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sonnetthebard · 3 years

Note

This is kind of a crack idea, but I don't really care and I'm throwing it out anyway

Curt and Owen have to go undercover in a show for a mission(keeping an eye on one of the members of the cast maybe?). The show? Either Spies are Forever or a Hatchetfield show, take your pick -S

S anon... you have been waiting a while for this, and I apologize. With Headless, I needed a moment to recharge. So this is going to be a Modern! SAF fic. And as a treat, we're going original cast in an AU. That's right folks. Extra meta content. You asked for crack, you're gonna get crack. Please note: Most of the stories pertaining to the real people involved in this oneshot are made up based on what facts I know about them/ what I’m able to pick up on personalities. I don’t know any of these people personally, though. This is going to be such a ride, so buckle up.

Genre: Comedy/ Action/ Fluff

Words: 5639

TL;DR: Curt and Owen take the stage in order to monitor Chimera and one of their operatives. The thing is, they only have a vague clue as to who they're going after: he was one of the writers.

TW: Swearing, Guns, Fighting- But not much, this is mostly just gonna be a joke.

_________________________________________________

"Next we have... Curt Mega?" The longer-haired one read off, looking at Curt. "Cool name! We might have to use that- if, of course, that's okay with you."

"Oh... yeah, that's fine." Curt chuckled softly.

What, precisely, was Curt doing? Only the thing he'd vowed to Owen that he would never do (other than, of course, leave him): auditioning for a musical. Owen was a total theatre kid, and he'd done his share of musicals. Curt was always in the audience, but he'd jokingly told Owen that he would never be joining him up there. But... here he was. In an audition room. Curt never broke promises, not even joke ones. But these were... extenuating circumstances. In other words, this was for a mission and he had no doubt that Cynthia would actually kill him if he didn't follow through with his orders. Owen gave him a sly, triumphant smirk from across the room, where he was waiting for his audition. Curt got up, following the guy back further into the studio where they were holding auditions.

This mission was an odd one. It was monitoring a potential operative with Chimera Worldwide. Sure, they had the world by storm now- but A.S.S. was getting intel telling them that they might be breaching the privacy rights of people all over the world. In fact, Chimera may be a lot more criminal than they would seem to the naked eye. There was evidence coming to light of plots that could very well end in world domination. The worst part: apparently they were pretty plausible. One world government, puppeted by Chimera. That's why MI6 had sent Owen, and A.S.S. had sent Curt. They were their best agents, and a duo that had proven to work well together.

What did all of that have to do with a musical? To the average joe, nothing. Oh, Chimera had done well. They'd even declined to offer these guys a production grant so as to not seem shady. But... the A.S.S. had reason to believe that one of the writers and producers for the show that they were about to audition for was an operative for Chimera. Now, this play in and of itself may be an independent project. It may have nothing to do with Chimera. But... it was looking like the easiest way to monitor this operative, and so here Curt and Owen were. Owen was thrilled! He loved doing shows. He usually had to slot them into his schedule carefully, though. He couldn't do them during missions. So a mission where he was doing theatre was basically a dream come true for him.

Curt and Owen had chosen roles according to their experience with theatre. Curt had chosen to keep his name as his theatrical stage name, and Owen already did keep his name as a stage name. It was risky, but it also provided their names with a solid cover in the world outside of espionage. Owen had a legitimate resume built. That was why he was going for the lead, currently named 'JB' for 'James Bond' (subject to change). Curt, on the other hand, had stolen his resume from another actor named Curt Mega (who had fully agreed to that and signed an NDA and luckily enough happened to look like Curt). He had literally no acting experience, so he was going for a smaller role: The Informant and Ensemble. Both would likely have eyes on different parts of the production process and the cast. Hopefully they'd get a good idea of what was going on and who their target was. Maybe they'd even get to eliminate the threat! That was Curt's favourite part of missions.

"So, Curt... you did Glee?" The guy who had initially called him asked as they walked.

"Yep!" Curt lied.

"I recognize you! You were one of the Warblers- nice job on that solo in Uptown Girl, by the way." The man chuckled. Oh good. He was passable as the other Curt Mega. "I did Glee too. I was only there for, like, an episode though. But my buddy Darren... well, you probably know him."

"Yeah. He did a phenomenal job as Blaine." Curt smirked. Darren was also on an NDA. The government was being extremely careful.

"I'm Joey Richter. Me and my friends Brian and Corey wrote this show." The man introduced himself, extending his hand. Curt took it, giving him a firm shake. Joey smirked. "Damn... you've got a good shake."

"Thanks." Curt chuckled. He liked this guy. It was hard to imagine right now that he could be talking to an agent for one of the greatest evils known to man since... probably the Nazis. "I'm Curt... I mean, you know that, I just..."

"Yeah, I get it." Joey chuckled along with him. They walked into a room. Inside there were four other men. Two sat behind a table, Curt's supposed 'resume' and headshots laid out in front of them, a stack of papers on the side. Two other men shared a piano bench stationed by a keyboard. None of them were dressed particularly formally. Actually, they were all dressed pretty similarly to Curt. Short-sleeved patterned button-ups were about as formal as it got. So Curt and his black, white and gold striped short-sleeved button-up were in good company. "Hey, guys! This is Curt!"

"Hey! Welcome to the auditions for Spies are Forever!" One of the men behind the table smiled brightly. God, all of these men looked... so innocent. Curt couldn't see any of them being traitors to their country, much less mankind.

"Okay, so that's Brian. The guy beside him is Corey." Joey introduced. Corey waved. "The two guys at the piano bench are Clark and Pierce, our composers and band."

"Hey, Curt." Clark smirked.

"You brought your sixteen bars?" Pierce checked.

"Yep." Curt nodded, popping his 'p' and passing him the binder with his sheet music in it.

He'd brought Being Alive from Company, which Owen said was "such a cliche" and "a terrible choice for a comic show", but it was the song Curt felt most comfortable singing. So he was singing it anyways. Owen was very adamant that Curt had to be careful to actually be cast in the show, but Curt held that that song was his best chance. Curt had always thought he was an okay singer. He had his range that he shined in, and he used that. He never performed though. He wasn't that good. That's why he was going for a mostly non-singing role. He went over his cut with Clark, who was actually the one who would be playing for him. Then he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and gave it the old college try.

The odd thing, Curt thought, was that they seemed very into it. Either they were being very nice to him or they were genuinely enjoying the performance. Curt was a bit surprised by that. Owen was the performer among the two of them. Curt supposed it could just be the song. But then... something else unexpected happened. They asked Curt to do his cold read as 'JB'... and change the name to his own. 'Agent Curt Mega'. It was all getting a bit real for Curt. They liked him. And they liked his cold read. They were laughing during his cold read- and at all the right times! Curt was very confused. This wasn't where he was supposed to shine. He walked out of the audition room, and Owen was called in.

Owen really could not have come out sooner. Curt was anxious. What had he just done? He had given it his best because he thought that the best that could get him was ensemble. Was it going to get him more? Was he ready for more? He was past the point of no return, but... God, what had he just done? Owen came out of his audition, smug and content with himself. Apparently they'd asked him to read multiple sides. Curt hadn't the heart to tell him they'd asked him to read for the lead. A few days passed. Curt almost forgot that he'd even auditioned. That it had been so successful. Basking in the California sun could do that to you. But three days later, it all came back to him all too vividly.

"Curt, I got the email!" Owen announced from where he was lazing on the couch across from Curt in their hotel room. He sat up quickly, eager.

"What does it say?" Curt asked eagerly, sitting up with him. Owen scrolled down on his phone.

"Well... I'm in the show..." Owen furrowed his brows. "But... not in the role I thought. I got Deadliest Man Alive."

"Oh." Curt frowned. "I'm sorry. I know you really wanted the lead."

"It seemed like a juicy part." Owen hummed, still a bit dazed by the rejection. "I was looking forward to it."

"I know, babe." Curt sighed, getting up and wrapping his partner in a hug. "Maybe this one will be even juicier!"

"Maybe..." Owen nodded. "Thank you, love. For trying to make me feel better."

"Yeah, no problem!" Curt smiled softly.

"Did you get your email?" Owen asked.

"I... haven't checked." Curt admitted.

"Well go on, then! Sit! We'll check together!" Owen urged him. Curt sighed, sitting beside him and opening his email. Owen peered over his shoulder. The email from the Tin Can Bros was the first one that popped up right at the top. "Open it, Curt!"

"Okay..." Curt chuckled nervously, pressing the email to open it. He scrolled down, sighing in relief. "I got in, O."

"Congratulations!" Owen cheered, grinning. he was genuinely happy for Curt, and excited to be in the same show. "What role?"

"Let me scroll down..." Curt chuckled, before his heart stopped. Naturally, his laughter stopped with it, and his face fell.

"Love, what is it?" Owen furrowed his brows, concerned by the sudden mood shift. Immediately, his mind went to the worst-case scenario. "Curt, is there anything in there indicating that we might be compromised?"

"No..." Curt shook his head, staring at the role.

"Then... darling, what's wrong?" Owen blinked, before looking over his shoulder. His face fell to a state of shock almost equal to Curt's when he read the words, bolded on the screen: We would like to offer you the role of 'JB', renamed Agent Curt Mega. "Oh..."

_________________________________________________

Rehearsals for Spies Are Forever were potentially one of the best times Curt had ever had. Everyone loved him! Apparently, his voice was much better than he'd given himself credit for, as was his acting. Even Owen admitted it. It turned out Curt was perfect for the role. The songs fit right for him, the personality was spot on... the spy was even gay! It was as though it was written specifically for him to perform. Curt truly was having the time of his life. And Owen was loving the role of Deadliest Man Alive. It turned out it was a significantly juicier role than Curt's- funny, dark. And he even had a minor side comedic role to take on, Dick Big. So he could flex his chops in different area. There was a bit of a minor complication with the characters, though.

It turned out Curt's was not the only name that they'd liked. The Tin Can Bros had thought Owen's name was absolutely perfect... for Curt's partner turned villain. Romantic partner turned villain, to boot. They liked the ship name Curtwen. Ironically, both Owen and Joey were playing versions of Agent Owen Carvour- Owen playing him when he was in disguise as Deadliest Man Alive, Joey playing him out of disguise. Owen didn't make a fuss- he couldn't in the position he was in. But he didn't like being portrayed that way, or his name being used that way. The truth was, Owen had used to be morally grey. He'd had a phase where he'd almost betrayed his country and Curt. He'd very nearly done some terrible things. He wouldn't way who for, but Owen had implied it might have been Chimera. But he and Curt had worked through that, and he saw the error of his ways. It hurt seeing his name associated with villainy again. But for the sake of the mission, he literally could not complain.

As for the mission, they weren't really getting too far yet- and that wasn’t for lack of effort. As hard as finding a balance between rehearsal and espionage was, they’d managed to find a routine and stick to it. The work they were doing really should have been productive for them. They'd bugged all three writers and the two composers, but HQ (who was monitoring those so that the boys could focus on rehearsing so that they didn’t become too suspicious) was saying that they'd not gotten any suspicious activity from those except for Joey constantly being with an unidentified girl. But it seemed like that was his girlfriend and not another operative. So either this operative was smart and onto them or taking a hiatus from their work. Background checks were pretty clean. They were going purely off their interactions with these writers, which wasn’t really helping. All five of them were lovely. All five of them were also extremely smart. And all five of them had acting experience. Right now, though... Joey, Clark and Pierce weren't their main suspects. Joey was just too genuine to be bad, as were Pierce and Clark. Plus, if we're looking at technicalities (as Owen tended to), Clark and Pierce were composers, not writers. It was between Brian and Corey- unless something changed. Truly, it was anyone's game.

Owen and Curt were on break. It had been a hard day of rehearsal so far. Curt had just had to rehearse his pseudo-love-song with Mary Kate (who was lovely, but he was a bit jealous of- Owen had called her 'gorgeous' on multiple occasions now), and though it wasn't physically or musically demanding it was hard not to just start laughing. Especially with Curt, a gay man who had experienced this before. And Lauren played his meddling mother during the song, which only made it harder not to laugh. His own mother had no idea what he did or who he was seeing, and it was better that way. She just thought he was a single banker. He liked Lauren’s version of his mom better. She was way funnier. It had taken a bit of time just to get a run in where Curt wasn't giggling the entire time. The song was just so well written! He knew it was so unprofessional (and Owen had certainly reminded him of that) but he couldn't help it! And the Bros were laughing with him, so it was all good. He was glad to be on break, because his sides were killing him. He scrolled through his phone, checking for anything from HQ, before he felt a hand on his back.

"You know, Curt, I don't know if I've told you this lately but you're really, really great!" Joey told him.

"Thanks, man." Curt chuckled. "Thanks for the opportunity!"

"Thank you for coming out for our show!" Joey smirked. His voice dropped to a lower volume. “Listen... you and Owen are dating, right?”

"Yeah..." Curt furrowed his brows. He and Owen had chosen to be open about that. They were all pretty supportive of the LGBTQ+ community. The actor playing Susan and The Informant had even confessed to him that they thought they might be nonbinary- maybe even female leaning.

"Okay, so for the whole anniversary thing..." Joey fidgeted a bit nervously. "I mean... I've got an anniversary coming up, and, like, it's not my first, but... I think I’ve used every trick in the dating book at this point, and-"

"Wait, you're dating?" Curt blinked.

"Oh! Right, you're new!" Joey started to laugh. "Um... yeah! It's me and Lo."

"You and Lauren?" Curt smirked. He chuckled. "I knew it!"

"We're not public about the relationship yet, though, so... keep it quiet?" Joey pleaded.

"Oh yeah, you're safe." Curt assured him.

"So... any ideas?" Joey asked. “I really want this to be special for her.”

"Have you guys done the beach yet?" Curt offered. "Like, just a picnic- something you both love to eat- out on the beach."

"Yeah, did that two years ago." Joey sighed.

"Alright... how about a museum?" Curt offered. "It can be any museum that has something the two of you could bond over. But... I mean, Owen is super into experiencing art together."

"That we haven't done... not by ourselves on a date." Joey considered. "It doesn't even really have to be art, does it?"

"Nah, that's the beauty of museums! There are museums out there for everything." Curt smirked. “Maybe you two could go to a movie museum.”

"That’s probably more our speed.” Joey chuckled. “Thanks, man!”

"No problem.” Curt winked playfully. Then, he got an idea. He trusted Joey, so hopefully this worked. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

"I mean, I kinda owe you one." Joey chuckled. “Ask away!”

"Have you noticed anyone... acting a bit weird? Like... different from the way they usually do." Curt whispered.

"I... think I know who you mean." Joey nodded. "With Mary Kate... I think she honestly just misses Sean, you know? The rehearsals are a long time for her to be away from him. Those two are so close."

"Yeah... yeah, that must be hard on her." Curt hummed sympathetically. That... wasn't what he'd been going for.

"But I don't know what's going on with Brian." Joey confided in him. "I mean, it's not like he's been acting weird, per se, but... I mean, he always used to be down to just hang after work. But recently, he's been too busy to do that? I honestly thought it was just me who was picking up on that, but like... you're noticing it too?"

"Yeah. Yeah I am." Curt lied, all the sympathy he could muster in his tone. Bingo. He'd just gotten some really, really good intel there. If there was anyone who would be able to know when one of the writers was acting shady, it was Joey. They were his best friends. And Curt tended to agree with Joey anyways. Corey just didn’t give off villain vibes. Neither did Brian, but out of the two of them, Brian gave off more. “Glad it’s not just me.”

"What's he saying about me?" Brian rolled his eyes playfully, approaching his bag from behind them to grab something. Shit. He must have heard his name.

"Uh..." Joey blushed.

"Oh, he was just telling me about how you two met." Curt lied. Joey gave him a questioning look. But Curt remembered him mentioning it in another one of his longwinded vents. "U of Michigan, Freshmen year. You two got into a lot of trouble."

"He's not telling you any of the bad stuff, is he?" Brian teased.

"Nah, man- I respect the bro code!" Joey scoffed playfully. Curt gave Joey a wink, and Joey gave him a grateful look in return. The wink hadn't gone unnoticed by Brian though.

"Oh god, he is telling you the bad stuff, isn't he?" Brian groaned playfully. "Listen, if Lauren asks, none of it was us."

"Oh don't worry... I'm great with secrets." Curt chuckled. He kinda wanted context now. Knowing those two, it was nothing serious- Joey had a heart of gold. He wouldn't be involved in anything bad. Especially not with his soon-to-be-girlfriend. So probably pranks, or other such shenanigans.

"Guys... I already knew it was you." Lauren rolled her eyes. None of them had noticed her by her own rehearsal bag picking up her water bottle. "It was so obvious... I may have believed you when you blamed Holden like... once? Twice? But you literally signed off half of the time."

"We did?" Joey blinked, looking at Brian.

"Okay, look, some of the time... I was pretty proud of our work." Brian defended himself.

"Dude!" Joey started to snicker. "And here I was keeping secrets from my girlfriend for you!"

"Sorry, Joey." Brian winced.

“Eh, I guess I have to forgive you.” Joey rolled his eyes, chuckling. “You’re my best friend.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Lauren asked, noticing a pink piece of paper sticking out of Curt’s rehearsal bag. Curt blushed profusely. That was the letter Owen had written to pick him up. he took it everywhere with him in case he panicked so that he could read it, remember those days and calm down. It helped. He’d meant to keep it hidden.

“Oh... it’s nothing.” Curt lied.

“It’s not nothing, is it?” Lauren smirked. She gave him a genuine look. “Is it personal?”

“Oh, it’s nothing too bad.” Owen chuckled. Curt blushed further, feeling Owen wrap his arms around his waist. When had he gotten there?”

“What’s going on over here?” Corey asked, joining them. It seemed they had formed a rather large clump.

“I think Lauren might be about to read the first letter I ever wrote to Curtis.” Owen smirked triumphantly, clearly not embarrassed by that prospect.

“Ooooo romantic!” Tessa teased Curt. When had she shown up? God, for a spy, Curt was not very observant. He took a brief look at his surroundings. Ah. Everyone was there. Fantastic.

“Oh hell yeah I am!” Lauren smirked. She plucked the paper out of Curt’s bag.

“Oh god...” Curt groaned.

“You okay with this?” Corey checked with Curt. Curt nodded reluctantly.

“I mean, as long as O is.” Curt sighed, relenting.

With that, Lauren used the rest of their break to overdramatically read out Owen’s letter. Curt was a blushing mess, and Owen was grinning like an idiot. Evidently he was proud of himself- as he should have been. It was a good letter. At least Curt and Owen now had an idea of who to look into: Brian Rosenthal. It was a bit odd to think that Brosenthal might be a Chimera operative. He was a funny, quirky... he didn’t seem ruthless enough. Maybe they were wrong. But this was literally all the intel they could get at the moment. Mind you, they needed concrete evidence before they could actually do anything, but... at least they had a lead. Even if it was a weird one. The thing about espionage was that leads were usually weird. So they... well, they managed to bug all of the writers’ houses a bit more to give HQ more to work with, but especially Brian’s. That way the minute they had solid evidence, they could act. Well... not the minute. More like within about twenty minutes. But same difference. There was nothing else they could do.

________________________________________________

Nothing happened through the rest of the rehearsal process. Literally nothing. No one did anything suspicious. Honestly, Curt and Owen were starting to think that their superiors were wrong. They were performing their shows- with excellent reception, might they add. People were loving Curt. The real Curt Mega was getting huge acclaim on Curt’s behalf. And the fans... well they were going mad. It was looking like the show would be a huge success- which meant two things. One, Curt was going to have to do more theatre. Cleary he was good at it. Two, his life as a spy was about to get more... complicated. IT turned out these guys had a bit of a cult following because they had been involved with a theatre group called Team Starkid? Curt knew about them from his mission briefing, but honestly he’d never thought that they were that big of a deal. When he’d confessed that to Owen he’d gotten a long lecture. Apparently Owen was also a fan, and that was half of why he was so excited to be doing this show. But that was a topic for another time.

