#Reception desk professionalism

[interiorergonomics]

The Impact of Front Office First Impressions

Investing in a custom-made reception desk is about more than just aesthetics.

Actually, it's about creating a strong, positive first impression that resonates with everyone who enters your office.

Demonstrate a commitment to quality and professionalism through a thoughtfully designed reception area, you can enhance your brand image and build stronger relationships with clients, partners, and employees alike.

[gobeautysalon]

Beauty Salon Equipment Manufacturer |

Are you a beauty salon owner looking to create a luxurious and unforgettable experience for your clients? Look no further! Gobeautysalon.com is your one-stop destination for top-of-the-line beauty salon equipment. Don't settle for ordinary when you can have extraordinary. Explore our extensive collection of beauty salon equipment today at Gobeautysalon.com and transform your salon into a haven of elegance and sophistication!

[fungateshortcakes]

Pornstar!Logan NSFW

This work is inspired by @bpmiranda and their own pornstar!Logan smut, which you can find here. Please go and check it out, it's so yummy and i hope I am doing this idea justice.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: Up until now, filming a porn video was only something you joked about. But after your job failed you, this simple 'joke' brought you to a whole new carreer path that you would love to explore further, especially if your co-worker was this handsome man that ruined your pussy for everyone else.

Wordcount: 2.3k -ish

Warnings/tags: pornstar!Logan, pornstar!reader, porn with plot, first porn recording, filmed sex, best friends dad porn, squirting, unprotected penis in vagina sex, pussy pronouns, implied blowjob, basically sex with a stranger, dirty talk, doggy style, Logan is older than reader, cumming on pussy, perverted director, mention of threesome (F/F/M), english isn't my first languange (lmk if i missed something!)

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It had always been a joke. All of this - you just joked about it. But now as you stood in front of this building, the filming location, that's when you truly knew that it was in fact not a joke anymore.

You were about to cast in your first professional porn video.

For years you had been telling your friends, if your degree didn't work out, you'd start selling nsfw art. If your job applications would keep getting rejected, you would become a stripper. It was always something you and your friends could laugh about greatly, but it was never really taken serious in the end. That was about to change.

Throughout the last months, you had taken this career path more and more into your field of interest. Your hated your job, the salary, the people there and your boss. You needed a quick change. So you read about becoming a porn actress, watched interviews with stars of this industry, stating how they got into it, what they had to do, how they coped with everything at the start and much more. You felt ready, but you also didn't really, not when you stood in front of this building and knew that in just an hour, you would be having a stranger pounding his cock into your pussy while everyone around watched.

You took a deep breath as you entered and upon stating your name at the reception desk, you were brought to the second floor where you were greeted by the director.

"Ah, there you are! You're (Y/N), right?" he said and shook your hand with a firm grip. He was the manager of all of this. He had been in this industry for years and sounded very nice from the very start. You felt comfortable as you stood in front of him. You nodded your head. "Yeah, that's me. I hope I am not too late?" you asked nervously, biting your lip. You really didn't need to leave a bad expression right on the first day.

He laughed and shook his head "No, don't worry. You're just in time to meet the guy you're gonna work with today. You're gonna like him." he said and winked at you. You had already heard a bit about the man that would, to put it as is, fuck you today. They praised him highly, told you that you should be happy to have the opportunity with him because he gets so many requests from porn actresses every day.

Richie shoved you through a crowd of working people to a cozy break corner for the actors. There he stood. And wow. He already wore his outfit for the upcoming video. It was a plain black shirt, a thick belt and rugged jeans, but damn. He looked good.

Upon seeing you, a smirk spread across his lips and he stood up, hands in his pockets. "That's Mr. Howlett. Your lover for today" Richie chuckled as he introduced you to him.

"Call me Logan, sweets. Nice to meet you, heard a lot about ya" Logan said and his voice alone made your pussy throb. You both shook hands and you told him your name as well. It would be a lie if you said you weren't anxious. Your heart was beating out of your throat. You were intimidated by your work partners looks and the fact that he was a lot more experienced in this field than you. He looked very charming and handsome, picture perfect like some famous hollywood actor. And you were just, well, you. You felt like you couldn't compete with that in the slightest.

The time you had to speak to him, get to know him at least a little bit before his cock was in your mouth, was limited, because you were pulled to different stations by different people left and right, getting you into costume, fixing your make-up and hair, even checking if you had shaved down there properly. It was all so much at once, but Logan was always watching over you, weirdly enough, reassuring you. Truth be told, he saw himself when he looked at you. He was pretty confident by nature, but when he first started out in this business, he was overwhelmed and unsure at first as well. So he felt deep sympathy with you, even if you didn't know that.

Now you stood at the set with your two co-stars, Logan and some other woman who you didn't know the name of because she was so minor to the scene. She was only there to play your best friend from college. Your best friend with a smoking hot single father.

Your nerves were killing you as you stood in the pre-build bedroom with your co-star. You took a deep breath and decided to go with the flow. You knew the script, you knew the movements and looks, so there wasn't really anything that could go wrong. Right? "Okay, cameras, lights, action!" Richie yelled over the set. Now there was no going back.

You flopped down on your friends bed with a sigh. "This assigment is killing me. We've been working on it for days now and we aren't getting anywhere" you scoffed. Your on screen friend agreed with you, voicing her anger towards the professor as well.

You started acting like you were starting to unpack your bag when you heard a car engine. Your co-star groaned. "Perfect, now my dad's here. He normally works longer than that" she said. You had never met her dad, he was always at work when you were over. "Lindsay, I'm home!" Logan called before he stepped into the room, stopping in his tracks as he saw you. The camera zoomed in on your slightly shocked face, taking in your agape mouth and how your eyes clouded over. You crossed your leg over the other as warmth spread through your core.

Logan smirked at you, leaning against the doorframe. "So, you are the girl my daughter has been doing that assigment with, I assume? Nice to meet you, I'm her old man." he spoke in his deep voice, extending a warm, strong hand out for you to shake, a knowing look being shared between you as he eyed you up and down, pratically undressing you with his gaze only.

The director yelled cut. You let out a nervous sigh. This worked out way better than you had imagined, but that was just the easy part of this whole thing.

Though, the second Logan pushed the tip of his cock into your sopping pussy with a relieved smile on his lips that wasn't part of the script, you couldn't care less about your insecurities or worries. The words you were supposed to say just came naturally with the way he fucked you open. "Such a greedy little cunt, she is practically sucking me in" he groaned, one hand pushing your head into the pillows of his daughters bed.

"You really needed this, huh? Needed a big fucking cock to pound your pussy. The boys in college just don't cut it, am I right?" He groaned, enjoying the way your pussy tightened around his throbbing shaft. How could a cock feel this good? Logan could ask you the same thing - how could a fucking pussy be this tight and warm and just sopping wet?

Logan watched your face being squished against the pillows, slurring your words while you drooled. He smirked. You were made for this, the camera was eating you up like this. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought about using this video when he was at home to get off. He leaned down to your ear, his plush lips kissing and biting at the shell before he whispered something only for you to hear "What a natural you are. Gotta have to request you as my partner more often from now on, don't I?" he was whispering in such a hot, breathless voice, it almost made you cum before you even should. He could feel that. And oh boy did it feed his ego.

"Does it turn you on? Being fucked on your best friends bed? By her dad?" Logan rumbled in character, kneading your tits. It took you a while to get a hold of your thoughts and the script, so Logan used that silence to keep whispering in your ear how fucking pretty your tits were. "Y-yes! I...I love it" you slurred, your voice raw from the moans you couldn't hold back for the life of you.

Logan hummed pleased. "Oh I bet you do, baby. Already so cockdrunk for me"

Your pussy felt so good with the way he was dragging his cock in and out, reaching places inside you you didn't knew existed. It was funny to you - you were supposed to fake moan and falsely contort your face in pleasure - but you didn't have to do any of that. If anything, you needed to shut up. You were moaning so loud and so prettily for Logan, it was almost excessive. You just couldn't help yourself. Every time you tried to shut your mouth, Logan would notice and pound into your sweet spot. He couldn't have you denying him of your cute sounds.

Not long and the scene ended with you squirting all over his cock and the sheets. That wasn't initially meant to happen, but with the way Logan was fucking you, you lost control as your orgasm hit. Logan tried to mask his surprise by going off script, continuing to circle your clit "Yes, such a good girl. Keep making a mess for me, baby" he groaned into your neck. You squirmed in his grasp, the overstimulation too much as you felt him cumming over your pussy. He hadn't expected you squirting, but it served perfectly to make him cum like he hadn't in a while.

Richie yelled cut again and Logan let go of your hips, making you fall flat onto the drenched sheets, completely boneless. You could hear faint applause and a warm hand on your back. As Richie approached the bed, Logan was quick to bring you his fluffy robe and wrapped it around you aftwr helping your shaken form to sit up, shielding you from prying eyes. The crew was highly professional for the most part, but there were some creeps shamelessly goggling at the actresses, especially newcomers. Sometimes Richie was one of them...

So Logan had a protective hand around your back, sprawled over your waist to keep you pressed into his side while you regained your composure. You were tired and worn out, but in a very very good way. Your core buzzed with warmth and so did the rest of your body. Without realising, you leaned your head onto Logans shoulders, softly closing your eyes for a moment. It made his heart skip a beat.

"Jesus Christ, you two were really going at it, huh?" Richie grinned and clapped his hands together. "I am deeply impressed with you, rookie. The camera loved you. Didn't even have to correct you at all. Can't believe you haven't done this before" the middle aged man chuckled and tried to discreetly pear down your cleavage to which Logan covered your upper body a bit more, staring Richie down. You didn't feel all too safe now, especially in your slight dazed state. But Logan was there and somehow being able to nuzzle into him for protection eased your mind greatly. "You two can go and take a break. I have Mirinda, Mandy and Josh for the next sesh. But after that, I'd like to see you both in action again. Maybe with another woman as well, how would you like that?"

Logan declined for you with a slight bite to his voice, excusing you and himself after he had wrapped a towel around his hips and brought you to his dressing room. Richie wasn't a bad man. But he was far from being appropriate at times. It happened rarely and mostly only to actresses who had been in this industry for years, but they knew how to treat directors like him for rude staring not to happen. But you were still so young and inexperienced with everything, so anxious and nervous. Logan wanted to protect that. Protect you. The industry was tough and he didn't want you to break under all of this like he did in the beginning himself.

"Thank you for uhm...getting me out of there" you mumbled as you began to dress yourself again with the clothes you had arrived in. You chuckled to yourself as Logan turned around when you put on your bra and underwear as if he hadn't just conpletely seen you bare and ruined you for every other man.

He scoffed. "Not for that. It was the least I could do. Sometimes he gets a bit creepy, but he his decent. He doesn't do more than stare, fortunately. Still, I'm sorry you had to endure that on your first day. But that's, sadly, how it is" he answered, pulling his shirt over his head and you shamelessly watched his muscles dip and contract from his movements.

You buttoned up your blouse and shrugged. "I expected it, honestly. But you were my knight in shining armor, or lack there of-" you laughed and Logan couldn't help but chuckle alongside you. "- so it wasn’t that bad. At least the sex was good"

Logan smirked. "It was?" he asked with a cocky undertone. He knew that it was, but hearing it from you directly made his chest flutter. Not that he would ever admit that. You nodded with a hum, slightly chewing on your bottom lip.

"I have to say the same. You have a great pussy" he blurts out, making both of you laugh. "There is more where that came from, lover boy" it was very easy to be comfortable around Logan and it made you feel a little less lost. It made you feel like you had a guiding hand and you were so grateful that he was there. It wasn’t his job to be your caretaker, he wasn't getting paid to tell you how to do things or protect you from backhanded nasty comments from filming crew members. But you were glad he instantly took you under his wing like this.

You couldn't wait to shoot with him again

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I had so much fun writing this! Let me hear your thoughts, do you want a part two?

And don't be scared, there is also going to be more sub!Logan soon and a few fluff drabbles as well. Stay tuned!

[batchilla]

False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around. 

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear. 

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede. 

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily. 

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle. 

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it. 

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush. 

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”  

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window 

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful. 

Was this a good idea? No. 

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more. 

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him. 

If it was simple lust he could deal with it.  But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again. 

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?” 

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table. 

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place. 

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning. 

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere. 

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game. 

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.” 

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.  

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing. 

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence? 

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him. 

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others. 

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her. 

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven. 

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her. 

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova. 

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara. 

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra. 

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him. 

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence. 

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her. 

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger. 

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

@love-theangel-blog

@torchbearerkyle

@interwebseriesfan24

@love-theangel-blog

@alwaysnervouswitchprince

@underlinekasis

@tiredsleepyandreading

@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two. 

[enderlovez]

No Germs Found

Spencer Reid x Female BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: You and the team are back in Arizona on another case, and when an amazing unfortunate mishap takes place at the front desk, everyone is forced to share rooms with each other.

Content Warning: non-sexual nudity, strong language in reference to the temperature, blushy Spence, mentions of heat stroke, pain from the heat, mentions of murder, slightly NSFW at the end, Spencer likes boobs- I MEAN WHO SAID THAT?

A/N This is kind of a continuation of another one of my works called Germs, but they don't necessarily need to be read side by side. There's only one mention of something that happened in the first part, and it's not really that important to the story, so...

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

None of you really anticipated being on another case so soon, at least not in the same place you'd just gotten home from a few days before, and the place you all seemed to... strongly dislike.

Maybe 'dislike' isn't the right word, but one thing is for sure — the moment you step foot off the jet, you feel like you're covered from head to toe in sweat, and your throat dried up like a fish in a desert.

Not to mention how you' were all stuck in a stuffy room all day, with crappy air conditioning that did absolutely nothing for anyone. So far you had practically nothing on the unsub, they were slippery as soap, and that stress — the stress of not knowing who they are, who they are going to kill next — has you in a very grumpy mood.

And despite the inconveniences, the day still somehow finds a way to get worse.

That much is clear as Hotch strolls up to our group of people with an annoyed look on his face — granted he almost always looks like that when we're having a hard time finding anything on the unsub.

"There was a malfunction in their system, and they overbooked their rooms," he says simply, only earning a choir of groans from us, "so we're going to have to double up tonight."

You throw your head back, a heavy sigh escaping your mouth. It's been a long day, and all you want is to lay around without your clothes on and go to sleep — but you can't exactly do that with someone else in there with you.

"You're free to pick your roommate yourself, but please, for the love of God, keep it professional," he finishes as he drops a small pile of numbered keys onto the little table in the reception.

Everyone immediately splits off into pairs, while you make no move to do anything, laying back on the armchair with your neck bent over the top, eyes closed against the white fluorescent lights.

"You know, frequent hyperextension of the neck can have negative effects on its structure and function," a familiar voice says from above you. "Around fifteen to twenty-five percent of North Americans experience lasting effects, such as chronic pain and nerve issues."

You peel your eyes open to find none other than the brilliant Spencer Reid standing over your head, dangling a key over your face, and just like that, all your apprehension melts away.

"Stop flirting with me, Spencer, it's incredibly unprofessional," you joke lightheartedly, a vibrant smile overtaking your face as you pluck the key from his fingers.

He doesn't seem to realize you're joking, though, because he immediately goes to defend himself, stuttering adorably and blushing firetruck red. "No, um, I wasn't — I would never flirt with you!" he tries to defend himself, only realizing a second later how it might've come off. "I-I mean I would, but that's not what I was trying to do."

You shake your head and laugh, standing from the armchair and threading your arm through his so you can lead him down the hallway towards the room you both would be staying in.

The room that was, technically, booked for only one person.

The room that only has one bed.

It's not like you don't want to share a bed with him, you're more worried that he might not want it, with his whole 'germ' thing. Not that he really seemed to care about that the other day, when he drank straight from your water bottle without a care in the world, then proceeded to ask you out on a date.

"I can sleep on the floor, if you'd like," he offers quietly as he shuts the door behind him.

You immediately dismiss that idea, shaking your head before the words are even fully out of his mouth. "You're not sleeping on the floor, Spencer, that's not fair," you say quickly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "That is, as long as you're alright with me sleeping in my underwear, because I will be doing that."

Of course you're half-joking — if there's any indication that he's uncomfortable with that idea you'll just sleep in a t-shirt and shorts, it's just that you'd much rather not in this heat.

"N-no, no," he says, his voice pitched just a little too high. He's blushing from head to toe, you know that without even looking at him. "You can s-sleep in whatever you want to, I don't mind."

It's entirely unprofessional, you know that, but you really can't help it as you instantly begin tearing your sweat-drenched clothes from your body, tossing them around haphazardly until you're left in only your bra and underwear. You don't waste another second, flopping onto the bed, briefly stretching your limbs out, then rolling to one side.

It's a relief to be out of those clothes...

Only now do you realize that Spencer has not moved an inch from were he was standing when you initially asked the question, face bright red, breathing uneven as he tries desperately to keep his eyes from dipping from your face.

"Come on, I don't bite," you say quietly, patting the empty space on the other side of the bed, meanly deciding it would be funny to tease him, "not unless you ask very nicely."

Nervously, he drops his stuff beside the door and makes his way towards the bed, siting on the edge of his side. You're sure you can see him sneaking glances down at your chest every now and then, when he thinks you're not paying attention.

Who is he kidding? You're always paying attention to him, clinging onto every word he says like you'll die if you forget a single one.

"Come on, Spencer," you urge, "you've literally shared spit with me, don't get all shy now."

You're phrasing it that way as a joke, and you're sure he knows that.

But the next words that come out of his mouth leave you stunned, mouth dropped open and butterflies stampeding through your stomach, heart beating a million miles an hour.

You're not expecting something like this to come out of his mouth, really, but after his strange confidence the other day in drinking all your water and asking you out, you're not sure what to expect now.

"Can you please bite me, then?"

[ghosts-to-reid]

Slip and Fall

Request: Spencer x reader is staying in a hotel whilst on a case together, she has to go to his room (the reason up to you, like her shower has broken or something). They both finally subcome to their feeling for each other, he pulls her on his lap, maybe some smut? @starstruckllamatriumph

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Implied msut at the end. Nudity

It was already half 10 when the team wrapped up at the police station for the day.They had been called to a case in Utah, and had been arduously working all day trying to make any sense of the case, so far with no luck. Each one of you felt dejected as you trudged to your respective rooms. Spencer’s was located beside yours, he had said a small ‘goodnight’ to you before you parted ways for the night.

Spencer Reid has been your crush since… well since your first day at the BAU. The moment you walked in, he had caught your eye. He had clumsily spilt his cup of coffee across his desk as you approached, you felt horrible, but couldn’t help but notice how cute he was when flustered. Since then, you have grown close. He was still just as clumsy around you, but you thought that was just his demeanor. Besides, he wasn’t interested in you like that.

Looking around your room, dropping your go bag on the bed, you walked towards the bathroom. A shower and sleep would be the best thing for you right now, and then, in the morning, you’ll be refreshed and ready to focus on the case.

Walking through to the shower, you flip the faucet on and wait.

And wait

Wand wait

No water was coming out. 

You scowled, hitting the head of the shower as if it was simply hiding the water, only to be met with a pathetic sprinkle that dribbled out for a moment before stopping completely. Fiddling with the handle for a few more moments, you frustratedly sigh and head towards the phone on the desk. Dialing reception, they tell you they’ll have maintenance come to fix it in the morning. Not ideal, but you’d have to suffer with it for a moment.

Defeated, you sat on the edge of the hotel bed, your attention caught by a mirror across from you. You begin to unpick your appearance, your hair could use a wash, and you feel a bit grimy… Sitting in your growing discomfort you finally decide to grab what you needed from your go bag, a hotel robe, and finally leave your room where you walked the 4 steps to Spencer’s room, tapping on the door softly.

It only takes a moment for him to answer, he is hidden slightly behind the door, hair wet. He looks surprised to see you, as much as you are him. His damp hair, the shining of his skin, they all told you he had just got out of his own shower. Jealousy hit you, and before he could greet you you rushed out

“Can I use your shower?” He cocked a brow in surprise but nodded, moving aside to let you. He was wearing a robe identical to the one you were holding. There was steam still floating out of the bathroom as you walked in

“What’s wrong with your shower?” He asked as he shut the door, you spun around to face him quickly

“Oh, it’s broken. I called the front desk, and it's getting fixed tomorrow but I just felt… gross.” You chuckled out, shifting the objects in your arms.

It felt awkward to be in a room with Spencer like this, he was standing in front of you, damp and glistening, and barely dressed. You were desperate not to let your mind wonder, to keep things professional. 

“I’ll just-” You pointed towards the bathroom and he quickly nodded

“Yeah! Yeah of course, there’s still a clean towel on the rack” He smiled

“Thanks, Spence. I’ll be quick”

“Take your time” He made his way over to his go bag whilst you entered the bathroom. Quickly stripping, you hopped into the warmth of the water, washing your hair and yourself speedily so as not to take up too much of Spencer’s time. As you rushed to step out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around you, your foot landed in a puddle of water which caused you to slip and fall onto the ground. A loud thump and scream followed.

