what happened in the elevator, it’s safe to assume she likes you too, otherwise, why would she stick her tongue down your throat?

Are you really going to do this? She asked you to come into work early today but you know it’s not going to be for work. Who knows what’s going to happen when you walk into her office, but are you prepared to deal with the consequences? Fuck it. If you’re going to do this, then you may as well do it properly.

You set your things by your desk and notice a light underneath Natasha’s office door. The rest of the office is dark since no one else is in so it’s just you and her. Her blinds are closed so the only indication that she’s in her office is the light underneath her door. You grab your makeup pouch and make sure you look presentable while fixing your shirt. You loosen two buttons to make your breasts pop, and you fix your hair to give it more volume.

Once ready, you walk over to her office and knock twice on the door.

“Come in,” she says.

You open her door and frown when you don’t see her at her desk. She is by the filing cabinets with her ass sticking out. She is bent over so she can put some files away in the bottom drawer. Motherfucker did this to you on purpose. Her skirt is already short enough so you’re able to see the lace underwear she is wearing just slightly peeking out.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Close the door.”

You do as you’re told and she straightens up before facing you. Her shirt also has the first few buttons undone so her breasts pop. Everything about this woman gets you going, it’s pathetic. Never has another woman made you feel things than this woman has, and she’s only kissed you. You’ve gotten home runs with other women but none of them compare to her.

“Thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat,” she gestures to the chairs on the other side of her desk.

You walk to the desk but you don’t sit down like she wants you to. You lean against the desk just in case you need to make a quick escape. It’s not like you want to, but you’d like the option just in case.

“How do you like my skirt? I got it yesterday,” she smirks.

“Yeah, it looks really good,” you nod nervously.

Natasha walks closer to you which makes your heart beat faster. She reaches out and touches the ends of your hair gently.

“Do I make you nervous?” You can only nod. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You do want this, don’t you?” Of course, you do. You’ve wanted this since the first week you’ve started working here. Still, you can only nod in response. “Use your big girl words.”

Your mouth goes dry at her dominance.

“Yes, I want this.”

“I know exactly how to make you relax.”

She pins you to the desk and leans in to press her lips to your neck. She skips being gentle and starts nibbling on your skin with her bright red lips. She pulls the skin into her mouth as she sucks while running her hands down your freshly pressed dress. She grabs your hips and lifts you to sit on top of her desk. You tip your head back and moan quietly from the feeling of her on you.

“Relax,” she whispers into your ear.

She moves her lips to yours and kisses you passionately. You’re too distracted by her lips that you don’t feel her hands roam underneath your dress. She dips her hand between your legs and easily finds your clit which is throbbing with need. You gasp and try to pull back from her but she chases you to keep you at her mercy. Her thumb rubs your clit in hard fast circles, causing you to moan her name.

“Do you like this?”

“Yes, please… More.”

She pulls your panties to the side and runs two fingers up and down your slit, spreading as much wetness as she caner you.. 

“Already so wet for me.”

She kisses you again just as she slides her middle finger into your pussy. You grip the sides of the desk tightly and she smirks knowing how to make you break. She slides her index finger inside you alongside her other fingers before placing her thumb on your clit. That’s when you break and grab her hair tightly. You yank her head back gently and kiss her forcefully as if you have all the control here.

“Fuck, Natasha!” you gasp against her lips.

“You want to come?”

“Yes.”

“Say please,” she smirks.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “please!”

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

She curls her fingers and rubs the spot that kicks you over the edge. You tighten your legs around her hand as you spill over her fingers. She keeps them inside you to let you ride out your high before she pulls them out. She immediately puts her fingers in her mouth to taste you.

“How do I taste?” you ask.

“Fuck, so good.” She sinks to her knees to clean up your mess when you see the lights turn on in the office. People are just starting to come in which means your activities must come to an end. She chuckles and uses your knees to help her get up. “I guess we’ll have to finish this some other time.”

She walks over to her window to open it to filter the room with fresh air. Her hair is still in perfect place despite you yanking on it, her makeup isn’t ruined despite you two making out, and she looks like nothing happened to her. You, on the other hand, look and feel like a mess. Your hair must be tangled, your makeup is smudging, and your clothes are a bit wrinkled. How does she look this good afterward?

You quickly smooth down your hair and use the mirror in her office to fix your makeup. She grabs some files from her desk and hands them over to you.

“These files need to be digitized, please.”

“Sure,” you whisper.

She walks over to her desk and sits down as if she didn’t finger fuck you five minutes ago. You awkwardly walk out of her office and back to your desk. You’re not sure what to make of this because you’re still so turned on. You’d want nothing more than to go back into her office and take her but you have to be professional.

Wanda comes in and pauses next to your desk. You look fine but you know she has a keen sense of knowing when something is up with you. You’re so distracted by the feel of her lips on you and her fingers in you that you don’t feel Wanda bend down next to you.

“First your makeup, now this? You could have at least sprayed some perfume. You reek of sex.”

“Wanda!” you gasp and hit her arm.

She laughs and takes a seat at her desk which is across from you. Taking her words into consideration, you grab some perfume from your bag and spray it a few times on yourself.

“What would you do without me?”

“I don’t know,” you chuckle.

“So, how was it?” You shake your head because you don’t want to talk about the way you fucked your boss in front of your coworkers. Wanda looks at Natasha’s office and smirks. “Don’t look now but boss lady is watching you.”

You don’t have to look at her to feel her eyes on you. You straighten your back and smirk knowing you have her attention on you. This is going to make work a lot more interesting.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[vvmylove]

I can make you mine Pt. 1

I love this dumbass guys

1k words-

As Y/N walks through the familiar office halls of the Workers building, she makes a left and enters Charles’ office. Inside, there was an unexpected guest, sitting with a stupidly wide grin on his face. None other than Goo Kim was sitting on the stupidly luxurious chair, with one leg over the other. 

Y/N frowns at the presence in the room, thinking the room was empty. Though, she maintains her professionalism as she walks over to one of the larger cabinets, shoving one of the drawers open. Pulling a large manilla folder, she could feel the stare of the guy burning into the back of her head. “What?” she asks him, annoyed. Holding the folder close, she turns around to face him. Goo tilts his head, oblivious to the obvious fact that she was annoyed. 

“Whatcha doin’ here?” he teases.

“I could be asking you the same thing,” she snaps back rapidly. Damn, she was in a mood today LMAOOOO. She raises her brow at the guy, a little suspicious of him as she slowly steps towards the door. 

Goo chuckles softly as he finally decides to stand up, walking over to her. He blocks the door with a swift motion of his hand, tilting himself to the side (does that even make sense?) “Whats the file for? Hm?” he asks, pointing over to the folder with his eyes. 

“I was sent here to deal with a few things,” Y/N says. Taking a step back from his ridiculous movement, she continues, “Who are you and what are you doing in Samuels office?” She eyes him, annoyed by the fact that some kid was standing in her way. 

Goo smirks, as he loved hearing this question. “Charles Choi’s” he sticks his pointer finger up, bringing it close to her face, “number one bodyguard,” he sneers confidently. “The one and only,” he exclaims, “Goo Kim!” 

She stops herself from throwing insults at the guy, in disbelief at his childish words. There was no way Charles would hire some random ass himbo as a bodyguard. “Im Y/N,” she sighs, not wanting to interact with him or waste anymore time. “Now I have matters to take care of,” she announced, ducking under the guy's arm to get through the door. 

Goo crosses his arms, his smirk growing wider with every word. “Nope,” he says simply, grabbing onto her arm and gently (not really) pushing her back into the office. Placing his other hand on her shoulder as he faced her, he took a few steps forward, his eyes never leaving hers.

 “You can’t just show up in my boss’s private office and not expect me to ask questions. Now, sit your ass back down so we can have this little chat” He orders, now shoving her onto one of the couches.