It was about the third show in when they finally got the evidence they had been looking for. It... was not when they’d planned to find anything. Actually, it was at the least convenient time. Between acts. It was also in the least expected way. Curt had to get his props for the top of Act Two. Owen decided to go with him, mostly to make sure he wasn’t a total and utter child. Honestly, they just meant to get their props before places. They were the only ones in that area backstage- the stagehands were resetting the stage and helping with costume changes/ tech issues. Well, they thought they were the only ones backstage. They should have been. But it turns out that someone else had anticipated the lack of people, and was using that to his advantage. At first, all Curt and Owen could hear were murmurs- not distinguishable in the slightest. Bey both gave each other a look before pulling out their real guns (which they hid on their costumes just in case) and following the sound. And that was when they saw him. The culprit behind all of this: Bri- Corey Lubowich? They lowered their guns a bit, staying dead quiet. That wasn’t what they’d been expecting. {erhaps this was a false alarm.

“I am in the middle of a- no, I get that my work with you is important! Believe me, I know!” Corey hissed. “I just... tonight is one of my shows! I’m going on as the Prince! I- well can it wait half an hour? I mean I’d prefer two hours, but if I have to whip out my laptop backstage, I- well I’m kinda insisting on- come on, you guys know my theatre is important to me!”

“Okay... so we were wrong...” Owen whispered.

“We don’t know that...” Curt reasoned. “It could be his family.”

“Of course I’m loyal! When have I not done what you said? I have sacrificed so much for you!” Corey fumed quietly. “Chimera is my life now! Not theatre, not my family or friends. Chimera! Do you know how fucking weird that is for someone my age?! I’m too young for all this corporate shit! No! No, of course that’s not what I’m saying just- can I have my night? Come on, this is really important.”

“Okay, I take that back.” Curt blinked, stunned. He was just a bit too loud. Corey’s head snapped in their direction, and both men raised their guns. Corey’s eyes fumbled, and he pulled out a gun of his own, haphazardly aiming it at them.

“Okay... shit, guys, I’m going to have to call you back... we’ve got a situation.” Corey muttered. His face fell and he rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “No, not a theatre situation. An us situation. I’ll fill you in- look, they have guns. Just- I really don’t have the time for this anymore- NOT MY JOB WITH YOU! This conversation! Jesus, I’ve got two guns pointed at me! Let me go! Okay, fine! Bye!”

“You...” Curt spat, glaring at Corey.

“You guys finally figured it out...” Corey sighed, raising his gun fully at them.

“You know who we are?” Curt blinked.

“How?” Owen asked him coldly.

“Chimera has eyes and ears everywhere.” Corey rolled his eyes. “Just like in the show. I knew you were coming, and I knew you were looking for me. I just didn’t think you’d actually find me.”

“Are you insulting our intelligence?” Owen scoffed.

“No. I just thought I set up Brian pretty well.” Corey admitted. “It was pretty easy, too... all I had to do was point out to Joey that Brian wasn’t coming to as many of our hangouts as he used to. You trusted Joey. Joey relayed that to you. Threw you completely off my scent.”

“Yeah, aren’t you just the friend of the year.” Curt rolled his eyes. “You threw your bro under the bus.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t get a false tip-off and eliminate him.” Owen hummed in agreement. “You’ve no clue the kinds of things that could set our superiors off.”

“Well... It’s Brian. The chances of him doing anything sketchy are slim to none.” Corey reasoned.

“Corey, I’m going to need you to put that gun down and put your hands behind your head.” Curt sighed.

“Alright, guys, places!” Joey called out to them. Everyone was backstage- except, oddly, Lauren (who was usually pretty punctual on cues). Shit. Their timing was awful. “You can play with the... are those our prop guns?”

“No... those are too modern.” Brian furrowed his brows, approaching them to get a closer look. He blinked before stumbling back. “Holy shit, guys... are those real guns?”

“Yes, they are... and you’re going to need to stay back.” Curt told them levelly. “Lubowich, gun down, hands behind your head.”

“We outgun and outman you.” Owen reminded him. The fact that Corey was so reluctant was astounding. “And we have a license to kill if you don’t cooperate.”

“Okay, guys, what the fuck?!” Joey exclaimed.

“Can we just... put the guns down and talk this out?” Tessa pleaded.

“No... we can’t.” Curt shook his head. “My name is Agent Curt Mega, American Secret Service. My partner is Owen Carvour, MI6.”

“Our credentials...” Owen muttered, pulling them out with one hand and holding them out to Brian, who was closest. He hesitantly took them. Corey shot Owen while he wasn’t in peak position to shoot him. Curt shot Corey back with no hesitation. Neither shot was fatal, Corey’s hitting Owen in the arm and Curt’s hitting Corey in the shoulder. The impact was enough to make both men stumble back. Owen stayed on his feet, but Corey fell. Curt kept his gun trained on Corey.

“Holy shit, they’re not lying...” Brian mumbled.

“Okay, Corey... what the actual fuck, man?!” Joey fumed, definitely feeling a bit betrayed.

“Corey... why are you fighting the secret service?” Mary Kate asked coolly, trying to be the level-headed one.

“He works for Chimera.” Curt told them, knowing they might not get a clear response from Corey for a bit.

“The assholes who wouldn’t fund us?” Brian groaned. Corey grunted in admittance. “Come on, man! This just keeps getting worse and worse!”

“Okay, guys, I’m here. Sorry I took so-” Lauren started, rushing out. She saw the scene playing out and blinked. “Holy fuck! What’s going on?!”

“They’re actual fucking spies, Lo.” Joey hissed. “All three of them.”

“Pretty sure Curt and Owen are the good guys.” Brian added in a whisper.

“Oh yeah, Curt and Owen are definitely the good guys.” Tessa gulped.

“Corey is an agent for Chimera.” Curt explained.

“Please tell me this is an elaborate prank.” Lauren chuckled nervously.

“No, Lo... this time it’s real.” Joey sighed.

“Okay, but... Chimera’s just a huge global corporation, right?” Mary Kate reasoned.

“Not really.” Corey croaked out.

“They’re plotting world domination.” Owen grunted.

“Corey...” Joey breathed.

“World domination makes it sound bad.” Corey grimaced. “We more just want control over every world government... and then maybe to take all of them out and form one Chimera government.”

“That doesn’t make it sound any better.” Tessa winced.

“Why?” Brian asked Corey, hurt. “Why are you doing this?”

“Honestly, I just needed a bit of extra money in college.” Corey muttered, trying and failing to find his footing. Clearly he wasn’t a field agent too often.

“So you turned to espionage?!” Lauren scoffed incredulously.

“Honestly I started as a delivery boy and then I found out some shit I should never have known...” Corey sighed. “It escalated really quickly.”

“God, this is a mess.” Joey groaned.

“Curt, love, can you give our superiors a ring?” Owen prompted him. “I’ll deal with our former friend here.”

“On it.” Curt nodded, pulling out his phone.

“So... do we stop the show?” Brian asked Owen as he pulled out a zip-tie- another essential item Owen always kept on him, even in costumes.

“Oh no... the A.S.S. is the epitome of discretion. Believe me, you’ll have no clue what’s going on. Just see if you can find a friend in the audience to go on for The Prince.” Owen told them, tying up Corey and forcing him onto his feet. “Owen will take him outside and... he should honestly be ready to go on after We Love The Prince.”

“Holy shit... okay...” Lauren sighed.

“I’ll make an announcement that we’re having technical difficulties...” Joey planned. “Let’s, um... just take a moment to breathe and get back into the right headspace.”

“We’ll be back in a moment.” Curt told them as he and Owen took Corey outside.

“Rot in hell, you asshole!” Brian called after him, sniffing. Was he... crying? You know what, it was completely fair. That was one hell of a betrayal.

So Curt and Owen passed Corey onto their superiors, and Spies Are Forever was able to go on. They got Nick Lang to play The Prince, which only made the fans more excited. Curt and Owen were allowed the opportunity to finish their run with the show- which Curt was so, so grateful for. He loved theatre. he never thought he would, but he loved it. And Owen loved that he loved it. Spies are Forever was the first of many shows for Curt. He got into the habit, like Owen, of doing shows between missions. In fact, he actually got to make Owen a little jealous later on- he got into a Starkid show. Mind you, they knew who he was. Fully this time. They even supported him- helped him build a public backstory. The real Curt Mega’s wife even played wife to him publicly when she needed to. It was a new start in Curt’s life and one that he hadn’t even known he needed. Finally, everything seemed like it was okay.

47 notes · View notes

pathofcomet · 4 years

Text

my honey, my daisy, my only

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC

summary: “Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.Written for Isaac week, day 4. Prompt: AU. Hanahaki AU. (AO3)

“Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.

She places her trembling hands in her lap: scared and her heart still throbbing in her chest. This place and this time suddenly don’t really feel like a dream anymore, the fear too real. Love is a concept that doesn’t fit in this image that she’s building of the inhabitants of Saint-Germain’s mansion, so his warning is hollow, empty.

“Why?” she still asks, dumbly.

Sebastian stops – and then slowly, he undoes his necktie and the first two buttons at the top of his shirt. With the downwards pull, she can see the small scar sitting at the base of his throat, nothing but a faint line, whiter than the rest of his skin. His finger is just delicately following the path of where there has once been a cut.

“You know what this is, right?”

She nods. It’s not proper to ask more about it, because what’s there left to be said, when you have given up all memories of a loved one for the chance to keep on living? When the flowers start growing in your chest alongside your love, there are only two choices, really: you’re either having your feelings reciprocated, or have them disappear forever, alongside your memories of the person you fell for. Sebastian chuckles, a dry little thing.

“This does not exist here yet.”

And now the warning sinks in, with its whole finality and strength. If you love, and you are not loved back – here the only choice left is to eventually choke on all those feelings. She can feel her throat constricting in painful memory, the ghost of something she will never be able to recall. She nods again, and Sebastian, pleased that he got to her, resumes his work.

***

Love is pain. Love on its own is pure death – it goes as simple as that. But love kills slowly and beautifully, for it is not entirely unkind.

For vampires, the suffering is doubled. Because while sex is the food, love is the appetite.

And Isaac is stuck in the middle, thirst clawing at him, knowing the pain long before the love arrives.

***

Is there a reason for what humans do? Isaac doesn’t feel like he became a vampire a long time ago, but the separation still comes to him naturally. Even more so ever since she joined this place and turned his world upside down.

Isaac opens his door to her small figure in the frame and no matter how much he scrambles for a reason why she’s here, he can find none. By all laws of logic, she should be afraid and hateful. Instead, she smiles and doesn’t pour all the contents of the tray in his lap, which is more than he’d expected.

And Isaac finds himself smile back. Mistake no. 1.

***

Saint-Germain drinks his coffee, watching the exchange between Isaac and his newest visitor, and he calculates inside his mind several possibilities and probabilities. In time travel, just as in love, there are no real certainties, not even for the best out there. But there are more or less twenty days left for their young visitors – certainly not enough to develop any severe forms of the sickness, even if she is to catch it.

Saint-Germain thinks her better than that. But twenty days are more than enough to have her fall in love with a city instead. Cities don’t break hearts. So he clears his throat, passing his cup over to Sebastian, and creates an excuse.

Mistake no. 2 – Isaac didn’t do anything directly about this one, but he still considers himself guilty for it.

***

“Smiling suits you,” Isaac says, and her cheeks bloom red, like flowers.

He is smiling as well, and the two of them are on the side of the road, looking at each other, suddenly transfixed. When not frowning, when not teased, when at ease – Isaac looks like a man entirely enjoying the spring of his life. Full of playfulness and boyish charm.

It is gone in a moment, but she trusts her eyes more than the slip of her mind.

She doubts she’ll make Isaac admit to such a thing, especially when he still seems to have problems keeping his blush at bay even when they brush shoulders accidentally, on the more crowded streets, but… she thinks this might be a date. Or at least that’s how dates in movies look like, since she cannot remember her own ones.

But they walk and talk. He takes her to his favourite café, and she has the best baguette of her life. The coffee sticks to her throat.

***

She reaches out, too much and too willingly. Trusting too much, fearing too little – it drives Isaac a bit crazy. He doesn’t have the bloom to go by. He never experienced love in his past life, focused on his studies as he’s been, and vampires can judge only by their thirsts. But it feels like way more than anyone has tried to do for him in a while, ever since Napoleon, and suddenly Isaac isn’t sure if he wants to call her a friend.

Or something more.

Mistake no. 3. He spends two hours on the kitchen floor, Sebastian stepping gracefully around him, drinking bottle of rouge after bottle of rouge, his lips turning redder and redder, the clawing feeling at his throat not quite disappearing.

***

“Luv,” Arthur says, and she flutters her eyes open, slowly, to him pushing her hair behind her ear.

She went unfocused there for a bit.

“That expression doesn’t suit you,” he continues, sighing.

She tries to scold her features better and focus on the game of chess in-between the two of them in the library. Leonardo is napping on the floor in the corner, a blanket she brought from upstairs over his shoulders. It’s been harder to control the pain, flaring up at random times – and she’s sure it still shows on her face, no matter how much she wants to actually hide it. It’s nothing much but discomfort, thrumming from deep inside her chest, but only for now.

It’s a bit annoying that Arthur somehow already picked it up. She frowns at him, pushing her piece across the table. From his own expression, she can tell it was a bold but completely stupid move. It’s fine; she hasn’t played chess in a long time and she didn’t expect to win in the first place anyway.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“You know him better,” she closes her eyes again, turning her neck a bit – Arthur gets a bit distracted staring at the expanse of skin there. “What should I do?”

Arthur grins, his fangs sharp.

“I think you’ve been doing just fine.” He points a finger towards the clock on the wall, already several minutes past the time for Isaac’s meals.

She gets up, technically allowing him the win, leaving the room. Leonardo opens his eyes to peer up at the writer, and although they say nothing out loud, there’s some knowledge passing between the two of them regardless.

***

“Why did you stay until so late, then?” Sebastian asks, grateful that no matter how badly Isaac might need blood, he’s not just grabbing at his shirt and sinking his fangs in his skin, instead ripping from his hands a glass vial.

She’s away now, so his hunger is already slowly fading, as Isaac is trying to do calculus in his head, and more definitely not think about the time spent together, which just keeps adding up.

In the entrance hallway, she’s coughing, delicately trying to cover it up with her handkerchief. When Saint-Germain shows up, she gathers the two small flower buds that she coughed out in her handkerchief, and hides it in her pocket, smiling up at him instead.

The notion of having him as a dance partner staves off the pain, at least for a while, just a bit.

***

She gives and gives. Mistake no. 4: Isaac accepts. He doesn’t know how to say no, even when it hurts. He doesn’t know how to translate her own suffering, when he’s so happy to just have her near.

Isaac’s used with the thirst, nothing else he hasn’t experienced before. The trouble with love is that it feels fresh each and every time.

So while he thinks he has things under control, she most definitely doesn’t. When one chooses to pluck out the flowers growing in their chest, the memories disappear. The one who picks this path, will keep on making the same mistake, not recognizing the patterns, unable to grow with no roots grounding them in place.

So she falls, fast. When Isaac saves her, an upside down mirror of her first night here – not fear thrumming at her wrists this time around, but just the pleasure of having him near, she stumbles, and swears, and the words come out muffled.

She covers her mouth, looking up at Isaac like a deer caught by its hunter. He wants nothing else but – mistake no. 5. Isaac doesn’t stop: then and there, when the doubt starts coiling inside his stomach.

Instead, he offers himself as her company and gentlemanly ignores her when she asks for five minutes to freshen up. In the corner of the room in which she ducked to hide, Vincent pats her back, as petal after petal falls out from between her lips, until she’s left shivering.

And beautiful. Love is pain. Pain is beauty.

Maybe that’s why Isaac cannot look away, cannot keep away: because her cheeks blush with the prettiest of red each time he gets to close. He realizes he maybe pushed too hard simply because, in the fountain where before was only clear water, once he gets up – she’s surrounded by cherry blossoms.

The petals swim all around her, a child leans over to pick a few in her hands. An older lady tuts disappointingly at the two of them. Isaac reaches out a hand, fearful.

But what is he fearing? Why is he so afraid? If this is true –

No.

Mistake no. 6. Isaac cannot believe the obvious signs, because he doesn’t think he’s worthy of them. Men kill more hearts just by not trusting their own.

***

She shivers in the bathtub, the water getting colder, overflowing with flowers and petals. She’ll have to deal with that later – now she is busy counting up to 10, over and over again, trying to calm the thrumming of her heart, the desperate up and down of her chest: her hand pressed over the scar there.

She wonders: how long into these symptoms she got the removal done? How much did she think she could handle, before it all became too much?

Isaac, pushing at Napoleon’s shoulder, bites at his neck, fangs so painful that it makes the other man hiss. The soldier grabs at Isaac’s hair, enough to make eye contact.

“Slowly,” he urges, and Isaac’s grip on him relaxes, though his gulps still ring too loud in his head.

It brings him no pleasure, but his friend calms: with the warmth of another person, the fresh blood, hunger easier to be sated. The tug turns into pets, and Isaac places a kiss where he pierced the skin, lapping at the blood spilling out.

Napoleon sighs. “You’re wet. Let’s change, shall we?”

***

“This room is getting stifling, Toshiko-san,” Dazai says, coming around to check on Isaac.

They’re vampires, they’re supposed to heal and recover fast. Dazai just wants the bragging rights, that he cares the most out of their friends group. And also, maybe, Dazai wants to check the one rumour he has heard, which proves itself quite true.

Isaac is still asleep. Around him, overflowing from his desk and shelves and windowsill: flowers upon flowers, fully bloomed. Dazai sighs. The smell is almost sickeningly sweet – and she looks quite pale.

“I figured I’d be bothering him more if I were to take them out each and every time…”

Each and every time she bends her body over and coughs out flowers in exchange for his love, is the sentence that she doesn’t finish. She is also quite right. And despite it all, she is still here, right next to him.

What a little fool, their Toshiko-san.

***

They dance together, in front of several pairs of eyes, carefully noting each and every small detail, change in them. Like how Isaac’s pupils get the slightest bit more dilated, his fangs sharper, grazing his lips even with his mouth closed. Like how she can’t quite keep her back straight, how she doesn’t really speak.

Sometimes what remains unsaid means more. It is unbearable to hold each other like this, would have been even more unbearable if they didn’t.

Isaac disappears as fast as he appeared, and she’s left on the spot, hands clawing at her throat. She hunches over, clasps her palms to her mouth as she’s trying her damn hardest to stop breathing, to stop feeling. To calm the wave of emotions threatening to spill over, past her lips and in her lap, like a sky decorated with cherry blossoms.

“I believe it is a bit late for that,” Saint-Germain says.

And then they’re out.

***

In the afternoon glow, filtering through the stained glass, she looks beautiful. And Isaac is filled with need: not for her blood, to be fed – but for her love, as a man. His touch against her cheek is tentative and tender and that of someone begging to be held and pushed away at the same time.

Isaac isn’t sure yet which scenario he’s wishing hardest for.

She meets his eyes, and something in him goes even softer. It melts away everything in her.

“W-what is-? Why are you crying…?”

And despite not being hurt, she keeps crying. The tears are just that, in the beginning, and Isaac’s thumb passes over her skin, catching each and every one. She finds she cannot stop, once the dam has been broken: the happiness is suddenly too much. Here he is: just him and her, and he is touching her, and he is caring for her.

Much more than she thought she deserved, much more than she thought she’d get. Way too little compared to how much she still wants. So the tears keep spilling, never stopping. Then they’re not just tears anymore, a petal falling as well each and every time.

Isaac’s hold gets just a bit gentler, and that’s how she knows something is not quite right, before the petals start falling in her lap. Against her cheek, he clenches and unclenches his hands. Slowly, awkwardly, searching her face all along, he reaches out… and pulls her into an embrace.