Spencer came running into the bathroom, now he was half dressed, wearing only his pajama pants. Even if you wanted to oggle him, the small throbbing pain in your side distracted you from that. Spencer rushed to your side, checking for injuries, and gently guiding you to sit up as you groaned

“I heard you scream, are you okay?” He asked softly, gently rubbing the arm you landed on. Gruffly nodding, you move to stand but Spencer keeps you still. “Don’t move yet, it sounded like quite the fall.” He chuckled, making you smile. After a moment, you see his eyes wander down slightly, before quickly dodging to look at anything other than you- A blush creeping up on his cheeks. Confused, you look down, only now noticing your towel had slipped, exposing your chest to him. Nerves took over as you wrapped yourself up, before quickly moving to your feet with Spencer. He guides you to sit on his bed after he has composed himself

“Can I see your side?” He asked softly, standing in front of you. You cocked brow in confusion

“Why?”

“So I can assess how bad your fall was, you know how you fall can affect your body in ways you might not know, internal bleeding, fractures, they can all go unnoticed easily.” 

“I didn’t think you were a medical doctor?” 

“I’m not, but I read.” He smiled to you, almost proud of himself. You chuckled lightly, and stood up, moving your towel so you were still covered (not that that mattered since minutes before, he saw your boobs), and showed him where you had hit yourself. He knelt down before lightly placing a hand along your thigh, tracing his fingertips lightly up, reaching your hip bone, and finally your waist. His touch, though light, felt electric. It took a lot of self restraint not to sigh in bliss, or shudder in pleasure. His brows were furrowed as he intently studied your skin, eventually though, he was happy. He straightened himself once more, and smiled once he met your eyes.

“I think you’re all good…” He breathed out. It seemed that the situation you had put yourselves in had become more apparent to the pair of you. The proximity between you both was a lot smaller than usual, if you took too deep a breath, your chests would be touching. He towered over you, looking deeply into your eyes. “Strange day, huh?” You nodded

“It’s almost fate… Our rooms are next to each other… Your shower was broken… me seeing you so… vulnerable” His voice trailed off as his face inched closer to yours, your breath hitched as he drew in “It’s almost like I needed to see you. See you so…” He placed a hand on your good hip, squeezing softly. He smirked at the surprised whine you let out, biting your lip in embarrassment. 

The pair of you were standing in the middle of his room, you were now the one whose hair was sopping wet, dangling in tendrils around you, and completely vulnerable in just a towel. His chest was rising heavily, skinny but well toned from all his work on the field over the years. 

“Y/n?” He whispered, you manage to mumble a small response

“Im going to kiss you, okay?” But he didn’t wait for a reply before softly landing his lips to yours. Hand moving to caress your cheek, his lips were full of eagerness as they moved with yours. Snaking your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. 

His tongue penetrates your lips, deepening the kiss. So many unsaid words littering the kisses between you. In a moment, Spencer is pulling you on top of him, straddling him on the end of the bed. You eagerly accept your new position, finding better purchase on his lips. 

The moment you unintentionally grinded down on his thigh, you knew you weren’t going to be going back to your room tonight…

[mr-cha-n]

Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike. 

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor. 

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect. 

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live. 

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client. 

Except. 

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse. 

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that. 

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil.  Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into.  "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss. 

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time. 

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets. 

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken. 

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

[back2thebasics]

Carlisle Cullen X Fem Reader - Night Shift

Summary: You were hired as his secretary and you have not been able to keep your eyes off him since. One night when you stay late to finish some work he approaches you and you realize the two of you are finally alone.

Content: 18+ MDNI, P in V penetration, Oral sex (Male receiving), Age gap( He is a vampire lol), Boss/employee relationship,

Also this is set in an AU where he is not with Esme.

Carlisle Cullen X Fem Reader - Night Shift

The fluorescent lights of the clinic buzz incessantly above you, casting the empty waiting room in a sterile glow. You sit at the reception office desk, flipping through patient files, but your mind is not on your tasks, it's instead focused on him—Dr. Carlisle Cullen—the head of the clinic and your boss for the past few months.

From the moment you first stepped into the clinic, nerves buzzing in your chest, his calm, commanding presence was undeniable. You hadn’t expected someone so strikingly handsome to head the small-town clinic. And yet, there he was, his golden eyes warm and inviting, his smile kind. You felt the pull instantly, though you brushed it off as a simple crush, one that would fade with time.

But it hadn’t.

Every day since has been a challenge. You sometimes lingered in the break room longer than necessary, stealing glances whenever he passed by. It feels like he's doing the same sometimes—his gaze held on you just a little too long, his voice getting slightly softer when he speaks your name. But it could all be in your head. 

It’s after hours now, the last patient is long gone, and the clinic is unusually quiet. Your shift is almost over, and you prepare to shut down your computer when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Y/N?”

Carlisle’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn around, startled to see him standing in the doorway of his office, his white coat still on, sleeves slightly rolled up, exposing his forearms. You can’t help but notice the way his muscles flex slightly as he leans against the doorframe, his eyes locked on you with a soft intensity.

“Dr. Cullen,” you manage to say, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, though your pulse quickens. “I didn’t think anyone else was still here.”

“I was finishing up some paperwork,” he says, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to flicker with something deeper. “But I noticed the lights were still on out here. Are you staying late?”

You shake your head, trying to focus. “Just wrapping up a few things. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

He steps into the room, his presence filling the space, making the air feel charged. He walks toward the desk, stopping just a few feet away, close enough that you can smell his familiar scent—clean, crisp, with a hint of something more enticing.

“You don’t have to rush,” he says softly, his voice laced with something you can’t quite place. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Talk to me?”

Carlisle nods, and for a moment, the silence between you is heavy, palpable. His gaze holds yours, and you feel like he’s seeing straight through you, reading every thought, every feeling you’ve tried so hard to hide.

“You’ve been doing an incredible job here, Y/N. More than just competent… you’ve brought a warmth to this place that we didn’t even know we needed,” he says, his voice deep and sincere. “And, if I’m being honest, it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

His words make your heart race, your breath hitching as you process what he’s saying. There’s something in his tone that suggests more than just professional praise. 

“I—thank you,” you stammer, feeling a warmth creep up your neck, your pulse racing. “That means a lot coming from you.” 

Carlisle steps closer, rounding the desk until he’s standing just a few inches away from you. Suddenly, the air between you feels charged, electric. His eyes, golden and piercing, hold yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says, his voice lower now, more intimate. 

“Yes?” You reply just a little too quickly and you can't help but cringe internally.

“ If I were to ask you on a date would you say yes?” He asked 

“You want to as me on a date ?” The question came out a little self-deprecating.

You’ve spent months wondering if the tension between you was one-sided if those fleeting glances and the soft brushes of his hand were just coincidences. He steps even closer now, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is soft, but it sends a jolt through your entire body, making your skin tingle where his fingers linger. His hand had felt cold when he had gently brushed your ear but the contrast of it against your flushed skin felt amazing.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s getting harder every day. You make it impossible, Y/N.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as his words sink in. There’s no mistaking it now—the attraction, the chemistry that’s been simmering between you for months is real. And he feels it too.

“I know,” he says softly, his eyes searching yours. “I know this is complicated. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you.” He stares down at you towering above you looking like a god. 

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. The only sound in the room is the soft hum of the overhead lights, and the only thing you can focus on is Carlisle—his piercing gaze, the way his lips part slightly as if he’s holding back everything he wants to say.

“ Carlisle I don't care about any of that I just thought you were way out of my league, to be honest.” You couldn't help the honesty. Not that you didn't have self-confidence but Carlisle was way beyond any man you had ever seen look wise. His perfect features and natural charm made for a deadly combination.

“Come here Y/N.” The command was firm yet gentle. You stood up and he still towered over you. He is so close to you, within arms reach. Then as if he can read your wishes his cold hand returns to your face to gently grasp your jaw and cheek. He seems to examine your face thoroughly and then he scans down your body taking his time. His look of pure approval and lust has your heart beating out of your chest and your stomach doing flips. 

“Absolutely beautiful. I don't understand how you cannot see that.” Carlisle’s voice feels like velvet on your skin. 

And then, without warning, he closes the distance between you, pulling you closer to him suddenly with one arm around your waist his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands instinctively reaching for his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. His kiss is intense, demanding, yet somehow gentle, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

Carlisle’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprises you. You’ve imagined this moment so many times, but nothing could have prepared you for the way it feels—the way your body melts into his, the way his hands seem to know exactly where to touch you to make your pulse race.

He pulls back slightly, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers, “Are you sure about this?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look up at him, your mind racing. But there’s no doubt, no hesitation in your voice when you say, “Yes.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

Carlisle’s lips find yours again, more insistent this time, as he backs you up against the desk. You feel the edge of it press against your hips, but all you can focus on is him—his hands roaming over your body, the way he’s kissing you like he’s starving like he’s been holding back for far too long.

Before you know it, he’s lifting you onto the desk, his hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingers grazing over your skin. The coolness of his touch sends shivers down your spine, and you can’t help but arch into him, craving more.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

“I want this,” you breathe, your voice shaky with anticipation.

Carlisle’s hands move with purpose now, slipping your shirt over your head, his eyes dark with desire as they take in the sight of you. He leans down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, his hands exploring every inch of your skin, igniting a fire within you that you can’t control. Your hands grab at his clothes, his jacket slides off him and then you start helping him with the buttons of his crisp white button up underneath. He helps you and suddenly you are staring at a muscular broad chest. He is more defined than you expected and you can't help but let your eyes trail down to where his abs are and then his faint happy trail of light blonde hair. Your mouth water at the sight of the bulge that tented his black slacks. You bring your hand to his chest and trail it down slowly to start undoing his belt. You notice he doesn't look like he is breathing but then as your eyes meet he catches his breath. He looks at you with hungry eyes that make you melt inside. Once his pants are undone you pull out his long hard cock and stroke it gently. It is surprisingly cold and the sight of it is magnificent, long with a few visible veins and the pink tip makes you want to place your lips around it. 

“Y/N I am going to try my best to be gentle with you my darling but if I hurt you please tell me and I will stop immediately.” He whispered into your ear, making goosebumps rise on your skin. 

“You won't hurt me, Carlisle. I know it.” You whispered back knowing he wouldn't but somewhere deep down inside you, hoped he would. You liked it a little rough and you wanted to see him fully unleashed. Not his usual calm, collected, controlled self. You pushed your hand gently against his chest and he stepped back allowing you to slide down from the desk and onto your knees in front of him. You decide to unhook your bra quickly and his eyes are glued to your movements, like a predator watching carefully. It turned you on, encouraging you to continue. You look up at Carlisle and he is the most still you have ever seen him be. He waits for you, letting you have full control. You reach up and stroke his length then you rise up on your knees and lick the pale pink tip. He groans his head falling back, You take him in your mouth slowly and start sucking gently. Part of you wants to tease him until he loses control and takes exactly what he wants for you. Your hand continues to stroke him as you take more and more of him in your mouth, your tongue tracing the bottom of his shaft with each motion. From under your lashes, you look up at him and notice the look of pure pleasure on his face. It made a low moan escape from your throat and then you felt his hand entwine into your hair. You moaned once more at the contact, his icy fingers against your burning hot scalp. He gently griped and then followed his hand as your head bobbed up and down getting closer and closer to taking him fully. You know he will hit the back of your throat and you want to try. You don't usually like giving men head but this is Carlisle and he is worth it. You push yourself further on your toes and take him to the hilt, you gag slightly and your eyes water, his grip on your hair around the base of your neck tightens. Your hands grip his hips where slacks have slightly slid down exposing sharp hip bones. Your nails press little half-moons into his velvety skin. He pulls you back, gentle but firm and you look up at him, drool on your lips, watery eyes. You know your mascara might be running slightly. He makes a low growly sound from the back of his throat, admiring you and looking down at you with such intensity. 

“You are exquisite, my love.” He murmured and your heart skipped a beat.

In a fluid motion, he somehow picks you up from the floor your legs wrapping around his waist. Your arms around his neck, your arch up to kiss him. He kisses you with a passion that leaves you dizzy. You feel the desk under you once more as he continues the kiss. He slides your skirt down and then pushes your panties to the side and you break the kiss to release a breathy moan. He smirks at you, his cold fingers brushing against your slick core. 

“So wet for me, my beautiful girl.” He purred 

“Carlisle please I need you to fuck me.” The request was more of a demand and you knew it sounded needy.

“I was going to return the favor but maybe we can save that for another time.” His smile revealed a breathtaking white smile that could have blinded someone. 

He didn't waste time positioning himself at your entrance. Carlisle’s strong arms bracketed your hips and caged you into his intoxicating scent. You leaned back onto the desk, sending things flying to the floor. He pushed all the way in and you let out a moan your head falling back at the feeling of him fully seated inside you. He filled you in the best way just on the verge of being too much, but just right. His pace was slow at first as if he was savouring the feeling of you around him.

“You feel amazing darling.” He leaned in to whisper those words into your neck. Then he was kissing in, trailing down to your collarbone and then your breasts, all the while still slowly pumping in and out. You gripped his forearms, needing to stabilize yourself, you moaned when he finally picked up the pace slightly. He looked into your eyes and then as if he knew exactly what you wanted he gently grasped your throat with one hand, holding it in a firm but gentle grip. He sped up once more, his hips slapping against your hips making the desk rock shake and rock slightly. He leans in to kiss you, still holding your neck in a firm grip, then his other arm snakes under your waist pulling you into him while he fucks you at a steady pace. He pulls you up into him until you are no longer touching the desk as he holds you to him by the waist with little to no effort. Your arms wrapped around his neck but with the way he holds you, you don't even need to hold on. He breaks the frenzied kiss looking deep into your eyes, the intensity of his thrusts force quick pants out of you with each time he pounds into you. He uses you exactly how you want like he is crazed with desire.

Your moans got louder as you felt the familiar feeling of a rising orgasm. Your nails dug into the back of Carlisle's neck, your back arching into him further your nipples pressing against his chest. He ground into you and then he released your neck to reach down and rub your pulsing clit. It tipped you over the edge and sent you hurdling towards your climax.

“Carlisle, I'm gonna cum.” You moaned out trying to form the words in your lusty haze.

“Yes cum for me beautiful.” He rasped rubbing circles on your clit as you reached orgasm. Your toes curled and you saw stars as you came hard.

He let out a low groan as he came. You both rode out your orgasms together, breathing hard, pressed against each other. His skin still felt cold somehow and you were grateful as it helped to cool you down from the hot flush from your orgasm. He slowly pulled out of you and then rested you back down on the desk as he reached over to a box of tissues on the office desk and then used it to clean you both up. He helped you dress in a comfortable silence, as he looked at you with a warm gaze. 

“I still have intentions of taking you out for dinner, my love. This is usually not how I got about things.” He chuckled low, giving me one of his amazing smiles. Your breath hitched mesmerized by the way his golden eyes sparkled as he looked into yours. 

“I am looking forward to it Dr.” You smiled up at him teasing him by using his title.

His smile turned lustful as he leaned down to kiss you.

[always-just-red]

HIIIIII congrats on 200 followers!! Can I have a Zayne smut fic pleasee?? Like the reader sees him wearing scrubs for the first time and she finds him hot or (reverse) him seeing the reader in uniform for the first time? Thank you!!

Sorry it's taken me so long to get around to this! '200 followers' is like a punch in the face reminding me how long this has been in the queue haha, but thank you so much! ❤ I don't write smut I'm afraid but this is a quick lil build-up to a cliff-hanger, so if any of the talented smut writers out there wanna write a part 2? Go for it! And tag me so I can read it link it here for everyone to enjoy!! Smut writers, I summon you!!! ✨🔥✨🔥✨✨

Professionalism

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You love a man in uniform! Or... well, scrubs or whatever.

Genre: Suggestive (not smut sorryyy)

Warnings/Additional tags: still PG i guess since it cuts off before anything happens? gn!reader, established relationship, inappropriate workplace behaviour (shame on you Dr Zayne!!)

| Word count: 1.7k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You’re not quite sure when this game started, but you’re going to win.

It was unassuming at first— harmless, even innocent little acts that slipped into something else altogether, as they so often do. Almost like falling in love: it snuck up on you. Coincidences— a chance meeting in the park, an accidental brush of two hands— become suddenly calculated. You take the reins from fate; you walk in the park where he takes his lunch, and he takes his lunch in the park where you walk. How fortunate it is, that you’re always running into one another.

Yes, this has been like falling in love. And neither one of you is naïve.

It’s dark outside the hospital. The stars are contesting the scattered, infinite lights of Linkon and you watch them through a window, finding meanings and shapes. They’ve a warmer glow than the cold, white, clinical lights in here.

“Could I get you something while you wait?” Yvonne asks, peeking over the top of the reception desk. She sounds anxious, and you can make a pretty good guess as to why.

“I’m fine. Thank you, though, really,” you smile cheerfully back.

She humours you with one in return. “I’m sure Dr Zayne will be along shortly,” she titters nervously, trying to fill the quiet. “He was with his last patient of the round when I spoke to him. It shouldn’t have been too much trouble, he must be— ah! Dr Greyson!”

The man was just passing through, face buried in a clipboard, but he stops at Yvonne’s greeting.

You lift a hand. “Hey, Greyson.”

“Hey!” He squints at something he’s read. “What a coincidence! I was just saying to Zayne it’s been a while since you paid us a—” he looks up and loses his train of thought. 

“Visit?” you finish.

“Umm… yes,” he chuckles, with the kind of reluctance that tells you he can’t decide if he’s falling victim to some prank. It’s the same anxiousness you’ve inflicted on poor Yvonne. He tests the waters with a: “Rough day at work?”

You beam at him. You’re sat with your usually pristine uniform marred by swathes of half-dried blood, too dark to be human. Not one bit of it is yours. By some miracle, you managed to perfectly dodge every swipe of that Wanderer’s claws today. Rolled out the way of every flying piece of rubble. “You should see the other guy,” you say, then double back, “well, the other thing.”

Greyson gives a stiff grin, still sceptical, but you’ve almost won him over. Nonchalantly, you reach for one of two brown paper bags at your side, then hold it out to him. “Here, for you!”

He tucks his clipboard under his arm, then comes over and takes it. There’s a soft crinkle as he unfurls the top. Sneaks a glance inside. His face lights up. “Thank you,” he enthuses, his hand diving in to retrieve a large chocolate-chip cookie— one of many. “Yvonne, would you like—”

She holds up her own paper bag. Greyson chuckles again, tucking into the treat. Like Zayne, he’s prone to working through his breaks, and you know he’s so often starving. Midway through a bite, he looks up at you, frowning. “Is this a bribe?” he mumbles, cheeks so full you almost can’t make out the question.

You smile at him pleasantly.

He chews slowly— connecting the dots. “No questions asked?” he guesses with a raised eyebrow.

“No questions asked,” you nod.

It’s a fair trade. The cardiac surgeon thinks it over, his eyes narrowed at you behind his glasses. He takes another suspenseful bite of the cookie. Chews. Swallows. Then there’s the broadest grin you’ve seen yet. “Works for me! I don’t want to know.”

With a nod to Yvonne, he carries on down the corridor, shooting you a knowing wink as he passes. You adore that man. Hell, half the hospital staff feel like family. You’d lay down your life for them, but you also delight in having them wrapped around your finger, albeit, with the help of a cookie or two.

You’re so busy watching Greyson leave that you don’t notice his absence has already been filled. Not at first, anyway, but then you feel it: hazel eyes on you.

You turn to meet them. Zayne stands, one hand curled around a small stack of paperwork, the other retrieving his glasses from his face. He tucks them into his breast pocket. “What a pleasant surprise,” he says, and the enthusiasm has been carved out of his words and replaced with suspicion.

“Hey, doctor,” you tease, lifting the last of your care packages from the coffee table. “Thought I’d join you for your break before I head home. Do you mind?”

His gaze flits over you, and it isn’t the honourable inspection he’d claim it to be if you dared call him out on it. He’s trying not to look again. “Of course not.”

This would usually earn you a sheepish smile, or a kiss on the cheek, but you’re angling for something else today. Victory. Look at him: he knows.

Like you said, neither one of you is naïve.

…

All right— knife to your throat?— you have an inkling as to how this started.

It was a more honest version of this: you’d stopped by the hospital, a few months ago, to boost the morale of a certain doctor and his hard-working team with some coffee from down the road. The machine in the staff room was broken, and by multiple accounts: made shitty coffee, anyway. So you often found yourself, hot drinks in hand, trying to catch Zayne on one of his few breaks.

(You miss that old coffee machine. They’ve replaced it, now.)

One morning, you were a little too late. Zayne had been called on to assist with a surgery, and you almost clashed in the corridor— you hadn’t recognised him at first. He was out of his usual attire: dressed head to toe in his medical scrubs. Despite the rush he was in, he made time to flash you a gentle smile. Said you could wait in his office; he wouldn’t be long.

You never did give a coherent answer. There was something about seeing him like that— so professional, so in his element. Off to save someone’s life, probably. Gods, he was amazing, and he just looked so, so good. 

Zayne knew from the start, of course; he’s so perceptive when it comes to you.

You used to feel guilty— positively sinful— until you caught that look in his eye, one day after work. You’d gotten to his place, kicked your boots off while he watched from the couch, enamoured, but you hadn’t noticed. You’d been complaining about a Wanderer. You were a mess: your hair, your uniform.

You remember looking up, and there it was. A flicker of something dark in his gaze.

He was quick to disguise it. Always quick to disguise it, because he’s a gentleman.

It’s been an unspoken war of attrition since then, and you’re both determined to outlast the other. You pick and choose your battles; there are times Xavier tries to drag you to the Association’s medics for surface scrapes and bruises, but you turn him down: you have a doctor at home, thank you very much.