Y/N was surprised by his movements. Having no time to protest or argue back, she complies. In all honesty, she liked his boldness. It was something new, compared to the other workers who wouldn’t dare stand against her. “Okay Mr. President,” she snickers. Slamming the folder onto the desk right in front of him, she explains, “Charles had asked me to grab this for him, is there a problem with that?” She leans forward, sarcastically. 

Goo didn’t mind the attitude at all, in fact, he found it amusing. He arches a brow, willingly taking the folder off the desk and flips through the pages. “Huh…” his blind ass can’t read nor comprehend. 

She rolls her eyes, sensing the fact that he was unaware of such plans. “I thought you were a bodyguard,” she mocks, “maybe if you weren't so dense, you’d know what Charles has been planning for the past 5 weeks.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, irritated with the guy. 

As Goo was distracted, (bro’s ass was skimming the pages, looking for any sort of cash transactions involved, just so he could find a way to involve himself) Y/N stands up and snatches the folder from his hands. She hurriedly makes a run for it, sticking her tongue out at him before running out of the office. 

Goo’s eyes quickly shot up, jumping up from the chair. “Wait!” he says frantically, running up to catch up to her, grabbing her by the shoulder once he does. “Give that back! I was reading!” liar. He stood right in front of her, extending his arm towards her in an attempt to stop her. “I’ll take it to Charles myself, it’s for him, right?” He emphasizes the words “i’ll” as if that gives him any authority. 

Y/N looks at him weirdly, making sure her expression was obvious enough for him to understand. She flips the folder over, shoving it in his face. The manilla folder had her name plastered in unusually large text, as she cackles in his face. “This is my folder,” she mocks, “Charles is in the middle of a meeting right now.” 

Goo’s eyes widened, as he was unaware of the fact that his boss was in a meeting. “Oh” he frowns at the large text on the cover, pausing for a second. “Then… I'll come along, so I can report it to him,” Goo offers on the spot.

She shakes her head, huffing. Turning around, she ignores him, not caring if the stupid blond bitch had followed along or not. She treads down the luxurious halls of the Workers building, heels clicking onto the floor with every step. Holding the folder close to her, and taking a deep breath, she makes her way to the meeting. Goo had followed closely, enjoying the little bargain between them. 

Y/N makes sure to stay quiet as she walks over to Charles' side, handing him the folder with a forced smile. Goo beams as he towered over Y/N, waiting to see if Charles would have noticed his sudden appearance. Of course Charles would have noticed Goo, while he had turned to the side to obtain the folder from Y/N’s hand. As for himself, completely detached from the world of professionalism. 

“Sup” 

Y/N doesn’t hesitate to jab him by the side, questioning his casualty at a formal meeting. She gives one last nod over at Charles before dragging Goo out of the room. “You need to be more formal with your boss,” she rolls her eyes at him, “I’m not here to boss you around.”

Goo winces after receiving the jab, suddenly offended by her. “You think I don’t know how to be formal?” he points to himself dramatically. He shakes his head, suddenly thinking of a great idea. He found the girl in front of him pretty, especially liking how feisty she was. Y/N starts to walk ahead of him, and Goo turns his head to face her.

 “You're acting like I’m a puppy on a leash,” he argues, following closely behind. 

[imtooscaredforthis]

Antagonist

Chapter Twenty Two: Done

Mentions of: Injuries, Near Death Experience, Arguments, and lots and lots of angst

A/N: Lots of angst…sorry y’all!!

Tags: @dead-bxxxtch-walking @mama-miya @prettycutebunny @moonshineinasippycup @vandeaad

You were finally here. After all the hard work, all the sleepless nights you spent suffering and scavenging for something, anything to get you out, you got it. The last piece to the puzzle. The Blight’s realm.

You peered around the corner, making sure you were in the clear, before signaling to Frank. The two of you quietly made your way into his living area…which was what seemed like an old laboratory. It was a glimpse into The Blight’s story, what he used to be before he turned into this..thing

The place was a wreck, papers scattered everywhere with illegible handwriting and scribbles over it, shattered lab equipment littering glass shards across the floor, and writing all over the walls.

“The hell happened here?” Frank muttered under his breath as he stepped over a broken beaker. You shrugged in response. “Just look for a glowing orange syringe. They have to be around somewhere.”

You split up. Frank searched the drawers of some filing cabinets, while you went through his desk“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“What? You can’t be backing out now. We’re right here. We’re so close, I just know it.” You replied with a frown, searching with more and more fervor.

He glanced over at you, opening his mouth to say something, before he heard something in the distance. A slight groaning sound. Then he saw it. The Blight, charging towards them. He called out your name a few times, but you didn’t respond.

“I finally found it!” You exclaimed, holding up the vial.

“______!” Frank yelled, and by the time you saw him, it was too late. He was knocked down, being hit in his throat and on his knees, choking and gasping for air.

You dropped the vial, causing the liquid to shatter against the ground, and turn it to black. You took note, but were quickly distracted by the Bone Buster hitting your knees and causing you to fall, crying out in pain.

He crawled on top of you, stabbing his weapon right next to your head. You flinched, struggling underneath him, moving your head away from the glowing saliva dripping from the hole where his mouth once was, unable to look at his hideous face. His eyes dropped to the silver necklace around your neck, and in a swift motion, he tore it off of you.

You struggled underneath him, but he was stronger than you expected. His bony hands replaced the necklace, keeping you pinned underneath him while he pulled out another syringe from his pocket, preparing to stab you with it.

Just before he could, you kicked him between the legs, rolling out from underneath him. You were about to get your things back, when Frank grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the laboratory alongside him.

“What’re you doing?” You snapped at him the moment you were out, tearing your arm from his grip. “What do you mean what am I doing? I’m getting us out of here!”

“Well I didn’t want you to! I was right there! If you just let me grab the serum and- and now he took my fucking necklace, too!”

He scoffed. “So saving us is my fault?You were about to die! We both were! We had to get out of there! Who gives a shit about some stupid Serum. There’s no point!”

“No point?! That’s why we’re doing this in the first place! I saw the effects, Frank. The ground went all black and- It’s The Entity’s weak spot. It’s my way out of here, and you just had to fuck it all up. I’m going back.” You seethed.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Do you hear yourself right now? You sound insane.”

You felt something pang in your chest at that. You had confided in him, and he doesn’t believe you? You stared at him as he continued.

“The only reason why I’ve tagged along with you to do all this crazy shit is because I was bored! But I can’t play this game anymore. You need to get a grip. There’s no way out of here and there never will be. Yeah, you’re stuck here and it fucking sucks, but you have to deal with it, just like the rest of us do.”

“Fuck you, Frank. You’re dead to me.” He scoffed at that. “Oh really? thought I was your ‘best friend.’”

“I only said that because I was high. I don’t give a shit about you. Honestly, I don’t know how anyone can stand being your friend in general. You’re an awful person, who does shitty things and uses people. Yeah, you have your little gang and your psycho girlfriend, but the only reason why you keep them around is because you’re afraid of being alone. You need to have other people around and make them feel beneath you, because it fills that hole inside. But deep down, you’re always going to be that broken lonely little boy and you’ll never change.”

You jammed your finger to his chest, getting all in his face. You could see the anger in his eyes, the hurt from your words, but you didn’t care. All this time, you thought he believed you. You thought he actually cared and wanted to help. But he didn’t. He was just playing this sadistic little game. He was just entertaining himself. You should’ve known better. You should’ve never trusted him. You should’ve never cared.

You turned on your heel, storming off. You bit your lip, trying to hide your sobs, refusing to let him see how he was affecting you..not wanting him to see your weakness.

It wasn’t until you were deep in the woods that you checked over your shoulder to see if he had followed. He didn’t. So you let yourself cry. You let yourself fall apart.