She sniffles in the material of his shirt, his arms closing around her. The petals are cascading now more rapidly, down his back, and her hands claw at him.

“It’s going to be all right… Please, don’t cry.”

Of course, he can say that because he’s not the one spilling his feelings from his guts, betrayed by his body to show his feelings. He can say that because he is not dying from loving. She trembles in his arms, knowing she doesn’t deserve the comforting, knowing he doesn’t want her.

“… I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her hold on him tightens, and her tears fall even more furiously, accompanied by her pained wailing.

Isaac holds her, gentle as ever, his palms soothingly rubbing down her back. If he were to count the bones he can feel through the thin material of her dress, the numbers would be higher than in a normal human body.

Love taking roots, love taking over.

If she were to see his expression, she would find it pained, his face buried at the crook of her neck. But even when they untangle, Isaac covers his face with his palm, the downward tug at his lips, making his fangs visible, hidden from her.

Mistake no. 7: Isaac cannot tell the truth. Even worse, Isaac hides the truth, even when he knows hers is so painfully obvious, even when that so obviously pains her.

“Do you intend to return home?”

***

“Don’t go back…” Isaac says, laid on his back, her just a bit further to the left.

And while she’s staring at the open night sky in front of her, he can’t stop looking at her.

She shifts, coming up, suddenly coughing up the now familiar flower petals. They’re falling in-between her fingers, overflowing her hold. Isaac’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“Does it bother you?” she asks, in-between gasps of breath.

He looks at her, taken aback.

“This,” she shakes her hands in the air, the pink flowers falling all around her. “Knowing it’s you.”

Isaac chokes on his next words, and changes the topic. He can hear her, trying to keep in a new wave of coughing. He has accidentally heard her complain to Sebastian about the chest pain, how her muscles are aching with how much she’s been heaving, how her insides don’t feel quite alright anymore.

Her body, so small and frail, holding the weight of her entire, spilling love.

***

Isaac doesn’t like the way he gets when he’s hungry – it’s been worse these days, what with the desperate need of her as well. Sometimes, something alike a fog washes over him.

When he comes back to himself, he’s in a bed made of blood and flowers: scene of an almost-crime. She’s still breathing, and that’s all that really matters, but his head is foggy and there’s nothing to do but wait and pray, and pray and wait – and hate himself for all of it.

Isaac has only words to rely on in this scenario, for his feelings. And words tend to fail him already, so much and so often. And he tends to fail words as well, so obliviously.

If he can hurt her even like this, why does she love him?

If he can hurt her even like this, how is he supposed to hold on to this last piece of his humanity while actually accepting that he loves her?

Mistake no. 8. Isaac pushes her away.

***

“Sebastian,” she whines, because it’s the fourth time he’s brought up to her rooms only a bowl of the blandest soup.

He pushes at her shoulder, gluing her back to the pillow again – as it should be. She’s paler now, weaker, and in the air all around her room, the sweetest of fragrance, the spring back in his home country. Bouquets of flowers sprang from place to place since his last visit, and… he is fearful she might not make it for the door.

“Sick patients don’t get to complain about the schedule of an overworked butler.”

She pouts, even as she picks up the spoon. It hangs in-between her fingers.

“Sebastian?”

A beat.

“Yes?”

“Just… why?”

He sighs. “I don’t think anyone knows, or remembers for that matter. I just think it’s just the heart thinking it doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“So you get a person or you get the flowers? They’re pretty, but they’re cruel.”

Sebastian eyes her cracked lips, the petals of her flowers – living and still image of each other.

“So is love.”

A beat.

“Did anyone tell you that you make a terrible emotional support?”

He grins at her, this time flicking her forehead.

“Might have heard it several times before.”

***

“What do you think you’re doing, Newt?” Arthur asks, shoving his friend’s body against the wall, a bit too harshly, holding onto the collar of his shirt.

Isaac covers his hand in his, pushing. Arthur doesn’t let go, just lets out something that is between a growl and a sigh. Isaac, more or less, does the same.

“She’s bad,” Arthur says.

Isaac remains unfazed. “I know.”

“Worse, after all that blood loss.”

And only that – the guilt, makes Isaac actually realize that bad is not just the dull lull in her chest, but something more definite. Arthur would have never gone out of his way like this if that wasn’t the case. Only when the panic settles in, accompanied by a wave of anxiety so forceful Isaac almost feels like throwing up, does Arthur finally let go.

“You can lose her in two ways,” he says. “Pick the one you can live eternity with.”

***

She can’t really speak anymore – words too harsh on her throat, where buds are slowly crawling their way up. Someone comes by to prepare her a new cup of tea regularly, because it’s supposed to soothe the pain. She’s not sure it’s effective at all, but she also cannot complain much anymore, anyway.

Her coughing fits now can keep going for even half an hour at a time, and she cringes with each intake of air, because her muscles are aching so desperately for some kind of relief. She has nothing to give.

Theo comes and reads poetry to her, though she notices him skipping the love poems. Arthur plays chess with her again, though he’s not chiding her for taking too long this time around. Napoleon sits by her side, as they eat crepes together.

She misses a party, stuck in this waiting game, to see what comes first: her demise or her return. Isaac doesn’t – and in the span of a night, he makes a new friend in an old one and loses him too.

He doesn’t want to lose another person. Ever – if possible, or at least not in that way.

His hand trembles around the handle of the door, trying to gather his courage. The familiar scratching at his throat returns, stronger and stronger the longer he hovers.

He enters without knocking, and she looks up from a book she’s trying to read, startled. She immediately starts coughing at the sight of him; this time around, the petals fall freely all around her. Isaac shakes and trembles in the doorway.

“G-gods!” he says, and in two big steps, he’s closer to her bed. “You’re… this is… bad.”

She manages a weak smile at him.

“I know.”

His voice trembles. “How can you be so c-calm about this?”

She shrugs, though it’s just a tiny movement, barely there, so that she doesn’t trigger another coughing fit. She’s had so long to imagine herself at this point – just because it came faster than she expected, doesn’t mean she didn’t expect it at all.

He keeps his distance. Any closer and she’ll just explode in a bouquet of flowers.

“Y-you’ll soon get back and you can get help and-” Isaac is a blabbering mess and a stuttering fool, only for her.

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“Even if I return, I won’t.” She raises a hand to her chest, pressing it to a scar, that Isaac can notice from where her nightgown has slipped down her shoulder. “It would mean forgetting you.”

She raises her gaze, meets his. She’s begging, one last time. She’s telling him, in words this time. And Isaac stands there, stunned into silence, because if she is to have the same fate either way, what is he protecting her from in the first place?

“I love you,” he says, and for a long moment, there’s only silence stretching between them,

Then, he blushes, fidgeting on the spot, the words obviously out without having thought them. She struggles with her bedsheets, but is still fast enough, despite her weak body, to have gotten up on her own feet by the time Isaac is at her side, arms around her waist, to help her.

She licks her lips – chapped and pale things that they are, and looks up at him, exhausted and obviously pushing herself.

“Say it again. Say it and mean it,” her hands, fisted around the material of his shirt, eyes falling down with the request, too much and too late.

“I l-love you. I don’t…. Please don’t just disappear like that.”

His hold tightens around her body and she sighs.

“I love you too,” and she gets up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against him, nothing but a chase gesture.

Isaac closes his eyes, pulling her closer, opening his mouth, his tongue coaxing hers to follow suit. Which she does, so willingly and openly, and something in Isaac’s chest tightens, just the love he has for her. And something in her chest opens up, releasing, just the love she has for him.

When they part, all around them, branches of cherry blossoms surround them. It’s like her chest has been cut open, and everything fell over – and she is smiling, beautifully and honestly for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and Isaac buries his face at her neck, exhausted with the honesty, relieved at her health, so in love that it hurts – and maybe he understands her better than he wanted to admit, maybe he understood her all along.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp isaac #isaac week #isaac x reader #isaac x mc #isaac/reader #isaac/mc #ikevamp isaac newton #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire isaac

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hisunshiine · 5 years

Text

— business attire | kth

👔 pairing: manager!taehyung x assistant!reader 👔 au/genre: CEO au, coworkers 2 lovers, fluff, angst, smut 👔 rating: M 👔 wc: 10, 286 👔 warnings: smut. smut smut smut smut. a little bit of fluff because tae is fluffy. power dynamics, subtle dom!Tae/sub!reader (like blink and you miss it), unprotected sex (please practice safe sex), office sexual harassment (if this happens to you in real life please report them), lots of growling, spanking, fingering, edging, threat of orgasm denial, lite bondage (blink and miss it), "punishment" 👔 an: previously written in 2019, one of my first works! I have since gone back and edited the story so that it was all in the correct tense, and made some very minor changes, but nothing that would change the plot or impact the next stories! I just love this series, and have become a better writer since starting. 👔 summary: Regional Manager Kim TaeHyung works at JinHit Conglomerate, under CEO Kim Namjoon. You, his assistant, are new and bumbling and your mistakes, as well as your skirts, are driving him crazy OR The one where Taehyung can't survive without getting you out of your skirt.

“Kim, report back to me after the 11 o’clock tomorrow.”

The CEO’s voice is firm but quiet, not needing to be loud to command attention. CEO Kim Namjoon has recently taken over for his aging father, and Taehyung is thankful to be working under the younger man; the vibe in the office has shifted to one that's more relaxed, though still respectable.

“Sir.” Kim Taehyung bows his head before standing up from the large table, gathering his folders and the papers falling out of them, dismissed from the office after the morning briefing.

Taehyung leaves the briefing room, walking down the hall to take the elevator to return down to his office, which is a beautiful glass windowed corner workplace. The elevator opens up to the 48th floor, and Taehyung steps out.

“Um, sir? Mr. Kim?” Your soft voice comes from behind Taehyung as you follow him dutifully back towards his office. He pauses his walk mid-stride, turning slowly to look back over his shoulder at you, an eyebrow raised into his blonde hair. He's tall, lean, and has the face of a model; easily the most attractive person you have ever had the pleasure of working under in your entire life.

“Did you want me to take those papers?” you say quietly, gesturing to his hand. “I can create the spreadsheet to send over to the CFO for you.”

He nods once, handing you the papers without looking at you as he resumes walking to his office. You continue to follow him, clutching the papers to your chest as your sensible heels clack on the tiles in the hall. It's only your first month working at JinHit Conglomerate, a company that has multiple investments in the entertainment industry, cyber-security, and property management. They're always on the news; growing companies that contribute to the country’s GDP as much as JinHit Conglomerate does often makes headlines. Add in that two of their top-level C-Suite managers have retired and their handsome, young sons have stepped up in their spots… The media's been eating that shit up. Getting a job here is pivotal for your career, and as a recent graduate, a position like this is vital for moving up the ladder. Currently, you're the assistant to Regional Manager Kim Taehyung, who's tasked with handling the oversight plans for a new property management investment in Seoul.

Taehyung walks through the glass door of his office, shutting it behind him as you walk to your desk stationed at an angle just outside of his door. The blinds on the door are swinging slightly, closed like the rest of the wall’s blinds to prevent you, or anyone else, from seeing into the room. When they're open, you have a straight view to Taehyung’s desk, where he can motion for you to come in when he needs something. Lately though, he'd been keeping the blinds shut, propping his door open throughout the day instead.

You sit down at your desk, sighing as you shuffle the papers into a neat stack before grabbing your highlighter. You plan to go through and highlight the details that involve money so that you can create the spreadsheet for the Chief Financial Officer, Kim Seokjin, to review and create his proposal of money related information for the new investment CEO Kim had discussed. Your eyes flicker to the blinds, sensing movement, but when you look, nothing is amiss. You look back at your work, crossing one leg over the other as you adjust your skirt and begin highlighting.

After an hour, you feel relief that you've finished the spreadsheet, which you print out to take to the CFO’s assistant. This is your first official contribution to a new project, since you're new to the company, you have spent most of your time learning your job duties and filing papers from the last project Taehyung had been working on when you started. This is your chance to start from the beginning of a project, learn the ropes and hopefully move up the ranks to become a regional manager, like your direct boss. As you walk to the copy room to pick up the printed copy of your hard work from the last hour, you bump into the Chief Information Officer, Jeon Jungkook. He looks even better in person than he does in the picture hanging in the Top-Level Manager’s Hallway on the 50th floor.

“Oh, is this yours?” He asks you, handing you papers from the machine.

“Yes sir, thank you.” You bow your head to him, grasping the printout, but he doesn't let go. You look up, questioning him with your face.

“Next time you print something of this nature, send it to the printer queue and select it once you’re here. That way you have to enter your employee code to access it, instead of leaving sensitive information sitting where anyone off the street can pick it up.” His tone isn’t mean; he's just doing his job to educate the new employee about proper information security, per his job , and you know this, but your eyes still prickle, tears forming in the corners as you bow in apology. He lets go of your papers and walks out of the copy room. You can’t help but watch his backside as he exits, all broad back, slim waist, and thick thighs confidently heading back to what you assume is his office.

You let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, inhaling the CIO’s cologne that still lingers in the air.

Back at your desk, Taehyung has propped open the door now, and motions at you to come into his office. You fix your hair quickly and swipe at your eyes to make sure any makeup that may have smudged from your quick tears earlier is fixed.

“Do you have those papers I gave you earlier?” He asks, his eyes taking in your shape. You feel your cheeks warm as his eyes linger on your hips before his eyes meet yours. You nod and walk back out of the room to grab them from your desk.

“What is this?” He asks once you’re back in the room, flinging the papers forcefully onto the desk as he stands abruptly from his chair. The papers end up flying haphazardly on the desk and scatter onto the floor as well. You take a step back, confused by his behavior. He walks to the door and kicks the doorstop out of the way, allowing it to shut. He turns towards you, and you see him rolling his sleeves up one by one, the veins in his arms flexing as his fingers work the sleeves.

You shudder as you take a breath, a confusion of sensations; worry at his evident anger yet eyeing his vascular arms as you feel a warmth pooling in your lower abdomen.

“What’s wrong sir?” you speak, voice almost breathless as he stalks closer to you.

“You’ve highlighted all over my papers,” He growls, stopping in front of you.

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t realize you would be needing them after I created the spreadsheet.”

He takes a deep breath, his fingers pinching the bridge of his symmetrical nose.

“Y/N, of course I need them, they have all of the information from the meeting on them and there are other things that I handle as the Regional Manager that require the information on the sheet. Not to mention that they get filed into the official reports at the end of the project.”

He looks like he’s holding himself back, jaw tight with fists clenched as he takes several deep breaths before he walks back over to his chair, apparently able to calm himself down. You sense his energy shift out of the anger and his pupils return to normal as he sits, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ll re-type the pages for you sir, I’m so sorry.” You try your best to sound apologetic, though you don’t understand why he’s so worked up about some yellow highlighter.

“It’s fine.” He turns to his computer, and you can tell he’s done speaking with you. You go to his desk to collect the papers; some have slid from his desk and onto the floor by his feet.

You stand there awkwardly waiting for him to notice your attempts to get the documents on the floor, and after what feels like 5 minutes, he rolls his chair backwards so you can retrieve the papers. You bend your knees, reaching for the papers, though you have to extend a bit for the last page that's further under the desk. You let out a squeal as you feel your backside smart from what you believe is a spank. Your cheeks flush pink as you hurriedly stand to confront your boss.

“Mr. Kim!”

He’s sitting back in his seat, legs spread with his arms bent, elbows on the armrests as he flexes his interlocked fingers, pupils blown. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue what you were about to say, but at the sight of him licking his lips, the words fade from yours as you feel a wetness growing in your panties.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Uh. Um.” When you don’t say anything he smirks, biting his lip.

“Next time, ask before you highlight, or at least make yourself a copy,” his voice dripping with seductive condensation, “we wouldn’t want you getting… punished , would we?”

You shake your head and turn on your heel, walking to the door to escape when you hear his low baritone address you once more.

“You should wear more skirts; they look lovely on you.”

That night, you're reeling as you think about what happened with your boss earlier. You toss in your bed, replaying the moment your ass had risen up so you could stretch and grab the papers, and he had the audacity to spank you. For highlighting some papers!

You run through everything you could have said or done to him, from screaming about going to HR to file a complaint, to slapping him across that smug, yet handsome face, to snatching him by his tie to pull those pink lips closer to you as you straddled him, grinding on him as his pretty hands gripped your ass…

You turn over onto your front, face into the pillow as you scream into it. How would you ever face him the rest of the week? You're confused about how to feel over what happened. On the one hand, you enjoyed it. But on the other, your business ethics class told you to report such behavior. But you know that you won't. Admittedly, you'd fantasized about him everyday while sitting at your desk, wishing that he would sweep his hand across his own and fling everything off of it to lay you back onto the now clear spot and ravish you…that spank had only made your daydreams feel like they could be reality.

You finally fall asleep, upset when the alarm wakes you from dreams of ties, long fingers, and a pink pout that leaves you with slick on your thigh.

After you shower, you flick through the clothes in your closet, unsure about what to wear. You'd previously chosen your black pants with a pale pink blouse that screams ‘recent graduate with student loans’, but you keep replaying Taehyung’s last sentence to you.

You should wear more skirts; they look lovely on you.

You skim your fingers over one of your favorite skirts; it's tight to your frame and stops about mid-thigh, and if you tuck the pink shirt into it, it can look professional. As long as you don't do any bending and snapping, or god forbid, have to pick up papers again, you'll be fine.

Arriving to work early, you clutch the drink carrier holding your iced coffee and Taehyung’s tea. He despises coffee, something you'd learned the first day when you accidentally brought him one from the staff lounge trying to be friendly. The elevator opens and you step into the empty car, waiting for the doors to shut. As the doors are about to meet, a slender hand intervenes, revealing the body of your boss as they spring apart and he steps inside. This time when the door closes, they didn’t open again until you reach your destination, and you have to ride up all 48 floors with Kim Taehyung, who had just spanked you yesterday, alone.

It's so quiet in the elevator car, neither of you speaking for the first 40 floors. You decide to break the silence and offer him his tea. He thanks you as he grabs it from the carrier, and before the elevator reaches the 48th floor, he looks at you with a heat in his eyes.

“Seems like you got dressed with me in mind.”

At that moment the doors slide open and he steps out into the main floor of the division, leaving you stupefied.

The rest of the week goes by relatively well, with no more major flubs causing you to get yelled at by any of the heads of the company. You make sure to practice proper information security and make copies before highlighting any documents that Taehyung might need. You'd worn a skirt every day so far, and he had called you into his office every morning to have you retrieve something or other, though you reckon that he just wants to see you strut through his office in your skirts. He's also been a little warmer to you since your spanking, offering a smile here and there, and inviting you into his office at lunch time.

Today is the last Friday of the month, and CEO Kim has declared the last Friday as casual Fridays. So instead of your skirt, you decide to wear jeans and a band tee, paired with your favorite platform sandals. After setting down Taehyung’s tea on his abandoned desk, you begin your morning routine returning phone calls and taking messages. He finally arrives about 15 minutes or so after you, hair wet and smelling like fresh soap. He's dressed in a black tee that is tight across his shoulders and chest, looser at his waist, tucked into his black jeans and cinched with a belt. He has a gym bag on his shoulder, which he sets down by your desk.

“Y/N, give me a couple minutes to settle into my office and then come in so we can go over my messages.”

“Okay, uh, what do you want me to do with your gym bag?” you question, a little thrown off since this is the first time you’re seeing it. Of course he goes to the gym, how else would he have such a great ass? Not that you're looking or anything whenever you trail behind him to all of the meetings.

“Ah, newbie, I forget. At lunch, we play ball. Bring it down to the court with you at 11:45. Oh, and don’t forget to fax those plans over to the construction company.”

He walks into his office, shutting the door and effectively ending your line of questioning.