Zayne tends to every wound with tight lips and steady hands. You’d feel bad, but…

He sometimes turns up to your dates still wearing his lab coat. (He left his regular coat at home again, and it’s cold outside, isn’t it? A lab coat is better than nothing.)

Last week, he really pushed his luck. He was demonstrating a new experimental technique in the operating theatre, and Greyson insisted you come along to watch. It was so innovative, he said. Zayne was working something of a miracle, he said.

So here you are, fighting back.

“Well?” Zayne asks. He’s sitting back in his chair while you ‘straighten’ his tie.

You’re perched on his desk, not listening. “Hmm?”

He catches your hand gently, using it to pull you closer, so you’re forced to meet his eyes. His tone is low. “What did I just say?”

You glance down again. Chuckle: “Something about responsibility?” 

A finger lifts your chin, tilting your gaze back up. “It’s inappropriate,” Zayne says.

“What’s inappropriate?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“No,” you mutter, and the finger on your chin can’t keep you from staring at his lips. You speak a whisper of enticement: “Tell me what I’m doing.”

Will he do it— say it— after all this time? Put it to words so that it might finally be acted upon? Break, you will him, looking into his eyes, because the last stunt he pulled pushed you over the edge, and you can’t hold on much longer. It’s starting to hurt.

All in. You are going to fall, so you’ve got nothing to lose by trying to bring him down with you.

“It’s just a uniform, Zayne,” you smile innocently. “But if it bothers you that much… I could always take it off.”

Your doctor stares at you, his expression refusing to melt. Then he lets out a sigh. In the beat of a heart he’s up out of his chair, striding away from his desk, away from you.

“Zayne?”

Now he’s not listening. He’s by the door, taking his lab coat down from a hook and threading his arms through the sleeves. He fixes the cuffs, straightens it, but that’s where the motions of habit end. His fingers don’t make it to the buttons, and of course you notice; you’re not naïve.

Zayne turns to you, and there’s no disguising that look in his eyes and its common counterpart: a rare, inevitable smile. Complete surrender. He locks the door with a click.

Ha.

You were always going to win, weren’t you?

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Boss -(long) Oneshot

Word count: 9284 This one got away from me... sorry. Hope you like it, tho!

Part 2 Part 3

Y/N smiled as she stared up at the huge high rise building.  It was her first day working at Avengers Legal, the offices of Barnes, Rogers and Stark.  She had been really lucky to find an opening as one of the head lawyers’ personal assistants, she just didn’t know which one yet.  She had a little background in law, but didn’t go to law school, as much as that killed her parents.  A little bump in the road in the shape of her now ex boyfriend had derailed that future, and after freeing herself she was now working on her fresh start.  She followed the instructions from the head of HR that she had been in contact with, and walked out of the elevator to the smiley woman sitting at the reception desk.

“Hello, how can I help you?” she asked in a chipper tone.

“Hi, my name is Y/N Y/L/N.  It’s my first day?” Y/N said.

“Oh!  The new personal assistant!  Yes, Pepper told me,” she said happily.  She stood and held out her hand.  “My name is Kamala Khan.  Receptionist.”

“Kamala, that’s beautiful,” Y/N complimented her, and Kamala smiled even wider.  

“You’re sweet.  I like you already,” Kamala said.  “Follow me.”  She moved around the desk and walked ahead of Y/N towards the hallway to the right.  “Now I don’t know which partner you’re working with,” she said lowly, sidling up to Y/N.  “And please don’t let this scare you off, but each of them work differently.”  

“Okay,” Y/N said, speaking quietly as well.

“If you get Steve, that’s the Rogers part, he’s a sweetie.  Super friendly.  If you get Tony, the Stark part, he’ll tease and make fun of you, he’s very sarcastic, and sometimes he’ll flirt or compliment you like crazy, but it’s never gross and he means nothing by it.  He’s married to Pepper.”  Y/N nodded, intaking all the information as best as she could.  “Then there’s James, the Barnes part.  He’s the more serious of the three.  Friendly, but busy, very professional and no-nonsense.  He likes things done quickly and efficiently.  If he lets you call him his nickname, Bucky, then you know you’re in the inner circle.”

“Inner circle?” Y/N asked as Kamala stopped in front of a door that read Pepper’s name and title.

“It’s like the main team of Avengers Legal,” Kamala said, nearly whispering.  “The partners, their top legal assistants that get to have the most fun or high profile cases, and only the best personal assistants.  Those are the ones that get to travel with them, and usually get to network with top of the line people in the industry.  It opens a lot of doors,” she said, raising her hand to the door.  “So good luck with whoever you get.”

Y/N nodded as Kamala finally knocked.  “Come in!” a voice called out.  Kamala opened the door and gestured for Y/N to enter first.  “Y/N!  Welcome,” Pepper said and stood from her desk.

“Hello, it’s good to see you again,” Y/N said, walking over and shaking her hand.

“Thank you, Kamala,” Pepper called out behind her, and Kamala smiled and closed the door.  “I’m sure she gave you all the beginner’s gossip,” Pepper smirked as she sat back down and gestured for Y/N to sit at the chair in front of the desk.

“Yes, she did,” Y/N huffed a laugh.  

Pepper rolled her eyes.  “The partners are all just overworked, typical men.  Not nearly as special as they like to think they are.”  Y/N bit back a smile.  “That being said, after reviewing your profile and discussing things with them, I think you’ll be best fit with Mr. Barnes.”  Y/N felt a little trepidation at that from what Kamala had said, but nodded.  “He’s…quiet,” Pepper said, choosing her words carefully.  “But honestly one of the best attorneys in the state.  He runs a tight ship, and expects the best out of anyone working under him.  If they disappoint him, he can have quite a temper, but he’s normally very friendly.”

“Are you trying to convince me to back out?” Y/N asked with a smile.

“No!  God no, please stay,” Pepper said, waving her hands in front of her.  “I’m just trying to forewarn you.  He’s had a hard time keeping a personal assistant for the last few years.”

Y/N nodded.  “And he is aware that I’m not a paralegal?”

“Yes,” Pepper nodded back.  “We don’t blur lines when it comes to personal assistants versus legal assistants.”

“Then I’m ready,” Y/N said.

She signed the contract for her employment, then Pepper gave her a tour of the office and had her meet the teams and other partners.  Finally they walked into the office that had his name on it.  “Buck?  I’d like to introduce you to your new personal assistant,” Pepper said as she held the door open for Y/N.  Y/N walked in and took a quick look around at his office before her eyes landed on him sitting in the desk chair.  She had to stop her eyes from widening when she met his gaze.  That is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

“Meet Y/N Y/L/N.  Y/N, this is Bucky. Oh!” Pepper rolled her eyes.  “I’m sorry, James.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Pepper but gave her a teasing smirk.  “Thanks Pepper,” he said in a dismissive tone.  

Pepper scoffed then squeezed Y/N’s upper arm.  “Come see me before you leave today.”

Y/N smiled and nodded at her and Pepper walked out, closing the door behind her.  Y/N took that short moment to look him over.  Tall, broad shouldered, and from what she could see, built under his suit that was impeccably tailored to him.  His dark brown hair was long and tied back in a small man-bun, which was surprising as a lawyer, but that coupled with his full beard offset the austerity of his suit and made him seem approachable.  His bright blue eyes were looking her over, too, like he was sizing her up.  It was an intense stare, and she had to stop herself from shrinking under his gaze.

She took the initiative and walked forward to his desk.  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” she said, offering her hand to him.

Bucky looked at her hand then back to her face, his hand reaching forward as he smiled politely.  “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand firmly.  Y/N made sure to be firm in her grip with him, and his smile slightly widened.  “Take a seat, and we can go over what it is I expect from you.”

Y/N sat and took out a notebook and pen from her bag, getting comfortable in her seat then looking up at him expectantly.  Bucky seemed to be watching her carefully, and she could start to see a small tell in the type of smirk he gave as to how he was feeling.  The wider smirk he gave Pepper was a friendly one, whereas these small ones as he greeted her were when he was impressed with something or pleasantly surprised.  They had a good, long discussion about what it was he wanted, how he liked to work with others, his normal routine and the possibility of travel at times, but she wouldn’t hold her breath for that.

“That’s about everything I can think of,” Bucky said.  “Any questions?”

“Yes, what’s your favorite drink order?” Y/N asked as she finished jotting down her last notes. 

Bucky scoffed.  “My favorite drink order?”

Y/N smiled.  “Just in case.”

His impressed smirk came back.  “Lately it’s been sweetened matcha.”

“Sweetened with what?” Y/N asked.

“Surprise me,” Bucky said.

Y/N smiled widely.  “Yes sir.”

Bucky frowned.  “No sirs.  Mr. Barnes in front of clients, otherwise Bucky is fine.”

She beamed at him for accepting her so quickly.  “Alright…Bucky.”

***

This job was a baptism by fire.  Y/N was thrown into work life with Bucky, accompanying him all around the city, taking endless notes in meetings and relaying messages to his legal team.  Per Bucky’s request she became close with all the assistants on his legal team, learning the process of working on a case and seeing how they all worked together.  She also scheduled everything in his personal life, making sure he was getting to doctor's appointments, picking up the dry cleaning, making sure the house cleaner was on time, taking personal phone calls during the work day, and handling anything else she could anticipate for him. 

Kamala was right, he was very particular and wanted efficiency above all else.  He didn’t like people wasting his time, and expected everyone to be at their best while at work.  There were times Y/N would catch him having a casual moment with one of the other partners, Steve, who was his best friend from childhood.  He would laugh at something Steve said and she’d be gifted with the sight of his full, real smile that he rarely gave anyone.  That being said, as the months went by he was opening up to Y/N, teasing her, making jokes and even at times bordering on flirtatious.

Steve was still looking for a new personal assistant, since his previous one, Peggy, he just so happened to start dating seriously, and since they struggled to differentiate work versus their personal lives she had resigned.  Every once in a while Bucky would lend Y/N out to Steve to help with some things that he needed while Pepper was in the process of finding him a new assistant.  “Good morning, Steve,” Y/N greeted him one day while she was helping him for a week.  She daintily put down a large coffee cup in front of him and his eyes widened.

“Oh you angel,” he whispered, grabbing the warm cup.  He brought it to his lips, taking a slow sip and he hummed appreciatively.  “You’re heaven sent, you know that?”

“I know,” Y/N smirked.  

“Oh I see how it is,” Bucky’s voice came from behind her.  She turned to find him walking toward her into Steve’s office with a teasing smile.  “One week with this jerk and you forget all about me.”

“Punk,” Steve spat as he sipped his coffee.

Y/N rolled her eyes and held up the other cup in her hand.  “How could I forget your cafe style sweetened matcha with three pumps of lavender and oat milk?”  Bucky hung his head and huffed a laugh as he took the cup from her.  “You just came here before I had a chance to come to you.  So needy,” Y/N teased him.  She took out her work phone provided by the firm and started scrolling.  “By the way, your date from last week keeps texting and calling.  What excuse do you want me to give dearest Dottie?”  

Bucky groaned and Steve laughed loudly.  “What was wrong with this one, Buck?” Steve snorted.

Bucky glanced at Y/N like he wasn’t sure how to talk about it in front of her.  “Well, judging by these texts, she’s very thirsty,” Y/N said in a deadpanned tone, making Steve almost spit out his coffee.  “Like, all of the time,” Y/N said.  “Shall I?” she smiled wickedly, waving the phone in front of Bucky’s face.

His eyes widened and he slammed the drink down before lunging toward her to grab the phone but she sidestepped him and ran behind Steve’s desk.  “Read it!  Read it!” Steve said, standing from his chair to block Bucky from getting to Y/N.

“Don’t you dare!” Bucky growled as he tried to go through Steve.

“‘Let me know when I can see you again, baby.  We can pick up where we left off,’” Y/N read, her voice taking on an exaggerated Bronx, New York accent like what she’d heard from Dottie’s voicemails.  

“Oooh where did you leave off, Buck?” Steve asked.  

Bucky tried to push past him.  “No where,” he grunted.

“These get worse by the day,” Y/N frowned as she read through them.  She had mostly ignored them every time she saw Dottie’s name pop up, not engaging in her constant ramblings in trying to get his attention.  This was why he gave out the work cell phone number rather than his actual, personal one.  “‘I want your tongue so deep inside me I can taste it,’” she read in the accent again, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised high.  “Good Lord.”

Bucky finally got past Steve and ran after Y/N as she squeaked and ran out of Steve’s office, Steve’s laugh echoing down the hallway as she moved as fast as her heels would allow her.  She ducked into an empty conference room and ran around the table, Bucky on the other side.  “‘I feel like a vampire, I wanna suck everything out of you,’” Y/N read, cocking an eyebrow at him.  “Jesus, Bucky, where do you find these girls?”  He edged around the table toward her and she jerked to the side, making him frown deeper at her.  He suddenly jumped and slid over the table, making Y/N screech as she tried to run but he caught her with his arms around her waist, hoisting her up off her feet.  She kept the phone out of his reach as he tried to maneuver her to take it from her.  “Ooh this one is really naughty,” she giggled.  Bucky pushed her into the corner of the room, making her face him as he grabbed at her hands.  He finally caught her wrists and as he held them together she read: “‘Fuck me like an animal.  I wanna be your little cum slut,’” she finished, laughing at the end of the phrase and losing the accent.

Bucky pried the phone out of her fingers.  Y/N’s laugh died on her lips as she looked up at him and saw the look on his face.  He wasn’t frowning or smiling, but looked surprised and…aroused.  Y/N realized the position they were in.  She was pushed in the corner, his leg between her legs with his knee almost cradling her core, the rest of his torso pushing against her front to keep her there, his hand holding both of her wrists against his chest and his face hovering mere inches from her face.  His eyes flicked back and forth between her eyes, then glanced at her lips.

Y/N gasped and pushed him away, Bucky quickly backing up with the phone in his hand.  He exhaled sharply, his eyes widening.  “I…I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said quietly.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault,” Y/N said, shaking her head and looking down.  “I’m sorry…I got carried away.  I’ll um, let you handle that and you can give it back when you’re done,” she said, glancing at the phone, then gave him a quick look and walked away.  She nearly ran to the bathroom, hiding in one of the stalls and sliding down to the floor as she tried to even out her breathing.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want Bucky to touch her, in fact she’d had way too many dirty dreams starring him doing much worse things to her since she started working here.  She would gladly fuck Bucky, but she didn’t want to lose her job or have to give it up like Peggy had with Steve.  She needed this job.  She needed to take care of herself, so that if he ever came around, she wouldn’t fall for it all again.  

***

The rest of that day she had focused solely on Steve and all he needed her to do.  When the day was over she marched toward the front door by the reception desk where she found Bucky talking to Kamala.

“Oh, have a good night, Y/N!” Kamala called out to her and waved.

“You, too, K,” Y/N said quickly, giving her a quick smile.  She glanced at Bucky quickly.  “G’night Buck.”  She walked fast out of the office toward the elevator down the hall.  She heard Buck say goodbye to Kamala then follow her out.

“Y/N, hey, hold on,” he called out to her.

She sighed silently as she pushed the down button and turned to face him with a polite smile.  “Yes?”

Bucky stared at her for a moment before the elevator dinged and they both entered the elevator.  Y/N pressed the parking floor level button and leaned back against the elevator wall.  Bucky’s mouth opened and closed multiple times before he finally turned to face her with a heavy sigh.  “I’m sorry, again,” he said, his voice sounding strained.  

“It’s fine, Buck–”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupted her.  “I shouldn’t have…roughhoused you like that.”

Y/N chuckled.  “Roughhoused?”

“Yes, I’m an old man, don’t judge me,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes, a small smile on his face.

“I’m sorry I teased you with the texts so much,” Y/N said.  “I just have a bit of a…history, and it threw me for a loop for a second.”  He looked at her quizzically but she didn’t want to explain.  “She’s got quite the vocabulary,” she said with a teasing smirk, changing the subject.

Bucky snorted, hanging his head as Y/N laughed.  “Yeah, it was uh…quite the date,” he said.  “That’s why I didn’t text her back.  It was all just a bit much.”  Y/N hummed and he handed the work phone back to her.  “I politely told her to get lost and blocked her number,” he said.  She took the phone and nodded.  “I really am sorry,” he repeated.  Y/N met his gaze.  He was sincere and repentant, a knowing look in his eyes.  “I didn’t mean to hurt or scare you.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment before giving him a small smile.  “I know.”

***

Y/N was walking by the reception desk one day on her way back in from lunch when she stopped in her tracks.  Kamala was speaking to a man that Y/N recognized.  It was Vic, her ex.  Kamala looked uncomfortable and met Y/N’s gaze with a concerned look.  Y/N’s eyes were wide and she shook her head minutely, hoping Kamala would get the message.  Kamala looked down then back up at Vic.  “I’m sorry, we don’t have anyone here by that name,” she said sweetly.  “Maybe you have the wrong address?”  She distracted him, making him face away enough that Y/N was able to slip by down the hallway.  Once she was out of earshot she ran into Bucky’s office, closing the door and locking it behind herself.  She was panting, trying to calm herself.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice came from behind her.  She whirled around to face him.  He looked confused.  She held her finger to her mouth and a call came into his office phone.  He frowned and answered the call.  “Yes?” he asked.  He listened for a moment before looking at Y/N.  “A Victor Creed is here to see me?”  Y/N shook her head frantically, her eyes stinging with tears flowing fast.  Bucky’s face shifted into a look of surprise at her response as he stood.  “I’ll come up front in a moment,” he said before hanging up.  He rounded his desk and reached out to her, taking her hands in his.  “Who is he?” he asked quietly.

“History,” Y/N whispered.  

Bucky’s face twisted in recognition at the conversation they’d had weeks before, then his expression became stony.  “Stay here.  Lock the door.  I’ll knock twice once it’s safe.”

Y/N sniffled and nodded as he squeezed her hands, then had her stay behind the door as he opened it and walked down the hallway.  She locked it behind him and stood stock still as she waited and listened.  She could only hear muffled voices for a few minutes, then Vic’s voice getting louder before a slammed door made her jump.  Footsteps came back down the hallway, then two quiet knocks on the door.  She sighed as she unlocked the door with a shaky hand.  Bucky slowly opened it, watching her carefully.  “He’s gone,” he said, taking a step toward her with his hands up.  “Kamala is calling security to have him trespassed from the building.”  Y/N nodded, gnawing on her lip as her arms were tensed and tightly wrapped around herself.  “It’s okay.  You’re safe.  Everything’s going to be alright,” he said quietly.  She swallowed harshly as her tears kept falling.  “Can I give you a hug?” Bucky asked.  

Y/N stared at him for a moment before a sob broke through, and she nodded as she hung her head.  Bucky stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest as she cried heavily.  She gripped the lapels of his suit jacket, shivering against him.  “I told him it was over,” she cried.  “I told him to leave me alone.”

Bucky’s fingers pet the back of her head, running through her hair.  “This isn’t your fault, Y/N,” he said quietly.  “He’s obviously stalking you.”  

She nodded against his chest.  After another moment of him holding her she pulled away and sniffed quickly, wiping her face.  “God, ugh, I’m sorry,” she grunted, clearing her throat.  “I’m so sorry to bring this…drama to the workplace.  I thought I had handled it but apparently not.  I completely understand if you have to let me go–”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Bucky scoffed.  “You’re the best personal assistant I’ve ever had.”  He stepped toward her again and reached for her hands, holding her fingers lightly as his thumbs ran over her knuckles.  “Here’s what we’re going to do.  He’s being trespassed from the building.  You will be escorted by security, or at the very least one of us, to and from your car every day.”

“Buck you don’t have to–”

“Like hell I don’t,” he interrupted her with a stern look.  “You’ll turn on your location on the work phone and share it with me and the others.  And you and I are going to go to the police station to make a report, go online and fill out a protective order or stalking injunction, then drop it off at the court later.”  Y/N’s tears came back.  She hadn’t been able to rely on anyone for years, had lost all contact and close relationships with her friends and family because of him, so to have someone worry and care about her enough to try to help her was overwhelming.  Bucky let go of one of her hands and reached that hand up to wipe away her new tears.  “Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” she nodded.

***

Bucky, the other partners, and the entire office was a godsend to Y/N.  He had accompanied her when they filled out the protective order and turned it into the courthouse, then to the police station as she made a report.  Working in a law firm was helpful in that she was able to file a cease and desist by the end of the day, and with Bucky’s connections to certain officers at the station was able to know when Vic was served with everything.  Over the next few weeks she was accompanied to and from work from her car in the parking garage by someone, usually Bucky, Steve, Tony, and at other times by some of the paralegals.  Scott was one of her favorites, always making it seem like she was the president and he was the secret service.  

She was grateful to all of them for their efforts and willingness to help her.  It made her feel like a burden, but she was quickly reminded that they really didn’t mind when she brought it up.  Her protective order was granted, and she proceeded into getting a restraining order since they lasted longer.

Five months later as Bucky’s team was working late on a big case she packed up her bag.  “Alright, I’m heading out,” she announced to the room.

They all hummed or bid her half-hearted farewells, their attention all focused on the paperwork in front of them.  Bucky’s head snapped up.  “Hold on, doll, let me walk you down.”