You cried for a long tim before you returned to your cabin, collapsing onto your bed and hiding your face in your pillow. You couldn’t help the questions that floated around your head. Would anyone believe you could get out of here? Was there really no way out? Was Frank right? What do you do now?

Out of all your questions, you knew only one thing. You and Frank were done. For good.

[leftnotright]

A TEXTBOOK EDUCATION

"This will be a skill-building experience. You've had it too easy. You've had your Family name to back you, and your Right Hand at your every call. It's time you learn to carry yourself, to build from the ground up." Dino Cavallone, the Cavallone Don, fresh out of high school.

Reborn, the deadliest hitman of the modern era, has a special kind of torture up his sleeve for his dear struggling student. Dino will have to see how well he handles alienation, isolation, and worst of all, class participation. “Now, go on, my useless student Dino. Let’s continue your education.” (Or: Reborn sends Dino to Australia. It goes better than he could have ever hoped.)

Parings: N/A Characters: Dino (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Vic Hunt (OC - Original Character), Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Romario (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)Cavallone Famiglia, Enzo (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Original Characters Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, University, Pre-Canon, Financial Issues, Fluff And Angst

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

CHAPTER 1: I ONLY HAVE TWO HANDS

The previous Cavallone Don’s study was full of old clutter and new dust. Drawers were jammed shut, several cabinets were missing their keys, and loose papers were strewn around with no order or reason. 

Since his father’s death, Dino had been dedicating any and all his spare time to digging through the financial disasters that were the Cavallone ledgers. But, of course, three months could only get him so far when he was wading through decades of negligent bookkeeping and debtor mail. 

Only three months.

“Boss,” Romario sighed as he emerged from the corner he was sorting through and laid another manilla envelope on, what was now, Dino’s desk. “A contract pertaining to the construction of a resort.”

“I haven’t heard of any resorts being built under us,” Dino frowned and opened the folder.

“Because it hasn't,” Romario explained tiredly, leaning over his shoulder to show a concept render and floorplan of an ambitious construction. “This was signed ten years ago. They haven’t even broken ground yet.”

“And the payments started as soon as it was signed,” Dino groaned, reading through the layout of the contract his father had signed long ago. “Gosh, 500 thousand a year. And it’s registered as an automatic payment, when did Dad learn how to do that?”

“Your father was very good at removing obstacles when he had a goal.”

“I know you don’t like speaking ill of him, Romario, but you’ve got to admit,” Dino muttered, before continuing to read.

“Could we just renege the contract? We’d have the grounds since ten years have passed, that’s enough for a termination for cause.” Romario offered, taking the floorplans from the table and frowned. While extravagant and appealing to the eye, they were impractical.

“We could,” Dino winced before pointing out a section hidden between useless numbers jabber on supply predictions. “But, it says here we’d have to give a sum of 100 thousand on top of the year’s 500 thousand as default for the builder. Even if it's the developer’s fault…”

“He must have sweet-talked the Cavallone Ninth. Your father wouldn’t leave someone stranded like that.”

“Either way, we have to pull out. If that resort hasn’t gone up in the last ten years, it’s not going up any time soon. We don’t have the money to keep funding talk.”

“Boss, if we spend 600 thousand now, we’re going to have to cut more costs for a while,” Romario warned.

“We’ve always been cutting costs, Romario, we’re just aware of it now,” Dino sighed and pushed the file away from him. “Can you get someone to bring the year’s expenses document? I’ll go through it and see what we can shave off the top for this.”

No matter how many times Dino went through the shelves and busted open filing cabinets, he kept finding new contracts. It seemed like new financial records just seemed to render into existence in the previous Don’s office.

“Has anyone found the key to the black cabinet yet? I don’t want to have to break another one,” Dino asked as he slumped into his chair.

“No, the Ninth was careful to hide his keys even from me,” Romario admitted and Dino gave a weak noise of misery.

The young Cavallone heaved onto his feet and grabbed a crowbar from where it leant against the wall, used too many times already, and went about prying open the reinforced cabinet. Knowing his luck, it would be another slew of overdue debts that had racked up interest again.

The drawer opened with a screech and a clunk. Dino didn’t hold his breath this time as he started flipping through the papers, reading titles and dates with a tired grimace. So many of these were overdue or out of date, and none of them were in order of chronology or category, jumping from the early 80’s to the 90’s to the 70’s and back again. 

Dino pulled out the drawer and carried the whole thing over to his desk for sorting, Romario taking the crowbar to the rest of that cabinet’s drawers in the meantime. He rubbed his temples as he started organising them in his piles: urgent and expensive, urgent but less expensive, not urgent but expensive and not urgent and less expensive. Within those, they were set in chronological and alphabetical order.

There were three more clunks and Romario brought over the other drawers, sitting on the spare chair they had dragged in days ago as he joined in the sorting. 

Dino had just started whittling away at the year’s expenses when Romario stood from his chair and cleared his throat. The little Don looked up before rightening when he saw his closest aid’s expression of thinly veiled excitement.

Was there something going on? He couldn't remember anything-

“Boss, it’s time for dinner.”

“Oh,” Dino blinked. Right.

☁ ☁ ☁

Dino Cavallone had done it. The impossible. The unthinkable. With all the odds stacked against him, he had done it. He had survived scuola superiore, 高中, oberstufe, trung học phổ thông!

He had survived high school. 

“Congratulations, little Boss!” Brutus cheered, his seventh glass of whisky in his hand.

“I knew you had it in you!”

“We’re so proud !”

“No, I’m not crying shut up! ”

Dino laughed from the head of the table, his Family rioting and partying as they toasted and boasted about his success. He wasn’t the top student in the school, far from it, but he had managed to get out of that Mafia High School with all his fingers and minimal blackmail material in other people’s pockets. 

Romario stood from his seat and cleared his throat, quieting the room from its roar. He sniffed loudly and raised a glass.

“I’d like to make a toast! We lost a lot this year. A friend and leader we will never forget,” Dino smiled weakly and looked down at his plate, sitting at the head of the table where his father had sat for years. “But we look to the future, with our little Boss finally not so little anymore!”

“You sure, Romario? The Boss is still falling asleep in his breakfast most mornings!”

“Hey! I had exams!” Dino defended.

“For the past eighteen years?! What horror!”

“Oh! Shove off!”

“The boy still doesn’t swear! Blessed little Boss!”

Dino waved his hand as if to tell the teasing members of his family to go away, but there were smiles on everyone’s faces. 

“Our little Boss is a man now, running with the big boys,” Romario continued, riding that cheerful mood. “And we as the Cavallone wait with bated breath for where he’ll lead us to in a new generation!”

“Here, here!”

“And we wish him luck in his travels!” Romario added as everyone raised to the toast. 

“Here, her- What? Travels?” Dino blinked.

“Indeed, you’ll be travelling soon,” came the voice that haunted Dino’s nightmares.

“Ah, Reborn, you’re back,” Romario greeted like Dino hadn’t nearly inhaled an entire cup of water into his lungs.

“Yes, all the preparations have been made,” the little devil incarnate responded easily. “Dino, enjoy the time- Stop choking already. Enjoy the time you have left.”

“Could-” Dino paused to hack up a piece of his lungs, “Could you sound less threatening!? Romario, what is he on about!?”

“Reborn was kind enough to get you early enrollment to your university for next year,” Romario smiled, looking so proud at the idea of Dino in University .

“...He enrolled me in the University of Catania?” Dino asked slowly, desperately trying to prove himself wrong, but every little molecule of him was screaming that he was once again wrapped up in whatever bull Reborn had pulled.

“No,” Reborn smiled.

Ah.

Dino felt his heart drop. He was screwed.

“This is where you’ll be going.”

Reborn reached into his hat and pulled out a brochure. Dino took it with great reluctance. 

The brochure was bright red and featured slogans all over about empowering students with practical application and industry interaction, but all of that was ignored for two little words in the very back of the brochure.