Play ball? Who is this ‘we’ he speaks of? Surely he doesn’t expect you to get out there and play...You don't even have proper footwear for that! You give your head a little shake, and grab at your binder where you notated all of Taehyung’s phone calls and messages, waiting for him to intercom you via phone when he's ready for you.

When 11:45 rolls around, you've just recently finished typing up a report for Taehyung, who is in his glass tower on the phone arguing about blueprints for the property. You can hear his low register voice going back and forth with the person as your eyes follow him as he paces, a bluetooth phone attachment in his ear. He has a small heart-shaped stress ball clenched in his hand, and you imagine his fist around your neck, lust building from the depths of your core. You unintentionally bite your lip, and he pauses his pacing, staring you down as he continues to yell into his headpiece.

“The blueprints were finalized. I have the contracts sitting right here. Signed. So follow the plans, or we’ll see you in court.”

His eyes never leave your face, and you squeeze your thighs together, hoping to alleviate the dull ache that's growing. The person on the call must have hung up, because Taehyung removes the bluetooth headset, setting it down on his desk with a huff. He then stalks out of his office and walks past you, only to turn around and come back to your desk. Most of the other workers have already left the floor to head out for lunch, so it’s just you and Taehyung in this part of the building. He leans down, bracing himself with your desk as he gets in your face.

His hand comes up to rest on your cheek, where he uses his thumb to pull your bottom lip out from where you have it wedged between your teeth.

“Running late, aren’t you, kitten?” he says quietly, nodding his head towards the clock on your desk.

11:55. Shit. Wait? Did he just call you ‘kitten’?

“Sorry sir.”

Grabbing for the strap of the FILA gym bag, you stand, cheeks warm from embarrassment.

“Hmm, no skirt.” He sounds slightly disappointed as he takes in your outfit of choice. He steps away from you, heading to the elevator.

“Kitten,” you hear him say lowly, “I need my shit.”

You hustle after him, gym bag in tow, enjoying the view.

‘We’ did not include you, as your luck would have it. Sitting in the front row of the bleachers in the company gym on the 7th floor, you take in the view of your boss, your bosses boss, and other important people to JinHit on the court. They're playing three vs three, with one of them standing off to the side gulping a gatorade. You know most of them, but two of them you don't recognize as coworkers. You play on your phone mostly, glancing up when the guys yell or make grunting noises, but other than that, you sit there bored, waiting for the game to be over.

When you and Taehyung had entered the gym earlier, he took his bag from you and pointed to the front row of the bleachers.

“Sit there.”

He walked away to the locker room, and bewildered, you followed his instructions. As time progressed, the stands filled with coworkers, other assistants, managers of other departments and more. You can hear the female employees talking about the men, gossiping and idolizing.

“Hoseok is so bad…but soooo good.” One girl gushes. You don't recognize the name, and assume he must be one of the two you don't know. “If he doesn’t shape up, his dad is going to make him enlist soon, but I’d really miss his tongue if he did.”

The group giggles, and you roll your eyes. You look around, wondering if Taehyung would notice if you left.

The sounds of basketball grow louder, shoes squeaking on the glossy floor when you hear the men on the court yell out.

It’s too late.

Taehyung is falling into you, ball swatted away from what surely would have been a nasty collision with your head. Instead, your boss, dripping with sweat, is caught by you, leaving you breathless and not in a good way. You're both now sprawled on the ground, his body lying on top of yours as the wind is literally knocked out of you since you broke his fall. Your phone has slid across the floor, a big crack splintering across the screen.

Taehyung is lifting himself up off you, hands bracing him above you as he pants like a lover in the throws of passion.

“Y/N, it would be beneficial if you would pay attention.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you answer. “Yes sir.”

His eyes darken, as he takes in your positions, before slowly rising and offering you his hand to pull you up as well. The other guys on the court are standing in a circle, glancing over at Taehyung and you as they whisper amongst themselves. CEO Kim, jogs over to where you’re standing, picking up your phone before pushing his hair out of his face.

“So, sorry, uh…?”

“Y/N.” Taehyung and you both speak your name at the same time.

“Y/N. Sorry, that was my terrible pass that caused this. I’m Namjoon.”

He hands you your phone, and you wince at the damage.

“Tae will replace that for you. Use the card.” He directs the last part to your boss, who nods, grinning.

“All right everyone! Thanks for watching us today, but it’s time to get back to work!” The CEO’s voice echoes through the gym as his employees begin to file out, laughing with each other and randomly shouting thanks for providing time to relax. They can access the gym, swim in the natatorium, use the sauna, get a free massage, and pretty much do whatever they want from 12PM to 2PM. Casual Fridays were a great added benefit to the way the workers view their employer, with satisfaction ratings improving across the board.

“Oh yea, the food trucks are outside the main entrance. Paid for, so grab some food before you get back to your desks!” Namjoon adds, inciting cheers from your coworkers.

“I’m going to the locker room, wait for me here. We’ll go grab lunch together.” Taehyung places his hand on your lower back gently, the heat from his skin passing through your thin shirt. The caress calls to a part of you that you’ve been trying to tamper down ever since he collided with you.

While you wait for your boss, the gym clears out, and the group of players on the court makes their way towards you and Namjoon.

“Hey, hope you’re okay,” a guy you don't recognize says. He's taller than you, but shorter than the others, black hair sticking to his forehead. He has plump lips and his eyes turn into half-moons as he smiles at you.

“Yes, thank you, I’m doing okay.”

“I’m Jimin,” he offers out his hand, “my dad is the COO.”

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You shake his hand, and the others catch the end of the greeting, beginning a chain of introductions.

“Seokjin, CFO.”

“Jungkook, CIO.”

“Yoongi, JHC Head Lawyer.”

“Hoseok, son of the Board’s Chairman.”

“Y/N, I’m Taehyung’s assistant.”

“Ahh, Taehyungie, lucky guy.” Hoseok laughs as he sat on the bleachers unlacing his shoes in favor of his PUMA slides.

“Lucky for what?”

Taehyung rejoins the group, looking like he's taken a quick shower and thrown on his black on black outfit again.

“Oh, we just had the pleasure of meeting your assistant.” Hoseok chuckles, practically eye-fucking you, but before Taehyung can say anything Namjoon interjects.

“Okay, Hobi, leave the lady alone. Let’s go get changed and we can meet in my office.” The guys all filter into the locker room, leaving you with your boss.

“Ready?” Once again, his hand is placed on your lower back, his pinkie grazing the curve of your ass as he applies gentle pressure to guide you out to the elevators for lunch. “Sorry about Hobi, he likes to play with all the girls he meets.” Taehyung’s eyes lock on yours. “But I’ll keep you safe from him, kitten.”

The weekend off from work is nice, but you feel empty, like you're missing something. For one, your phone screen is broken, so it's hard to use your phone to play games or text your friends, but Taehyung promised to take you Monday to get the new phone at lunch time, and you can survive a couple of days without it. Saturday you decide to get your hair and nails done, and on Sunday you decide to go out shopping, where you purchase several more items to wear to work, since your paycheck had come in. Working for JinHit definitely pays well, but living in the city isn’t cheap either. But knowing you're going out with your boss to pick up a new phone and eat lunch, you want to look like you work for one of the biggest companies in the country, like he did when he walks into the building. When you'd first started, you felt self-conscious about your physical appearance. You didn’t want to feel that tomorrow.

Monday morning you wake up a little earlier and lay out your new clothes, choosing to wear a new navy blue dress. It's a classic style, sleeveless and reaching mid thigh; business-y for sure, yet very much sexy. There's a side slit on the right thigh that you love, and hope a certain someone will also enjoy. Looking into the mirror, your makeup is done up a little bit more than usual, and you feel like you look good. Your hair has some new highlights in it, a trim making it look healthy. You style it carefully in the mirror, praying the humidity won't make it frizz up. You take care to wear a new pair of heels you bought which accentuate your legs. Excitement carries you through the morning transit to work, barely noticing the hassle of traffic and the coffee shop line.

Sitting at your desk, you complete all of your daily tasks, answering the phones and returning calls, taking messages, checking emails, and more. Taehyung had been in earlier than you, and you can hear his muffled voice in the office, presumably on the phone. You glance at the time, seeing it's almost lunch. He'd ignored your knocks earlier when you tried to bring in his tea, so you try texting him, but with your screen still wonky, you can barely spell out the question and you give up, knowing he's probably in a mood based on the closed door and him ignoring your knocks. You give a sigh, excitement from this morning finally all the way gone. You lean down to pick up your purse, resigning yourself to go to the cafe downstairs instead of out with Taehyung for lunch and to get your new phone.

The door to the glass office flies open, and Taehyung storms out, eyes a dark swirling typhoon as he sets his gaze on you.

“Let’s go.”

You stand up and begin walking behind him, but it must've been too slow, because he reaches back and grips your wrist, pulling you along with him at a faster pace. In the elevator, he still hasn’t let go of you, and you grow more anxious. Not in the sense that he'll hurt you, but his demeanor is so tense that it has you on edge. He's taking deep breaths, and by the time you'd traveled half of the way down, his grip loosens.

“Are you okay?” you don't move to look at him, but want to express that you're worried about him.

“We had a little setback with the plans is all. I have someone looking into it. Right now, I promised to get you a new phone and treat you to lunch.”

Upon reaching the single digit floors, he turns to you, much more composed. You can feel his stare burning a hole through your body.

“Your hair looks nice,” his voice is like honey, no traces of anger left, and he drops your wrist to fix his tie before walking towards the main door. Your wrist feels cold now that he's no longer holding onto you.

As you sit at one of the most expensive restaurants you've ever been in, you marvel at the sleek upgraded phone you have. Getting a new phone is a lot easier when you have a company card. Taehyung made sure it was the best phone possible, gently persuading you that it isn’t even a dent on the black card he has. You consented, secretly glad that you're able to have the latest model for free. Plus, the looks from the workers as they took in how you and Taehyung stood, his hand pressed to your back angling you towards him as he leaned close to your ear…their jealousy let you know that you look very much the part to be on his arm.

You've seen a side of Taehyung that's slowly been coming to light. He's confident, that's for sure, and can have a crazy temper when angered about work, but he is also soft and warm. He's playful with his friends at work, ruffling CIO Jeon’s hair after meetings and making jokes with CEO Kim at lunch time. And the way that he takes care of you at work? You've never known a boss to get an extra chair for his assistant at meetings, or argue with the DoorDash delivery guy over your missing lunch item. When you had to text him that you were running late because your heel broke on the way and you had to turn back home for a pair of flats, you arrived at your desk with a box of designer heels waiting for you.

The waiter serves you both some wine, and now you feel warm and happy. Taehyung loosens his tie and tells you about some wild party in college, which coincidentally includes the men you met last week at the basketball court. You feel much more comfortable with your boss than before, realizing you're the same age. He's always seemed a couple years older than you, but where you took a few years to change your major and decide on a career path, he had gone straight for it. As you nibble on some appetizers he requested, not yet ready to order entrees, his phone goes off, a quick beep and vibration alerting him to a message. He pulls it out of his pocket, using one hand to unlock it as he takes another sip of his wine.

You watch as his eyes darken, darting across the screen.

“Waiter! Bill it.” The server startles at his growl and stands frozen, but nods that she understands.

“We need to go back to the office. Now.”

You nodd, unsure of what he could've received on his phone that's sparked this sudden change, but you gather your purse nonetheless, as he sets down his wine glass and leads you back out to the black SUV you arrived in.

The entire trip back to the office is silent and you can feel the rage roiling off of him. It doesn't recede either the closer you get to the office, up the elevator, or even walking along the 48th floor.

“My office.”

You head there instead of turning to go to your desk, perplexed. Once the door shuts, he is in your space instantly, and all you feel is lust rolling through your veins.

“On Friday, I asked you to fax some papers. Do you have the fax receipt that it was sent?”

You blink up at him, mind running through Friday. And then you remember. He had asked you to fax papers. But it was a verbal request and he had thrown in at the end of giving you another task, so you didn’t have it written on your to-do list. And you were definitely too busy eye fucking him that it slipped your mind.

“Oh my god, Taehyung, I am so sorry… I…Friday was just so, God I’m so stupid.” You call him by his name, the wine clouding your judgement, but he’s so angry he doesn’t seem to notice. You bury your face in your hands, embarrassed but also disappointed in yourself for failing him.

“You’re not stupid, Y/N.”

You look up at him, eyes wet from tears that had formed.

“You’re beautiful and infuriating and…and unfortunately you have to be punished.”

You take a step back, fear coursing through your veins that you might be fired. You're due for your 60-day evaluation, and you just know that this will be splashed across the paper, preventing you from being hired anywhere else.

Instead, Taehyung grabs your arm and pulls you over to his desk. He pushes your back and you bend at the waist, chest to the desk. You hear him sit in his chair, the creaking filling the silence of the room.

“Do you know that this little setback cost us two million dollars?” His hands are placed behind each knee, slowly traveling up the backs of your thighs before slipping under the hem of your dress.

“Two. Million. Dollars. Because every day that we could have had those papers faxed is a day they didn’t work, but per the contract, they still get paid for those days. So Friday and today… you cost us two million dollars.” His palms are now rubbing slow circles on your ass cheeks, his path having pushed your dress up so it bunches at the waist, and you feel a gush as your panties become wet.

“Mr. Kim...” you whimper, cheek pressing against his desk.

“Y/Nnnnn.” He holds the last syllable of your name, practically moaning as he stands up and leans over your body, putting his chest to your back.

“You drive me crazy. I’m insatiable,” his hands have crept higher to the waistband of your panties, and he's painstakingly slow with pulling them down. His thumbs running along the skin as it's exposed, delicately tracing your smooth backside until they hit your labia, practically dripping with slick. “I think about you all fucking day in your skirts and dresses, legs on display for me, FUCK.”

His left hand goes to yours, interlocking your fingers. You let out a soft moan, and his thumb continues down your slit until he can apply pressure to your throbbing clit. You push up onto your tippy toes, searching for more .

“I’m sorry, I just…It slipped my mind.” He begins circling his thumb and you push back into it.

“So infuriating. Disobedient.” Taehyung breathes into your neck. “And yet…” You feel his lips on your neck, soft and wet kisses turning into little nips as his fingers dip inside of you. You mewl as you squeeze his left hand, praying he gives in, but his fingers maintain their lackadaisical speed, so you wiggle your ass to find any friction possible for your pulsing bud.

You hear him suck in a breath, a whispered curse as he buries his nose into your neck. You can feel his erection pressing into your thigh, and you want it. You want him.

“Sir…please. Punish me.”

Taehyung pulls his fingers out slowly before forcefully pushing them into you before holding them there, using the come hither motion to stimulate your g-spot. His fingers remove themselves from yours as he stands back up off of you, and you can hear rustling.

His fingers appear in front of your face.

“Open.”

You taste yourself on his fingers, sucking your juices off of his digits.

“Hands behind your back.”

Soft material wraps around your wrists; his tie binds you firmly.

You can hear his deft fingers now working his belt.

“You don’t,” he pants, “get to cum. Not until I say. IF I say.”

You whimper, wanting so badly to reach your climax, but the need to have him fill you this instant overpowers your hope for the end result. You nod.

When the head of his erect cock rubs teasingly along your opening, you shiver with anticipation, arousal from hearing the way your essence sounds coating the head of his member leading you to clench around nothing. He pulls back his dick before slapping it against your pussy, and you groan. He’s playing with you, taking his time, and it’s so unfair. The tip enters you slowly, slight pressure causing you to push against it, impatient. You can hear his low groan, music dripping from his lips as he is enveloped by your warm walls.

“It’s so fucking tight.” His voice is but a growl, and he pauses, breathing heavily.

You clench around him, adjusting to his girth, and let out a yelp when his palm makes contact with your butt cheek.

“Don’t do that, kitten. I’ll fucking cum in you right now and leave you like this, wet and wanting.”

You freeze, and after a few moments, he begins to move inside of you, picking up his speed at his own leisure. His hands are on your waist, fingers leaving imprints as they grip into your hips bones to hold you firm since you can’t hold the desk yourself.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pulls almost all the way out of you, “you bad girl.” He shoves his cock back into you, and you moan.

“Tae… please sir, I’ll be good.” He’s speeding up, and you can feel your lower abdomen starting to build up from the pleasure.

“Hold it, Y/N. Follow directions just this once, dammit.”

His movements become more sporadic, hips moving jerkily as you mewl and moan.

“Tae please, please! I’m… I can’t, f-fuck, you feel t-too good!” You strain against the tie, wanting your hands free, wishing to touch him.

Two pumps of his cock later and he’s painting your walls with his cum, his slowing thrusts causing it to leak out around his shaft.

“Please!” you beg, legs weak from shaking.

His hand reaches around to your front, fingers finding your clit.

“Cum, kitten.”

You release on command, walls contracting around him as he remains inside of you. Your orgasm is hard and long, and when you finally come to, you're panting heavily, chest rising and falling from the desk. Taehyung extracts himself from you, and you can feel him sliding up your panties back into place. The wetness is uncomfortable, but you can’t yet speak. He adjusts your dress back over your bottom before he unties you and pulls you from the desk and into his lap. You curl into him, head tucking under his chin and legs over his. You can feel as he places kisses into your hair, a hand rubbing your lower back.

“You did so good, baby.” His voice is soft, no traces of the anger he had earlier. It seems you've fucked it out of him.

“I,” you clear your throat, “I’m sorry sir. It won’t happen again.” You nuzzle your face into his neck, feeling his Adam’s apple bob as he chuckles. He takes your wrists into his hands, softly massaging where you'd been bound before gently kissing the inside of each wrist.

“Please don’t lose the company two million dollars again, but… I think after this you can call me Tae.”

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. You show up on time, in your skirts and dresses, and did your job duties as outlined in the employee manual. And throughout the day, you did a few extra that are definitely not listed. Taehyung is unquenchable, but you're more than happy to sate his hunger when the need arises. It's never like the first time again, no punishment of delayed release, and definitely lacking the punishment of not being allowed to remove his seed from you until you clock out, but still every bit as sensual. His hands can't not be on you, his lips always pressing kisses to your face and body as he pleasures you. His office, the copy room, the locker room in the 7th floor gym. A late Friday night in the elevator.

And though it's fun, sexy, and dangerous…you want more. You've gotten to spend a lot of time with Taehyung as the project progresses, and you learn more about each other on these late nights in the office. He's carefree and happy, except when angered. Anger is the one stubborn emotion he has, where you can visibly see when he's upset. But he loves to laugh, hates coffee, enjoys watching you blush when he calls you kitten, has a Pomeranian named Yeontan that he loves to pieces, and great stories from his teens and early twenties with the CEO, CIO, CFO...basically, all of the guys you met last month on casual Friday. Turns out not only had they gone to the same high school and college together, they'd all been in the same fraternity, Beta Tau Sigma, which explain the letters ‘BTS’ on Taehyung’s desk. As you get to know more about him and share with him about your life, you find yourself wanting to be a part of his life, as more than just his assistant.

The problem is that you didn’t know how to tell your boss that you want more.

It's been 2 months. In that time span, you've fallen, without a doubt, for Kim Taehyung. At work, he's an attentive boss, making sure you are taking care of yourself and not overworking. When you clear your 90 days and earn your full time status and benefits, he gets you a cute card, thanking you for all of your hard work. Inside is a gift certificate to a spa. Several weeks after that, you have the worst cramps in the world. Sat at your desk, near tears, you feel the nausea rolling through you from how intense the pain is. Taehyung calls you to come into his office, and you nearly stumble through the doorway from how much agony you're in. He has you take the black company SUV home early that day and when you come in the next morning, you have a gift bag on your keyboard, filled with your favorite chocolates, a bottle of Midol, and a heating pad that you can plug into your desktop tower’s usb port. That week, you stay late on a Friday, and he massages your shoulders while he waits for you to finalize an email before escorting you out of the building and hailing you an Uber so you get home safely. ANY time you stay after the sunset, he orders you an Uber. It's been two months, two long months of secretly pining away for your boss, who's just finished fucking you in his office.