“Bucky, it’s fine, honestly,” Y/N waved away his concern, backing up to the front door.  “It’s been months.  I’m sure I’ll be fine.  You shouldn’t have to babysit me–”

“Freeze,” he barked at her.  Y/N’s eyes widened and she stood still, everyone else falling silent at his raised voice.  “I’m coming with you,” he said with no room for argument.  He slipped his jacket back on and grabbed his keys before walking up to her.  “Let’s go,” he said in a quiet, much more gentle tone.

The ride in the elevator and walk to her car was silent.  Once she had unlocked her car door and put her purse in she turned to Bucky.  “Thank you–”

“Y/N, I need you to understand something,” Bucky interrupted her.  He was frowning, looking down at her with an intensity she’d never seen directed at her before.  “You are not a burden.  I am not babysitting you.  I want to help you.  I want you to be safe.  I need you…” he paused, swallowing harshly.  “I care about you,” he said quietly.  

Y/N stared at him in disbelief.  She had made good friendships at the office, and she and Bucky had become close, with her managing every aspect of his job and life for over a year.  She trusted him, and if she were honest with herself, she liked him as much more than her boss, and more than a friend.  But to hear it from him in this context made her feel emotional.  She felt tears start stinging her eyes and blinked rapidly to make them go away.

“Thank you,” she replied.  “I appreciate that.  I…I care about you, too.”

Bucky watched her for a moment before taking a step toward her.  He looked down at her for a moment, the intensity in his eyes making her knees feel weak.  His gaze fell to their feet then he wound an arm around her shoulders and hugged her, kissing her forehead lightly.  “I’ll see you Monday,” he whispered into her hair.

Y/N gently hugged him back, enjoying how his cologne wrapped around her like a blanket.  She closed her eyes as he held her, then opened them when he stepped away.  “See you,” she said quickly.  She gave him a small smile then got into her car.  Bucky stepped back and watched her drive away.  Y/N didn’t know what to think of the interaction.  It wasn’t necessarily work appropriate, but also not quite wrong between friends outside of work.  When she got home she tried to shake it off as another strange moment as she took off her heels and dropped her bag in the entryway.  She walked to the kitchen, pulling some things out to make a quick dinner when she felt like something was off.  She glanced around, then saw a shadow in the corner of the dining room.  She froze when she saw Vic standing there out of the corner of her eye, watching her.  Y/N knew it was too late, and subtly called the last number she had called, which just so happened to be Bucky.

As it rang quietly she turned around and faced Vic head on, looking him in the eye.  When she could hear Bucky pick up she spoke loud enough for him to hear.  “What are you doing here, Vic?” she asked, her voice sounding angry, which she was thankful for with how afraid she was.

Vic chuckled and stepped toward the kitchen into the light.  He looked rougher than the last time she saw him, like he hadn’t been eating, and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in a long while.  His eyes were bloodshot, and with how he swayed as he walked she could tell he was either extremely drunk or high on something.  “Hey princess,” he slurred.  “Just came to see how things are going.  How’s the new boy toy treating you?”

“Boy toy?” Y/N scoffed.  “Who are you talking about?”

“That boss of yours,” Vic snarled, stumbling toward her.  He tried to reach out and grab her, but she quickly stepped out of his reach.  He grunted as he righted himself.  

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Y/N said.  “Even if he was, you have no right to be jealous of me or who I associate with.  We are not together.”

“Right, you being an ‘independent’ woman and all,” Vic mocked her, making air quotes with his fingers.  

“Y/N!  I’m coming!” she heard Bucky’s voice muffled against her chest from her phone.

Y/N tried to keep her wits about her, thinking through her options.  Help was coming.  Bucky was coming.  Just keep talking.  “I am now,” she asserted herself.  She angled her body sideways, getting into a better fighting stance and turning toward the front door.  “You hurt me, Vic.  You controlled, isolated, and abused me.  And I deserve better than that.”

Vic laughed.  “You deserve what I think you deserve.  Which right now, is to be my little cumslut, like you used to be when you were a good little princess.  So, get on your knees,” he said, rushing toward her.  

Y/N punched him, making his head whip to the side, then used his drunkenness against him as she pushed him as hard as she could away from her, making him stumble and fall to the floor.  Y/N held her phone as she ran to the front door.  As she was unlocking it Vic ran up behind her and lifted her off her feet, throwing her back toward the dining room where she fell hard on the floor.  The phone clattered a few feet away from her, and as she crawled toward it Vic grabbed her feet, trying to pull her back.  She kicked and screamed, hearing Bucky’s voice faintly yelling through the phone.  

As Vic was able to turn her to her back, she punched him again, enraging him further.  “You stupid bitch!” he screamed in her face.

Y/N screamed back in his face, then Vic was pulled back off of her.  She gasped as she saw Bucky wrench Vic away, put him in a chokehold and fall on top of him.  Vic struggled, scratching at Bucky’s arms and hands as he choked and gasped for air.  Bucky grunted and tightened his grip more.  “Go to sleep, fucker,” he growled.  After another minute Vic slowly lost control of his arms, his eyes rolling back in his head until he passed out.  Bucky let go of him, but stayed on top of him in case he woke up.  “Call the police,” Bucky glanced at her.  

***

She watched the police officers and paramedics work on Vic in the entryway, loading him on a gurney that he was promptly handcuffed to.  They checked her and Bucky over, treating the scratches on Bucky’s hands and arms and her bruises and scrapes. She was questioned by police officers as they took pictures of her and Bucky’s injuries as well as the knocked over furniture in her apartment.  Y/N answered them as best as she could, Bucky sitting with her the entire time until they finally left.  

“Y/N?” Bucky called to her, turning to face her.  She looked at him blankly.  He was watching her carefully, reaching a hand out and taking hers closest to him.  “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”  She shook her head fervently.  “You can stay with me if you want,” he offered.  “Would you like to do that?” 

Y/N nodded absentmindedly.  She couldn’t think of anything better in that moment than a shower and a different place to stay.  Bucky helped her pack a bag, then guided her out of her apartment to the parking lot.  He helped her into his car, and she melted into the front seat.  She felt numb, unable to get her thoughts together to form anything coherent.  The rational part of her mind knew that it was trying to protect itself from the trauma of the night, but she couldn’t quite come to that conclusion yet.  

She was almost falling asleep when Bucky pulled into the garage of a home.  He got out and helped her out of the car, carrying her bag as he guided her into the house.  He led her through the house until he walked into what looked like a guest bedroom, setting her bag on the bed.  He turned to look at her.  “The bathroom is there,” he pointed at a door in the corner.  He looked at her nervously.  “Do you…do you need, um, help?”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment.  She didn’t know what she wanted.  Her eyes flicked around the room.  “I…I don’t…know,” she whispered.

Bucky nodded.  “Okay, well, how about you go shower, and uh, here,” he opened her bag and pulled out some pajamas and underwear, walking to the bathroom and putting the clothes down before coming back out, “and I’ll wait here just in case.  Is that okay?”

Y/N nodded.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  She couldn’t seem to find her voice, afraid that if she were any louder it would somehow make everything real.  Bucky nodded and gave her a small, reassuring smile before he sat himself on the bed.  Y/N walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind herself.  She felt like she was jerky in her movements as she stripped herself of her clothes, heaping them in the sink.  She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment.  Her hair was a mess from fighting him off, her mascara streaked down her face from the tears she unknowingly shed earlier, and a bruise showing near her hairline from when she hit the ground.  She shivered and turned on the shower.  The water was too hot, but she barely felt it as she washed herself.  

Y/N turned off the water and walked out of the shower.  She wrapped herself in a towel as she dried off, fixing her hair and rubbing her face.  She looked at herself in the mirror again.  Back to normal, she thought.  But this wasn’t normal.  Nothing about tonight was normal.  Nothing about her life for the past few years had been normal.  The adrenaline seemed to all wear off in a second, and her sobriety made her gasp.  She doubled over as the soreness from the fight hit her out of nowhere, and she cried out as she held herself and kneeled to the floor.

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice called out from behind the door.  “Are you alright?  What was that noise?”  She couldn’t answer.  Her throat was closed, choking on sobs.  “I’m coming in,” he warned her, then the door opened.  He looked around, finding her on the floor in the fetal position.  “Oh, doll,” he cooed, kneeling down quickly.  Bucky’s arms cradled her, moving her until he was able to help her stand.  “Come on,” he said, grabbing her clothes and leading her to the bed.  She cried as he held her, her face buried into his collarbone, her fingers gripping his shirt tightly.  He sat her on the bed and kneeled in front of her to catch her eye, reaching a hand up and wiping away her tears.  “Can I help you get dressed?” he whispered.  Y/N nodded as she hung her head in her hands.  She didn’t care about how awkward or inappropriate this was at this point.  Bucky handed her her underwear, then closed his eyes.  Y/N dropped the towel and put on her underwear quickly.  Bucky then blindly grabbed her shirt, opening his eyes while his head was facing down as he fixed the shirt, then closed his eyes again as he held it up so she could slip her head and arms through it.  He did the same for her sleep shorts, the backs of his fingertips sliding along her thighs and hips momentarily.  

Bucky then stood and opened his eyes, looking down at her as he stepped forward in between her legs.  He slowly cupped her face in his hands and made her look at him.  “I know it’s a really stupid question, but, are you okay?” he asked.

“No,” Y/N shook her head, a fresh wave of tears starting to fall.  “He…he was going to hurt me again.”

Bucky nodded.  “I know, but you did the right thing in calling for help.  I’m just sorry I couldn’t get there sooner,” he said, biting his lip when it trembled.  “And you fought back, Y/N.  You fought hard and you won.  Do you hear me?” he dipped his head down to be eye level with her.  “You won.  He’ll never hurt you again.  You protected yourself, and I’m so proud of you,” he paused, his voice wobbling with emotion.  “I’m proud of you for keeping yourself safe.  God, when I saw him on top of you I–” he gritted his teeth, frowning deeply.  “I can’t lose you.”

Y/N stared at him.  He’d confessed he cared about her earlier that night, but now he seemed like he maybe cared more than he’d let on.  “I’m just your assistant,” she said.

Bucky chuckled.  “Best assistant I’ve ever had,” he smiled.  “But you, you’re…like I said, I care about you.”

Y/N eyed him warily, but she was too exhausted to try to argue or read into it anymore for the night.  She sighed and nodded.  “I need to sleep,” she whispered, her body feeling like it could collapse at any moment.

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, moving to the top of the bed and turning down the covers, helping her get situated.  

“Please stay,” Y/N said, grabbing his wrist.

Bucky’s eyes widened but he nodded.  “Okay.”  

He sat at the end of the bed as Y/N got comfortable.  After she shifted repeatedly she looked at him.  “Could you, um…would you please…hold me?” she asked hesitantly.  

Bucky immediately nodded.  “Yeah,” he said, then climbed up the bed.  He settled under the covers and held his arms open to her.  Y/N scooted close to him, her head tucked under his chin, resting against his chest, and the moment his arms were wrapped around her protectively she cried again, this time quietly, her body trembling as it tried to relax.  “It’s okay, doll, I’ve got you,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head.  “You’re safe.  You’re safe here.  You can stay as long as you want.  I’m right here…”  He rambled on for a while, his low voice helping soothe her nerves and lull her to sleep.  The last thing she felt was his hands rubbing her back gently, his lips kissing her forehead.  

***

Y/N woke up the next morning extremely warm and comfortable.  The bed underneath her was…moving?  She shifted herself, realizing that the bed she was on was a body.  Her head snapped up and looked to see Bucky.  He was still asleep, laying on his back with Y/N draped across his side, her head still on his chest, her arm across his waist and her leg hiked up over his groin and legs.  A flood of memories rushed in her head, making her shut her eyes tight at the headache it caused.  She laid her head back down on his chest, groaning at the soreness in her body.  His arm draped across her back that held her against him instinctively tightened and he hummed as his free hand bent up and under his head, making him look relaxed.  Y/N couldn’t help but to stare at him.  Getting to see Bucky asleep was quite the sight.  The nearly perpetual frown he had at work when focusing on cases and handling issues was gone, making him look younger and peaceful.  

Y/N reached a hand up and softly scratched at the beard hair on his chin, caressing his cheek and tracing along different parts of his face.  She felt like she was skipping a lot of steps, and that this was definitely inappropriate, but couldn’t find it in herself to care.  His eyes fluttered as she traced down his nose, and he started to wake up.  She tucked herself back into his side quickly, closing her eyes as Bucky started to squirm.  He groaned beneath her, stretching as best as he could with her nearly on top of him before she felt his lips on her forehead again.  “Y/N,” he grunted, then cleared his throat.  “Good morning.”  Y/N didn’t want to move.  She didn’t answer and his free hand shuffled from underneath his head to reach down and poke her side gently.  “Come on, doll, time to wake up,” he said quietly.

She hummed unhappily, shaking her head against his chest.  “Five more minutes,” she rasped.  

Bucky chuckled, making her shake.  “As comfortable as I am, let’s get you fed, huh?”  She shook her head again, her arms tightening around him.  He shifted himself to face her, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.  “Were you touching my face?” he asked, a teasing tone in his voice.  Y/N hid her face into his chest to hide her blush.  Bucky chuckled again.  “Why were you touching my face?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N replied, her voice muffled in his shirt.  “You just looked so…peaceful and cozy.”

He hummed, the vibration in his chest warming her face.  She finally moved and looked up at him, meeting his tired gaze.  “Hi,” he whispered.

“Good morning,” Y/N whispered back with a small smile.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked quietly, reaching a hand up and moving her hair out of her face.

“Hm…tired, and sore,” she groaned.  Her stomach growled then, and it made him smile widely.

“And hungry,” he smirked.  “Come on.”  They both slowly got up, and separated for a few minutes to get cleaned up and ready for the day.  He met her at the door to the guest bedroom and led her to the kitchen, where he had her sit at the bar stool at the island while he gathered some food together.  “You like waffles?” he asked.

“I love waffles,” Y/N smiled brightly.  

While Bucky worked on breakfast Y/N took a look around the kitchen.  Since they had come to his house late at night and she had been merely surviving emotionally at the time she hadn’t been able to get a good look at the house.  She gazed at the design and layout of the kitchen that was open to the dining room, and just beyond an arched wall she could see into an office, sitting room area.  The entire house was a moody, dark academia style, making her smile again.  Dark and brooding but with charming aspects, like the man making her waffles.

“I love your house,” she said, catching his attention.  “Did you have it designed?”

“I did,” Bucky smiled, plating a waffle for her.  “My sister is an interior designer.”

“Your sister?” Y/N asked with raised eyebrows.  “How did I not know you have a sister?”

“Just because you’re my personal assistant doesn’t mean I’m gonna tell you everything,” he smirked as he handed her the plate, along with a butter dish and the maple syrup.

“Obviously not,” Y/N smirked back at him.  She buttered the waffle and poured the syrup before cutting into it and taking a bite.  She sighed happily at the taste, giving Bucky an appreciative nod, making him smile.  “So good,” she mumbled around the mouthful.

“Good,” Bucky said, then turned to make some more.  He cooked up some eggs and poured her some coffee and juice.  He leaned on the island across from her and ate as well, both of them getting their fill until the waffles and eggs were gone.  He took the dishes and put them in the dishwasher before turning back to face her again.  He stared at her for a minute before licking his lips.  

Y/N sighed.  She couldn’t keep playing this back and forth, weird sexual tension game anymore.  Her emotions were all over the place, and annoyance was winning.  “You keep saying ‘I care about you.’  What does that mean?” 

Bucky’s eyes widened as he frowned.  “It means I care about you.  I want to help you, like I said.  I’ve seen these things happen before and I couldn’t just let it be–” 

“‘I’ve seen these things happen before.’  So you wanted to save me.”  She knew she was lashing out, but couldn’t stop herself.  “But it’s never happened to you, has it?”  Y/N slipped off the stool, rounded the island and came toe to toe with him, Bucky backing up slightly at her voice raising.  “You don’t know what it feels like to be afraid every day.  You don’t know what it’s like to be stalked, harassed, beaten, raped, broken!  So why do you care so much?!”  She asked, her eyes burning with more tears falling.  

Bucky’s own eyes looked teary as he looked down at her sadly.  “My sister was in an abusive relationship,” he said quietly.  “He almost killed her.  She got away and didn’t want help, but it haunted her.  She was a shell of herself.  I couldn’t lose her, she’s the only family I have left,” he swallowed harshly.  “So I helped her as best as I could.  It took her a while, but eventually she got better, and is still healing.  I don’t know how it feels.  I don’t know what you need.  I just want to help,” he said, his lips pressing together firmly.

Y/N digested his words, her mind still feeling slow in processing things.  She blinked rapidly as she sniffed.  “Fine,” she agreed.  Bucky seemed relieved and nodded.  “I’m going to get my stuff, then I’ll be out of your hair,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Don’t do that,” Bucky said gruffly back.  

“Don’t do what?” Y/N asked.

“Don’t push me away just because I offered you help.  Don’t get angry and defensive because someone wants to take care of you,” he replied.

“I never asked for your help,” she said quietly.

“Stop it,” Bucky said, stepping closer to her.  “If you didn’t want help you wouldn’t have called me.”

She stared up at him defiantly.  He was close to her like that day when she teased him in the office a while ago.  Y/N wanted to push him, see how far he was willing to go in this back and forth they’d been having for so long.  “I care about you,” kept rattling around in her head as she tried to make sense of it.  Yes, he cared.  But it felt like something else.  Something more simmering underneath the words.  

“You care so much,” she sneered, stepping even closer.  “Why?”

“Because I’m a good person?” Bucky said incredulously.  

She shook her head.  “And?”

He looked like he was fighting against himself.  “I don’t need another reason.  And I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Is it because you want something from me?” she ventured.  “You help me and I’ll be so eternally grateful I’ll throw myself at you?”

Bucky recoiled.  “Stop that.”

“Well that’s what you want, right?” Y/N pushed further.  “I saw it that day when Steve and I were teasing you, and it went a little too far.  You wanted more,” her eyes flickered to his lips and back to his eyes.  

Bucky shut his eyes and shook his head, taking a step back.  “Y/N, you just went through something traumatic.  You’re lashing out because you don’t know how to handle it right now–”

Y/N said, stepping toward him again.  “All I need is a straight answer.  You wanted more, yes or no?”

Bucky opened his eyes but couldn’t keep her gaze.  “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said, his jaw ticking when he finished.

“Still didn’t answer my question,” Y/N said, sounding more annoyed.  “You wanna help me?  Think of this as my first round of therapy.  I’m working through some rough feelings right now, Boss.  I need an answer!”

“Yes!  Okay?  Goddammit,” Bucky said, throwing his hands up in frustration.  “Yes, I want more with you.  But that doesn’t matter.  Especially right now.  I’m not going to take advantage of a highly emotional moment in your life and try to slip in just to ‘get some,’ that’s not what I want.  And it’s insulting to me that you think that of me,” Bucky pointed his finger at her.  “Some people really do just care about you, you know that?  Some people really just want to help because they care about you, because they like you, they love you!”

Y/N was fully crying again, her arms holding herself even more tightly than before.  His raised voice was making her shrink into herself.  “No one loves me,” she whispered.

“I do!” Bucky yelled.

Y/N flinched and Bucky’s face crumpled.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Y/N said, taking a step back.  “Just please stop yelling.”

Bucky sighed heavily, his hand rubbing his face harshly before he raised his hands in front of himself like he was surrendering.  “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to yell,” he said quietly.  “Please, I…I’m just trying to help.”

Y/N bit her lip as she tried to control her crying, but instead it just made her choke on a sob that broke through.  She wasn’t scared of Bucky.  She knew he would never hurt her, but the raised voice and yelling was triggering.  “I know, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for questioning you and your motives.  I’m sorry,” she tried stepping away but he walked toward her.

“Y/N,” he pleaded.  “Don’t run away.  Please, I’m sorry,” he reached toward her, leaving his hand outstretched with his palm up as an invitation.  

Y/N’s eyes flicked from his hand to his face repeatedly.  The dichotomy of wanting to run away and hide versus wanting to be comforted was making her panic.  Ultimately she slowly reached out and gave him her hand.  Bucky slowly stepped toward her, taking her hand and holding it gently but firmly as he pulled her towards him.  She stepped toward him hesitantly, and he moved slowly as he wrapped his arms around her, watching her reactions carefully.  He pulled her until their bodies were flush against each other and her arms wrapped behind his back, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.  His hand moved to hold the back of her head against him gently, running his fingers through her hair as they breathed deeply, and she matched her breathing to his to calm down.  “I do want you,” he whispered in her ear.  “I do like you.  If I’m honest, I’ve been falling in love with you since the moment I met you.”

Y/N huffed a short laugh against his skin.  “I knew it,” she whispered.

“Can you blame me?” Bucky chuckled, nuzzling her hair with his nose.

Y/N smiled.  “Thank you, Bucky.  I’m sorry I…I don’t know what’s going on with me right now.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” Bucky breathed, squeezing her tighter.  He pulled away just enough to look at her. 

They stared at each other and she gulped.  “Can I have…could we try…one k-kiss?” she asked.

Bucky’s eyes minutely widened, inhaling sharply.  “I-I don’t know if I could…stop myself at one,” he confessed.

“That’s okay,” Y/N said.  

Bucky’s eyes flickered to her lips and back to her eyes.  His hands moved from her back up to her face, cupping her cheeks and angling her head upwards.  “You want me?” he asked breathily.  Y/N nodded as he leaned forward, angling his head and brushing his lips across hers first, like he was testing the waters of his own sanity.  He finally fully pressed his lips on hers and kissed her softly.  