NSW, Australia.

Oh, he was screwed . 

☁ ☁ ☁

Dino awoke to his bedroom door being flung open and a small army of people flooding his room. He groaned as he sat up, his clock reading well into the midday, but his sleep-deprived soul reading ‘too damn early for this’.

“I told you not to stay up too late last night, Boss,” Romario scolded gently as he handed the sleepy Don a cup of water to help wake him up. 

“I know, but I had to make sure we had our barony bills in order, they’re due in a few days.” Dino took a sip, before yelping as his face was pushed into the cup.

“A good Boss listens to the advice of his subordinates,” Reborn scolded. “You should know better, Dino.”

“What’s even going on?” He asked, wiping his face with his sleeve, watching the people begin to rummage through his room. 

“You need to be packed,” Reborn answered, walking over to the bookshelf and tossed down books to be packed. “The first semester starts in three days.”   

“Wait, you can’t be serious!” Dino cried as he stood in his room, Romario watching over a pair of maids, Ella and Cecilia, as they packed his suitcases. “I thought you were going to do another ‘haha Dino I can’t believe you bought it’ deal after I panicked for a while!”

“I’m very serious Dino,” Reborn said as he sipped on an espresso. “Your flight is in just a few hours, you’ll fly straight to Sydney’s international airport. I suggest you bring some entertainment, it will be a 22-hour trip.”

Maybe it was the denial, maybe it was the ill-founded hope, or maybe it was the unpredictability that was Reborn’s calling card, but Dino refused to believe he was actually going to Australia all the way up until the plane landed on the tarmac in Sydney’s International airport.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sydney International Airport. Local time is Sunday the 20th, 5:43PM and the temperature is 36 degrees celsius. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign...”

“You actually sent me to Australia,” Dino wheezed as he stood in the baggage claim, watching suitcases rotate along the conveyor.

“I’m glad you noticed,” Reborn chirped, unfazed after slipping through customs without so much as flashing a passport. 

“I don’t know anyone in Australia.”

“That’s the point,” the little man said. “This is the next step of your training.”

Dino snapped to attention and scrambled to grab both his luggage and whatever tanker Reborn had packed for him. He hauled Reborn’s up on his back and heaved as he bent at the waist under the weight. 

“How is dragging me to the southern hemisphere supposed to help me?”

“This will be a skill-building experience. You’ve had it too easy-” Dino choked back a scoff. “You’ve had your Family name to back you, and your Right Hand at your every call. It’s time you learn to carry yourself, to build from the ground up.”

“Reborn, I can barely speak English. I only just passed that class!” 

“The best teacher is experience,” Reborn assured as they stepped out to the bustle of the pickup zone. 

The two loaded into a silver taxi and, with a few quick words from Reborn, started sailing down the highway. Dino spent the nearly 40-minute ride desperately scrolling through his phone, a full day out of service had left him nervous about the Cavallone state of affairs; he had left so much unfinished. 

Would Romario remember to collect the monthly protection fees? He hoped Brutus found the memo he had sent about the stables’ oat and hay delivery coming in a week earlier than usual this time. Was anyone checking on the roster for the jet’s rental calendar? Did anyone tell the Stable Master that he was out of the country? 

But all that was on his phone was an automated welcome message from Optus sim card. It was a stark contrast to how it usually was; most of the day, Dino’s phone was vibrating until it generated its own heat in his pocket. Having it silent now…somehow wasn't relieving. He felt out of the loop, under-informed, what if something went wrong-

"We're here. Get out."

Dino wheezed as he was kicked from his seat and sprawled across the sidewalk. Reborn used him as a step on the way out of the taxi.

The taxi driver gave him an odd look as Dino took his bags, but didn’t say anything as he got back in his car and drove off. 

The young Cavallone heaved up the bags and dragged himself after Reborn who had strolled into a gated off division of housings, all made of uniform brick and some kind of ribbed metal roofing. There were bicycles, mismatched potted plants and various hack-job outdoor seating sets crammed into small, concrete porches. Doors were held ajar by wedged shoes and suitcases, a soft bustle about the place as he heard people calling out to each other in a mish-mash of accents and languages.

“Reborn, where are we?” Dino asked carefully as they passed the housings by and came to a large building.

“Macquarie University,” Reborn answered simply and came to a stop under the shade of a large eucalyptus tree. “Where you will be spending the next four academic years. I’m sure you read the brochure.”

“...It was in English ,” Dino stressed.

“I’m glad those remedial language classes proved useful,” the devil incarnate smiled. 

Dino swallowed down the desire to scream, a pressure building deep in his throat and burnt of stress. 

“Now, go on, my useless student Dino,” Reborn urged and gestured to the doorway plastered with laminated posters and timesheets. “Let’s continue your education.”

The Cavallone swallowed thickly, suddenly wishing he had taken a bottle of water from the airport as the dry air got to him. He stared at the reception door for a moment longer, before glancing to Reborn, ready to all but beg to be taken back to Italy-

“Reborn?” Dino looked around. He was alone. “Oh no.”

Dino glanced back to the reception door, desperately trying to read what little words he recognised and what he could extrapolate from Latin borrow words. God, what was he going to say? Did they expect him to already know what room he was in?

Dino desperately started rummaging through his pockets and pulled out a wad of paper that he had haphazardly shoved away nearly 22 hours ago. He had his student number, and - ah! Dino shuffled the papers until he saw a rental agreement: He had a single bedroom dorm. But no dorm number.

“Okay,” Dino wheezed to himself, reading over the form until he felt like he could adlib recite it. “Okay, okay. So student number, name, and one bedroom. That should be enough to get started. Oh God, oh god, okay, quattro is ‘four’ and-”

Dino muttered to himself as he, with great reluctance, pushed his way through the reception door. A young woman looked up from her computer behind the desk and smiled brightly at Dino.

“Hi!” She greeted, pushing aside some documents to make room on her desk. 

“Hello,” Dino responded feebly, internally wincing at how thick his accent sounded. Ah, thank God Reborn had left already. But also damn it Reborn, get back here! “I, uh, need check- wait, no. Please-” Dino deflated, “…Room please?”

The woman continued to give him the same smile, patiently waiting for him to work through his words. She probably dealt with a lot of foreign students at the reception; It made Dino feel a bit better. 

“You’re here to check into your room?” She clarified, speaking with her own soft accent. “Sure! Let’s get started. Can I have your student number?”

“ Numeria , numbers,” Dino uttered quickly and turned to his paper to slowly recite it out.

“Okay, and can I have your name?”

“Dino Cavallone,” he knew that one.

“Aaaand, found you! Oh, a private room! Very nice. It’s good to have your own space.”

Dino smiled politely as she spoke, listening carefully to jog his memory on English grammar and pronunciation. The faster he learnt colloquialism and abbreviation, the faster he’ll blend in.

‘It’s’, not ‘it is’.  Blend them.

“The rooms are locked two ways,” the woman started to explain clearly, showing Dino a key - likely his own. “You need to scan your student ID and then use your room key. If you have trouble getting in, there are call points marked on the map to get security to help you.”

Dino nodded, watching her emphasise card and then key.

“Now, this says you already have your student ID and campus card.” 

Dino blinked then started palming his pockets. Did he have an ID? He never applied for one, oh God - He pulled out a little beige card with stripes of red, the university crest and a photo of himself looking rather neat and put together.

When the heck had- Oh. Reborn, of course. At least he had used a flattering photo?

“Yes, I have the ID,” Dino finally announced, before pausing. ‘The’? Or ‘A’? Wait, grammatically it’d be an ‘An’ since ‘ID’ started with a vowel.

“Great! That makes this lots faster - Now, here’s your key. It looks like you already filled out the paperwork online, which is great, so we can skip all that boring stuff.”