It's late at night on a Thursday, and you're sat atop him, straddling his thighs as you rest your head on his shoulder, nosing his neck. His hands stroke your thighs, the two of you catching your breath. Even after he's done climaxing, he always wants to keep his hands on you, caressing your skin or cuddling with you, and you don't resist, because your heart skips a beat every time he idolizes your body during aftercare.

“Y/N.” His baritone rumbles in his chest.

“Hmm?” Eyes closed, you’re ready for a nap. Fuck that it’s nearly 8 PM, with the two of you probably the last ones in the building for the day.

“We should probably get ready to leave.”

“Oh.” You sit up, eyes wide looking at him. “Yea, you’re probably right.”

You move to get up, but then freeze realizing that the two of you are still…connected.

“Um, Tae? If I stand up...” You glance down at where the two of you meet.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot,” he laughs, “I’m not used to you being on top.”

He’s not wrong. His need for you to be his soft and demure kitten, begging for his cock and calling him sir is immense, and over the past few months that you'd been having sex, you can count on one hand when you've been the predator, the one who calls the shots. Not that you mind; his dominance isn’t something that bothers you and he always takes care of you afterwards.

He loosens then removes his tie before gently lifting you up off of him, using said tie to staunch the mingling of juices from getting all over his black slacks. You stand on wobbly legs, adjusting your skirt before making your way to the restroom down the hall from your desk. After you clean yourself up, you wash your hands and are startled when you feel arms wrapping around you. Taehyung entered the bathroom, and is holding you in an embrace, his face tucked into the long slope of your neck, his lips resting softly against the skin he's left small lavender blemishes on.

“Tae?”

This is odd to you. He never continues the aftercare once you're done. You two would simply part ways; you gathering your purse and he with his briefcase or gym bag, taking opposite paths down the sidewalk out front of the building.

“Come home with me?” Tae murmurs into your neck.

You stiffen, thrown completely off by his actions. He feels you tense up, instantly releasing you and backing away.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you have plans or something.” He shakes his head, moving his hair to block his eyes.

“No! It’s fine...” You grab at the paper towels to dry your hands before facing him. “Um, I, uh, sure. Yes. I’d love to come home with you.”

His face breaks into a boxy smile and he takes your hand, pulling you out into the hallway and back towards your desk. He grabs your belongings with his free hand and looks at you.

“Ready?”

You nod, heart fluttering as you walk side by side to the elevators.

You make a stop at your house, grabbing some toiletries and clothes to sleep in. You're in such a rush that you don't stop to make sure you have everything you'll need for work tomorrow. Your brain is going wild, thoughts racing as you climb back into the Uber which is now programmed to go to Tae’s place. You've imagined this happening several times, and now it is. You feel like everyone in the car can hear your heart beating as the tree-lined streets pass by, especially when it speeds up as Taehyung pulls you closer to him across the leather seats. His head dips down, pressing soft kisses at the corner of your mouth, trailing your jaw line up until he reaches that sweet spot by your ear, and kissing back your neck, pausing to suckle delicately as his hands roam your thighs.

You let out a small gasp as his fingers graze the edge of your panties; you're already wet again just from the neck kisses.

He chuckles softly into the curve of your neckline, enjoying the way your body reacts to him, almost as if you're a livewire and any contact will spark the electricity through you. He teases you relentlessly, tracing the seam where panties meet skin, moving as if he is about to slide underneath them, and just when you believe that he'll broach the barrier, the Uber is slowing down in front of what you assume if Taehyung’s place. He removes his hands from your body and gets out, going around the car to your door and helping you by grabbing your duffel bag before taking your hand and leading your from the car.

His building is downtown; you recognize the area as being fairly close to the JinHit building where you work. It’s large, towering above most of the other establishments in the area, at least 20 stories high. He leads you into the lobby, scanning something on his key to unlock the doors. The lobby is clean and quiet, with elevators situated along the back wall. He presses the button to call for it but the doors spring open instantly and you step in. He follows you, and when you turn around to face the closing doors, he reaches behind himself to press the floor number; 18. Next thing you know, he’s pressing his chest to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

A shiver rolls down your spine from his breath in your ear. Your cheeks warm, still not used to being complimented by him. You snake your arms up to his shoulders as he pulls his head back to look at you and you press up onto your toes, kissing him slowly. Your tongue seeks entrance to his mouth, and he acquiesces, twirling his own tongue around yours. You stroke the back of his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck causing him to moan softly into your mouth. God, you love the sounds he made.

When the elevator doors slide open, you're out of breath yet still wanting more. Taehyung may call himself insatiable, but you feel the same way, constantly craving more of him. He's intoxicating. Using the same scan key that he used to open the lobby, he unlocks the large wooden door to what you can tell is a condo style home, a large open layout showcasing a kitchen to the immediate right as you walk in, a hallway to the left, and straight ahead is the living room area, with a large floor to ceiling window that provides an amazing view of Seoul. He hears your intake of breath as you step inside after him. Stepping out of your shoes, your bare toes enjoy the cool wooden floors. It's still dark, but the city lights provide enough illumination for you to navigate towards it. He sets your bag down and follows you, enjoying how enthralled you are by the view. You hear small footsteps pattering towards you, and a small dog appears, sniffing at your feet before jumping up onto your leg with his front paws.

“Tannie!” Taehyung greets his pup, and looks up at you almost remorsefully.

“I have to take him out. I have a dog walker, but he finishes walking him around 5. There’s a dog area on the roof. I’ll be back in a few, make yourself at home.”

You nod, watching Taehyung being domestic as he grabs the leash off the hook on the wall and clipping a roll of doggy bags to his belt loop on his slacks. Yeontan is hopping around happily, waiting to go outside. You walk towards the door to get your bag, and Taehyung turns to you when you stand.

“It’s nice coming home with you,” he murmurs, and your heart does the thing again.

“I’ll be here when you get back.” You smile demurely, kissing his cheek before he heads out.

You turn on the light in the kitchen and decide to find his bedroom. The hallway has three doors and you make your way down opening each of them. The right door is the bathroom, the left appears to be a guest bedroom/office space. It contains a full size bed, a desk, bookcase, and pictures of Taehyung and his friends in front of famous landmarks; apparently they are a well-traveled group of friends. You shut this door and head to the last one. You find the master bedroom, bed situated in the center of the wall, neatly made with a red comforter, pillows donning the Union Jack flag of Great Britain. There are bedside tables on either end with matching lamps, and you notice a door ajar showing clothing on one side. The opposite end reveals your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed, with hair falling and framing your face from your bun. Despite looking fucked out, you think you look pretty. Your eyes are wide and sparkly and the flush provides a splash of natural color giving you an ethereal glow as the light from the hallway creates a halo effect. Setting your bag down on an ottoman you notice by the bedroom door, you walk towards the bathroom, hoping to freshen up a little better before he returns. You turn on the shower, stripping down so you can step inside.

Taehyung returns after letting Yeontan run around a little bit and use the bathroom. He can hear the shower running, and he feels happy knowing you're settling in fine, especially if you felt comfortable enough to take a shower. He adds food to Tannie’s bowl, replenishes the water, and pads down the hall as he hears the water shut off. When he walks into the bathroom, he finds you stark naked, stepping out of the shower.

You turn to him, feeling slightly foolish for not having found any towels first. He opens a cabinet door and hands you a fluffy one, which you thank him for giving you.

“I’m going to take one too,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to the tiled floor. He’s giving you a show as his slacks slip down next, and you wish you'd stayed a little longer in the shower.

You must’ve made a face, because he adds, “you can join me if you want.”

Throwing the towel onto the sink, you head back into the water with him.

You’re curled under warm covers, snuggled into a broad chest. You begin to stir, waking slowly as your internal clock alerts you that it is time to get up and get ready. Arms tighten around you as you try and roll over so you can get up.

“Mmm.”

“Tae, we have work,” you gently remind him that you have to get up.

“Babyyyyy, 5 more minutes.”

He opens one eye, looking at the digital alarm clock. “Um, it’s way too early to get up for work.”

“I always wake up at 6:45.”

“You also don’t live within walking distance of the office.” Taehyung’s sleepy voice is sensual without trying. It awakens the ache between your thighs, reminding you of last night. “We don’t have to get up till 7:15 at the earliest. It takes like 10 minutes to walk there, max.”

He rolls over, bracing himself above you.

“I guess we should make use of the extra 30 minutes we have.”

Taehyung brings his lips to yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him to you. After kissing for several minutes, you reach down, palming his growing member through his boxer briefs. He thrusts against your hand, searching for friction. You place your hands on his shoulders and he bites down on your bottom lip, letting you know he isn’t pleased at the lack of friction. You push him gently onto his back, smiling at him as you lower your body down along his. You pull the waistband of his underwear down, his erect cock springing free, a clear bead of pre-cum already leaking from the tip. You lap it up, looking up at him innocently as you envelop the tip into your mouth. He lets out a huff, hips rutting up to have you take more of him into your mouth.

“Fuck, Y/N...”

You oblige, slackening your jaw to envelop him as far as you can. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull all the way off of his member. You gather your spit, letting it drip slowly and messily down his now fully throbbing hard cock, lathering it with your hands. He lets out a cross between a grunt and a moan, that little sound spurring you on. Without warning, you take all of him again, gliding up and down is shaft as you suck in, hollowing your cheeks as you speed up, tongue running against his frenulum again and again. He’s making low sounds that are music to your ears, fingers tangling into your messy bed hair and you can tell he’s getting close, so you stop.

“Kitten..?” It’s practically a growl, an urgent verbal question asking you why you would edge him like that.

“I want you to cum inside me, baby.”

Hearing your words, he squeezes his eyes shut as his hand pumps his cock slowly. You maneuver yourself above him, hands braced against his chest as you lean forward to kiss him, letting him taste himself in your mouth. He runs the head along your entrance, before stopping the kiss.

“You’re not ready for me yet, Kitten.”

He trades places with you, putting you on your back, and now he’s the one settled between thighs. He pulls you closer to him and you can feel his warm breath at the apex of your thighs before his lips are on you. He kisses down your opening before his tongue laps gently at your entrance, opening you. You arch your back as you feel him stroke along your clit, fast caresses broken up between languid strokes from top to bottom. He pushes his face forward, deeper into your cunt and you moan, open mouthed and wanting, fingers diving into his hair to pull him closer. His nose is pressed right up into your mound, his tongue rolling and sucking and you feel yourself building.

“Tae, sir,” It’s getting had to control your breathing, “I’m gonna—”

Hearing you call him sir sends him into a frenzy, and you're cumming, fully undone as he licks you clean, drinking you in.

He then shuffles up until you’re face to face, sharing with you how you taste as he palms himself. You feel him align with your entrance and he pushes the tip in slowly, hitching up your leg by the knee so that he can push in deeper. This angle feels heavenly to you, and you rock into it, meeting his every plunge with your own, clenching to pull him in deeper. You’re keening, and he kisses you between groans, enjoying the way you envelop his large cock so well.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He’s taking advantage of the time, hips rocking at a steady pace.

“You like it, sir?” His next plunge is harder; you taking a submissive role, even if just verbally always gets him excited.

His forehead presses into your shoulder and he nods, and you can tell his eyes are squeezed shut as your fingers run along his broad back.

As much as you enjoy a good slow fuck, your body is wanting more.

“Fuck me harder, Tae.” Your hands reach down and grip his ass, spurring him on harder.

He bites your neck and you curse, but he obliges, hips snapping as he brings you closer to climax for a second time, pumping into you harder and faster.

“Shit, that feels good,” you sigh as he moves his arms so your legs are forced higher, resting in the crooks of his elbows. This new angle allows him to rub against your g-spot, and it’s not long until your moans grow louder and closer together that he knows you’re almost there. His cock is drilling into you, balls smacking against your ass when he tells you to cum for him.

“Cum all over my cock kitten.”

His words send you, and it’s euphoric.

“Fuck, Tae, please cum in me—shit. Cum for me baby,” you beg him, his strokes beginning to overstimulate your already sensitive cunt, and you feel his waist movements become shaky.

“Please sir, I want you to fill me with your seed.”

Taehyung lets out a groan, thrusting inside of you as he fills you to the brim. His movements are slower, and when he finally pulls out, he rolls to his side and pulls you with him.

“That,” he starts, “ that was it. That’s the sentence.”

You laugh, leaning up to kiss him as you both pant, trying to catch your breath. He turns your chaste kiss into a deeper one, sending your toes curling as you pulls you closer, a hand groping your ass.

“God, you’re insatiable!” you tell him once he allows you a chance to breathe.

“But you knew this already. I warned you a long time ago.” He rubs his nose to yours, before letting you go so you both can get ready.

After you showered, (it was very hard to ignore a pouty Taehyung who wanted to join you, but you want to be on time), you look through your overnight bag for your clothes to wear. You have panties, you have sleep clothes, even a pair of black leggings, but no shirt to wear. How could you forget a shirt? You sit at the foot of Tae’s bed in just your bra and panties, hair still wet, upset at yourself.

“Y/N, babe, why aren’t you dressed?” Taehyung walks out of his closet, ripped jeans and a long sleeve back shirt with red writing on the back and a little arrow and heart near the collar.

“I forgot to pack a shirt.” You put your head into your hands.

“Just wear one of mine.” He walks back into the closet and throws you an identical version of the shirt he’s wearing, except that instead of it being black, it’s white.

You give him a look that says ‘people will start to think something if I show up in a matching outfit’ .

“Babe, wear it, it’ll be fine. It’s casual Friday, no need for business attire.”

He smiles his boxy smile at you as he walks towards you, hands reaching down to grasp yours and pull you up into a standing position.

“I thought you liked me in business attire—skirts and dresses, you know.” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, I do...” he kisses you quickly, “but I think I can get used to seeing you in my clothes too, or you know, nothing at all.”

“Oh really?” you pull away from him, dancing out of his reach.

“I think I’d really enjoy seeing you in my bed more often too.” You pull the shirt over your head, before reaching to pull on your leggings as he finishes speaking. “You look good in my house.”

He walks out to take Yeontan for a quick potty walk, and you freeze, watching his back disappear, excited as thoughts of what he meant and what the future may hold play through your head.

CEO Series:

hisunshiinse masterlist

AN:

Thank you all for reading! This is a mammoth! 24 pages in Word! Wild. This isn't the last time we will see this couple, as all 7 stories are intertwined in some way or another. I hope you enjoyed Business Attire and look forward to the next installment. I believe it will be our dear leader CEO Kim Namjoon who will greet us next time. <3

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a-collection-of-villainous-aus · 5 years

Text

Pirate Au

(Drabble 4)

Please do remember the drabbles do follow on from each other.

So this is the fourth drabble but set between the second and third.

It was late evening, oil lamps burned dimly and Hat sat there at his dining table, fingers laced, eye and patch peering over the top of his hands as elbows rested on the surface.

Soft hues of yellow, warm like honey, lights from the candles flickering making empty plates shimmer, a cloth neatly folded by their side, his belly full even if food was not something he required he enjoyed the many flavours of human cuisine...but he still felt empty as he watched Flugs curled up form in that tank, the merman had not moved in hours, was he still sulking?

It would not surprise Black Hat if he was, the old demon had kept his room dark to try and placate him, why was Flug still ignoring him?

It was not as if he'd hurt him in any way, if it were perhaps White Hat, that supposedly goody two shoes...that bastard would have tortured this creature for answers, kept his tank shallow so the merman would be in a constant state of half suffocation despite being one who lived in the sea himself.

(small reminder Acylius is the first name I've given au Flug ♥ )

Acylius could feel his eyes on his back a part of him wanting to face his captor and glare at him, how dare he keep him in this glass prison, without anything to do, nothing for entertainment apart from aggravating that idiot.

Black Hat was free to roam the ship, eat and probably have a five minute affair with a crew member when he felt like it, no doubt The Pirate King had left his cell empty on purpose, if he had nothing to do he might eventually speak, what ridiculous logic.

Well Hat was not going to get what he wanted, he ate in front of him without so much as offering to share, a custom important to all merfolk, the demon had completely disregarded it, after all he had to know about that right!?

He'd talked so proudly of knowing about merfolk, ha the only thing this fool had done was educate himself on them was what parts tasted and were best served for dinner.

The blasted king would have no doubt made some crude joke at that thought, just last night Black Hat had thought him asleep and pleasured himself quietly, but his highly attuned sense of hearing heard...everything.

He'd recognised the soft pants, sensed his eye on him, even a whispering gasp of his name.

It wasn't fair, the scent had become Intoxicating, shifting he actually sensed Hat stopping a moment, was he actually concerned with being caught?

All he'd wanted to do was invite him into the waters, not that his home had much to impress a mate but it appeared Black Hat did not mind as he resumed his...activities.

Yes last night had made him feel flustered and had taken the will of a god not to show any visual displays of interest.

Anyway it seemed Black Hat was possibly courting that funny girl, Demencia, indeed she was quite the character and while three party relationships might occur under the sea, landwalkers could vary and change their customs on a whim.

Of course he could ask for food or perhaps something for his prison but he was still well and truly pissed at the Pirate King, he refused to talk to him after being trapped in this tank like some common pet, HA even house fish were fed and given items to decorate their homes!

Black Hat was watching the elegant swaying of his fins, veils floating back and forth, hypnotising really, standing up and walking over he came and sat on the floor by the tank, glass reflecting in candle light with small shimmers where scales had shed soon to be washed away like starlight in the rising sun.

His shoulder resting against Flugs tank, legs crossed he let out a sigh.

The demon would have loved nothing more than to have a conversation with him

"Will you not even speak, just to tell me how much you hate what I have done to you?"

The merman held himself tighter, that was the thing he didn't hate him, he was just really, really angry...perhaps even a little scared after all he could still end up in pieces on one of those plates.

Black Hat's voice sounded genuinely disheartened, listening to the sound of his claws lightly scratching over glass as he continued

"I do not know what it is about you my pet, but you fascinate me, I wonder throughout the day what stories you might have to share, what secrets you keep...one mythical creature to another...Just how old are you?"

Flug however did not answer him, he just continued his stubborn silent treatment.

"Do merfolk like companions to sleep with?"

His voice still soft as he looked him over, seeing his spines bristle and blue rings beginning to appear he thought over his words and realised how that must have come across and rephrased

"I mean do merfolk like someone to sleep next to?"

Flug's kind did in fact like companionship, he had a catfish in his home cave deep in the ocean, half cat and fish with the cutest chubbiest belly with such soft paws, she was named Mew Mew Loaf, he knew she'd be fine but no doubt worrying about him and he missed her to.

Hat saw Flug's display disappearing, slightly moving as if he'd almost considered turning to face him or had he been merely shifting?

Still, his breath stayed in anticipation but it was not to be as minutes slipped by and his pet kept his back to him.

"Well maybe you do, otherwise you would have been screeching at me to get away from your tank, heh or are you perhaps you are so insistent on your silent treatment that even now you choose to ignore me?"

A warm chuckle filling the air as he removed his coat and used it as a cover, cheek on the cool surface and yawning as it had been three days since he'd last slept and sleepily wished him goodnight before drifting off.

Flug waited a while, making sure Black Hat was asleep, it was easy to tell as there was a shift in the atmosphere, all the world now seemed calm, the buzzing of energy not quite gone but soothed as if you could hear gentle waters lapping at a late night shore.

Rolling over, gliding closer to him, glass the only thing between them, he could have let his gaze wander over the captains room but honestly he did that enough when Black Hat wasn't there, always turning away from him and focusing on either nothing at all or Demencia with a playful splash of water, it was fun sensing the demons jealousy rise even if not shown entirely, sometimes Hat's hand came down too hard on his desk or a huff as he folded his arms assuming he was hiding the pouting, of course he was not.

He was...well you would be a fool if you called him ugly, how peaceful he looked even if it was amusing to see his cheek smooshed up against his tank and top lip pulled up, revealing mint green fangs ever so slightly.