Y/N sucked in a breath, kissing him back just as softly.  It was just as perfect as she had dreamt it would be, from all those nights she had fallen asleep to the thought of him, while chastising herself for her feelings and denying it.  It ended too soon when he pulled away, though not too far as his nose nuzzled her nose.  Y/N whimpered at the loss, and he had to shut his eyes tight again.  “Fuck, doll, that was a pretty noise,” he groaned.  His fingers slipped back into her hair.  “More?” he begged.

Y/N nodded and he kissed her again.  This one was firmer, heavier, and his grip on her was tighter.  Her fingers fisted his shirt, her arms pulling him by the waist impossibly closer to her as she angled her head more and pushed up on her tip-toes to deepen the kiss.  Bucky grunted, and before she knew it he was picking her up and setting her on the kitchen counter.  The kisses were passionate, Bucky’s tongue sneaking out to lick at her bottom lip and Y/N opening up to him easily.  They tasted each other, nipping at each other’s lips, their hands roaming each other’s bodies.  Bucky was standing between her spread legs, his hands now kneading her thighs up to her hips as she tasted him and sucked on his tongue.  

“Holy shit, doll,” he moaned when she released him.  “I just wanna make it clear that I’m not trying to take advantage of you in a fragile state–”

“Just fuck me, Bucky,” Y/N groaned, running her fingers through his hair and pulling him back in for a seering kiss.

“Yeah…yeah okay,” Bucky huffed against her mouth, picking her up and carrying her back to the guest room.

*** 

When they got to work that next Monday Y/N was greeted with excited smiles and hugs.  Apparently word had spread quickly.  “Oh!  I’m so glad you’re okay!” Kamala said, hugging her tightly.  

Steve stepped up afterward, hugging her like she was his little sister.  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said quietly.  “So proud of you.”

Y/N smiled appreciatively at him.  “Thank you.  Thank you, everybody,” she waved at them all.  “I’m fine, really.”

“Now quit distracting my assistant.  Fuck off!” Bucky said loudly, and they all went back to work in a hurry, Steve just rolling his eyes and smiling as he walked off to his office.  Bucky had his hand on her lower back as he guided her towards his office.  Once they were inside he shut the door.  “Take a seat, doll,” he said.  “Let’s go over the schedule.”

“Alright,” Y/N nodded, getting herself settled and her notebook and phone ready.  “And uh, thank you, by the way, for kinda saving me back there.”

“No need to thank me,” Bucky shook his head.  “Now listen, I know we’re in a weird spot right now.  I want this,” he gestured between the two of them, “to work, but I don’t want you to lose this job on account of that, either.  And you’re honestly the best personal assistant I’ve ever had.  So, I want work to be work, and home to be home.  Does that sound fair?”

“Yes,” she nodded, smiling at how business-like he sounded.  

“Great,” he nodded back.  “So…the schedule.”

THE END?

[viaxslz]

OFFICE LOVE (C.BC)

Y/N, a hardworking office employee, catches the eye of her strict and demanding boss, Chan. As they spend more time together, Y/N discovers a softer side to Chan, and they develop feelings for each other. But with their professional relationship and past experiences threatening to complicate things, can they make their love work?

WORD COUND — 10.1k (I’m tired)

PAIRING — Ceo!bang Chan x secretary!f!reader (cliché)

GENRE — fluff, drops of angst, ceo x secretary, not so slow burn, there’s like one time skip, mentions of exes and previous relationships, jealousy and possessive behavior,the end is just so fluffy fluffy

NOTE — first ever work that isn’t headcanons, stayed up almost all night writhing this 🫠, if you have any ideas or suggestions feel free to slip it into my inbox but come with a mind that says “just an idea if you ever need one” because you might be disappointed if I don’t write it 😭 anyways watch me disappear for another two months

You groggily opened your eyes, only to be met with the harsh glare of your alarm clock. 8:47 AM. Your heart sank as you realized you were running severely late for the interview. You had spent hours researching the company, practicing your responses, and perfecting your outfit. Now, it all seemed like a waste.

You tossed off the covers and leapt out of bed, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. You hastily got dressed, throwing on the first professional-looking outfit you could find. Your hands trembled as you tried to button your blouse, and you cursed yourself for not laying everything out the night before.

Grabbing your bag and a quick breakfast, you rushed out the door, hoping against hope that you wouldn't be too late.

You sprinted to the bus stop, relieved to catch the bus just as it was about to leave. The ride was a blur as you mentally rehearsed your interview answers and tried to calm your racing heart.

As the bus pulled up to the company building, you felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. You took a deep breath, grabbed your bag, and stepped off the bus.

The sleek glass tower loomed before you, its modern design exuding an air of professionalism and sophistication. You smoothed your blouse, took a final deep breath, and pushed through the revolving doors.

Inside, the lobby was bustling with activity. You spotted the reception desk and made your way over, trying to look confident despite your growing nervousness.

"Hi, I'm here for an interview," you said, trying to sound calm.

The receptionist, a friendly-looking woman with a warm smile, nodded and checked her computer. "Ah, yes! You must be Y/n. The interview is on the 23rd floor, conference room 3. Take the elevator just down the hall."

You nodded, trying to commit the directions to memory. "Thank you!"

As you walked to the elevator, your nerves began to get the better of you. Your heart was racing, and your palms were growing sweaty. You felt like you were going to be sick.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the 23rd floor. As the doors closed, you took a final deep breath and tried to collect yourself.

It's showtime.

You stepped out of the elevator and made your way to conference room 3. You took a deep breath, smoothed your blouse, and pushed open the door.

Inside, a woman with piercing green eyes and raven-black hair stood up from behind the table. She smiled warmly and extended a manicured hand.

"Hello, Y/n. I'm Ms. Thompson, and I’ll be taking you for the interview today. It's lovely to meet you."

You shook her hand, trying to hide your nervousness. "Nice to meet you too, Ms. Thompson."

Ms. Thompson gestured to the chair across from her. "Please, have a seat."

The interview began, and Ms. Thompson asked you a series of questions about your qualifications, experience, and skills. You answered confidently, trying to showcase your strengths and enthusiasm.

As the interview progressed, you found yourself relaxing in Ms. Thompson's presence. She was warm and engaging, putting you at ease with her friendly demeanor.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the interview drew to a close. Ms. Thompson smiled and leaned forward.

"Thank you, Y/n, for coming in today. We'll be in touch soon to let you know our decision. You should receive an email within the next few days."

You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment. You had been hoping for a more definitive answer.

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson," you said, standing up. "I appreciate the opportunity."

Ms. Thompson walked you to the door, her heels clicking on the polished floor. "We'll be in touch soon," she repeated, smiling.

You left the conference room, feeling a mix of emotions. You weren't sure how you'd done, but you knew you'd given it your all.

Now it was just a waiting game.

You stepped out of the office building, blinking in the bright sunlight. The bus station was just a short walk away, and you made your way there, lost in thought.

As you waited for the bus, you couldn't shake off the feeling of uncertainty. Had you done enough? Had you said the right things?

The bus ride home was a blur, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios and what-ifs.

When you finally arrived home, you felt like a nervous wreck. You paced back and forth in your living room, trying to burn off some of the excess energy.

To calm yourself down, you made a promise to yourself. If you got rejected, you'd spend the day wallowing in Korean angst dramas, with a bowl of popcorn and a pack of tissues by your side.

But if you got accepted... oh, if you got accepted, you'd cook up a storm! You'd whip up all your favorite dishes, from spicy kimchi stew to decadent chocolate cake.

The thought of celebrating with good food was enough to make your stomach growl with anticipation.

As you continued to pace, you couldn't help but wonder... which scenario would become a reality?

You sat on the couch, your eyes glued to your phone as you waited for what felt like an eternity. Your lower lip was trapped between your teeth, and your heart was racing with anticipation.

Suddenly, your phone beeped, signaling the arrival of a new email. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the sender's name: "Silverstone Corporation."

Your hands trembled slightly as you hesitated, wondering if you were ready for the news. Taking a deep breath, you tapped the email, and your eyes scanned the screen.

Dear Y/N,

We are pleased to inform you that after careful consideration, we would like to offer you the position of Secretary to our CEO...

Your heart soared as you read the words, a huge smile spreading across your face. You did it! You got the job!

You let out a little squeal of excitement, pumping your fist in the air. All your favorite dishes, here you come!

You read the rest of the email, taking in the details about your start date, salary, and benefits. But your mind was already racing ahead, planning the celebratory feast.

Kimchi stew, check! Chocolate cake, check! Spicy ramen, check!

The possibilities were endless, and your stomach was growling in anticipation.

Here's a possible expansion of the scene:

The rest of the evening was a blur of cooking, eating, and laughing. You spent hours in the kitchen, whipping up a storm of delicious dishes. The aromas wafting from the pots and pans were incredible, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

As you sat down to eat, you realized you'd made way too much food. But you didn't care. You dug in with gusto, savoring the flavors and textures of each dish.

To accompany your feast, you put on a Korean comedy movie, laughing and snorting at the hilarious antics on screen.

As the night wore on, you started to feel uncomfortably full. You reluctantly pushed the food away, deciding to save the rest for leftovers.

After cleaning up the kitchen, you treated yourself to a quick warm bath, feeling the tension melt away as you soaked in the water.

You changed into cozy pajamas, climbed into bed, and snuggled under the blankets. As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but feel excited for tomorrow.

Your new job, your new life – it all felt like a thrilling adventure waiting to happen.

—

You woke up to the warm glow of sunlight peeking through the curtains, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated after a good night's sleep. You stretched lazily, enjoying the cozy comfort of your bed.

But as you glanced at the clock, your heart skipped a beat. 7:15 AM. You were supposed to start your new job at 8:00 AM!

Panic set in as you hastily threw off the covers and scrambled out of bed. You rushed through your morning routine, barely taking the time to brush your hair or apply makeup.

As you dressed in the outfit you'd carefully chosen the night before, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. This was it – your first day as a secretary to the CEO.

You grabbed your bag and hurried out the door, rushing to catch the bus. The ride to the company building was a blur, your mind racing with thoughts of what the day might bring.

As you stepped off the bus, you took a deep breath and smoothed your dress. You walked into the lobby, greeted the receptionist with a smile, and made your way to the elevator.

You pressed the button for the top floor, your heart pounding in your chest. The CEO's office was located on the top floor, and you couldn't help but wonder what your new boss would be like.

As the elevator doors slid open, you took a deep breath and stepped out into the unknown.

You stood outside the CEO's office, your heart racing with anticipation. You took a deep breath, smoothed your dress, and raised your hand to knock on the door.

The rap of your knuckles on the wood seemed to echo through the silent hallway. You waited, your ears straining to pick up any sound from within.

Finally, a low, smooth voice called out, "Come in."

You pushed open the door and stepped inside, your eyes scanning the room for the source of the voice. That's when you saw him – the CEO.

He sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his eyes fixed intently on you. His gaze was like a cold wind, sending shivers down your spine.

As you looked at him, you felt like you were staring at a work of art. His features were chiseled, his jawline sharp, and his eyes... his eyes were like two glittering icebergs, distant and unfathomable.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his eyes locked onto yours, holding you in place. You couldn't look away, transfixed by the intensity of his gaze.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The world narrowed down to just the two of you, suspended in a sea of silence.

You stood frozen, unsure of what to do next. But then, the CEO spoke up, his deep voice breaking the silence.

"Are you my new secretary?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You nodded, trying to find your voice. "Y-yes, sir."

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm Bang Chan, but you can call me Chan."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. But then, you decided to play it safe. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

Chan's eyes sparkled with amusement, but he didn't comment on your formal address. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

"First task, get me a coffee. Black, no sugar."

You nodded quickly, trying to hide your nervousness. "Yes, sir. Right away."

You turned to leave, but Chan's voice stopped you. "And, secretary?"

You turned back to face him, your heart racing. "Yes, sir?"

Chan's eyes seemed to bore into yours, as if daring you to fail. "Don't spill it."

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but you nodded calmly. "I won't, sir."

You took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out into the bright sunlight. The nearby coffee shop was just a short walk away, and you quickly popped in to order Chan's coffee.

"Black, no sugar, please," you told the barista.

A few minutes later, you were back in the elevator, coffee in hand. You returned to Chan's office and knocked softly on the door.

"Enter," his voice called out.

You pushed open the door and handed him the coffee. "Here you go, sir."

Chan took the cup from you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thanks. Now, I need you to get my schedule from the secretary downstairs."

You nodded, trying not to show your frustration at having to go back down again. "Yes, sir. I'll go get it."

With that, you turned and made your way out of the office, heading back to the elevator and the long trek downstairs to the secretary's desk.

You walked into the secretary's office, smiling warmly at her. "Hi, I'm here to pick up Mr. Bang's schedule."

The secretary handed you a sleek black folder, her eyes sparkling with a knowing glint. "Here you go. And, honey, I hope you're not bothered by Mr. Bang's attitude. That's just how he is."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the secretary's words. But before you could ask any questions, the secretary just smiled and nodded. "You'll get used to it."

You smiled back, taking the folder from her. "Thanks for the warning."

As you walked towards the elevator, you could feel her eyes on you, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

You made your way back to Chan's office, handing him the schedule. He nodded curtly, his eyes scanning the papers. "Thanks. You can go."

You nodded, taking that as your cue to leave. As you stepped out of his office, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Your new boss was definitely intimidating.

You walked down the hall to your own office, a small but cozy room with a desk and a chair. You took a seat, looking around at your new workspace.

It was going to take some getting used to, but you were determined to make it work.

You were sitting at your desk, typing away on your computer, when your phone buzzed. You picked it up to hear Chan's voice on the other end.

"Ms.Y/n, I need you to accompany me to a meeting with a client," he said, his tone crisp and professional.

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "Yes, sir. Right away."

You grabbed your notebook and pen, and followed Chan to the meeting room. The meeting itself was a blur of business talk and handshakes, but you were diligent in taking notes and keeping track of the discussion.

As the meeting drew to a close, you noticed Chan glancing at you, his eyes lingering on your face. You felt a flutter in your chest, but tried to brush it off as mere imagination.

As you left the meeting room, you were stopped by the secretary from the other company. He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You look lovely today," he said, his voice friendly. "That dress really brings out the color in your eyes."

You smiled back at him, feeling a sense of gratitude for the kind words. "Thank you," you said. "You look pretty sharp yourself."

Chan, who was walking ahead of you, seemed to notice the exchange. He shrugged it off, his expression neutral.

You watched as he walked away, feeling a sense of relief that the encounter hadn't been awkward.

But as you turned to follow Chan, you couldn't shake off the feeling that he had been watching you, really watching you, during the meeting.

Before you knew it, the day had flown by, and it was already time to head home. You packed up your things, said goodbye to Ms. Thompson, and made your way out of the company building.

As you sat at the bus stop, waiting for your ride, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Your first day had been a whirlwind of new experiences and emotions, but you'd made it through.

The bus ride home was a blur, your exhaustion catching up with you. When you finally arrived at your house, you stumbled through the door, dropping your bag on the floor.

You made yourself a quick and simple dinner, too tired to even think about cooking anything elaborate. As you ate, you couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.

Would Chan be as intimidating? Would you get to know your coworkers better? And what about the secretary from the other company – would you run into him again?

As you finished your dinner, you pushed the thoughts aside and headed to bed, too exhausted to worry about anything else.

You snuggled under the blankets, feeling the softness envelop you. As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but smile, wondering what the future held.

—

You walked into the office, feeling a bit more confident on your second day. As you made your way to your desk, you noticed a few of your coworkers glancing up at you with interest.

One of them, a friendly-looking woman with curly brown hair, caught your eye. She smiled and waved, and you returned the gesture.

As you settled in at your desk, the woman came over to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Danielle," she said, holding out her hand. "Welcome to the team."

You shook her hand, feeling a sense of gratitude for her warm welcome. "Thanks, Danielle. I'm... " You realized you hadn't told anyone your name yet. "I'm Y/N."

Danielle chuckled. "Well, Y/N, I'm glad to meet you. We don't often get new faces around here."

As you chatted with Danielle, a few of the other coworkers started to wander over, introducing themselves and welcoming you to the team.

You felt a sense of relief wash over you. Maybe this job wouldn't be so intimidating after all.

Just as things were starting to feel more relaxed, Chan's voice cut through the chatter. "Y/N, I need to see you in my office."

Your heart skipped a beat as you excused yourself from the group. What did Chan want now?

You walked into Chan's office, wondering what he wanted to see you about. But as soon as you sat down, he dropped a massive stack of paperwork on your lap.

"Get these done by the end of the day," he instructed, his expression unreadable.

You felt a surge of panic as you scanned the documents. There were reports, contracts, and financial statements, all needing to be reviewed and signed off on. You knew it was an impossible task, but you couldn't say no.

You spent the rest of the day holed up in your office, pouring over the paperwork. But despite your best efforts, you were still only halfway through when exhaustion caught up with you.

Your eyelids drooped, and your head nodded forward, coming to rest on the desk. You were out cold.

The next thing you knew, Chan was standing over you, a hint of amusement on his face. "Forget about the paperwork," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it before. "Just go home."

You nodded, still feeling dazed. "Thank you, sir."

But as you stood up to leave, Chan surprised you by asking, "Do you want a ride?"

You hesitated for a moment before shaking your head. "No, thank you, sir. I'll just take the bus."

Chan's expression was hard to read, but you thought you saw a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "Suit yourself," he said, turning away.

You watched him go, feeling a pang of curiosity. Why had he offered you a ride? And why did you get the feeling that he was starting to see you in a different light?

—

You walked into the office building, exchanging a warm smile with the secretary at the front desk. You pressed the button for the elevator, stepping inside just as the doors were about to close.

But just as you thought you were alone, a hand shot out and stopped the doors from closing. You felt a jolt of surprise, wondering who it could be.

As the doors slid open again, a tall, dark-haired man stepped inside. He flashed you a charming smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Morning," he said, pressing the button for the top floor. "I'm Minho."

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "Hi, Minho. I'm Y/N."

Minho leaned against the wall of the elevator, his eyes never leaving yours. "So, how's it going? Enjoying your first week here?"

You chatted with Minho for the rest of the elevator ride, exchanging small talk about the office and your job. As the doors opened on the top floor, Minho smiled again and nodded at you.

"See you around, Y/N."

You watched as he walked away, feeling a sense of curiosity about this new coworker. Who was Minho, and what was his story?

As you made your way to your desk, you couldn't help but wonder if Minho was someone you could trust.

You spent the rest of the morning working on your tasks, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of you. But your mind kept wandering back to Minho and your conversation in the elevator.

Just as you were starting to get into a rhythm, Chan's voice came over the intercom. "Y/N, can you come to my office for a minute?"

You felt a flutter in your chest as you got up and made your way to Chan's office. What did he want to talk to you about?

As you entered his office, you noticed that Chan's expression was neutral, but his eyes seemed to be gleaming with a hint of intensity.

"Close the door," he said, his voice low and smooth.

You did as he asked, feeling a sense of trepidation. What was going on?

"I heard you met Minho this morning," Chan said, his eyes never leaving yours.

You nodded, wondering where this was going. "Yes, sir. We rode the elevator together."

Chan's expression didn't change, but you sensed a hint of tension in his body. "Just remember, Minho is a colleague. Don't get too comfortable around him."

You felt a surge of surprise at Chan's words. What did he mean by that?

But before you could ask any questions, Chan nodded curtly. "That's all. You can go."

You left his office feeling confused and a little unsettled. What was Chan's problem with Minho?

As you were leaving Chan's office, Minho appeared out of nowhere, a charming smile on his face.

"Hey, Y/N. I was thinking, since we're colleagues now, we should grab dinner sometime and get to know each other better."

You felt a flutter in your chest at Minho's invitation. You hadn't expected him to ask you out.

But before you could respond, Minho added, "Actually, I was thinking of hosting a dinner party at my place this evening. Would you like to come?"

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. Part of you was tempted to accept, but another part was wary of getting too close to Minho.

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond to Minho's invitation. But before you could say anything, Chan appeared out of nowhere, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Minho.

"Actually, Minho, Y/N is already committed to accompanying me to an event later this evening," Chan said, his voice smooth but firm.

Minho's smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Oh, sorry to hear that. Maybe some other time, then?"

Chan nodded curtly. "Maybe."

You felt a surge of surprise at Chan's intervention. Why had he stepped in like that?

As Minho walked away, Chan turned to you. "As my secretary, it's your duty to accompany me to events like this. I expect you to be ready and on time."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You had been saved from having to make an awkward decision.

But as you looked up at Chan, you saw something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. Was it possessiveness, or something more?

As soon as you got home from work, you started getting ready for the event. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You had never been to an event like this before, and the thought of it made you anxious.

But you knew you couldn't back out now. You had to be professional and accompany Chan as his secretary.

You looked through your closet, trying to find something suitable for the event. You finally settled on a black cocktail dress that fell just above your knees. The dress was fitted at the waist, accentuating your curves, and had a subtle sparkle to it.

You paired the dress with a pair of high heels, wincing as you slipped them on. You weren't used to wearing heels, and your legs already felt like they were on fire.

But you knew you had to suffer through it. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm your nerves, and made your way to the living room to wait for Chan.