Had he? Dino didn’t remember doing any university paperwork. But then again he had done a lot of reading and signing, maybe Reborn had just slipped it in? No, he was being careful to read everything thoroughly - so when?

“Here’s a little baggie - not the drugs kind I swear,” Dino felt there was a joke he was missing out on but smiled nonetheless. “Just a regular welcome kit. A map, some brochures for O Week. A toothbrush too in case you forgot yours.” 

“Oh, thank you,” Dino uttered as he looked inside the bright red bag, realising that yes, he had forgotten his toothbrush in Italy. And socks.

“No problem. Now, any questions before I send you off?”

Dino blinked, brain too cramped and stuffy to process information, let alone think of questions. 

“No,” he said slowly and the woman smiled like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Dino had written down his room number and had even marked it on his village map, but it took him an embarrassing amount of time to find his room. He found the village lake and that east laundry room, desperately craning his neck to try and read the house numbers without getting too close as students piled their ways into rooms and made small talk with their new roommates.

When Dino found his room, it looked exactly like all the other buildings; made of red brick and black sheet metal for an industrial look. Getting past the lock was another issue altogether and despite how the woman at the desk had instructed him, Dino failed enough times to get stares from his neighbours.

“Great introduction, Dino,” he wheezed to himself as he finally managed to shove his door open at the buzz. 

Dino wheeled his suitcases into the small house of a dormitory. The door closed behind him and Dino was left standing in that dark, quiet place.

He was alone now. Entirely without.

With a breath, Dino moved to the centre of the living space, feeling disconnected to his body. He went to sit down and missed the couch, instead slipping onto the hard rug.

His mind was quiet, too many thoughts ramming together until they were trapped in a deadlock of white noise paralysis. His arms felt heavy, shoulders weighed down. He was so tired. 

He didn’t know what to do. About any of this. The Cavallone were in no position to go without a Don, their finances were all completely shot and it was urgent . Some of those debts had return dates that were mere months away.

And he was here, half a world away, alone. God, he was alone. It was so quiet.

Dino sat on the floor, body unmoving and heavy as the clock on the wall ticked in his ears. 

Then his jacket moved, little wheezes coming from the pocket as something wriggled and writhed. Enzo’s green little head peered at the world cursorily. 

Dino looked down at the little turtle as he tumbled down, legs popping back in his shell and rolling down Dino’s stomach into his lap. A small chatter came from within the shell, confused but otherwise unaffected.

Dino watched as Enzo slowly stretched back out and set to exploring. Slow and steady, the turtle plodded the terrain, cautiously bumping his beak against the coffee table and trying to take a munch of the hard carpet.

Dino took a huge breath in until his shoulders raised, and then let it out as loudly as he could. He slapped his cheek and ruffled his blond hair before the Cavallone boy got to his feet with a harrumph.

“Okay, Enzo! Let’s check out the base.”

Dino scooped Enzo up off the floor and surveyed the main room. A living and dining room, open planned space with university-supplied furniture and appliances. There was a fair bit of storage, most of it open with hangers and open shelves. 

At the back with the small dining table fit for a very intimate six, was a nook for a kitchen and a door that led to a small patio. The kitchen had an oven and stove top with a vent hood, fridge, microwave and a sink off to the side. It was cramped too, but considering it was a house for one, Dino could understand. Plenty of storage though, with overhead and under-counter cabinets.

Dino moved back through the living room and into the small  ‘hall’ set with three doors. He opened the right one and found a linen closet with a set of spare sheets, a few towels and an empty basket. 

The door in front of him, Dino noted, was the only white door in the room, the rest being some startling shade of orange, opened up to a bathroom. It was small and simple but it ticked all the boxes: sink, toilet, shower. Dino was going to miss baths though.

The last door to the left was once again that startling orange this university seemed so keen on in their dorm interiors. That and red. Dino winced and pushed it open, stepping in to find what would be his bedroom for the foreseeable future.

Once again, it was barebones, most likely to allow tenants to manoeuvre the space to their liking. There was a queen bed, a desk in the corner and a wardrobe hidden behind two mirror sliding doors. The window situation was only slightly depressing, with two small windows meeting hard at the corner above the desk. It left the walls severely blank.

“Feeling a bit like a cell, isn’t it, Enzo?” Dino laughed nervously and Enzo gave a sighed wheeze in response. “I guess that’s it for the tour.”

Dino returned to the livingroom and actually sat on a couch this time, trying to ignore his rumpled reflection in the television’s black screen. He set Enzo down on the floor and opened his suitcase.

Immediately, Dino went into a panic.

Dino was here, in a civilian university, surrounded by civilians with their civilian lives and his suitcase was full of mafia stuff! 

Dino spluttered as he reached for the handgun and whips - before yanking back and slamming his suitcase shut. 

Ok, slow down and think. There’s an order to this mess.

Secure your base of operations. Check for bugs, taps, and cameras. Locate escape and entry points.

Dino zipped his case and reached under the couch, swiping his hand on the underside of the coffee table and the back of the television. He checked the microwave and the vent hood, the light fixture and behind the mirror in the bathroom. Dino stripped and then reassembled the wall clock, and felt the door frames and the couch cushions. Dino took out the batteries and wrapped the alarm beside his bed in the spare towels before shoving it deep in the back of his closet. 

It was only an hour later was Dino happy with the state of his room, completely tap and bug free - save for that slate beetle he found under the patio’s pot plant.

Wonderful. Now he could panic about the mafia stuff.

Dino pulled the blinds down on each window, stepping over Enzo who was pottering about at his own pace. There were three folders that Dino was especially concerned about from his luggage; they were debts to some very big names in the mafia that even civilian police would recognise. 

So, after stuffing away a gun, courtesy of Romario, in what was now his underwear drawer, Dino sat down and started frantically scratching out every sensitive name and mention of the Italian mafia with a ballpoint pen. 

“Why? Who thought it was smart to call the place Mafia Land on Mafia Island? ” Dino wheezed in stress as he went over the penthouse the Cavallone rented out on the island. “How is that in any way covert!?”

Dino was starting to wonder how they hadn’t been caught yet -- before remembering how much of the legal system, both Italian and international, was in the Vongola and Giglio Nero's pockets. 

“Oh yeah, that makes sense,” he murmured to himself and continued to censor the documents like a dictatorship. 

☁ ☁ ☁

When Dino looked up next, it was because Enzo had finished his ventures and had started to ram into his shoe. 

Dino blinked and massaged his eyes, suddenly realising how dry and achy they were after reading in such dim lighting for hours. The sun had long gone down and he had neglected to turn on any lights after shutting the blinds, leaving him in the darkness. 

After finishing his censoring, Dino had moved into his university documents. He had set up and logged into the student portal and, rather late into the game, figured out what degree he was actually studying for. He was doing a double degree: A Bachelor of Business and a Bachelor of Primary Education with a major in Economics.

The education part had thrown him for a loop until Dino remembered that during a Family dinner, Dino had offhandedly mentioned that he had thought about studying teaching. He had said Reborn ‘inspired him’. To be able to cite and call out his crazy and never subject another youth to his tactics. But Reborn didn’t need to know that.

Dino pawed around for his phone and winced as the screen lit up. It was nearly three in the morning.

The Cavallone groaned and just slumped over on the couch, grabbing Enzo off the floor and tucking the turtle to his chest with a grumble.

“What did I do to deserve this, bud?” Dino asked plaintively.