Lowering himself to better look at them he thought about how Thaddeus had such blunt human teeth compared to him...just like the other merfolk who lived in higher waters in their Pearl City where everything was just...perfect.

So Black Hat had sharp teeth, it had been a long time since he'd seen another of his own kind, deep sea merfolk were dying out and he knew it, could it be that right now he himself was living on borrowed time?

Why was this demon so fascinated with him?

Yes he knew who Black Hat was, you would have to be completely out of the loop not to...king of both land and sea, a being who had never particularly shown interest of taking affairs of the underwater world seriously, who instead chose to adventure than taking any real action, was he incapable of being a leader...was he leaving everything in the hands of those who had some actual experience?

Resting on his hip, hands on the glass, Flug pressed his forehead to where Hat's cheek was and sighed...for someone showing interest in him he also certainly showed displays of affection towards Demencia, what was his game...was he going to be used just like Thaddeus had used him, well it was not as if this one before him exactly needed a power step, but his heart and body could still be seen as game.

Anyway, it was usually a case of ugly things wanting something beautiful to make them feel like they meant something...to be beautiful themselves...oh compared to Black Hat he was atrocious, this landwalker was so elegant, sleek and perfect as they could come, what would the Pirate King think if he did ever see his face, no doubt his interest would be lost and that would just be another notch in the truth the King of Pearl City had told him.

Fingertips lighting up, each line an intricate pattern, a maze of prints as hands formed out of a soft glowing blue hue fading off into their forearms, now tenderly touching Black Hat's face.

(Yes realistically I know He'd wake up but....he doesn't because of reasons...aka XD the writer said so)

Flug's eyes could be seen glowing an intense sky blue through the holes in his mask, under the caress of these made hands he could feel how warm he was, stroking along his cheek, purring slightly as the demon leaned into his touch.

The merman couldn't help but smile a little, he looked, well it was peculiar to see him looking so soft considering what everyone knew he was capable of.

A thumb carefully drawing down his bottom lip to look over his gorgeous fangs, this mouth looked so much smaller compared to his own where it practically split his face in half with rows of fangs that were only shown when threatened.

(Of course he doesn't know yet just how wide Hat can open his maw.)

Thaddeus and his partner Edward had certainly made a point of telling him he'd never hold the beauty of those who lived in their city, no one would accept him apart from them.

That his mask should only be off in the privacy of their company for they were the only ones who could bare to look upon his features...an act of control, one that had whittled away at him and he'd come to believe was true.

Caressing his cheek, his smile was a sad one, look at this idiot who had no idea how to look after him and yet grew envious when he gave others attention, it was endearing really, silly grumpy old man.

Eventually Flug would stop being so stubborn...tell him a story but Black Hat needed to ask him what he wanted, not just stare at him as if that will would just make him speak, though the merman figured if Black Hat wanted to make him he could.

With hands made of magic and stardust, finger tips caressed along his jaw, down over his neck before wrapping around his waist in a gentle embrace.

Yes his deep sea kind did like to have companionship in their rest, they usually had pets to do this with but he'd take this, of course Black Hat would have a stiff neck in the morning but it was surprisingly sweet that he'd opted to sleep here instead of his comfy warm bed.

Coaxing him to lay at least on his side Flug laid on the bottom of his tank facing him.

The hands disappearing as he curled up, his smile growing just a little more.

"Goodnight...Black Hat."

(also if anyone draws a cute pic of mew mew loaf, if you like I can do a character mention or have a character of yours briefly talk to one of the crew members for the one I like the most 💖)

#paperhat #pirate au #villainous au #flug #black hat

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james-bucky-barnackle · 6 years

Text

Two Night Stand (Part 2)

Synopsis: (AU) You can’t wait for your contract to end and get that recommendation to get an actual job as a writer so you found yourself at a club drinking away to forget about the stress of your shitty job as the assistant of the biggest Editor in New York, you end up hooking up with the man of your dreams only to wake up to a nightmare when you find out he’s the son of your boss.

PART 1 | 2NS Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I never thought people would read the first one, I was really overwhelmed by the feedback bc I’m such a rookie at this, thank you! PS. If a username by @mawimey replies, that’s me lol hahaha its my personal acc thank u I’ll stop talking now.

I need air. I gave Bucky, a quick smile, a really nervous smile as I then look outside the car window like I’m breaking the fourth wall. Can I open the windows? I need to open the windows, is the AC even on? Because I swear it’s not. Oh dear, there goes a drop of sweat on my forehead.

“Vis, do you mind turning the AC up?” I shakily say, at this rate they’d think I’m an old woman by the number of curves my voice did if they didn’t see who’s lips that inquiry came from.

“It’s on full blast, Miss Y/N.” it is? Which car company made this? Because it’s clearly not feeling like it’s on full blast. I put my hand on the window switch and I’m fidgeting.

“You don’t mind if I open one of the windows, right?” I look at Vision and then quickly at Bucky before returning my gaze to the rear view mirror.

“Uh Mr. Barnes, do you mind if Miss-“ Bucky shrugs, he’s clearly keeping a laugh in.

“He doesn’t!” I say louder than I intended and open the window halfway down.

“Oh, I guess I don’t,” he raises his eyebrows at me, amused and lets out a small chuckle.

I’m fanning myself vigorously with my hands and I slouch on the backseat. I’ve pulled my head pretty low it would look like Bucky’s sitting in the back of the car with a child. I don’t even care about what I look right now, I’m too overwhelmed with the situation I’m currently in. 30 over 30?! Why did I not think he’d be a perfect candidate for influential men under 30?! Of course, he is, he’s successful I mean look at him. He’s dressed in really expensive looking clothes, which I bet they are, he seems like a smart guy, he plays polo, he’s got a goddamn humanitarian trophy for Pete’s sake and that damn penthouse certainly spells successful. I didn’t realize I was making weird faces as I was mentally torturing myself when a voice breaks my internal loathing.

“Are you alright?” its Vis, peering through the mirror. I nod and breathe a quick “Yep!” holding a thumb up.

“She looked pretty okay last night to me at the-” that’s it. I pinch Bucky’s shoulder. “Ow!” The last thing I need is Vis knowing anything and eventually saying something to Winifred that will get me in trouble.

I place both of my hands on his shoulders patting it hard while I was smiling to keep Vision’s curiosity at a low. “Your shirt’s got dust in them, a lot of dust! They really need to clean the car seats every time someone uses it!”

I give him my best smile as I pretend to wipe something off his chest. An angelic one, the one that wins the miss congeniality award. Wrong move, I’m now looking at his eyes and him into mine. The events of last night flashing back, our faces are way too close, but I can’t seem to pull away. His eyes are amazingly steel blue, and I’m looking into them like they’re a rear gem. My hands stop and he looks down at my lips which suddenly part, he bites his lower lip and his face inches closer. The car pulls to a sudden halt and Vision apologizes, we’re at a red light. Bucky doesn’t flinch, but the red lights aren’t just on the street anymore, they are now tacked on my head. Bucky’s untouchable, don’t even think about it, I can’t lose my job, I can’t ruin the plan just because of a guy. I finally get my shit together and back away, my hands releasing themselves from the surface of his shirt. I sit upright at the far left of the vehicle. He looks crushed, and so am I.

The rest of the ride was silent. The tension inside the car is intense, I feel like a teenager with raging hormones. Both Bucky and I keep stealing glances at each other, like we’re cheating on a college midterm, with me quickly looking away whenever our eyes met.

“We’ve arrived” Vision sounds like the male version of Siri. He gets out and opens the car for me and then Bucky after. I’m quick to my feet as I follow behind him, we thank Vision who says he’ll be waiting for us outside. Okay, now Vision’s gone, silence is still laced around the two of us. Is it weird how I suddenly miss Bucky’s smart mouth? It’s awkward without anyone saying anything, it’s like white noise and I don’t know what’s gonna drive me insane, how much I actually crave attention from him or how I much I need to resist myself from getting myself fired.

Bucky and I walk to the lobby of the building where a tall porcelain skinned, statuesque receptionist speaks too slow, forcing her voice to sound husky and sultry for her own good. She sounds like Daffy Duck if you ask me. She’s ignores me when I ask about Bucky’s appointment and makes googly eyes with him. He’s not into it, but when he sees me annoyed he gives her a wink. A wink! Wow, really? Okay mister. He thanks her and he starts to walk towards the elevator, I shot the receptionist a quick stare that said this-snack-is-mine, we aren’t dating nor do I plan on it, damn you Winnie! But that gives me a lot of brownie points, he’s the top liner in the experiences bracket of my dating resume.

Great, another elevator ride. He presses floor twenty-two and we stand there in silence. I’m surprised at the next awkward thing I do- I whistle. What in the book of awkwardness did I learn that? Great it’s Britney Spears’ Criminal, great. I’m sinking into an invisible hole. My mouth has a mind of its own. Why isn’t anyone else getting on the elevator? He’s looking at me, of course he’s looking at me, I’m whistling Britney in the elevator like a pervert. I press my lips together to a tight line and smile at him as I look up and down. This elevator’s moving really slow, or so I think it is. There’s so much silence in the elevator. Where is the elevator music?! Should I talk to him about this morning? I feel like he’s already put two and two together on why I left without saying anything other than making a sticky note be my spokesperson. He smells so good; his scent is all over the lift. I should focus on something else other than him, I really should. I need to stop thinking about him and what happened last night, or this morning. Think of what will happen to you if Winnie finds out, Y/N! But then, I still want to at least apologize to him, that’s what a decent human being would do right? Or maybe engage in some small talk, after all we’ll be together the whole afternoon.

“You know,” he breaks the silence, shit! Here we go. I turn my head to face him, “that was a risky move.”

“What was?” of course I know what it was, why am I being an ass about it by asking him.

“Leaving a sticky note to defend you for your absence,” I knew he’ll bring that up again, he’s smiling. Why is he smiling? While I’m here feeling guilty as hell.

“I like to be mysterious,” I’m trying my best to ride the wave he’s putting through.

“It’s something I’ve come to notice,” a smile crosses my lips. He’s so nice, it feels so wrong for him to be after what I just did.

I manage to say nothing back. Nothing! Not even a long “Hmmm”. I just stood there, biting my lip contemplating, until the elevator opened to our floor. I walk out first and he puts his hand on the small of my back and in the quick second, it sent shivers up my spine. I’m going to faint, he probably did it on purpose. We enter a studio with racks of clothes lined up, a platform in the middle and mannequins lined up with various pieces of cloth and pins stuck to it.

“There he is, James Bucky Barnes,” an attractive blonde Calvin Klein looking model stands up from one of the velvet sofas and greets us as Bucky gives him a hug. I’m staring at two of God’s greatest gifts to mankind. These two-look ethereal.

“You left me last night, you know that?” Ken doll speaks, I’m calling him that until I know his name and maybe tell Wanda to stalk his Instagram later.

“I was occupied,” Bucky smirks as he walks a little back to stand next to me. I look down, is he talking about me? I need to smack myself, I’m too conceited for my own good. “Besides, you were having fun with the brunette, what’s her name again? Meggy?”

“It’s Peggy,” he laughs, “and I bet you were, who’s the unlucky girl?” Are they talking about me? Which me is it, last night or today? Because I’m playing the role of an assistant and apparently a part time runner. They walk towards the one of the racks and I follow as a small woman assists them, she’s probably the stylist. Should I even be following them? I’m here for the fitting I should go help the stylist so I do.

“I’m unlucky, she left before I even woke up,” Bucky gives Ken doll puppy dog eyes and his eyes travel in my way. He’s still guilt tripping me, isn’t he? I’m gonna feel this guilt until I apologize. I mentally put that on my imaginary checklist.

Ken doll pretends to look hurt as he grabs his left chest. “Ouch! I thought you knew your way around the ladies.”

I’m helping Helen, the stylist, carry the clothes she’s picked out. I’m still eavesdropping on their conversation. Helen apparently doesn’t give a damn.

“This one’s different, Steve,” so Ken doll’s name is Steve. When Bucky faces me this time, he doesn’t look away. I hide as I walk close to Helen who’s now pulled out an empty rack where I am to put all the things she’s chosen for the fitting. This one’s different? He’s probably kidding, I’m not different. He’s just saying that because I’m in the same room. I hate that I don’t even get a chance to date him being his mother’s slave, I mean - assistant and all. And I’ve run out of someone’s apartment before, but all I really wanted was to stay in bed with him this morning, I wished I hadn’t gone up and snooped around his things, but it would’ve only gotten worse from there. And I can think of so many ways how that option could’ve led me to more trouble. I keep an optimistic head and just think about how it’s a good thing I found out who he was before I could even say another word and left when I could. Ugh! I am never drinking again, it was supposed to be a good time, and look where it got me. I’m like a kid who wants a new toy that my mom doesn’t have cash for.

I finish arranging the clothes and Helen interrupts the boys to announce the agenda. She calls Bucky to check the pieces she’s chosen and I leave her to it. I walk to the buffet table where I help myself to some donuts. Thank god, they have food here. I’m looking at all the things served like I’m meeting my new best friends. They always know how to make me feel better.

“Too bad they don’t have alcohol here,” I look to see who it is and its Steve.

“Even if they did, I doubt my liver’s gonna be ready for another round,” I say as I bite into my donut. He flashes his bright white teeth at me as he laughed. For a second there, I thought I needed some sunglasses.

“Name’s Steve, by the way.” He offers his hand for me to shake and I do.

“Y/N,” I blush, he’s cute. He’s like your all-American boy next door that got buff over the summer, he was probably the prom king at his high school. He looks just like a Harvard hottie.

“What’s a beautiful dame doing working for Bucky? There’s got to be a lot of jobs out there better than being stuck with him,” you know it. I blush as I take another bite, hiding my chewing behind my half-eaten donut.

“I actually work for his mom.” I say shyly. Soon not to be! HA! Sooner if she finds out I slept with her son.

“So, babysitting momma’s little boy is on the job description too.” Oh I’ve done way more than babysitting. I raise my eyebrows and let quick laugh out. I can’t wait for this day to be over.

“I guess.”

“Who are you calling momma’s little boy, you punk?”, Bucky jokes around the corner. Steve raises his hands as if in defeat and laughs as he grabs a donut before walking away.

“See you around, Y/N!” he nods his head towards me and gives Bucky a playful salute before approaching another stylist who guides him into next room where they’re doing his fitting.

Well, at least Helen’s here, with nothing else for me left to do, I sit on the red velvet couch and watch her take Bucky’s measurements. The huge window is letting a handful of sunlight in to illuminate him as he stands on the platform with a certain pride. I lick my lip, as my eyes grow wide when I see him looking at me. I blush, I force myself not to, but all of a sudden, I feel the memory of his lips on my neck. I smooth my hands over where his lips have been, I feel a tingling sensation by the hickey he left me. He’s not even touching me and he’s already driving my body insane. He puts on suit after suit and I’m just watching in fascination, it’s ridiculous how I’ve come to meet him. Apart from the unexpected twist of him being my boss’ son, I can’t not think about how lucky I was to have at least spent a night with him. Helen’s now picking up the outfit they’ve agreed on and is making her way out the room to start the alterations. My head now rests on top of my left palm, my eyes were too fixated on him I didn’t even hear Helen say good bye.

“Like what you see?” Bucky teases as he puts the suit he came here with. I immediately stand up and help him put his jacket on, an instinct I seem to have from doing everything for Winifred.

“As one should,” I say as I fix his collar. I should say it now, so I won’t have to deal with him anymore or my guilt. He looks like he was about to say something but I cut him off, “I uh, I’m sorry about this morning, I shouldn’t have left so soon.”

“I got a little sad waking up next to a bunch of pillows,” his eyes look up from my hands on his collar to meet mine.

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, we can go back to my place and you could tell me all about it“. He, grabs my hand and places as kiss just above the knuckle. I pull away, he’s confused.

“No, you don’t underst-, I mean I can’t. I’m sorry,” I give him a gentle smile. “You were really wonderful, I mean you are wonderful, it’s just that I-“

“Work for my mom.” He finishes the sentence for me.

“Yeah, if she ever finds out, I don’t think it’ll win me another day at the office,” I don’t want to tell him she’ll kill me if she finds out, I don’t think anyone would want to hear their mother being any less than the one woman who cares the most for them. Does he even know Winifred's a bitch? I doubt it.

“I could call her now and tell her about last night’s escapade.” He reaches for his phone in his pocket, my eyes grow wide.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he wouldn’t, right?

“I might even frame the sticky note you left me and place it on her table,” I smile, what a smart ass. “I bet she’ll love it”.

“I just don’t wanna lose my job, Bucky,” I sigh and hope for the best he quits trying, but the back of my mind says otherwise.

“Okay, maybe not at my place. I won’t tell her anything if you let me take you out to lunch, just you, me and good food, what do you say?” he gives me a genuine look, desperation obvious by his expression, I might just have to agree, but I have a plan I’ve invested in, and it’s going to take me places.

“That’s impossible.” I did it, I said it and he’s not gonna bug me ever again. He takes a moment to let my response sink in. He’s rejected, he looks like he’s never heard rejection before. But we’ve only met once, we both knew it’d be a one-time thing, I mean that’s how it should be. I never thought I’d make a vow of chastity, but he’s the forbidden fruit, and I don’t want to break the time and effort I’ve invested working for literal embodiment of the Prada wearing devil that has come to exist in my life.

“Alright, I guess I’ll go call her and tell her about last night then.” He’s now pulled out his phone and turns his back, is he serious?! Holy cow, wait.

“Where?” I hate him, and myself; but I hate him more.

“I’ll tell you on the way,” he turns back to me with a huge grin as he offers his arm for me to take. I take a moment to decide if I should take it, before he continues to say, “My mom doesn’t have eyes in this building, you can hold my arm, doll.” Oh boy I’m in for a disaster.

“So, brunch? You, me and some brunch” I say, an eyebrow raised as the waiter puts down two plates in front of us. I shake my head as I bite my lip to suppress a laugh. We’re at one of the local diners in New York serving breakfast 24/7, it was already two in the afternoon.

“Good brunch. I haven’t eaten since waking up, and you’ll be hitting two birds with one stone with this one, since you were such in a hurry to leave me.” I kick him under the table. “Hey! You are a very violent person.”

I laugh, “I am when I have to be. And I already said I’m sorry.”

“I’m just kidding,” he takes a bite out of his waffle. “So, how long have you been working for my mom?”

“About 6 months,” saying it out loud makes me realize how long I’ve put myself in this awful situation. “How about you, how long have you been her son? I haven’t seen you once in the building”

“I’ve been traveling, trying out new things, checking future investments.”

“Hmmm,” I eat, shutting him out and he notices how I’m intentionally trying to be a bad date so he’ll think that I’m boring and drop the pursuit.

“You know, I’ve realized my t-shirt wasn’t on the floor like the rest of my clothes.” I look up surprised.

“I might’ve worn it outside.” I smile a little embarrassed.

“Already developing a habit in wearing my shirts, I see.”

“Hey! I wore it when I woke up to use the bathroom, I wouldn’t wanna be caught in your penthouse naked.”

“Like I haven’t seen you naked,” my cheeks are burning.

“I was planning on going to the kitchen to make some pancakes before finding out you were none other than Winnie’s dearest James,” mimicking Winifred’s voice. He laughs, clearly amused at my humor.

“You were going to make me pancakes?”

“Yeah, I was. I even had plans for round 2 but I guess that’s out of the window,” I bite my lip, that was TMI. His eyes shot up.

He raised his eyebrow in amusement, “Round 2? I knew I should’ve insisted going back to my place!”

I’m now laughing louder than I should. The table beside us where an old man reading the paper gives us a look of judgement.