As you sat on the couch, you couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation. What would the event be like? Would you be able to handle it?

Just as you were starting to get really anxious, you heard a knock at the door. You got up to answer it, smoothing out your dress as you went.

When you opened the door, you were taken aback by Chan's appearance. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, his hair perfectly styled, and his eyes gleaming with a hint of sophistication.

You felt a flutter in your chest as he smiled at you, his eyes scanning your dress. "You look stunning," he said, his voice low and smooth.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you smiled back at him. "Thank you," you said, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him.

Chan offered you his arm, and you took it, feeling a sense of trepidation as you walked out the door with him.

You arrived at the event venue, a grand ballroom filled with elegantly dressed guests. Chan led you through the crowds, nodding and smiling at various people as you went.

As you mingled with the other attendees, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the opulence surrounding you. The crystal chandeliers, the fine artwork on the walls, the exquisite cuisine being served – it was all so far removed from your usual life.

Chan seemed to sense your discomfort and placed a reassuring hand on your elbow. "Just relax and enjoy yourself," he whispered. "You're doing fine."

You smiled up at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for his support.

As the evening wore on, you began to feel more at ease, chatting with various guests and even managing to laugh at a few jokes.

But just as you were starting to relax, you saw a familiar face across the room – Minho.

As the evening wore on, you couldn't help but notice how effortlessly Chan charmed the other guests. He laughed and joked with the men, and smiled warmly at the women.

You watched in amazement as he expertly navigated the crowds, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with ease. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to adore him.

You, on the other hand, felt a bit like a fish out of water. You stuck close to Chan's side, trying to absorb some of his confidence and charm.

As you observed Chan's interactions, you began to notice something interesting. Despite his charming facade, there seemed to be a hint of tension beneath the surface. A flicker of intensity in his eyes, a tightness in his jaw.

You wondered what could be causing it. Was it something to do with the event, or was it something more personal?

Just as you were pondering this, Minho appeared at your side, a smile on his face. "Hey, Y/N. Enjoying the party?"

You smiled back at him, feeling a sense of unease. What did Minho want?

As the evening wore on, Chan excused himself to mingle with the other guests. You sighed, feeling a bit abandoned, and decided to grab some food from the buffet.

As you scanned the tables, looking for something that caught your eye, you heard a friendly voice behind you.

"Hey, Y/N! Enjoying the party?" Minho asked, falling into step beside you.

You smiled, feeling a sense of relief at seeing a friendly face. "Hey, Minho! Yeah, it's been... interesting."

Minho chuckled. "I bet. These corporate events can be a bit much, huh?"

You nodded, laughing. "Definitely."

As you chatted with Minho, you felt a sense of ease that you hadn't experienced all evening. He was easy to talk to, and you found yourself opening up to him in a way that you hadn't with anyone else at the office.

Just as you were starting to relax, you caught sight of Chan watching you from across the room. His eyes narrowed slightly, and you wondered what he was thinking.

Minho followed your gaze and smiled. "Looks like the boss is keeping an eye on you."

You felt a flutter in your chest at Minho's words. What did Chan think of your conversation with Minho?

You laughed and brushed off Minho's comment, continuing to scan the buffet tables for something that caught your eye. Minho fell into step beside you, chatting easily about everything from the food to the music.

As you reached for a mini quiche, you suddenly felt a presence behind you. You couldn't see anyone, but you could sense eyes on you, boring into your skin.

You shivered, despite the warmth of the room. Minho noticed and raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

You nodded, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little... chilly, I guess."

Minho smiled and put a hand on your elbow. "Let's go get you a drink, then. Something to warm you up."

But as you turned to follow Minho, you caught sight of Chan standing behind you, his eyes fixed intently on you. You felt a jolt of surprise, and your heart skipped a beat.

Chan's hand closed around your wrist, his fingers wrapping tightly around it. You felt a jolt of surprise as he pulled you back, his eyes locked on Minho.

"I think Y/N should be with me right now, Minho," Chan said, his voice low and smooth. "As my secretary, she should be by my side most of the time."

Minho's eyes flicked to Chan's hand on your wrist, and you saw a hint of surprise and curiosity in his expression. "Of course, Chan. I didn't mean to monopolize her time."

Chan's grip on your wrist tightened slightly, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "I appreciate that, Minho. Let's just say I need Y/N's attention right now."

Minho nodded and smiled, but you sensed a hint of tension beneath the surface. "No problem, Chan. I'll catch up with you later, Y/N."

As Minho walked away, Chan turned to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Let's get some fresh air," he said, his voice low and husky. "I think we need to talk."

Chan dragged you outside, the cool night air enveloping you as you stepped onto the balcony. The city lights twinkled below, but you barely noticed them, your attention fixed on Chan's tense form beside you.

There was an awkward silence between you, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the soft rustling of the wind. You fidgeted, unsure of what to say or do.

Chan stood still, his eyes fixed on some point in the distance. You could sense the tension coiled within him, like a spring waiting to snap.

Finally, he spoke up, his voice low and rough. "I don't like seeing you with Minho," he said, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned to him, surprised by his admission. "What do you mean?" you asked, trying to sound calm.

Chan's eyes snapped to yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "I mean that Minho is not a good influence on you. He's... reckless. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

You felt a flutter in your chest at Chan's words. Was he really concerned about your well-being, or was there something more to it?

You frowned, confusion etched on your face. "But Chan, Minho seems like a nice person. I don't see what's wrong with talking to him."

Chan sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He seemed to be searching for words, but couldn't find any. "I just... don't trust him, okay? He's not good for you."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "What do you mean? You don't even know him."

Chan's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. "I don't need to know him to know that he's trouble. Just... stay away from him, Y/N. For your own good."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at Chan's intense gaze. There was something in his eyes that made you feel like he was hiding something, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

You shrugged off Chan's warning, chalking it up to his overprotective nature. As you continued to admire the view, you felt Chan's gaze on you, but you didn't turn around.

The event eventually came to a close, and Chan offered to drive you home. You accepted, and the ride was quiet, with only the soft hum of the engine breaking the silence.

When you arrived at your apartment building, Chan walked you to the entrance, his eyes scanning the surrounding area before nodding in satisfaction.

"Get some rest, Y/N," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You smiled and thanked him, watching as he turned and walked back to his car.

As you stepped into your apartment, you couldn't shake off the feeling that something had shifted between you and Chan tonight. You freshened up and got ready for bed, your mind replaying the events of the evening.

You thought about Minho's friendly smile, and Chan's intense gaze. You wondered what had prompted Chan's warning, and whether you should be concerned.

As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what tomorrow might bring.

—

You rushed to work, still feeling a bit sleepy from the previous night's events. As you stepped into the elevator, you let out a sigh of relief, looking forward to a quiet ride to the top floor.

But your peace was short-lived. The elevator stopped on a floor, and Chan stepped in, his eyes scanning the small space before landing on you.

The atmosphere in the elevator became awkward, the silence thick and heavy. You avoided eye contact, staring instead at the floor numbers ticking by.

But then, disaster struck. The elevator jolted to a stop, the lights flickering before stabilizing. Chan groaned and cursed under his breath, pulling out his phone to call for assistance.

As he waited for someone to answer, his gaze landed on you, and you could sense his realization that he was stuck with his secretary. The silence that followed was oppressive, the tension in the air palpable.

But then, Chan seemed to make a conscious effort to break the silence. "So, Y/N," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Tell me, how many siblings do you have?"

You were taken aback by the sudden question, but you answered readily enough. "I have two older brothers."

Chan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "And are you in a relationship?"

You felt a flutter in your chest at the personal question, but you brushed it off, trying to play it cool. "No, I'm not."

Chan's eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you felt like he could see right through you. But then, he looked away, apologizing for asking too many questions.

"I just wanted to get to know you better, Y/N," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries."

You smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "It's okay, Sir. I don't mind."

As you stood there, stuck in the elevator together, you couldn't help but feel a sense of connection to Chan. It was as if, in this small, confined space, you'd found a sense of intimacy that you hadn't experienced before.

The morning flew by in a blur of paperwork and phone calls. When break time rolled around, you weren't really in the mood to eat, preferring to tackle the mountain of paperwork on your desk instead.

Just as you were starting to make a dent in the pile, someone knocked on your door. You looked up to see Chan standing in the doorway, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his eyes scanning the cluttered room. "I noticed you weren't going out for lunch. What's wrong?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Just a lot of paperwork to get through, sir."

Chan's eyes crinkled at the corners. "No need to call me sir, Y/N. Just call me Chan."

You nodded, taking note of his request.

But before you could respond, Chan continued, "Leave the paperwork for now. Come have lunch with me."

You declined, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sudden invitation. But Chan was insistent, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You don't have a choice, Y/N," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Come on."

You felt a flutter in your chest as Chan led you out of the office, his hand resting on the small of your back. You tried to brush off the feeling, telling yourself it was just your imagination.

But as you slid into the passenger seat of Chan's sleek black car, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement.

Where was he taking you?

As it turned out, the answer was a fancy restaurant that seemed to cater to the rich and elite. The waiter showed you to a cozy table by the window, and Chan gestured for you to take a seat.

The menu was overwhelming, with dishes you'd never even heard of before. But Chan just smiled and told you to order whatever you wanted.

"Even if it's the whole menu," he added, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I won't mind."

You felt a surge of surprise at his offer, but you tried to play it cool, ordering something that looked nice without going overboard.

As the food arrived, you couldn't help but stare at the mouth-watering visuals. Chan noticed the way your eyes sparkled, but he didn't say anything, just smiled to himself.

You took a bite, closing your eyes in appreciation of the flavors. Unbeknownst to you, you stomped your foot quietly on the wooden floor, a habit you'd had since childhood.

Chan's eyes flicked to your foot, a small smile playing on his lips. He thought you looked cute, but he didn't say anything, just continued to watch you as you ate.

As you gazed out the window, lost in thought, Chan's eyes never left your face, his expression soft and contemplative.

—

Months had passed since you started working with Chan, and you'd grown accustomed to his presence in your life. He'd become softer and gentler, his rough edges worn smooth by time.

But despite the familiarity, you couldn't shake off the feeling that something had shifted between you. It was a feeling you couldn't quite put your finger on, a sense of awareness that made your heart skip a beat whenever Chan was near.

You'd tried to brush it off as mere imagination, but the feeling persisted.

As you sat in Chan's office, typing away on your laptop, the door burst open and a woman strode in. She was beautiful, with long, curly hair and a smile that could charm the birds from the trees.

But as she approached Chan, you could sense the tension in the air. Chan's expression turned cold, his eyes narrowing as the woman began to flirt with him.

"Chan, darling," she cooed, running her hand over his arm. "I've missed you so much. Can't we just... talk?"

Chan's voice was icy as he rejected her advances. "We have nothing to talk about, Sophia. Please leave."

The atmosphere in the room was thick and awkward, and you felt a strong urge to escape. You began to pack up your things, preparing to make a hasty exit.

But Chan's voice stopped you. "Y/N, don't go."

You turned to him, surprised. "Sir?"

Chan's eyes locked onto yours, a hint of desperation in their depths. "Please, just... stay."

You hesitated, unsure of what to do. But as you looked at Chan, you saw something in his eyes that made you stay.

Despite Chan's plea for you to stay, you couldn't shake off the feeling of awkwardness that had settled over the room. You glanced at Sophia, who was watching you with a mixture of curiosity and hostility.

Feeling like an intruder, you decided to leave, gathering your things and making a hasty exit. As you closed the door behind you, you could hear Sophia's voice, sharp and inquiring.

"Who is she?" Sophia demanded. "What do you have going on with your little secretary?"

Chan's response was cold and dismissive. "She's none of your business, Sophia. Just leave."

But Sophia was persistent, her voice growing more urgent as she tried to win Chan back. You could imagine her moving closer to him, her hands reaching out to touch him.

Chan's patience finally snapped. You heard a loud, sharp sound, followed by Chan's voice, firm and commanding.

"Back off, Sophia. I mean it."

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, followed by the slam of a door. You peeked out of the nearby conference room to see Chan storming out of his office, leaving Sophia standing alone in the doorway, her face twisted in anger and frustration.

Sophia's face twisted with anger and humiliation as she watched Chan storm out of his office. She couldn't believe he'd rejected her so publicly.

But as she stood there, seething with resentment, a sinister idea began to form in her mind. She'd make Chan pay for his rejection, and she'd do it by targeting the one person who seemed to be getting in the way: Y/N.

Sophia's eyes narrowed as she thought about Y/N, the quiet, reserved secretary who seemed to have captured Chan's attention. She'd find a way to take Y/N down, to make her look bad in front of Chan and the rest of the office.

A sly smile spread across Sophia's face as she began to plot her revenge. She'd start by spreading rumors about Y/N, whispers that would erode Chan's trust in his secretary.

And then, she'd take it a step further. Sophia's eyes gleamed with malice as she thought about the ways she could sabotage Y/N's work, make her look incompetent and unprofessional.

Chan might have rejected her, but Sophia was determined to make him regret it. And Y/N was just the pawn she needed to play her game of revenge.

Sophia thought she'd cleverly manipulated the situation, spreading rumors and half-truths about Y/N to anyone who would listen. But she underestimated the loyalty and kindness of Y/N's coworkers.

As Sophia whispered her venomous lies, the other employees exchanged skeptical glances. They knew Y/N to be a hardworking, diligent, and kind person, and they weren't about to believe Sophia's malicious rumors.

One by one, they spoke up in Y/N's defense, sharing stories of her dedication and professionalism. Sophia's face grew redder and redder as she realized her plan was backfiring spectacularly.

Just as it seemed like Sophia couldn't sink any lower, Chan appeared, his eyes blazing with anger. "Sophia, what are you doing?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

Sophia tried to play it cool, but Chan wasn't having it. "You're being immature and petty," he snapped. "Stop spreading rumors about Y/N. She's done nothing to deserve your malice."

Chan turned to the security guards, his expression stern. "Please escort Sophia off the premises. And let me make one thing clear: if any of you allow her back into this building, you'll be fired. Do I make myself clear?"

The security guards nodded, their faces serious, and escorted Sophia out of the building. As she was dragged away, Sophia's face was twisted in a mixture of anger and humiliation.

Chan watched her go, his eyes narrowed in disgust.

—

You sat in the conference room, your gaze fixed on the computer screen as you tried to focus on the task at hand. But your mind kept wandering back to the awkward encounter with Sophia.

Just as you were starting to get lost in thought, you sensed a presence behind you. You turned to see Chan standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on you with a look of concern.

He slowly entered the room, his movements quiet and deliberate. "Y/N, I..." he began, his voice low and sincere. "I'm truly sorry about Sophia's behavior. She had no right to come here and cause a scene."

You looked up at him, surprised by the apology. "It's not your fault, Chan," you said, trying to reassure him.

But Chan shook his head, his eyes still clouded with concern. "I should have handled the situation better. I shouldn't have let her get to you like that."

You felt a flutter in your chest at Chan's words, his apology and concern touching a chord within you. You looked up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and for a moment, you felt like you were drowning in their depths.

As the day drew to a close, you couldn't help but overhear the buzz of excitement among your coworkers. They were all talking about the company's upcoming New Year's Eve party, and how they couldn't wait to let loose and celebrate.

But as you listened to their chatter, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. You didn't have a dress for the party, and even if you did, you weren't really the partying type. And worst of all, you didn't have a date.

Feeling anxious and overwhelmed, you decided to come up with an excuse to get out of attending the party. You took a deep breath and knocked on Chan's door, trying to look as pitiful as possible.

"Chan, I'm so sorry," you said, trying to sound weak and feeble. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'm coming down with something."

Chan looked up from his computer, concern etched on his face. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

You tried to maintain the act, coughing weakly and clutching your stomach. "I don't know," you said, trying to sound miserable. "I just feel really awful."

To your surprise, Chan nodded sympathetically. "Okay, take the day off tomorrow," he said. "Get some rest and feel better."

You felt a surge of relief and guilt at the same time. You hadn't expected Chan to fall for your act so easily. But as you left his office and made your way home, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and freedom.

You had managed to get out of the party, and now you had a whole day to yourself to do whatever you wanted.

You were having the perfect evening. You'd spent the day lounging around in your cozy pajamas, watching your favorite TV shows, and munching on delicious snacks. The party was the last thing on your mind, and you were grateful to have avoided it.

As you settled in for a relaxing night, the doorbell rang, breaking the silence. You frowned, wondering who could be visiting at such an odd hour. You weren't expecting anyone, and you were pretty sure your brothers were busy with their own lives.

You shrugged and ignored the doorbell, thinking it was probably just some silly teenagers playing a prank on you. But then the doorbell rang again, this time more insistently.

With a sigh, you hesitantly got up from the couch and made your way to the door. You peered through the peephole, expecting to see a familiar face - maybe your brother or your neighbor.

But to your shock, you saw Chan standing on your porch, looking as handsome and imposing as ever. You felt a jolt of surprise and embarrassment, realizing that you were still in your pajamas and your hair was a mess.

You stood frozen for a moment, wondering what Chan was doing at your doorstep. Had he somehow discovered that you weren't really sick?

You opened the door, trying to play it cool despite your embarrassment. "Chan, what are you doing here?" you asked, letting out a small cough in an attempt to remind him that you were supposed to be sick.

But Chan just ignored your feeble attempt at deception. "You're coming with me to the party," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And you don't look sick to me."

You felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you realized you'd been caught. "I...I just didn't have anything to wear," you admitted, hoping that Chan would understand and let you off the hook.

But Chan just smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I could've thought of that," he said, pulling out a dress from behind his back. "That's why I bought this dress just for you."

You mentally cursed yourself as you stared at the beautiful dress in Chan's hands. You'd been outmaneuvered, and now you had no choice but to go to the party with him.

You nodded reluctantly, feeling a sense of resignation wash over you. "Okay, I'll go change," you said, taking the dress from Chan and stepping aside to let him in.

As you went to change, you couldn't help but wonder what you'd gotten yourself into. What did Chan have planned for tonight, and why was he being so insistent on taking you to the party?

You came back downstairs, feeling a bit more confident in the beautiful dress Chan had chosen for you. You opened the door, and Chan's eyes widened in surprise as he took in your transformed appearance.

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen in awe. You had to wave your hand in front of his face to snap him out of his trance-like state.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked, laughing nervously.

Chan quickly recomposed himself, a hint of a flush rising to his cheeks. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said, his voice a bit gruff. "You just...look really beautiful."

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, but you tried to play it cool. "Thanks," you said, smiling up at him.

Chan held out his arm, his eyes sparkling with gallantry. "Shall we?" he asked, leading you to his car.

The drive to the event was quiet, but you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and nervousness. What would the party be like? And why had Chan been so insistent on taking you?

As you arrived at the event, you were struck by the grandeur of the venue. The ballroom was filled with glittering lights, and the sound of music and laughter filled the air.

Chan led you onto the dance floor, his hand on the small of your back. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he pulled you close, his eyes locked on yours.

As Chan stopped to chat with his friend, you took the opportunity to glance around the ballroom. The music was lively, and the crowd was buzzing with energy. You spotted many familiar faces from the office, all dressed up and having a great time.

Just as you were taking in the sights, you felt a hand tap your shoulder. You turned to see Minho, one of your close friends from the office, grinning at you.

"Hey, you look amazing!" he exclaimed, his eyes scanning your dress. "I'm so glad we can finally let loose and celebrate the end of the year."

You smiled back at him, feeling happy to see your friend. "Thanks, Minho! You look pretty sharp yourself."

Minho chuckled and launched into a conversation about everything from work gossip to holiday plans. You found yourself laughing and joking with him, feeling more and more at ease.

But just as things were starting to feel comfortable, you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. You turned to see Chan, his eyes sparkling with a hint of possessiveness as he gazed at Minho.

As you stood there, chatting with Minho, you felt a sudden jolt of surprise. A familiar face had appeared in front of you, a face you hadn't seen in a long time.

Your ex-boyfriend, Alex, stood before you, a charming smile spreading across his face. "Y/N, do you remember me?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You stared at him, your mind reeling in shock. What was he doing here? You hadn't seen or heard from him in years.

Alex chuckled at your reaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, it's me," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Come on, now, let's talk things out."

But before you could even process what was happening, Chan's grip around your waist tightened. Alex's eyes flicked to Chan, and he gently reached out his hand to touch your arm.

Chan's reaction was immediate. He shot Alex an angry glare, his eyes flashing with possessiveness. Alex's eyes narrowed, and he asked Chan to leave you alone.

But Chan refused. "I'm her boyfriend," he said, his voice firm and commanding.

You and Alex both widened your eyes in shock at the same time. Alex's face fell, and he apologized before turning and walking away.

Chan didn't waste any time. He dragged you outside, away from the crowds and the music. You found yourself standing in a quiet alleyway, the cool night air enveloping you.

Chan turned to face you, his eyes burning with intensity. "What's going on, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and urgent. "Who is that guy?"

You took a deep breath and explained the situation to Chan. "He's my ex-boyfriend," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "We broke up four years ago."

Chan nodded in understanding, his gaze softening as he looked at you. The air seemed to thicken around you, and for a few minutes, neither of you spoke.

The silence was palpable, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was as if Chan was giving you space to process your emotions, and you were grateful for that.

Finally, Chan spoke up, his voice low and gentle. "Y/N, from the moment I met you, I knew there was something special about you," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "At first, I thought it was just your intelligence and your wit, but as I got to know you better, I realized it was so much more than that."