In the darkness of the dorm, Dino could almost pretend he was still in Italy, somewhere deep inside the safety of the Cavallone Estate, surrounded by solid walls and Family he trusted. Dino curled up on the couch and hugged Enzo until his shell dug into Dino’s chest.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My website

Chapter 60: April 2017

Jon’s head was spinning as he and his team left Elias’s office. Partly it was the fact that his team had almost doubled in the last two months; first Melanie, now Basira. Partly it was that he was still a bit lightheaded from the events of the night before—or had it been early that morning?—and lack of sleep. Partly it was the sensation of having deliberately used his…abilities…on Elias. Partly it was the information he’d received, and not received. Partly it was the relief of seeing his team again. Partly it was wondering why it was Martin, and not Basira, that Daisy had made eye contact with in the long seconds between Elias’s taunt and her lowering her gun.

Partly it was concern about why Martin had given that little cry of pain when Melanie squeezed his hand.

The young woman at Rosie’s desk—Manal, Jon supposed—shrank back a little when she saw him, which made him feel terrible. Tim, however, slung an arm around his shoulder and gave her a huge grin. Only someone who knew him well could tell that it wasn’t as genuinely cheery as it had been before Prentiss’ attack.

“Jon,” he announced, “this is Manal Ellayq, Elias’s new assistant. Manal, this is Jonathan Sims, the Head Archivist. Sorry you haven’t had a chance to meet him yet, but he’s been out because of the thing that took down Rosie.”

“Oh!” Manal’s eyes widened slightly, but she managed a tentative smile. “Oh, okay. Um, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Sims. Glad you’re…doing better.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Manal. And please, just call me Jon.” Jon managed a smile in reply. “Ah, Elias told me to get a Return to Work form from you…?”

“Oh, yep, yep, of—of course.” Manal turned to the file cabinets behind her and bit her lip, her brow furrowing as she muttered under her breath. “Let’s see, let’s see, blank forms are all in the left cabinet, employee forms are third and fourth drawers down…um, sorry, do you know what the—” She stopped, and her shoulders slumped. “No, of course you wouldn’t.”

“602343,” Martin told her kindly. “It’s a rubbish system. I think it was Rosie’s idea of job security.”

Manal giggled as she pulled open the drawer and found the relevant form, then handed it to Jon with a smile. “Here you go, Mr.—Jon. Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Jon said, taking the form and tucking it into the folder Elias had just handed him. With another smile of his own, he led the others back to the Archives.

The second the door shut behind them, Melanie turned to Martin, eyes stormy. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine. I needed something to pull me out,” Martin assured her. He grimaced, just for a second, as he took his hand out of his pocket and checked his watch. Jon’s heart lurched as he saw that the hand in question was tightly wrapped in white gauze.

Melanie checked her own watch. “Twenty more minutes. Will you be okay until then?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

“Tell you what,” Sasha said, clapping her hands together twice as she broke in. “Jon, Martin, why don’t you two debrief one another while the rest of us get Basira settled in?”

“Uh,” Jon began.

“Great!” Tim looped one arm through Jon’s and the other through Martin’s, then practically dragged them over to the trapdoor. Melanie threw the door open just in time for Tim to half-shove them down the steps, pressed a small lantern into Jon’s hand, and closed the door behind them.

Jon managed to click the light on before they fell down the stairs, and they descended in silence. He’d expected to feel nervous, or more accurately scared, at the idea of going down there again knowing the Not-Them was trapped in its depths—and he wasn’t entirely certain where. But being there with Martin made it a lot easier.

They both knew this level fairly well at this point, and through unspoken agreement they headed into the first room off the hall. There was a rusty spike sticking out of the wall a little ways in from the door, just enough for Jon to hang the lantern on so they would have light without having to hold onto it. He looped the handle over the spike, then turned to face Martin and took his first easy breath in almost nine weeks.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked.

“What happened to your throat?” Martin asked at the same time.

Both of them tried to explain at the same time, and as soon as they realized it, they tried to simultaneously tell the other to go first. The situation must have struck both of them as funny, because they both started laughing. Either that, or they were both so stressed and strung out it was the final snap of the tension.

Either way, Jon wished they had a recorder running so he could keep the sound of Martin’s laugh forever.

“God, I missed you,” he found himself saying.

Martin’s laughter died away, but his smile remained, even if his eyes grew wistful and melancholy. “I missed you, too. It…it hurt, not knowing where you were. If you were all right.” He took a deep breath. “Right, okay. Um…do you want to go first, or do you want me to?”

“I suppose I will.” Jon hesitated, then decided to just ask for the one thing he’d been desperately needing for the last two months. “Can, ah…can I have a hug first? I, I think I need one.”

Martin’s face softened. “Jon, of course. You don’t even have to ask.” He held out his arms.

Jon immediately stepped into the circle of Martin’s embrace and wrapped his arms as far around Martin’s torso as he could. Pressed against Martin’s chest, he sighed softly in contentment as the familiar scent of mint and cherries settled into his nostrils. The smell of safety—the smell of home.

He was fairly sure at this point that he ought to just outright admit it, if only to himself. At some point in the last year or so, he had fallen in love with Martin Blackwood.

After what was simultaneously an eternity and nowhere near long enough, Jon sighed and eased back, reluctantly. Martin did the same. “Right. So…yes. Do you…want me to start at the beginning, or somewhere else?”

“Wherever you think is best.” Martin leaned against the wall and studied Jon seriously. His eyes lingered, for just a moment, on the bandage at his throat, but snapped up to his eyes almost immediately.

Jon, too, leaned against the wall, trying to think where was best, what was the most important point to get out. “I…suppose the beginning is as good a place to start as any. After we—after I left you that day, I…I went to Melanie’s house. I thought, well, she was out of town, and I’d promised to make sure the cats had water anyway, so I thought…I-I was sure this would all be cleared up before she got back.”

“So was I.” Martin sighed heavily. “I—I guessed that’s where you were. After she got back, she said a few things that…but she didn’t say for sure.”

“Safer that way.”

“Yeah.”

Jon fidgeted for just a moment with the cuffs of the jumper he’d taken to wearing whenever he needed the comfort, which was often these days. “I thought you did know,” he admitted. “At first. I…after about a week someone delivered a statement to the house, addressed to me. No postmark, so it hadn’t come through the mail, but…I thought it was you.” He paused. “No…I wanted it to be you. I was hoping you were…I don’t know, feeding me statements to keep me in the loop, give me clues as to what you were working on. Melanie worked out pretty quickly that you weren’t responsible, though.” With a sigh, he added, “It took me way too long to catch on that it was probably Elias. At least it was still clear he didn’t realize how much I knew. All the statements were about the Stranger, o-or implying about the rituals. The last one I got talked about Bucoda, Washington—I think it was the, what did Gerry call it? The Sunken Sky?”

Martin shivered, and Jon immediately felt bad for mentioning it. “Yeah, that’s the one. How soon before…or after…the ritual was it?”

“The night before. I think. Or at least the night before Gertrude disrupted it. It’s…I can let you listen to the tape I made later, if you want.” Jon hesitated, remembering what else was on that tape. “I probably should, actually. I…the day I was recording it—it was just this past Thursday, or at least I hope it was—something…something got in.”

“Something got in?” Martin repeated, straightening up so fast Jon was afraid he might topple over. “What do you mean? Got in where? In your mind?”

“No—in the house. It, I still don’t know how she got in. She. It. I don’t know.” Jon took a deep breath. “She said her name was Nikola. Nikola Orsinov.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “Nikola Orsinov? That’s—the Stranger, isn’t it? I—oh, God.”

“Yes. She said her ‘father’—Gregor Orsinov—she said he named her Nikola, but she killed him and took his surname too. She’s…not human, Martin. She’s a mannequin. Plastic.” Jon shuddered at the memory. “She said it was time we talked. She wants me to find ‘that old skin’. I think it’s one of the ones from the Trophy Room…she seemed to think Gertrude had it, and might have destroyed it, but also might still have it? I-I’m afraid I didn’t…I wasn’t really thinking clearly.”

“I’ll bet. What did she…did she hurt you?”