Minutes pass and he’s leading the conversation, I silently thank him for it. He’s got a great love for the environment, and he’s working hard to help clean oceans, developing new technologies for sustainable housing. He’s been best friends with Steve since he can remember and had each other’s backs through everything. The way he talks about Steve is like he’s talking about his brother, like they’ve been through so much together. I’m in awe at the things he’s telling me, but I bear no intention to think about it too much. One lunch and I’m out of here. The fear of risking my job has put so much weight on my shoulders, that I’m here enjoying his words, being a very good listener. I’m really sad about how I won’t be able to see him anymore. Career has always been a priority and I’m still at rock bottom, if we’d only met in a different time, place or maybe with me being employed somewhere else or him born to a different family, it would’ve been a green light. Winnifred’s powers are limitless, she’s basically the god of misfortune, in my case. I’ve let fear overcome my happiness. We finish eating and he pays for the food and we head out, he tells me he’s got an appointment for one of the campaigns he’s doing and if I’d want to join, I politely decline.

“I have to get back to the building, last time I checked, I worked for Winnifred Barnes, not a James Barnes” I say. He smiles, I’m so close to getting away.

“Okay, let me give you a lift”, he offers.

“It’s okay, I enjoy walking and the office is just six blocks away from here, I don’t mind.”

“It’s on the way, I’ll walk with you.”

“What about Vision?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Very well, just one more walk and I’m out of here. I keep telling myself this, but every time I get so close to making an escape he thinks of something else. I’m secretly enjoying the chase, what does he see in me?

We’re walking on the sidewalk as I try to keep a very friendly distance. He’s one of the most successful men under 30 so he probably has paparazzi hanging around. Explaining to Winnie how we weren’t being driven by Vision will get him and me in trouble.

“How did you end up working as an assistant?” I wish we had at least one conversation that doesn’t revolve around me working for his mother.

“I have no idea, really.” We both laugh at my honesty “I thought it would look good on my resume, working directly under Winifred herself might just give me the boost that I need, and I could finally work for a different company, start write about things that I like, put that degree to good use.”

“What’s so bad about working at the View?” your mom, that’s the only reason I can come up with.

“I don’t want to be stuck fetching coffee, answering phone calls, picking up clothes and managing schedules for somebody that I– “ shoot, what do I say that won’t offend him, “don’t necessarily relate to, I mean the View is a huge fashion powerhouse magazine, and I’m not exactly the type to write about the latest fall trends.” Great save, I pat myself on the shoulder. It’s true, I think. I don’t know if my heart is in the right place if I were to be writing about fashion, I don’t exactly have a target topic to write about but I’m definitely not a sure hit on that area. I like clothes and makeup sure, but there’s more to fashion than just that and I wouldn’t be able to keep up, it’s just not in my field of interest. It’s ironic how I ended up working at the View. A shit ton of women would kill to be working in my place and I’m here complaining about it. I remember the first time I went in, I came to the office not knowing what to expect as I held a manila folder with my resume in it, wearing an olive-green turtle neck sweater and a black leather skirt with some black leather loafers, I felt pretty out of place, everyone was eyeing me like I’m a lost child. I was up against a tall skinny blonde, who looked very much like the part with her seamless attitude and clean look. I was so sure I’d just wasted my time even trying to apply, but the moment Winnifred saw me, she asked my name, looked, more like scrutinized me from the feet up, my hands shaking not even knowing what the View was other than what I thought was just another fashion magazine, and then she told me to start the next day. I couldn’t believe it. From then on, I tried my best to keep up, the first three weeks were the worst, I was pretty much all over the place, Winnie kept nagging at me. It’s like she chose me because she loved how frantic I looked whenever she’d need me to do something. Nat saved my ass. When we met during one of the editorial shoots for the spring issue, we immediately bonded. She helped me through everything and even got me a makeover. I can never thank her enough, her little push helped me get used to the business. She even jokes at how much I dress better than her now, but she just thinks that, she’ll always be the fashionable one.

“How long?” he asks.

“How long, what?”

“How long ‘til I get to date you in public?” I almost trip. This makes me laugh, I hate that he does.

“You’re insane, I’ve got 4 more months to go, and I doubt you’ll be able to control yourself from meeting another woman in a week,” I raise my eyebrow at him, it’s true, with those looks and that personality? It won’t even take him a minute to make a girl start naming her babies with him.

“Talk about trust issues,” he smiles, it’s contagious.

“Just playing it safe”

“Too safe, that’s why you should probably let me kiss you right about now.”

“What?” we both stop walking.

“We’re two blocks from your office and once we get any closer, I won’t be able to be near you, which to be honest, was all I’ve been thinking about since I saw that love bite on your neck.”

“That is really sexy and weird,” I’m biting my lip trying to resist a laugh.

“You don’t know the half of it”, his eyes now becoming serious as he takes a step closing the space between us. Fuck it, I put my hand on his shoulders and I kiss him. This takes him by surprise, but quickly recovers as he places his hand on the side of my face, the other on my waist. I’m going to need to start looking for a new job tomorrow.

PART 3 | Check my other stuff out too? M A S T E R L I S T

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thank you guys for motivating me to write a second part! Hope u guys like it!!!!

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drizzitwrites · 6 years

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Football RPF Challenge - Day 12: Texting

Today's prompt is something I write into pretty much every fic sort of out of necessity because of the nature of the relationship I'm writing about. Thus, once again I was faced with an abundance of choices, and initially I had thought to work on something around the AU either in the scene preceding the one I wrote yesterday or immediately following the one I wrote yesterday, because both of them feature Vincent sending Christian a BARRAGE of increasingly less coherent text messages. But! It occurs to me that the scene I need to write in my current WIP immediately after the scene that has me VERY STUCK will also feature texting (I mean, it's all WhatsApp, really, but we'll call it texting), so I should work on that one.

Also, today I had the problem of having a day off. One would think this would mean that I'd have more time to write, but! It also happened to coincide with me having a headache that severely limited my ability to concentrate on things. It's passed now, but it meant that my morning was mostly spent with me telling myself to sit down and do things and then not doing them. I also needed to record almost 12k of fic for ITPE and I thought I'd use today to actually get that done. So I didn't give myself as much time to write as I should have, so this once again may only be half a scene or less, but it's something, right? Honestly, I'm happy I'm getting to it at all since I have a lot of other pressing things on the ambitious to do list for today which are probably NOT getting done, but I needed to prioritise. Plus, tbh, I was watching New Girl while cleaning the living room and it was the episode where Schmidt convinces Nick to write the next chapter of his book by basically telling him that he's a writer so stop second guessing himself and write, and I was like...yeah. Okay. Yeah. After this episode is over just sit down and write even if literally the only cleaning you've managed today was putting away the five items that were on the coffee table. Because you can do that later, but right now you have space and energy so just write the scene and then go about your life.

Thus...today's scene. The good news is that I feel like I’ve made good, meaningful progress on this fic, despite the scene a few before this still being stuck as stuck can be. I’ll go back to attempting to fix it eventually, but for now I’ve moved on and over the course of this challenge so far I’ve written the ending to this fic and now part of what comes immediately after what I need to do now, so at least I’m saving my future self some time and effort after she does all the untangling of the messy knot the middle part of this fic had worked itself into

As always, SPOILERS FOR MY CURRENT ACTIVE WIP. Don't read this if you don't want to be spoiled for the fic I hope to post before the end of the year.

Saturday, 7 July 2018

Vincent once again woke early the next morning, although this time not out of some nervous apprehension for Christian's arrival so much as a need to slip downstairs so he could have coffee and breakfast waiting for Christian whenever he woke up.

He'd set an alarm on his phone the night before--making sure it was set to vibrate and not ring so it wouldn't wake Christian from his much needed sleep--but he still found himself laying on his back staring at the ceiling long before the insistent buzz sounded next to his head.

Sunlight crept in through his drawn shades and bathed the room in diffuse light, and Vincent thought about lying there a bit longer; tucking his face into the back of his sofa and hiding away in here until--what, exactly? What was he hoping for? Some kind of peace offering, perhaps. A do-over on yesterday, only this time Christian would smile and embrace him and kiss him and thank him so much for the thoughtful welcome home.

Or maybe, Christian really didn't want any of it. Maybe he didn't know Christian as well as he thought he did. The way Christian's eyes had scanned the decorations lining his entryway, his face flickering into some kind of shock and horror before carefully fixing into the too polite mask Christian always managed to put on when he didn't want to say anything negative or controversial.

Christian keeping a wary distance between them from the moment he'd stepped through the door. Vincent had written it off as Christian being tired and the shock of three people in his home when he might not even have expected one--Christian himself going so far as to offer exhaustion, mental and physical, as the rationale behind his odd behaviour--but they both knew there was more to the distance than this. Christian had been distant for days before he'd even arrived in London, and Vincent didn't know why or what he'd done to make Christian pull away, nor did he know what he might do to fix it, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

He rolled over and dropped his feet to the floor, wooden boards cool beneath his feet. Even in the oppressive heat of English summer, Christian's house had a cool, crispness about it, all smooth wood and sleek angles, everything light and bright and open. Even here, in the postage-stamp sized room that Vincent called his own, at least for now, the house felt airy and refreshing and welcoming.

Smooth blonde wood floors, crisp white walls, glass-topped modular workspace against the far wall, everything meticulously organised into drawers and bins. Bits of Christian's life all slotted neatly into place.

In contrast, the far side of the room where Vincent now stood staring down at all his earthly possessions spilling out from suitcases and cardboard boxes around his plush, low sofa--slightly worn grey upholstery, straight back, chosen more for comfort than for style, although Vincent liked to think it formed a good balance of both. It had a place here, in this room, juxtaposed amidst the forgotten remnants of Christian's life, but it still didn't exactly fit in.

A metaphor for Vincent, himself, really. And hadn't that always been the way of things, really?

Vincent dressed quietly, wincing at the creak of floorboards beneath his feet as he dug through the spilled contents of his suitcase for his second best v-neck and the same shorts he'd worn the day before. He should unpack, perhaps; find some place for all his things in this carefully arranged space, but he had no idea how long he'd be staying, and he didn't see the sense in putting everything away only to have to pack it all back in boxes and bins again in a few days time.

He crept down the hallway, treading carefully along the perimeter in an attempt to make as little noise as possible. Christian was a sound sleeper, especially on the occasions he'd dragged himself into his bed looking as run-down as he had when he'd excused himself from Vincent's company the night before, but Vincent did his best to avoid making any unnecessary noise, even as he slid into the bathroom and ran through his morning toilet, taking particular care to arrange his hair into place. Perhaps, if given as much sound, uninterrupted sleep as possible, Christian would shake off whatever funk he'd arrived home in yesterday and the two of them could go about resuming whatever passed for normality in their lives these days.

Vincent here, in London, in Christian's house. The two of them having to remember how their lives fitted in around one another.

Then again, Vincent thought, he wasn't sure they'd ever managed to figure that out in the first place.

Before he'd left, they'd at least had the illusion of maintaining their own, separate spaces; Christian never storing so much as his own toothbrush at Vincent's flat, and Vincent somehow knowing well enough to maintain the same distance here. Christian's life was his own, and Vincent happy enough to fit in to whatever territory Christian was willing to cede.

Now, the two of them living together, Vincent with his own room and a place for his toothbrush and shampoo and hair products in the cupboards beside Christian's. Sharing space, at last, but somehow farther apart than they'd been when Vincent was on another continent. They'd work things out, of course. They'd find a way to adapt their needs and their routines around each other--side-by-side at the vanity stealing lazy kisses as they readied themselves for the day; leaning together against the counter in the kitchen, steam rising off their mugs of coffee as they laughed over something trivial. They'd done it all before, back when Vincent had still lived in London and then again in the perfect week between Christmas and the New Year when Christian had given him the best gift possible--a physical, tangible space in his life.

Finished, Vincent continued his creeping around the house, making his way back down the corner and then easing himself onto the stairs. He took the steps in slow, controlled movements, pausing briefly on each before sliding down to the next.

Smooth wood of the bannister cool beneath his hands, and Vincent stopped short. The garland of paper Danish flags that he and Coco had meticulously wound around the railing and between the slats had vanished without any trace of its existence a few hours before. Vincent backtracked to the landing and looked over his shoulder towards Christian's bedroom. Door closed. Hallway silent.

He resumed his trek back down the stairs, moving with less hesitance now, although still proceeding with caution. When he reached the landing, he wasn't surprised to find the banner and glinting metallic balloons gone as well and not a single trace of Coco's bucketful of confetti in sight.

"Christiaan?" he called out, making his way through the front entryway into the kitchen.

Nothing. The kitchen empty and no response from Christian.

Vincent passed through the kitchen and the dining room and stuck his head around the corner into Christian's living room, half expecting to find him dozing on the sofa, but once again, nothing. No sign of Christian anywhere.

"Christiaan?" Vincent called again, louder this time. Once again, no response.

He checked the remainder of the house--sunroom, patio, back garden--but Christian was nowhere to be found. As a last resort, Vincent pushed open the door leading to the garage to find Christian's parking stall empty.

Where had Christian gone before 8:00am on a Saturday morning? And why had he not bothered to let Vincent know he was leaving?

It was possible, Vincent supposed, that Christian had intended to slip out early and be back before Vincent woke up. Vincent was never one to turn down an opportunity for a good lie-in on a weekend morning, although if he was being honest, the habit mostly only applied to those mornings he woke up to find Christian curled up against his chest and Vincent could ease them both into their morning with lazy, gentle kisses and slow strokes of his fingers across Christian's skin. Lying about in bed all alone and staring up at the ceiling just didn't have that same enticing pull as a few more minutes spent basking in Christian's warmth.

Vincent reached into his pocket for his phone, and found it empty. He'd left it still plugged into the charging port in his room.

Not worrying anymore about keeping quiet lest he wake Christian, Vincent pounded up the stairs in a rush, but paused when he reached the top landing.

Door to Christian's bedroom firmly shut, the only sign of life the sunlight now seeping out through the space between the door and the floorboards. Vincent knocked on the door, knowing the room was empty and he'd get no reply, but hesitating to intrude on the space nonetheless. He'd spent more nights in this room than any other, but he still couldn't think of it as his own to barge into as though he had some kind of eminent domain.

A pause, and Vincent listened closely for any sign of life--shifting and rustling of the bedclothes or the sound of bare feet slapping against the floorboards, but everything was silent. He eased the door open, just wide enough for him to peer inside and once again call Christian's name.

No response. The room empty. Bedclothes neatly arranged.. Everything tucked neatly away into its place as though Vincent had only imagined Christian's return the day before.

He backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and turned once more into the spare room that had been designated as his. He retrieved his phone from where it had fallen from the arm of the sofa and buried itself under his pillow and flicked the screen on.

The WhatsApp icon was illuminated in the top left corner, and Vincent swiped down to open the app.

Messages not from Christian, but from Roman and Martin. Messages about how they were anxiously awaiting the start of training with Fenerbace on Monday and telling him to 'hurry up and get things sorted with Spurs' as though Vincent had any control over his situation. These were followed by a string of photos of them in their new Istanbul flat, ending in one of them standing in an empty room with the caption of 'All that's missing is you!' and a string of blue and yellow hearts.

Vincent shook his head at his friends' overwhelming cheesiness at all times, but he couldn't help a grin as he snapped a return photo of his disheveled mess of belongings strewn around his sofa and sent it to them both with the words 'Still working on getting packed'

He had just closed out of the conversation and was about to tap Christian's name when another message came in from Roman. He dropped to the sofa and settled back against the cushions, then flicked open the new message instead. He wouldn't mind catching up with his friends for a while, and maybe it would give Christian a chance to return from his mysterious errands. Vincent could easily pretend he'd only just gotten dressed and hadn't even been downstairs yet, so he had no idea Christian had been away.

'Take plenty of quality time, eh Vincenzo. Come back to us all loved up and ready to make magic.'

'I'm not sure...' Vincent started to type back, but erased the words. Whatever was going on with Christian, they'd get through it. Any minute now Vincent would hear the sound of the garage sliding open and Christian calling up the stairs to tease him about still being in bed. He'd appear in Vincent's doorway and Vincent would slide over so Christian could slot in beside him on the sofa and they'd touch and kiss and fuck and talk and kiss some more until it was nearly noon and both of their stomachs were audibly groaning with hunger.

Instead, Vincent simply messaged his friends back a sequence of kiss emojis and backed out of the conversation once more.

Still nothing from Christian, and no sign of life downstairs, so Vincent tapped on Christian's name. The last messages from a few days ago, all Vincent's, each displaying the green check marks indicating they'd been read.

'Back in London’ ‘ I will see you when you get home’ ‘I'm proud of you and I love you.'

'Do you know when you will arrive at home’ ‘I can meet you at the airport if you'd like'

'Let me know when you will return’ ‘I miss you and I cannot wait to see you'

No response to any of them from Christian.

Once more, he typed a message into the box: 'Good morning lieveke' 'Will you be home for breakfast'

Vincent stared down at the screen, waiting for some acknowledgement that Christian had received and read his messages, but after turning his screen back on three times, the check marks were still grey.

Maybe he's driving. Maybe he's on his way home and any second now he'll turn into the driveway.

Vincent waited a few seconds more, then stood up, shoved his phone in his pocket and made his way back downstairs. He needed some coffee while he waited.

#football rpf #30-day football rpf challenge #30-day writing challenge #30-day challenge #christian eriksen x vincent janssen #writing #november writing #drizzit writes

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auradonuniversity · 7 years

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Meet The Reticent. They’re the child of Prince Hans, a recent graduate of Auradon University and hails from The Isle of the Lost. Some say they look like Alycia Debnam Carey and they’re TAKEN.

Name: Mikaela Christensen

Age: 23 years old

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: bisexual

Occupation: Social media intern at Auradon Magazine

Sports and Clubs: AU f.m, member of Delta Delta Delta

Major: Film & Media Studies

Biography

Ask anyone, and they would testify that Hans Christensen shouldn’t become a father. He wasn’t cut out for it. He was manipulative, cold, and a liar— all the makings for someone that should simply be left alone. Yet, the fates blessed him with not one child, but four.

Mikaela was an emotional child. She would cry at the raise of a voice, would flinch at the slightest touch, and was far, far too trusting of those around her. She craved the attention of others, always wore her heart on her sleeve and it showed. Her personality was one that couldn’t survive in the Christensen household. If she was Hans’ child, she would be raised in Hans’ likeness. She was one of his pawns, after all.

His parenting style with Kaela became chaotic at best— he fed on every one of her ‘weak’ qualities until she realized she shouldn’t present them anymore. There was always yelling. Rough housing among her siblings became normal. Things that would have been condemned in other house holds were praised in theirs if it ultimately led to power in some way, shape or form. Eventually, there was a shift. His eldest daughter who was once an open book became a closed one, her emotions locked away and the key was thrown away. While she resented her father because of how he chose to raise her, the damage was already done. Han’s lessons were deeply rooted in the girl, and it was impossible for her to shake them. There was a genuine fear in her of getting close to others— a fear of opening up and ultimately having that person use her weaknesses against her. If someone who is supposed to love her would do that, why wouldn’t a stranger?

Just because Mikaela’s emotionally closed off, though, doesn’t mean she’s a loner. Hans also taught her to be adaptable— she made it so she never fit a certain mold, and made it her trademark. She could be charming if need be, and at the snap of some fingers be less than that. The second he could, he shipped all his children off to Auradon with the hopes of one of them weaseling their way into a royal family, or better– get revenge on Anna or Elsa’s kids. As a freshman, it was her sarcasm and anti-greek attitude that ultimately led the greeks to wanting her in their sorority. She was pined after by both sororities on campus and that’s exactly what she wanted. She committed to Tri Delta and fell into the likes with other royals and socialites, and became well liked enough for them to disregard her upbringing in the isle.

Her only downfall at the school is the fact that she keeps most people at arms length. Her friends, her sisters, her flings, even her siblings to an extent only get to scrape at the surface of who she really is. She’s an enigma, and it makes the charm she occasionally puts on seem a bit disingenuous. If one pokes and prods long enough, they’ll see small glimmers of the girl she once was make an appearance– It’s a shame Kaela’s so quick to sweep her back under the rug, though.