Chan's words sent a flutter through your chest. You could sense where he was going, but you couldn't believe it.

"I love the way you make me laugh, the way you challenge me, and the way you always know how to make me feel better," Chan continued, his voice filled with emotion. "Y/N, I think I might be falling for you."

Your heart skipped a beat as Chan's words hung in the air. You felt like you were melting into his gaze, and you couldn't look away.

And then, Chan went straight to the point. "Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?" he asked, his eyes burning with intensity.r

Your heart was racing as you processed Chan's question. But deep down, you knew exactly what you wanted. You nodded eagerly, a smile spreading across your face.

"Yes, I'll be your girlfriend," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan's face lit up with joy, and he took a step closer to you. "May I kiss you?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

You nodded again, your heart pounding in anticipation. Chan leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

The world around you melted away as you lost yourself in the kiss. But as the fireworks exploded in the sky, you both pulled away, gasping in wonder.

"Happy New Year," Chan whispered, taking your hand in his.

You smiled up at him, feeling a sense of magic and wonder. "Happy New Year," you replied, squeezing his hand.

Together, you watched as the fireworks lit up the sky, the colors and lights reflecting the happiness and excitement in your heart. You knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life, one that you were eager to explore with Chan by your side.

—

Chan leaned back in his chair, letting out a dramatic sigh. He was bored, and he needed entertainment. His eyes landed on Y/N, who was sitting beside him, completely absorbed in her work.

"Y/N?" Chan said, trying to sound pitiful.

Y/N didn't even flinch, her focus solely on her computer screen.

Chan tried again, this time adding a whiny tone to his voice. "Y/N, I'm boooored."

Still, Y/N didn't budge.

Chan's face scrunched up in a pout. He started to fidget in his seat, making annoying little noises to try and get Y/N's attention.

Finally, Y/N couldn't take it anymore. She chuckled and turned to face Chan, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Chan's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He grinned, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

"Hey," Y/N said, smiling. "What's wrong?"

Chan's response was to lean forward, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Nothing's wrong now," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "You're such a baby," she teased.

Chan just grinned, looking unrepentant. He was happy now that he had Y/N's attention, and that's all that mattered.

—

You were chatting with a coworker, laughing and joking around, when you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Chan standing there, his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you interact with your coworker.

At first, you thought he was just checking in on you, but as the conversation went on, you realized that Chan was actually getting a little possessive. He kept finding excuses to touch you, his hand brushing against yours or his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

Your coworker didn't seem to notice, but you did. And to your surprise, you found it kind of cute. Chan's possessiveness wasn't aggressive or controlling; it was more like he just wanted to make sure you knew he was there, and that he cared about you.

As the conversation wrapped up, Chan leaned in close, his voice low in your ear. "Hey, can I steal you away for a minute?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest as you let Chan lead you away.

As you walked, Chan's arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. You could feel his warmth, his strength, and his possessiveness. And you had to admit, it felt kind of nice.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor @intartaruginha

[mattluvr]

CEO!matt, a concept.

💸 what if. . . matt sturniolo was CEO of a company?

at the grand old age of 21, matt sturniolo is the world’s youngest CEO, having inherited his father’s finance company in light of his untimely retirement.

he doesn’t complain; matt has a team of seniors to make his decisions for him, the only thing he insists on chipping in on every year being the annual christmas party. which, naturally, is infamous. it’s what most of the company’s budget gets blown on after all.

in his third year as the owner of sturniolo finances, income in the billions as the company thrived, matt threw the biggest, loudest, craziest christmas party of what he was sure was history, the entire floor of a fancy hotel packed with employees.

and some stragglers. including you.

your brother had dragged you along, overly excited about the first sturniolo finances christmas party of his employment, and had swiftly got drunk and left you to stand like a lemon by the drinks table. which is where matt found you, words slurring from one too many tequila shots, appointing you his newest secretary. one of the only decisions he’s made for the company.

and today is the day you start your new role, which matt obviously can’t remember offering you, but lets you sit at the desk outside his office, head still pounding from the party over a week ago.

“are you sure i gave you this job?” he mutters, running a hand over his face. you nod, tucking a loose strand of your bun behind your ear, hoping you’re still retaining the sophisticated look you tried to construct this morning when getting ready.

“mhm. at that party.”

“yeah, but i did a lot of things at that party.” matt says with a grimace. “like swing from a chandelier…”

you laugh, reminded of the last image you saw before you left the hotel, supporting a tipsy brother on your hip, matt dangling from the structure above you with one arm, hair messy and shirt loose. “that was pretty funny. and impressive.”

“thank you. but not the point.” he frowns, folding his arms, trying to act serious. “i don’t even think i’ve given you any paperwork to fill out. shit, i’ve not even interviewed you.”

“well, you’re the CEO, aren’t you? you can just interview me now.”

matt furrows his brows again, eyes darting to his office behind him and eventually gives in, opening the door for you with a shrug. he often doesn’t interact with any of the people he employs, the whole process too mindnumbingly boring for him, but is now starting to realise why drunk him even offered you a job position in the first place.

you’re fucking unreal, mini skirt a tad too short, shirt just slightly too low cut, and matt is drinking it all in. professionally. of course. he clears his throat, dragging his eyes back to your face with a soft blush as he gestures to the empty room. “take a seat.”

you smirk at him over your shoulder, sitting down heavily in the armchair facing matt’s desk, your skirt riding up as you cross your legs, thighs on display. matt rolls his neck; you’re trying to kill him, he swears. he follows you over nevertheless, sitting opposite and offering you a polite smile.

when your dimple shows in reply, matt doesn’t even think about the interview. “yeah, i don’t know why i did all that. you’re hired.”

“but…?”

matt holds out a hand. he knows this is a bad decision, hiring based off of physical attraction only, but that’s the last thing on his mind. he just wants you out before he blows a load in his underwear, semi poking him each time he shifts.

“you can start tomorrow morning, 8am. i’ll email the paperwork down to reception.”

shocked, you slowly stand up, and matt leans forwards, concealing a groan into his hand. “uh, well, thanks. i’ll… see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” matt nods, grinning weakly. “yep, tomorrow.”

and then you’re gone, leaving matt alone with his thoughts. fuck. hiring you? he’s screwed.

taglist. . . ( @mattslolita, @aelinslegend, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot, @conspiracy-ash, @emely9274 ) is open!

[darsynia]

Forgiven (CEO Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Part II

Summary: Since dropping out of school to care for your sister, your daydream has been that a rich, handsome man will save you from drowning in debt. Until then (read: never), you’ll work hard at your new receptionist job and try not to ogle the impossibly hot construction guy working in the foyer…

Words/Warnings: 2,855 | none

As 5/7 of my Ro Roll birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, forGIVEn is a fluffy meet cute between CEO Steve and f!Freader. Gif is by @ashilesun.

Excerpt:

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

FORGIVEN

“Thank God for the internship last summer!” your sister says (again).

“I do, I do,” you promise, looking at yourself critically in the grubby bathroom mirror. She doesn’t have to know you pick a new deity to mentally ‘thank’ every time. Today it’s Thor, because you need to bring electricity to your first day on the job. 

You’re hoping to look professional but approachable for this customer-facing position, and it looks like the months of clothes thrifting before your internship last year are really paying off. Do you wish you could work in your field of choice? Sure, but working in the same company as a receptionist means you have both in-field and company knowledge. Once Jennie is back on her feet, you hope to be back on yours, too.

You step into the kitchen to check that everything is set up for your sister. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back at lunch?”

“No mother hen-ing, you promised! I’ll be fine, and you’ll need your own lunch!”

Your watch beeps that it’s time to start walking to work, so you slip into your sturdy dress shoes and give the room a final once-over. Jennie’s cooler of food is near the couch, she’s got all of the remotes, and her walker is within reach. You’ve even put a pair of crutches in the umbrella stand and lashed the damned thing to the couch so she can’t knock it over. Her charger is at hand, the blinds are down, and the end table has her morning coffee on a coaster.

“Get out or I’ll start throwing things at you and you’ll be late from having to clean them up!” your sister teases.

“I love when you nag,” you tell her, shutting the door before she can retort.

Star Industries is honestly your dream workplace, even after pausing your mechanical engineering degree to take care of Jennie. After Tony Stark and his company spun it off as a subsidiary, Star really came into its own. The company has an inspiring mission: to ensure safe, affordable prosthetics for the people who really need them. Many customers are war veterans, just like the two men in charge. The COO even has one himself.

You’d filled out your paperwork after hours, so when you walk into the building, it’s a nice surprise to see how the morning light floods the lobby. The atrium of the building is made up of a multi-storey open space lit by tall windows, with the company’s logo laid out in the tile floor right as you come in the doors. The A in the word ‘STAR’ is, of course, a star, but it’s the missing ‘K’ from its parent company that catches the eye. Instead of upright, the K is laid on its ‘back.’ One stick figure’s front leg and another stick figure’s back leg make up the angled lines from the K--and they’re both wearing prosthetics.

The name badge you’re given has a smaller version of the same logo, and you can’t help but hope this isn’t the only time you’ll be representing the company. You fix it to your lapel and sit nervously at the desk beside the woman who will train you. It’s an hour before you come up for air long enough to notice there’s some renovation work going on nearby. 

Honestly, ‘notice’ is embarrassingly underselling it.

The windows in the lobby are clearly designed to encourage shafts of sunlight that flood a particular area with a cheerful glow. You’ve managed to look over right when one such beam illuminates a man wearing rough work clothes, his head tipped back to drink out of a water bottle. He’s handsome as hell, with a face like Adonis and powerful muscles straining his sweat-damp t-shirt. The sunlight turns him into a golden statue, and you sure as hell would visit museums more often if the art looked like that!

Your phone rings and you answer promptly, tearing your eyes away from the construction worker just as he smiles at someone. The stammered greeting you offer to the caller could be chalked up to it being your first day, but that isn’t the reason at all.

Your first week on the job is equal parts satisfying and stressful. Satisfying because it turns out you’re a natural at taking zero shit with maximum politeness. Your stress comes from the renovations.

The work isn’t loud, and it’s not like you’re worried about safety or anything. Technically, your job isn’t affected at all… well, not because of your assigned work, that is. No, you’re the one affected, and it’s thanks to the man who seems to be in charge.

After that first day, the tarp that separated their construction from the rest of the lobby had been removed, meaning you could just look over and see him at any point throughout your day.

You’ve been rationing those glimpses for your own sanity.

Despite this, there are still details you’ve noted. One, he’s definitely the foreman. Everyone defers to the guy, but his leadership style seems to rely on trust and respect. Two, he has the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. Paired with his looks, it’s a disastrous combination, especially given Reason Number Three: he’s an utter beast. More than once you’ve seen him moving things with ease that would take multiple other men to lift.

Today is Monday and the men were all at work before you arrive. Their project is taking shape; it appears to be a café with low counters, maybe a wheelchair-friendly gathering space? It would be on brand for the company, and certainly explains why you’ve been brought on as a second receptionist. The usual population in the lobby will certainly go up once it’s completed.

Before you sit down, you take stock of the wide welcome desk. Would anyone notice if you nudged one of the large flower pots to the left to mostly block your view of the café area? You decide to risk it. Foreman Eye Candy is a Distraction with a capital D, and you already love this job.

The morning goes smoothly--but by lunch you’re fairly certain you’ve memorized the pattern on the side of that damned pot, for as often as you’ve looked over at it.

When you come back from your break, the pot is back where it was before.

Your hands shake a little bit as you log back into your computer. Did a cleaning crew come through and adjust it? You’re not brave enough to ask the senior receptionist for fear she’ll question why it was moved in the first place. It’s probably a fluke, you decide.

Without your makeshift barrier, you find yourself looking over at the Foreman way too many times before you’re done for the day, but he’s smiled at least twice in your direction, so that’s something.

On Tuesday morning, you choose discretion as the better part of valor and scoot the pot over to obscure your view again, even taking the time to nudge its closest neighbor a little, to even up the spacing.

After lunch on Tuesday, both pots are moved back, and Eye Candy is smiling. You doubt the two are related.

On Wednesday you bring in one of those Newton’s Cradle desk toys with permission from your coworker at the desk. It’s altruistic, distracting the children when their parents show up to ask questions. Because your area is recessed a bit, you risk setting the item on a little paper sorter to make it level with the visitors’ side. Completely incidentally, that placement blocks some of your view of the café under construction.

You come back from lunch to find the shelf moved to the other side of your computer monitor.

It’s so disconcerting that you stand there staring at it in shock for a long moment, long enough to attract attention.

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

Chanting ‘it’s Wednesday, that’s called ‘hump day,’ there’s nothing that implies you’ve been thinking impure thoughts, pull it together!’ in your head, you answer something non-committal and continue with dinner.

That night you have a dream that Sir Eye Candy walks over and smiles at you, illuminated by one of those rays of light straight from heaven.

On Thursday you arrive at work to find the pots have all been moved farther back along the decorative part of the receptionist’s desk, much too far to move any of them without notice.

As if he’d been waiting for you to see the change, you make brief eye contact with Sir Eye Candy. He does a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to move the large sign for the café. By himself.

“Am I awake?” you whisper to yourself, unable to look away from how effortlessly he moves under heavy strain.

“Keep staring at the boss like that and the rest of his crew will never let you hear the end of it!” your front desk coworker Marcia jokes.

Your cognitive function flatlines as you try to process the word ‘boss’ while at the same time watching the man in question wipe sweat off of his brow. “It’s obvious he’s the foreman,” you mumble, dropping your phone so you have to look away to pick it up. If the screen cracks, you deserve it.

“Oh, honey, this is his side gig. Pet project. Maybe even a vacation, knowing Rogers,” Marcia chuckles.

The name ‘Rogers’ finally gets through to you, in context to ‘the boss.’ Steve Rogers.

Sir Eye Candy is CEO Eye Candy.

“Wait…”

“There it is!” Your coworker gives you the kind of look only busybody aunts and elder coworkers can pull off. “Word is his gym is closed for a few weeks, so he pulled some strings to move this project up. Nice way to start a new job, yeah?”

You’ve been ogling the CEO. “Should I put in my two weeks’ notice?” you whisper. Dismay doesn’t even cover it. You’re practically mortifie--

“I’d advise your manager not to accept,” a nearby voice says. “If anything, I probably ought to call myself into an HR meeting. I’ve been quite distracted this past week.”

It’s CEO Eye Can-- Rogers. All you can do is mutely look up at him, watching the amused look on his face turn into a stern one.

“Have you been messing with my plant display?”

It’s not at all what you were expecting him to say, and you’re still befuddled by the idea he was distracted by you, so you stammer out an admission that yes, you did move his pots.

The phone rings, and after a subtle gesture from Rogers, Marcia takes the call.

“Sir,” you begin, noting the way his posture straightens on hearing the title. You lick your lips in nervousness, and god, his eyes go straight there. HR would be having kittens.

“Go on?” Rogers’ voice is resonant. Everything about this feels like a rom-com, and you are totally worried you’ll screw it up.

“Forgive me for staring?” you offer. You’d meant to say something less obvious, but it’s too late now.

“Yes, well. I’d like to go over your conduct at a lunch meeting, if, that is, you--” he breaks off, lifts his chin, and clears his throat. “In a half hour.”

“I-- Of course--” You’ve answered too late, he’s already walking away and calling out to the crew. Stunned, you look over at Marcia. She’s grinning, but doesn’t look up, and you decide to take your cues from her.

Fifteen minutes later, the work crew wraps up. You see them file out in your peripheral vision, but if Rogers is going to play the Principal’s Office card, you’re going to play at being an obedient student.

This sends your mind on a complete irresponsible rampage, and you’re still tamping down the mental images when a gentleman in a suit walks up to the front of the desk.

Your welcoming smile is already in place when you lift your head to greet him, but it widens into surprised happiness to see that it’s Rogers. At the very last minute you stop yourself from acting like he’s picking you up for a date, even though you very much hope that’s what this is, HR be damned. Every fairytale has a villain, after all, and villains are made to be thwarted.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The word choice is deliberate.

“You can. Marcia, do you usually cover for lunch?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll be prompt,” he says firmly, tapping the flat of his palm on the desk with finality. You take the cue, getting up and slinging your purse over your shoulder, but inwardly your stomach is a riot of sawdust. 

Are you reading this wrong? All of your teenage aspirations to be swept off of your feet by a rich, handsome man feel like lead weights at the bottom of your shoes. Steve Rogers’ reputation is sterling, and despite your less-than-angelic daydreams, you don’t want to come across like a gold-digger. Even if you are strapped for cash.

Rogers opens the door for you. The front door. The front door of his business. It’s heady and confusing, even more confusing when a slick silver car pulls up and a valet hands him the keys.

“You look like you either need sunglasses or smelling salts,” he says gently.

“A neck brace,” you quip. “For the whiplash.”

His smile is sheepish as he opens the car door for you. “That’s fair.”

The car is cinematically nice inside, and you suppress the desperate desire to pinch yourself until you wake up as he gets in and adjusts the seat for his height. He doesn’t look over at you, which your adrenaline-drunk mind can’t decide is good or bad.

Then he does, and all you can do is smile back at him.

“A confession: I cribbed some of those lines.” Rogers eases the car out into traffic and lets out a long breath. “From Bu-- a friend of mine. Advice on how to be in charge and ask out a subordinate at the same time.” He stops at a red light and shoots a look over at you. “How’d I do?”

You kind of want that neck brace, but despite the trappings, you’re really enjoying who this man is turning out to be. “That depends. Do you want me to be turned upside down and sideways?”

That earns you a look akin to the one he sent you when you’d called him ‘sir.’ You shiver, and he notices. “I don’t think you want to know what his advice might be on the answer to that question! How about ‘maybe?’”

“Maybe is good,” you manage.

“Glad to hear it. What would you like? Italian? Deli?” Rogers looks over and catches his breath like he’d forgotten his wallet. “An invite to lunch without your employment on the line? I’m sorry about that. I got--” He looks back at the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. “--carried away.”

His candid mix of charm and command are sweeping you completely off your feet, tarnished halo and all. “I don’t think I have time to phone a friend for a better answer, but is ‘maybe’ still good?”

Your sister would walk her ass to the car to smack you if she knew you’d just told the CEO of your new company you’re a ‘maybe’ for a one-on-one ‘maybe’ date with him. You suspect his friend would be facepalming, too.

“Your job isn’t on the line, I promise. I’d never misuse power like that--” He breaks off from his serious tone, looks down at his suit and the fancy car you’re both sitting in, and chuckles. “All evidence to the contrary.”

The whole situation is absurd, unrealistic, completely romantic, and everything you’ve always wanted.

You’re going to wake up any minute now.

Rogers looks over and raises his eyebrows. You realize with embarrassment that he wants you to either tell him where he can stuff his lunch invitation, or where the two of you can go eat.

“I got carried away too,” you rush to say. “Yes to lunch. No maybes in sight.”

“You’re forgiven,” he smiles.

Part 2

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 4/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

Martin – no, Champion, for that was who he was now – crept through the institute, his ears flat against his head. 

How long had he been technically missing for now? At least a week, if not more. And no one had notified the police. Not Jon, not Tim, not Sasha. Not his own mother, despite the fact Martin would call her almost daily to check in on her. Not his neighbours nor his…well. He didn’t have any friends outside the institute. 

He didn’t have any friends inside the institute either, it seemed. 

Champion padded past the grand oak reception desk in the front lobby. Almost immediately, his paws left the ground, which drew a purr of surprise from him, his little blue eyes growing wide.

“Oh, Champion! You came to visit me, did you?” 

Rosie, Elias’ assistant, gathered Champion into her arms, her thin, angular face all smiles and framed with bouncing red curls. Everyone’s face was all smiles when Champion arrived. Champion, who did nothing at all to actually help the institute. He couldn’t read properly like this. He couldn’t research, staying up all hours of the night to finish reports. He couldn’t go investigate leads across the country, nor pitch theories for statements. He couldn’t even make a cup of tea like this. 

Martin could do all those things. And not once had he been given a genuine smile in return, not a single sparkle in someone’s eye to say they were actually happy to see him. But as Champion? 

All he had to do was walk on by. 

The first few days, that attention had overjoyed Martin. All he’d ever wanted. But now, it stung, jabbing him in the chest and reminding him that all this fuss wasn’t for him. Not really. 

That people liked him better as a useless cat than a man who tried too hard and apologised for existing. 

“Oh dear, little guy, why the sad ears?” Rosie continued, sitting down and depositing Champion onto the immaculate desk in front of her. “Was Jonathan a meanie to you? Do you want Rosie to accidentally misplace his expenses form this month?” She scratched behind Champion’s ear with a perfectly manicured nail, but he couldn’t even muster a false purr in response. 

Everyone liked him better as a cat. Hell, maybe he was better at being a cat? 

Maybe he should just…stay a cat. Let Martin Blackwood become just another missing person, lost behind a veil of barely asked questions. 

Something stirred under his skin at that thought, like a cold fog rippling through his blood, sending all his fur on end. Champion jolted in shock; all too easily, he had forgotten what he wrestled with here. Sure, being turned into a cat sounded silly enough, but the architect of all this had been a Leitner book. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts, caring not for the jovial packaging they came in. 