“A little,” Jon admitted. “Mostly she was just…talking. Then she said she was done answering my questions, and I had until she changed her mind.” He started to rub his throat at the memory of her fingers around his windpipe, then stopped when he encountered the bandage. At least it was dry.

Gently, ever so gently, Martin cupped Jon’s chin and lifted it slightly. “Did she do this to you?” His voice was quiet, but the steel underneath was unmistakable.

“No,” Jon said softly. “She grabbed me, but she didn’t…break the skin. This…this was Daisy.”

Martin went incredibly still. “With what?”

“A knife. I—it was mine. She said it was blunt.” Tears sprung into Jon’s eyes, and he had to look away…as best he could with Martin still cradling his face, anyway.

“Oh, Jon.” Martin let go of Jon’s chin as carefully as he had taken it, then folded him in another hug before he had time to think. Jon dropped the folder he still carried heedlessly and clung to Martin’s jumper, the same way he had the night they parted. The night of Leitner’s murder.

The words tumbled out of him in a rush, not a panicked one, just like a dam had broken, letting him say all the things he’d been waiting to tell Martin about, give him all the things he wanted him to know. To hand over all the pain and agony he’d gone through in the last days, for Martin to take his words and make everything all right again. “Melanie gave me the information she got from you—about Mike Crew, how to find him. I went to talk to him, I had to, it—Melanie was going to bring me Jude Perry’s information, but if she gave you Mike Crew’s I knew I had to follow up on it, so I went to find him, to talk to him. It took me almost three days, but I did it. And he, he told me, he gave me his statement—I thought, I was so sure he would have something to do with the Unknowing, that he would know something about it, but he didn’t say anything about it, he just told me about himself. I, I got it on tape, I hope I got it on tape, but I haven’t had a chance to listen. He, from the things he told me, he was being chased by the—by a fragment of the Twisting Deceit, and he bound himself to the Vast to escape it, and he said he felt so free afterwards, but he told me all this while he made me fall, made me think I was falling anyway, and I-I didn’t know if he’d let me land safely or make me hit the ground. And then we did land safely, and he was going to let me go, I think, he said to ‘take his mercy and leave’, but then there was a knock on the door a-and it was Daisy, she’d—she found me somehow. She knocked him out and…and kidnapped me at the same time, and I lost track of where we were going, but there was, it was an isolated clearing, a lonely cliffside, somewhere no one would have heard me, and she was going to—I tried to, I wanted to know why, but she was going to kill me, she shot Mike right in front of me and she was going to take me out too, she—she said I’d dragged her secrets out of her—I d-didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t know it was happening, not then. But, but it’s been happening—I did it to Melanie on accident, and I said I was sorry, and she said I didn’t have to be, but Daisy thought I did, and—” He gulped and pressed his face into Martin’s chest, hoping, praying that Martin wouldn’t push him away, that he wasn’t hurting him. “She would have killed me, Martin. She would have killed me if Basira hadn’t stopped her and given her something else to focus on and…”

“Shh. Shh. I’m here, Jon. I’m here. You’re safe now.” Martin’s cheek pressed against the top of Jon’s head, and the fingers of his left hand stroked gently at his hair. “I won’t let her hurt you again.”

Standing there, wrapped tightly in Martin’s embrace, in the dim light of the lantern, distanced from the Eye and all the other fears, Jon believed him. He knew, in his heart of hearts, that Martin spoke nothing but the truth. He wouldn’t let Daisy, or anything else, hurt Jon ever again. If it ever did, it would be in spite of everything he could possibly do to prevent it.

Jon only wished that he could do the same for Martin.

After several long moments, he eased back only far enough that he could look up at Martin, but not so far he was out of his embrace. “What, ah…what about you? What have you…have you been all right? Melanie said you were, but…your hand…”

“If it took you three days to find Mike Crew, Jon, you haven’t seen her since it happened,” Martin said, a little regretfully. “Or at least since she found out about what happened. It…at the beginning, I’ll admit I was working myself too hard. I just, I thought if I concentrated on…everything here, I wouldn’t worry about you or Melanie. Tim finally called me out on it and made me slow down, made sure I left on time. Made me spend less time down here. I joined a knitting circle,” he added, and Jon laughed, just a little. “Didn’t help much, honestly, especially after Melanie came back and got recruited to the Institute. Then on…Thursday, actually, I was recording one of the statements—”

“A real one?” Jon interrupted, suddenly worried.

“Yeah. Stranger statement, too, although the Desolation was involved. That’s where I got Jude Perry’s name from, actually—Melanie had made a note about her and it got mixed in with the paperwork, I obviously wasn’t supposed to find it.”

Jon gnawed on his lower lip. “Martin…you, you shouldn’t be…those statements, they’ll just draw you further in. I should—”

“Jon,” Martin said gently, “it’s a bit late to worry about that now. I’m already in too deep, and I think it’s getting worse. Reading the real ones, it…takes the edge off, a little bit anyway. It’s getting harder and harder to avoid Seeing, even when I’m not trying, but when I read the statements…it pushes it back a little. Like the Eye’s getting something out of me, at any rate.” He hesitated, then added, “That was…honestly probably why I followed up on Jude Perry without really letting anyone know what I was up to, at least at first. The statement…for some reason it, it didn’t work. I was still shaky and…off when I finished. When I found Melanie’s note, I…I just, I felt this need, that hunger for knowledge. I had to find out what it meant. So I called her up and made an appointment.”

“Without telling anyone?” Jon asked, like he had a leg to stand on when it came to that sort of thing.

Martin gave him a crooked little half-smile, as if he was thinking the same thing. “Like I said, at first. But by the time I got there…well, I realized I’d been stupid. Especially since I almost went and got another statement after I recorded the first one—Tim and Sasha, and Melanie once she found out what was up, were adamant that I wasn’t allowed to read more than one real statement a day, and I was only supposed to record once a week anyway, but I thought maybe if I, you know, got an older one we didn’t have to research too much I could read it and it would stop the shaking—”

“Martin…”

“—but I realized I was justifying it the way Gerry did when I tried to get him to quit smoking, so I didn’t,” Martin continued. “Tim sent me home early anyway, I wasn’t…right, and I was going to just go to the appointment and then go home and…I dunno. And I, I knew going was probably a bad idea, but if I hadn’t gone you or Melanie would have, and I didn’t want either of you to get hurt. But once I’d made up my mind, once I got there, I decided not to be a total idiot. I called Tim and told him to give me an hour, and then if he didn’t hear from me, to tell Melanie I was following her lead. I figured she’d have an idea of what to do then.”

Jon studied Martin’s face anxiously. “Did…did you get anything from her other than Mike Crew’s information?”

Martin grimaced. “No. Not really. From the statement—i-it involved the Gwydir Forest, up in Wales—I, I thought maybe the Desolation had allied itself with the Stranger to help with the Unknowing, but…”

“Oh.” Jon sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I—I know that statement. It was one of the tapes Elias sent me. Maybe…maybe that’s why it didn’t work well for you? Because the Eye had already…fed on it recently?”

“That…would explain a lot, actually,” Martin said slowly. “And it would certainly explain how Melanie knew to look up Jude Perry to begin with. But yeah, I—she didn’t, it wasn’t related. She was just doing a favor for Nikola Orsinov, because it gave her a chance to burn something someone loved and feed that to the Desolation.” He sighed again. “So a whole lot of damage and an extra mark for both of us…for a fat lot of nothing.”

“Both of us?” Jon repeated, horror slowly dawning on him. “Oh, no…oh, Martin, your hand—don’t tell me—”

Martin brought his right hand around to between the two of them, and Jon stepped back a little more, only so he could take it in his own hands as gently as possible and study it while Martin continued to explain. “I made a deal with her. She gave me the information about Mike Crew, and in exchange I told her I would personally destroy Jack Barnabas’ statement, the one about Agnes Montague. So she wouldn’t be one of our stories.” He gave a short laugh. “Never mind that we both know it, so it’s not likely to be forgotten any time soon, but she doesn’t need to know that. Anyway, Jude said we had a deal and held out her hand to shake, and…I couldn’t see any way around it.”