Character Traits

positive: ambitious, cunning, charming negative: closed-off, sarcastic, calculating

Headcanons

Kaela doesn’t necessarily like being in Tri Delta, she simply tolerates it. She thinks it definitely has it’s perks– like how its ever-changing, and she never has to worry about a lack of a social life, but oftentimes she thinks it’s a bit much for her.

In regards to looks, Kaela does wear glasses. Her eyesight isn’t horrible, but she likes how she looks with a pair of big glasses on. She isn’t really over the top with her wardrobe, either. There’s not a lot of patterns, mostly solids that are neutral in color.

Much like her dad, she’s a go getter. Her resume is pretty impeccable for someone her age. There’s representation of written media, radio, and television– the only facet missing is film, which is her pride and joy. She might be her most genuine when talking about movies, honestly. Her sights are set in getting a job in film production– whether it be a writer or an editor, she wants to be influential behind the camera.

Connections

The Crimson: Everyone knows that one best friend cliche. The one where they two were close as close could be, and then one of them caught feelings that the other didn’t return, causing the friendship to crumble apart and an awkwardness to settle between the two. Due to the feeling of once knowing someone like the back of your hand, but now feeling like strangers. That’s what happened between the Crimson and The Reticent. The Reticent felt something for The Crimson, and after admitting it, The Crimson turned them down. And ultimately caused the friendship to end.

The Isolato: The Isolato is often lost in their thoughts, and on The Isle they’d go under the docks to be alone. But one day The Reticent just so happened to be there as well. They never spoke, just enjoyed the silent company of someone else. Since then a comfortable understanding fell between the two, and on rare occasions they might share a few words or let the other person vent, but more often then not they just coexist in the silence.

The Halcyon: Everyone has been wondering how the royal’s and villain’s were going to coexist under this new rules, and when The Halcyon and The Reticent literally bumped into each other on the first day of orientation week, no one knew what to expect. But The Halcyon has no interest in digging up old issues, especially their parent’s issues, so they apologized and kept walking, much to The Reticent’s surprise.

#alycia debname carey #alycia debname carey fc #disney rp #oc rp #descendants rp #senior #vk #taken #takenvk

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darkwing-katy · 7 years

Text

Second Chance - Part One

Alright guys, here is the first chunk of that Gaston x Reader fic that I posted about a few nights ago. I’ve never written a Reader fic, haha. But I’ve had this idea ever since seeing the movie the first time and I suggested it to other writers but I’m impatient so here it is. I also feel like I should thank @sannvers for editing it and telling me “YO THIS PART IS WEIRD FIX IT”, so thanks.

Title: Second Chance

Pairing: Eventual Gaston x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Words: 3,753

Summary:You try to stop Gaston from shooting the Beast and falling to his death, but you arrive too late to save him. As you sit there, sobbing, the Enchantress offers you a second chance to save him.

It was warm and sunny, a typical June afternoon in Villenueve. You finished hanging up your wet laundry and took a step back to admire it. With an approving smile, you turned and grabbed the book you’d left on the steps of your home, then headed towards Belle’s house. You knew that your best friend would be waiting for her father to return, and she would appreciate the company.

As you walked the familiar path, you began to daydream. As usual, your daydream revolved around Gaston, whom you had an outrageously huge crush on despite his more negative characteristics (you rolled your eyes every time you heard him bragging about the War in the tavern and alternated between being annoyed and amused by his narcissistic and flirtatious personality). Despite this, you thought he was a deeply attractive man, what with his long dark hair and green eyes that made almost every girl in the village swoon and his smirk, that cocky expression that rested on his face the majority of the time—oh, and don’t even get you started on the way his clothing betrayed his muscular body; you could go on for days about how handsome he was. Of course, you kept this all to yourself for the most part. Belle was the only other person you’d admitted your feelings regarding the Captain to.

While walking, you saw a couple of dandelions growing alongside the path. You stopped for a moment to pick three of them after tucking your book into your apron’s pocket. You loved dandelions because of what they represented—wishes. Belle always rolled her eyes when you would close your eyes and blow off the seeds. As much of a dreamer as she was, she preferred the idea of making her own decisions to change her life rather than relying on fate and wishes. (However, that didn’t mean that every now and then she wouldn’t also make a wish of her own and watch the seeds float on the breeze.) With the flowers in hand, you imagined that Gaston had given you a gorgeous bouquet.

As you turned the corner, you spotted Belle carrying a barrel of what you assumed was clothing. She had a look of frustration on her face, and a few moments later, you realized why: Gaston jogged down after her, calling her name. You frowned at the sight. You knew how much Belle despised Gaston’s affections towards her—she had ranted about how annoying he was and how she just wanted him to leave her alone to you on multiple occasions. She couldn’t understand what you saw in him (and to be honest, you oftentimes questioned your own sanity, especially when you caught him staring at his reflection and commenting on how gorgeous he was), but she never judged you for it.

Well, not much, at least.

“Hello, (Y/N),” a soft voice muttered behind you, distracting you from the scene ahead. You spun around to see Agathe, the village beggar, standing about a foot away from you.

“Bonjour, Agathe,” you replied with a smile. She smiled gently back at you, and you were struck with sympathy for the older woman. You had no coins or food on you, or else you’d give them to her. All you had were your book and the dandelions. But who needs a change of fate more than a poor beggar? you thought to yourself. “I don’t have any money, I’m sorry, but here.” You offered her one of the dandelions. “I know it’s not much, but I like to make wishes on them in the hopes that things will change. Who knows? Maybe your wish will come true.”

Agathe took the dandelion from you, still smiling. “Thank you, (Y/N),” she said. Then she nodded her head towards Belle’s house. “You should probably rescue your friend.”

You looked towards the house. Belle stood on the top of the steps, with Gaston standing on the bottom. Suddenly he grabbed her skirt and began walking up the stairs towards her. “Oh, merde,” you hissed under your breath. “Au revoir, Agathe!” You waved at the woman before rushing forwards, fully intending to drag Gaston away from your friend if that was what it took. You’d acted as a buffer more times than you could count, always making up some excuse for Belle to leave his presence when he tried to have a conversation, but today, you’d gotten distracted before you had the chance to interfere.

Before you got there, however, Belle managed to slip back into the house and shut the door on him. You grinned at the sight of Gaston standing there, rejected. He deserved a healthy dose of humility once in a while. You slowed your pace in order to allow him to leave, then rushed to the house, ready to tease your friend. You ran up the stairs and rapped at the door. “Belle? It’s (Y/N)!” you called.

The door opened a crack. “Is he gone?” Belle asked.

You laughed. “Yes, he’s gone.”

She opened the door and stepped out, a white handkerchief in hand. You went down a step to give her more room. “Ugh, I honestly don’t understand what you see in him. He’s selfish, narcissistic, boorish, and doesn’t have the brain capacity to know how to take a hint! UGH!” She whipped the handkerchief against her leg in anger. You winced at the sharp crack it made as it hit her leg, though she seemed not to notice.

You shrugged. “Sometimes, I don’t even know what I see in him,” you admitted. “But I think he deserves a chance.” She glared at you. “Not from you! I’m not saying you should give him a chance! Just that he deserves one from someone!” She scoffed. You shrugged and retrieved your book from the apron. “But that’s not why I’m here. I came to see if you wanted company while your father is away.”

She was still obviously frustrated, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you as much as a certain captain. “Fine. If you want,” she grumbled.

You stifled a laugh. “Alright then.”

The two of you were reading on the steps the next day when Phillipe came galloping through town, covered in mud and riderless. Belle jumped up at the sight and looked towards the alleyway that led to her home, expectant. When her father didn’t appear, she turned to you, a hint of concern on her face. “Where’s Papa?” she demanded.

You frowned. “You don’t see him?”

She shook her head nervously before running to Phillipe. “Phillipe, where’s Papa?” she asked the horse as she grabbed the reins. Of course, the horse couldn’t answer. “(Y/N), I’m worried about him,” she said, glancing behind her, still hoping he might suddenly appear.

You began to feel a tad nervous as well. Maurice was a kind man, much like a second father to you, only he didn’t judge you for moving to the countryside by yourself. You cared for him almost as much as you cared for Belle. “What should we do?” you asked, setting your book aside.

“I’m going to search for him. Phillipe can take me.” Belle immediately began to saddle the horse. You jumped up and ran into the house, grabbing her cloak and some bread that you wrapped in a kerchief. By the time you returned outside, she was nearly ready to leave. You handed her the cloak and food. “Thanks,” she smiled, but you could see that she had grown more worried. You wanted to join her in her search, but she’d be faster and more efficient on her own, you knew.

“I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the house, okay?”

Belle nodded at your offer. “Thank you.”

You patted Phillipe on the neck. “Be safe, will you? Don’t do anything stupid.”

Belle nodded again. “I won’t,” she promised. And then she was off, leaving you behind with an empty house.

You watched her go. I hope she finds him, you thought. With nothing better to do, you returned to your spot on the stairs and resumed reading.

It felt like only a few minutes later (though in actuality, it was nearly two hours) when you heard someone approaching. You tore your gaze from the book in annoyance (Really? It’s getting to the good part!) only to see Gaston standing before you, a huge bouquet of flowers in hand, looking very confused as to your presence at his alleged future wife’s house. “Bonjour, Gaston,” you said politely, hoping that your cheeks weren’t flushing at the sight of him with the flowers. Hadn’t you just been imagining such a scene the other day?

“Bonjour…” He paused. You sighed. He obviously didn’t even know your name. So much for that daydream.

You let him stand there awkwardly for a few seconds before finally taking pity on him. “(Y/N).”

“Ahh, yes! Bonjour, (Y/N)! I knew that.” He grinned, revealing perfect teeth, and while your heart skipped a beat (He’s smiling at me!), you kept your face nonchalant.

“Of course you did,” you muttered, returning to your book. You heard him clear his throat and ignored it. He did it again, a bit louder, and you sighed and set your book aside before looking back at him. “What?” you asked rather curtly, raising your eyebrows to indicate your aggravation.

Gaston flashed you what he probably thought was his most winning smile. “Is Belle home?” he asked causally.

“Nope,” you replied, popping the ‘p’.

“Will she be home soon?” It was kind of cute how eagerly he was asking. He stared at you intently, his hope for a positive response radiating from his whole being. A small part of you felt bad for how harsh you were being to him, but the rest of you was annoyed at being interrupted from reading and therefore deriving pleasure from being as unhelpful as possible. Besides, it was your duty as a best friend to be as openly discouraging of his affections as possible.

Which is why you shrugged in response and made an “I don’t know” sound.

Gaston’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could sense the beginnings of his irritation. Good, you thought. You can’t always get what you want. “Will she perhaps be home in time for dinner?” With me? was unsaid but implied. He flashed another flirtatious smile.

You ignored it, instead leaning forwards in an attempt to seem more intimidating. You doubted if it was effective, but it seemed to get his attention; his eyebrow raised slightly, indicating a vague interest. “Look, Gaston, I’m going to be a bit frank here: Belle is not interested in you. At all. She never has been, and she never will be.”

His eyes narrowed even more, and he scoffed. “And how would you know this?” He placed his right leg on the second step, making himself seem even larger than he already was. You didn’t allow yourself to glance at his leg, knowing exactly where your eyes would wander if you did.

Your heart pounding, you forced yourself to meet his green eyes with your (Y/E/C) ones. “Because she told me,” you said emphatically.

Now he was glaring at you. You held your ground, matching his glare with your own. He sneered and snapped his fingers with the hand not holding flowers. “I know you. You’re always interrupting me when I’m trying to speak with her or giving some excuse that pulls her away from me.” He leaned forward, closing the distance between the two of you. You could smell the gunpowder and echo of beer on his tan jacket, as well as some other scent you couldn’t quite identify. “I’m going to tell you something now: you are not going to stop me from making Belle my wife, best friend or not.” His voice had gotten lower, slightly dangerous.

You loved it.

But what you hated was that he was speaking to you like that. That was unacceptable. In as sharp and cold a voice as you could muster, you whispered your reply. “Watch me.”

For a moment, you genuinely thought he might hit you. There was a fire in his eyes that threatened to scorch you, to burn you up until all that remained was smoke and ash, but you continued to hold your eye contact. Neither you nor Gaston blinked. The tension between you two was tangible, almost to the point that you could taste it. You were abruptly struck by a mad desire to close the distance between the two of you and kiss him, which you managed to resist (although there was a definite mental battle taking place between your wants and logic). The fire in his eyes suddenly changed somehow. You couldn’t explain it, but you had seen something else flicker. He began to lean forward, slowly, deliberately. You weren’t sure if it was a bluff or not, so you remained as you were, fighting your body’s craving to press your lips against his, and there were only a few centimeters separating the two of you. What is he doing? you wondered, holding your breath as he came closer, closer—

“Gaston!” a voice yelled, making you jump and pull back. You blinked, and Gaston was smirking, although there was something different about it now. You couldn’t identify the subtle change beyond some mild confusion…and perhaps something else? He pulled away and stepped back down, that funny expression still on his face.

You suppressed the need to shiver, although it wasn’t because you were cold. In fact, your cheeks were flushed; you could feel the warmth in them. Your eyes went to LeFou, Gaston’s right-hand man, who was standing by the garden gate and watching the two of you. He also had an unusual expression on his face that you couldn’t quite explain—sort of a mixture of shock, confusion, disappointment, and was that anger as well?

Gaston dropped the bouquet onto the ground as he turned on his heels and walked away. He didn’t say anything, which greatly concerned you. He was the type who liked to have the last word. And here he was, allowing you to have it. Did he feel a sense of triumph due to you being first to look away?

You sat there for a few minutes after he left with LeFou, allowing yourself to regulate your heartbeat and breathing. You rose from the step to stretch yourself out in an attempt to figure out what exactly had just transpired. Without meaning to, you found yourself walking to the fallen flowers. You bent down to retrieve them. They were gorgeous, and you allowed yourself a brief moment of jealousy that he’d brought them for Belle and not you. You felt immediately bad; Belle did not want his attention, and would gladly, eagerly even, shift that affection to you if she could.

You took a deep breath and went back into the house with no intention of leaving its interior until nightfall.

True enough, it was nighttime when you entered the tavern. As the day had gone on, you’d begun to get worried for Belle and Maurice, who had not yet returned. To stave off the growing sense of dread that had started forming in the pit of your stomach, you’d made the decision to surround yourself with familiar faces.

You found yourself a corner with a table that was vacant and sat down. As your eyes scanned the large room, you spotted Gaston sitting in a chair by the fireplace, dagger in hand, looking extremely aggravated and distraught. LeFou was sort of draped over the chair, talking to him, but nothing he said seemed to cheer Gaston up. You couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. Serves him right, you thought. Your mind inadvertently went back to the day’s earlier confrontation between you two, and your face heated up in embarrassment.

Suddenly, Gaston threw the dagger. You heard it thunk into the wall across from you, right in the heart of a deer that was painted on the wall. Silence filled the tavern, and you could hear LeFou beginning to sing. As you watched, he rose from the chair and began massaging Gaston, then began gesturing around. He then jumped up onto a nearby table, singing all about how great Gaston was.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. Of course something like this would happen. Whenever Gaston was upset (usually over Belle), LeFou was always there to cheer him up and literally sing his praises. By now, most of the townspeople who frequented the tavern knew the chorus of most of LeFou’s songs, although he always managed to change his lyrics to keep it interesting.

“Oh, Belle, if you could see this now,” you muttered, still watching LeFou’s antics.

The townspeople, urged on by LeFou and ale, began to sing louder. Gaston rose from his chair and began to play along, which earned another eye roll from you, although you didn’t stop watching him. He pantomimed his ‘perfect’ hunting strategy, which everyone in town probably had memorized from how many times he’d bragged about it. You couldn’t deny that you found his swagger was attractive. Yes, he needed to be knocked down a few pegs, but there was just something about a confident man that attracted you.

You turned away from the crowd in an attempt to seem disinterested, but also to hide your face from him. Who knew how he’d react if he saw you among the crowd, especially after this morning? It would certainly do nothing for his ego.

Then everyone was clapping and dancing and there were swords drawn and you found yourself wanting to participate but stubbornly refused to (you rationalized it as your own way of taking him off his pedestal a little), and it finally ended. Gaston flopped back into his chair, red captain coat (you hated how much you enjoyed that coat on him) on and his typical smug expression on his face. You tried not to stare too intensely at him, worried that he might feel your eyes on him and notice you.

That was when Maurice barged in. You rose from your chair in order to run to him, but the man was panicked. You almost doubted he’d recognize you, he was so frightened.

“He has her!” he said, grabbing a man by his shoulders and shaking him. “A Beast, a terrible Beast!”

The pit in your stomach returned with a vengeance. “A Beast?” you whispered to yourself. There was no way…was there? Beasts didn’t exist except in stories. How was that even possible? But then why would Maurice lie about such a thing?

A vivid image of a pack of wolves dragging Belle off to devour her appeared in your mind. In the dark, a pack could possibly be mistaken for a monster if they stood close enough. Maybe that was what he meant. But no, he was insisting on a Beast.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you considered the possibility of him telling the truth. Had Belle indeed been captured by a terrifying monster? How could that happen? Where even would she have been taken? A cave, your mind supplied, and you frowned. You’d told her to be safe! This was the opposite of that, Beast or no Beast!

“Will no one help me?” Maurice asked in despair, standing alone in a circle formed by the townspeople. You began to step forward, ready to volunteer, but to your surprise, Gaston rose and offered assistance first.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was up to something.

“Thank you, Captain,” Maurice said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Gaston smiled. “Lead us to the Beast,” he said, pointing an arm forward. LeFou jumped after him, and you frowned. Definitely up to something.

You rushed out after them, ready to voice your suspicions to Maurice and warn him. Somehow by the time you’d gotten outside, they had located a carriage and were loading it with the essentials. LeFou tossed a quiver of arrows and a bow into the driver’s seat and climbed up into the backseat. Gaston stood off to the side, examining his pistol, and Maurice paced alongside the carriage, waiting for the others to be ready.

“Maurice!” you called, effectively getting the attention of all three men.

Maurice spun around. Upon spotting you, he smiled in relief. “(Y/N)! Oh, my dear girl, it is so good to see you!” he exclaimed, hugging you tightly.

“Maurice, is it true?” you asked softly. It was a crazy tale, but he deserved the benefit of the doubt. You trusted him, and he had no reason to make such a wild claim, especially about his only child.

“Yes, (Y/N), yes it is. The Beast has Belle, and we must get her back or else who knows what will happen to her?” He pulled back to look at your face. Fear shined in his eyes. “She’s in danger.”

The pit expanded, making you feel nauseous. “Then go get her. I would come, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much assistance.” You hated how true that statement was, but you would most likely get in the way, especially if they needed to move quickly. “I’ll keep an eye on your house.”

He pulled you into a hug again. “Thank you, (Y/N). We will find her. We have to.”

“Be safe. Keep an eye out for trouble,” you whispered. As you said ‘trouble’, you couldn’t help but glance at Gaston, who had climbed into the driver’s seat and was watching you with impatience. You glared back. As much as you were suspicious of his intentions for helping, you were also worried for him. You were comforted by the knowledge that if anyone was capable of fighting a monster to retrieve Belle, it would be him. Of course, he would probably turn it into a wedding proposal, knowing him, but you just wanted her back. You could deal with him once she was home.

You released Maurice, and he rushed to get into the carriage, eager to be off. Gaston continued to watch you as he shook the reins, sending them forwards. “Be safe!” you called after them. For a second, something flashed across his face—confusion?—and then it was gone, replaced by his trademark smirk. He winked at you, which made absolutely no sense at all but did make your cheeks flush once again.

You watched them go, praying that they would find Belle and that she would be okay.

Next Chapter

#gaston x reader #gaston #beauty and the beast #batb #gaston imagine

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