Champion, now dealing with an alarming amount of adrenaline, leapt from Rosie’s desk and scampered away. He dashed through the corridors, paw pads skidding on the hardwood flooring, his tiny heart hammering away. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts…

He practically slid across the Research Department, not stopping even when one of the researchers reached for a bag of cat treats. 

Something fed upon his lonely thoughts! What if it could see him or hear him or��

He bounded through the austere, silent library, not sure what he was running from or if anything was even truly chasing him. But instinct tore through his limbs, too aware now of the sense of some unspeakable shadow prowling after him and delighting in his isolation. 

When the panic finally subsided, Champion had to take a moment to look around the room he’d bolted into. The room loomed around him, gloomy save for one desk light working hard to chase it all away. 

His desk light. 

Champion padded through the archival assistants’ office, wandering past Tim’s empty desk and Sasha’s neglected chair. Was Tim at the station, weaving a story as to why they hadn’t reported their colleague missing sooner? Was Sasha in Elias’ office, distracting him from the whole affair? 

He hopped up onto his old chair at his own desk. He hadn’t been here since the day he’d read that damned book in the first place. Jon’s office took the place of his regular workspace, either curled up on Jon’s lap or snoozing under the radiator. 

Being a cat, admittedly, had been a lot more comfortable than being Martin Blackwood. The temptation to remain like this had, he realised, not been entirely out of spite and anger of the others not being too fussed about Martin’s disappearance. 

It had come from Martin’s own disregard for Martin’s disappearance. Like this, he couldn’t annoy people. He didn’t have to worry about messing up conversations or making a fool of himself. He could stay away from people in that way, yet reap all the benefits of getting affection and having his company be greeted with a smile. 

But…he also couldn’t offer Jon a cup of tea and get to see that momentary lessening of his scowl, the only time his frown eased up in the office. The silly little bloom of pride Martin got at being able to coax that out of him with a nice cup of tea – a silent victory, proof he’d done something right.

He couldn’t sneak out five minutes early for lunch with Tim on a Thursday, because they both loved Thursday special at the German kebab shop three blocks away and wanted to avoid the lunch rush queues.

He couldn’t buy a lemon and poppyseed muffin on a Monday to drop off at Rosie’s desk before she got in, earning him first dibs when she baked her amazing Malteser brownies during charity bake sales at work. She pretended she didn’t know Martin brought her breakfast every Monday, when he knew she ran late for work because she had to drop her father off at the physio, but somehow, a hearty slice of brownie would be wrapped in a napkin in the fridge with his name on it all the same. 

He couldn’t go to the little tea room five minutes from his house every Saturday and Wednesday, order the same cup of Earl Grey and the same ham-and-cheese toastie, and beam as the owner called him his favourite and most reliable customer.  

Maybe…Maybe Martin Blackwood did get noticed after all. Little nods, little appreciations. Maybe…that was enough? 

The cold retreated from his fluffy legs, though it didn’t fully subside. It loosened its grip on his tiny heart, but it didn’t uncoil. 

He had to completely undo this, Champion – no, Martin decided. He had to find the answer. And the best place to start had to be the book itself. 

Martin jumped down from his chair, flattening himself on the floor to scoot under the bookcase where he had bashed the book out of sight weeks before. 

A few cobwebs…a pen he’d lost months ago…some paper clips…a scrunched up ball of paper that stole all of Martin’s attention for five minutes or more as he bapped it between his paws in delight…but no book. 

Wriggling his way back out from under the furniture, he looked left and right. Where was it? 

Martin headed out of the archival assistants’ office and made his way towards Jon’s. Had Jon returned to the office to retrieve the book? Martin hadn’t noticed him doing so, nor had the book shown up on Jon’s desk lately. Given that desk doubled as one of Martin’s many napping spots, he was sure he would have spotted it if it had. 

Unless…he’d picked it up recently. Tim had just told Jon that there was no sign of Martin at all at his flat. Tim had done something incredibly important in that conversation, Martin realised in horror. 

He’d given Jon a mystery to unravel. He’d sparked his curiosity and given him a challenge – could he find Martin before a professional? 

Oh no. 

Martin scampered into Jon’s office at full speed, miaowing in a vain attempt to yell Jon’s name. But the room was empty. 

Panting, his head whipped this way and that. Where was he? It was 4:12pm – not a time that Jon would take a smoke break he thought no one knew about, nor a time he’d go for a tea or try to heavily hint for Martin to make one. He was always at his desk. Where was—

“Mrrrrowww…”

Martin blinked, his ears twitching. That…hadn’t come from him. “Miaow?”

A horrified pause stretched out across the office. And then, that same, low rumble of a miaow, sorrowful and irritated. 

“Mrrrrrooooowwww…”

Plucking up his courage, Martin followed the sound, his fur already sticking up on end. He tip-toed around the leg of Jon’s desk, already suspecting what had happened, yet praying it hadn’t.

There, beside Jon’s chair, was The Ninth Life, open on the last few pages. And on top of the book was the saddest, skinniest, scabbiest-looking black cat that Martin had ever seen in his life. Flecks of grey mottled his fur, which was missing in great clumps all over. Most of his right ear was missing, leaving a ragged edge in its wake. His eyes were far too big for his head, a brilliant green that somehow didn’t complement his black fur. Worst of all, the cat was sitting with its hind legs in front of it, as though determined to sit like a person. 

The black cat looked at Martin. 

Martin looked at the black cat. 

It scowled at him. Somehow, despite everything, the cat managed to scowl at him. 

The cat knew who he was, Martin realised. He knew he was Martin. 

…Jon? Is that you? Martin wondered, pacing slowly over to the scabby cat. He just wanted to get close enough to sniff him, to confirm that this was Jon and—

Bap! 

A paw plonked down squarely on Martin’s head, followed by a warning hiss. 

Bap! Bap bap bap! 

Yes, Martin realised, as he lay down on his front and tried to cover the top of his head with his own paws to shield himself. 

The scruffy cat before him was definitely Jonathan Sims.

──── •✧• ────

[wileys-russo]

mrs williamson II l.williamson x reader

leah williamson supremecy always, all day every day

mrs williamson II l.williamson x reader

"-and now it's charlies turn for show and tell!" you clapped your hands together to gain your students attention, their chatter slowly ceasing as you sent them an appreciative smile for their quick listening.

a knock on the door however had their heads turning and your eyebrows raising in surprise as your wife stood there with a sheepish smile, clad in her training tracksuit with her hands shoved in her pockets.

"okay 4D, everyone turn our listening ears on nice and loud for charlie and i'll be right back! take it away my friend." you gave the boy an encouraging grin as he launched into an animated recount of how he had broken his arm over the weekend, waving his bright blue cast around as he did.

"hi?" you stepped outside of the classroom, sending the blonde a surprised smile. "hi gorgeous, sorry for the interruption i tried to just leave it with reception but they said to come find you here." leah smiled apologetically, the two of you pulling one another into a quick hug as she sweetly kissed your cheek.

"you left your house keys and i've got late training, double session. figured you'd want to be able to get back inside tonight!" the girl grinned as she pulled away and you sighed appreciatively, pecking her lips as she dropped the keys into your hand.

"miss just got a kiss! miss just got a kiss!" your head snapped sideways meeting the cheeky grin of several bored eight year olds gathered in the door frame. at your warning look they all scattered, hurrying back to their seats as leah chuckled.

"i see the stern teacher look works on other people than just your sister then?" leah grinned in amusement, referring to her teammate alessia who was your younger sister and the reason the two of you had even crossed paths years ago in the first place.

"hey you've got an arsenal hoodie on! do you like football? miss williamson can she please come in and talk about football?" a different students head popped around the door frame, shooting both you and your wife his best puppy dog eyes.

you glanced to leah who gave you a small shrug, murmuring she didn't have training for another hour. "i guess it's my turn for show and tell then!" you chuckled, grabbing leahs hand and leading her inside, twenty sets of eager eyes following your every move.

"alright boys and girls! listening ears on again please. this is leah, she's a professional footballer and as russel pointed out she plays for arsenal." you introduced your wife who leant against your desk, folding her arms over her chest and sending your students a warm smile and a wave.

"miss that's not just a footballer that's leah williamson, she's the england captain and my sister loves her! she has her shirt too." william, another student, piped up enthusiastically from the back as the room.

"miss williamson if you and leah have the same last name, are you sisters?" one of the girls asked curiously and leah hid a laugh behind a fake cough as you sent her a firm warning.

"no julie, leah is my wife. i took her last name when we got married!" you explained patiently, your students all ohhing in response and their was a brief pause of silence before the room absolutely erupted into chatter, the kids all shooting question after question at your wife.

"okay 4D we do not yell over the top of one another! we use our manners and we wait our turn and display our..." you trailed off expectantly, nodding your head suggestively to this weeks words written on the board behind you.

"patience!" your students echoed back causing a bright smile of pride to tug at your lips, leah noticing as her heart melted, always having had the largest soft spot for the obvious passion you had for teaching and your students.

"okay who has a question for leah? hands up, she'll call on you one by one." you instructed as at least half the room raised their hands eagerly, wiggling impatiently in their chairs as leah chuckled and began to point them out.

"leah do you love miss williamson?" "most of the time." leah smiled cheekily in response causing a few giggles to break out from the kids surrounding her.

"leah does miss williamson snore?" "oh yes, she sounds like a truck!" leah answered, mocking the noise as your cheeks flushed bright red and even more giggles met leahs ears, causing her grin to grow.

"leah what's your favourite thing about football?" "oh thats a hard one! but i think playing in a team and having lots of really supportive people around you on the pitch, the girls i play with at england and at arsenal are some of my very best friends." leah answered sincerely as you nudged your shoulder into hers with a soft smile.

a half hour later and you had to interrupt the game of two touch leah had got going on with your students using a crumpled up piece of paper, quietly reminding her that she had training and clapping out a pattern to gain the attention of the room, your kids clapping it back and settling somewhat.

"leah has to go to training now! but can we all please give her a big cheer and a thank you for spending her time speaking with us today?" you called out as your students echoed an enthusiastic thank you, a few of them rushing in to hug leah who tensed in surprise before her face softened and she ruffled their hair and pat at their backs before they went racing back to their desks at your request.

"everyone grab out your books please! quiet reading time until the lunch bell goes, i'll be right outside so i will hear if anyones chitter chattering, remember my listening ears are always on!" you warned tugging at your ears as leah smiled softly and your students giggled but did as you asked.

"thank you lee, they loved that." you stepped outside and walked leah a few feet away with a smile, wrapping your arms around her neck as hers snaked around your waist, the blonde pressing a tender kiss into your hair.

"i loved that. would you maybe want me to come back with some of the girls? run a little friendly game and do some easy drills?" your wife offered as you made a face of surprise.

"if you have time? they would actually go mental if you could." you agreed eagerly, your wife reassuring she was sure it would be fine but she would check with jonas this afternoon.

"maybe on a friday afternoon, i know you said they go stir crazy so close to the weekend." leah chuckled and you sighed, nodding in agreement at how hard fridays were to keep them all engaged.

"that would actually be perfect. but you better go baby, you'll be late and i don't fancy hearing you moan about all the extra laps you'll have to run if you are!" you teased, your blonde rolling her eyes and pinching playfully at your side for the comment, pecking your lips a few times.

"miss got another kiss! miss got another kiss!" "4D i told you my listening ears are on!"

~

"i'm home!" you heard the front door open and your wife call our tiredly, hearing her kit bag thump to the floor as her sliders squeaked across the floor, the girl making a brief stop in the kitchen to chug a glass of water.

"in here love!" you called back, curled up on the lounge with your laptop on your knees, lesson planning for the week ahead. "hello gorgeous." your wife sighed and you were quick to move your laptop to the side as leah collapsed tiredly on top of you.

"tough session?" you hummed, running your hands through her hair as she nodded, face pressed into your stomach. "my arms feel like they're going to fall off, my legs are like jelly, can we just sleep here on the lounge?" leah mumbled into your top as you let out a beat of laughter and she moved so her chin rested on your chest, looking up at you with a tired but loving smile.

"i think i have something to lift your spirits baby." you gently tapped at her to signal you were going to get up, the blonde rolling off of you as you stood, rummaging through your work bag.

"you made quite the impression!" you smiled softly, handing leah a stack of papers as your wife pulled herself into a sitting position and began to rifle through them, her face softening significantly as she did.

"they did these for me?" leah asked quietly, eyes scanning the brightly coloured drawings with a tender gaze and you hummed your confirmation, sitting back down beside her and stretching your legs across her lap.

"i was ordered they were to go straight to you from my bag as soon as i next saw you or else i would be in some serious trouble with the artists." you teased, leah flicking through them again with a beaming grin.

"thank you, that's made my day." leah grinned, carefully placing the stack of papers down on the coffee table and pawing at your hoodie, needily pulling your body properly on top of hers and burying her face in your neck.

"i love you, mrs williamson."

~

"okay my friends listening ears on please! settle down, settle down." you clapped and called out over the incredibly restless group of children who were bouncing from foot to foot, whispering excitedly to one another as the looked toward the small huddle of women stood behind you.

"now i know we are all very excited, but i need some calm and some quiet so we can meet our new friends!" you stood back a little and gestured for them to step forward, everyone gathered on the oval for the final hour left of the school day.

"now this is alessia, steph, caitlin, katie, lotte and we all already know leah." you introduced as each girl gave a wave and a grin to the group of children stood in front of them. "your wife!" one of the boys piped up with a cheeky grin and a giggle as you sighed but nodded, rewarded with a chorus of fake kissing noises.

"okay enough of that or we'll go back inside and do our timetables!" you warned as a hush instantly fell, smiling happily and stepping aside for leah to take the reigns.

"you look like miss williamson!" one of the girls pointed to alessia with a frown as your sister smiled. "that's because she's my little sister" you explained, again a round of ohh's coming from your students in response.

"her big little sister!" alessia smirked, the much taller girl patting your head mockingly causing the children to giggle, leah stepping in and beginning to speak.

"the bossiness isn't just reserved for your friends and family? those poor children." alessia tutted from beside you as leah explained the first training drill your class was going to do, using katie and lotte for a demonstration.

"alessia if you so much as utter one word that i find inappropriate or teach them anything they don't need to know about me, i promise on nonna i will tell gio exactly how his pool table got broken." you murmured quietly to the blonde stood beside you who shot you a filthy look at the threat but remained quiet, bumping her shoulder into you and walking off after lotte with her assigned group.

"leave her alone!" leah chuckled pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as you rolled your eyes. "you always take her side, you're supposed to be my wife! i am sick and tired of the two of you teaming up against me." you huffed with a shake of your head.

"i am technically her sister in law, i'm just being supportive!" leah teased, grabbing at your waist and stealing a kiss when no one was looking, whispering for you to stop being grumpy before jogging off to help katie.

despite that the afternoon went off without any real issues, your students as expected absolutely adoring the girls and an afternoon full of physical exercise and sunshine.

"miss williamson its your turn now!" one of the boys kicked the ball at you, all of them taking turns to shoot at goal as you shook your head. "this is meant to be fun for all of you not for me!" you kicked the ball back as your students all began to protest your decision.

"she's just scared she'll miss!" alessia teased from where she stood in goal beside lotte, cocking an eyebrow at you challengingly, leahs hand coming to rest on the small of your back from where she stood watching on beside you.

"you won't miss, we believe in you!" one of the girls shouted, half of your students all cheering you on as the others took your sisters side, joining in as she boo'd you.

"i think you have to now babe, you've riled them up again." leah chuckled quietly, rubbing your back comfortingly as you sighed, stepping forward toward the goal as the cheers got louder and lotte swiftly stepped out of goal, mumbling a good luck to her blonde best friend.

"come on, surely you've grown out of your two left feet by now!" your sister mocked, you having had the pleasure of growing up relentlessly teased by both her and your older brothers for your astounding lack of athletic ability.

"go on williamson, show her what you're made of!" katie encouraged with a grin, squatted down amongst the kids and starting a clap and chant of your name.

only spurred on further by the confident smile on alessia's smug face, countless memories of having footballs kicked at your head and being forced to stand in goal by your brothers, you placed down the ball and took a step back.

taking a step forward you connected with the ball as it sky rocketed and headed right for alessia's face, your sisters expression paling as she ducked and there was a swish as the ball smacked against the back of the net.

your students all screamed in delight right as the bell rang, and you yelled out over the top of them a big thank you for being so well behaved, wishing them all a safe and happy weekend.

you helped your wife to pack up the goals as half your students all raced off, eager to start their weekend whilst others hung around chatting to the girls. "i'd be watching your back if i was you love." leah grinned, nodding to a very unimpressed look plastered on your younger sisters face as she shot you a dirty glare.

"i know about far too many things she did behind our parents back for her to do anything, she's all bark and no bite." you chuckled, grabbing the cones and leading leah over to the sports shed where everything was stored.

you were caught off guard as your wife closed the door and promptly pressed you against it, wasting no time connecting her lips to yours, not having a chance to show you much affection all afternoon.

"you know i might have paid attention in school if teachers looked like you my girl." the blonde rasped into your ear with a cheeky grin, peppering butterly kisses down your jaw as you smacked at her shoulder.

"i didn't know you had a teacher and student fantasy darling?" you teased, your wife rolling her eyes and nipping at your neck as you warned her firmly about leaving marks, reminding you were still in your workplace.

"i married you for your mind and not just your stunning good looks, obviously." leah tutted, grinning as she sweetly pecked your lips a few times and pushed off of you, moving to open the door but frowning as it didn't budge. "it's old, it gets stuck sometimes!" you rolled your eyes, but frowning as you tried but also couldn't budge it.

though as you glanced out the window and locked eyes with a familiar mop of blonde hair and a smirk, your eyes narrowed. "open it! right now alessia." you ordered firmly, yelling so she could hear you as your sister only cupped a hand to her ear with a confused frown, mocking that she couldn't hear you as katie doubled over with laughter, stood beside her.

"russo." leah intervened, pushing you lightly out of the way as you opened your mouth to let your sister have it, your wife sending the younger girl a stern look who huffed, rolling her eyes and disappearing, the sound of movement indicating she'd removed whatever was blocking the door.

"you know in any other circumstances i'd have taken full advantage of being locked in a room with you mrs williamson." leah husked out in your ear, hands teasingly roaming your body beneath your polo as her lips pressed a tender kiss behind your ear.

"if you're trying to distract me from murdering alessia, it's not working." you huffed, your wife tugging you away from the door and once more holding you against it, pressing her lips to yours in a bruising kiss, removing the air from your lungs.

"better?" leah pulled away with a smug smile, pressing one more kiss to your lips as you nodded a little dazed and leah opened the door.

"alessia you better start running!"

leah rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest, stepping out of the sports shed and standing beside steph and katie with a shake of her head, watching as you chased after your sister.

that was her girl, and she loved you endlessly for it.

[sunny44]

Sweet creature

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!reader

Warnings: None

Summary: After the period chocolates, Max keeps sending you presents.

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The next day, when I arrived at my office, I found a small box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers on my desk. Along with them, there was a card that read: "To make your day a little sweeter. – Max."

I smiled involuntarily, thinking about the thoughtful gesture from the day before. Max was really outdoing himself, but I couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable. Working for him was already complicated enough without adding personal entanglements into the mix, not to mention it wouldn’t be professional of me to date one of the drivers.

As I settled into my chair, my phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Max.

"Did you like the flowers and the chocolates?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. I quickly replied, "Yes, Max. Thank you very much. You’re doing very well at being kind."

His response came almost instantly. "Great! How about dinner? Tomorrow night? I know a great place."

I sighed, feeling a mix of hesitation and curiosity. Working with Max was already a challenge. Would going out with him complicate things even more? As I pondered, another message came through.

"Come on, Y/n. I promise you won’t regret it."

I decided to be direct. "Max, we work together. This would complicate things in our already tricky relationship and it wouldn't be professional either."

There was a pause before he replied. "I know, but sometimes the best things come out of complications. What do you say? Just one dinner."

I bit my lip, still unsure. Before I could respond, a delivery notification popped up. I went to the reception and found another bouquet of flowers with a new card.

"They say persistence is the key. – Max."

I laughed out loud this time, feeling a wave of warmth and surprise. He was really determined.

The next day, I found a small basket of gourmet chocolates on my desk. The card read: "Because you deserve it. – Max."

My resistance was fading. I decided I needed to talk to him in person. I went to the pit, where he was reviewing some notes with the engineers.

"Max, can we talk?" I asked, trying to appear serious.

He turned around, with a mischievous smile. "Of course, Y/n. What’s up?"

"I appreciate the gestures. The flowers, the chocolates... but you really need to stop doing this." I said, crossing my arms. "We’re at work, and I don’t want people to get the wrong idea."

He took a step closer, his smile softening. "I don’t care that we’re at work. I want to show you that I care and that I’d like to spend time with you outside of here."

I sighed, knowing my resistance was wearing thin. "You’re very persistent, you know that?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling. "I heard that persistence is the key."

I looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Maybe this wasn’t as complicated as I thought. Maybe, just maybe, it could be worth it.

"Alright, Max. One dinner, that’s all you’re getting from me." I said, finally giving in.

"Great! Tomorrow night, then?" I nodded, and he smiled.

"Tomorrow night."

When I returned to my desk, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. Max had really surprised me, and I was curious to see where this might lead. As I settled in to finish my work, I thought about how a simple act of kindness had changed so much in such a short time. And, for the first time in a long time, I felt excited about going to dinner.

Bonus scene!

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