Jon stared at Martin’s hand. It was heavily bandaged; only the very tips showed at the end, but it had been wrapped in such a way that it would allow movement, even though it seemed difficult for Martin to flex his fingers. He ran his thumb over the palm as lightly as he could. “Is it…” he began, then stopped. He didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

“It’s not so bad,” Martin assured him. “She’s essentially made of wax. I only gave her three seconds to shake my hand, and wonder of wonders, she actually kept to it. She couldn’t have got hot enough to do real permanent damage in that amount of time, not without her hand turning fully to liquid. It’s only a second-degree burn.”

“Only second-degree,” Jon mimicked.

“Says the man who almost had his throat cut with a blunt pocket knife.” Martin smiled briefly, but something flashed in his eyes as he said it. “I’m okay, Jon. Honest. It hurts—which is good, because if it didn’t that would mean there was nerve damage—but I’ve got painkillers, and the doctors said I probably won’t have a whole lot of scarring when all is said and done. It could have been a lot worse.”

Jon took a deep breath. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

“Then…I trust you.” Jon looked up at Martin’s face and tried to smile. “But maybe slow down on the Marks a bit? By my count, that’s seven you’ve got now.”

“No more than you have,” Martin retorted. “Look, how about from here on out we stick together? If we have to investigate things outside the Institute, we’ll do it together. That way…that way we can keep each other from getting hurt.” He hesitated, then brushed Jon’s cheek gently with his good hand. “Is that acceptable?”

“It’s a bargain.” Jon covered Martin’s hand with his own for a moment, then let go and bent down to retrieve the folder he’d dropped. Form 602343, the Return to Work form, slid out from behind a very fragile-looking piece of yellowed paper covered in shaky handwriting. The date at the top read 1824. “Oh, good, another letter direct to Jonah Magnus. I only hope this one isn’t from a native German.”

“How many foreign friends could a man like Jonah Magnus actually have had?” Martin asked with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think it’s about?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. I only hope it’s enough to…settle my stomach, I suppose.” Jon looked up as a thought occurred to him. “Would…would you like to read it together? The way we did with…i-it might help you, too. You’ve, you’ve had a long week too.”

Martin looked surprised, then smiled, for real this time. “Would you…like to come over to my flat? I could, I could make us something to eat, and we could read it there. If you like.”

“I’d like that, Martin,” Jon said sincerely. Warmth filled his body. “I’d like that very much.”

[thelightlyusedlibrary]

My take on the prompt below the cut. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated as I've recently started writing again after a long break and I'm rusty!

My footsteps echoed off the tile as I walked down the brightly lit hallway. The wing I had been directed to was sparsely decorated and seemed to consist solely of offices and classrooms. Passing the line of closed doors I began to rethink accepting Mr. Jones’ offer. 

Sure he was promising enough money to pay off my debts but was the risk really worth it? I still didn’t know where he wanted me to go or what I was supposed to do. Before I could change my mind and leave I made it to Jones’ office. Taking a deep breath and shaking off my nerves, I knocked on the door.

“Just a moment,” there was shuffling and a small thud before Jones appeared, “Ah, Mr. Williams, please come in.” He stepped back, pulling the door open as he went. 

His office was a stark contrast to the hall outside. There were floor to ceiling shelves along the wall across from the door and picture frames lined the others. Near the back wall stood a sturdy looking desk surrounded by plants and filing cabinets. On top of one of them was a film projector pointed straight ahead at the only blank wall. 

“Please take a seat,” Mr. Jones said gesturing to the comfortable looking chairs in front of his desk. I sat down and let out a gasp when the chair turned under me.

“Ah,”Jones laughed under his breath, “pardon me. I forgot to warn you the chairs swivel. I do hope you can forgive my thoughtlessness.” There was a glint in his eye as he spoke as if he found the whole thing to be hilarious.

“Uh, yeah , sure,” I said. Jones chuckled to himself as he sat behind the desk and pulled out a folder.

“Anyway, I asked you here today because I’ve been told you have access to a Jump Watch.” He arched his brow and I tried my best to keep my reaction natural.

“As I told you over the phone, I have all the tools I need to do the job at hand.” I paused for a moment, “ That is if you would tell me what the job was.”

He starred me down for a moment before standing and crossing the room the the panel of switches by the door. He flipped one and a white screen came down, covering the blank wall, before he flipped the other leaving the room in the dim light of the lamp on the desk. Returning to his seat, he opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a reel of film. I watched as he put the film into the projector and set it in motion. 

Turning to the screen I watched as footage that shouldn’t exist began to play. A team of people carving a massive block of stone while an unfinished pyramid stood behind them. There was a click and the scene changed to a Roman sporting event. Another click brought the chaos of the French Revolution. Click after click historical events played out in front of me. Finally the picture faded out and I was left staring at the flickering light as the projector still spun. 

How did he find people willing to get this footage for him and what happened to the guy that did it before me? A million other question swirled through my mind as I tried to wrap my head around what I’d just seen. Jones busied himself putting the film away, letting me have time to process. The sounds of shuffling died out and a small chuckle shattered the fragile silence we had fallen into.

“I have to say your reaction is quite a first for me, Mr. Williams,” he said as I pulled myself out of my thoughts, “Normally, the Jumpers that make it to an in person interview are excited for an easy job.” He was amused. This man had who knows how much footage of events before the invention of the modern camera, on film reels hidden in his desk, and he was amused. 

“How many people have you had actually make a jump?” I asked trying not to let my voice waver.

Jones sat back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach, “Well at first it was my research partner. We were young and didn’t fully understand the dangers of time travel so he did it himself. We were doing quite well for ourselves until the day he came back from a Jump to the Paleolithic Period injured.” He paused, a far off look in his eye, then laughed under his breath, “I remember him telling me that he thought it wasn’t too bad but when he jumped back it felt like someone had taken a hot knife to his wound. We rushed to the hospital of course but they were able to treat him in time and he died of blood loss on the operating table.” 

Jones was silent for a while and I watched as his relaxed posture stiffened. 

“I didn’t attempt another entry in the project for a good five years before I found the job board I found you through,” he gestured to me,” The man I hired worked with me for a few months before he quite calming it was too taxing on his mind. After him, I found someone who I would consider a friend. She worked with me up until six months ago when she too died to an injury sustained on a jump.” He sighed and leaned forward onto his desk, “I’ve been interviewing potential Jumpers since then but no one seems to want the job after meeting with me.”

That sent a chill down my spine. Where could he be asking people to go that would make them turn down the amount of money he was offering?

“So what would this job entail?”

Jones shifted the folder in front of him to my side of the desk and nodded his head, “Everything I would need you to do is in that folder but I’ll walk through it with you.”

Slowly I slide it to me and flipped the cove open. Inside was a stack of documents much larger than I was expecting. Leafing through them I could make out dates and places on each one. Each jump was numbered, reaching far into the 50s and I was starting to wonder how long Jones expected me to work for him before I received the full payment. Pushing those thoughts aside, I turned back to the first page and gave it a once over.

The date was the 30th of May, 1431, the execution of Joan of Arc. I looked up at Jones and weighed my options. On one hand I could work for him and jump through time filming events and potentially get myself killed or traumatized but I’d have enough money to finally turn my life around. On the other I could say no, walk out of here, and completely forget about Mr. Jones and his project. Sure I’d be going back to a life of debt and just barely scraping by but at least I’d be unscathed. Jones seemed to deflate as I thought through my options but I had made my choice.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat, “what footage do you want me to get?”

Time travel exists, but is dangerous and unreliable. Museums turn to people like you, black market “jumpers” willing to risk it all.