#and it's A Whole Thing so I see the email that I have a message and think 'ughh I'll mess with that later' and then I just simply don't

[rabbigfirlee]

.

[corvidaedream]

just submitted work to a juried (online) show for the first time in my life outside of meca and i have so much anxiety i feel physically ill

[writeformesinpie]

Late Night Assignment

CEO Jungkook x Fem!Reader 

Summary - Your boss asks you to stay late even though he knows you have a date. Things end up getting heated. 

Genre - Office AU/Smut 

Warnings - Smut, flirting, slight degradation and name calling, vaginal sex, nipple play, language, teasing, unprotected sex, cream pie, etc  

Word Count - 2.7k

Tag List - @kpoptrashlord-007 @justanotherstarlightmonger

A/N - Oops, this was meant to be posted for Jungkook’s birthday - I’m only a couple of days late

    Desperate taps against the keyboard. Stolen glances at the computer's clock. A quick wave with a tight smile as your last coworker bids you farewell.

    You shouldn’t be here. It’s already too late. One more email and you’ll pack up.

    Nimble fingers glide across the table, one hand typing out your final salutation as the other digs into the drawer. Hooking a finger around the strap of your handbag, you press send and watch as your message disappears, on its way to another company, someone else’s problem.

    “There you are.”

    Your thumb hovers in front of the power button, your body leaning across the desk to reach it. Resisting the urge to run you instead take a deep breath of the office’s stale air. Closing your eyes tight, you compose yourself.

    “I wonder if you could help me figure out the Johnson case.”

    “The Johnson case?”

    Sitting back down you swivel in the black chair to face your boss. He’s smiling. Of course he’s smiling – he’s always smiling. His slicked back hair has loosened from the product he used this morning, his dark waves tumbling free to sweep across his face, giving him a more relaxed look.

    “Yeah, I need someone to bounce some ideas against.”

    “I can’t tonight. I told you I have a date.”

    “Oh?” There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes before his face stills into a frown. “Was that tonight?”

    He knows it’s tonight; you told him last week and you reminded him this morning that you needed to leave on time. Why is he acting like this now when just this morning he seemed so uninterested in the whole conversation? It’s just like him to change his mind at the last minute. Something tickles at the corner of his brain about the advertisement mere hours before the company is due to arrive for the scheduled presentation leaving destruction in his wake. Every hand on deck. Or worse, when much like tonight, he decides to change something right before you’re about to log out for the weekend.

    “Well, I’m sure he won’t mind waiting.”

    “Who said it was a he?”

    Jungkook gives you a onceover before letting his eyes focus on your face, his features tight and unforgiving. “I’m sure they won’t mind waiting.”

    “Are you seriously asking this of me right now?” There’s no point in asking, he’s already turning away, beckoning you with a flick of his wrist, not bothering to turn and see if you’re following. You punch the air a few times with tight balled fists before pulling out your phone and sending a message of sincere regret. The career you fought so hard to obtain is destroying your dating life. If you don’t leave this job soon you may very well end up a spinster.

    Dragging your feet, you take your time, dawdling towards Jungkook’s office. Pushing the door all the way open you waddle over to the furthest chair with a pout on your lips, resigning to sulk until he finally lets you go home. What a waste of a Friday night.

    “You don’t have to stay if you really don’t want to.” When you shoot up and take a step towards the door, he continues, “I guess I’ll just do it myself. All alone. It’ll take twice as long but that’s fine.”

    This time you give in to your inner urges, your eyes rolling so dramatically you’re afraid they might pop out of your skull. Shuffling closer you sit in the chair in front of his desk, grabbing the file and browsing its contents.

    “What do you need? It looks like everything is in order,” you say as you turn the last few pages. It looks like it’s been read at least fifty times, the pages creased with a few coffee stains littering the crisp white paper.

    “So what’s this date of yours like?”

    “Excuse me?”

    “What does he do? How long have you been talking?”

    Your knotted brows ease as you realise what this is all about. “Are you jealous?”

    “Jealous? Of course not,” he says leaning back, arms crossed in front of his chest as he snuggles into the plush chair. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not dating some loser.”

    “Oh? You’re worried about me?” you tease, a smirk adorning your lips.

    “Worried about the company. It’s inconvenient to have to deal with the mess that comes from a bad relationship. Or worse, a good one.”

    “What mess comes from a good relationship?”

    “Marriage. Taking time off from work for the honeymoon. Then children usually follow and that’s maternity leave. You might as well just be a stay-at-home mother at that point.”

    “What?” You laugh and shake your head. Is he being serious?

    “Kids are always getting sick. They carry viruses. They’re practically a walking disease. If you’re not taking off time for them you’ll be taking time off for yourself. Years of illnesses and for what?”

    “A life changing experience filled with joy, unconditional love and new life lessons?”

    “No. After 18 years–no, let's be serious, these days it’s well into the 20’s–after all that time and effort you put into raising and loving them they just up and leave. After all that sacrifice you are simply abandoned.”

    “That’s what the spouse is for.”

    “Unless they leave, too? Probably for a newer model.”

    “A newer model? What are we, cars?” Scrunching up your face, you lean over and pat him on the shoulder. “Who hurt you?”

    He looks from you to your hand (now rubbing his shoulder) then back to your face, his fierce eyes betraying his poker face. Dropping your hand, you ease onto the edge of his desk in an awkward attempt to make yourself look relaxed. Instead your skirt ends up tangling up under your butt, the fabric pulled tight against your thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. As you try to pull your skirt back down to an acceptable length in a nonchalant way you rock back and forth and end up knocking a stack of papers off of the desk.

    “Shit.”

    Jumping to the floor on your hands and knees, your arms flailing out in every direction, you scramble to collect the paperwork, jumbled in a puzzle of white. You have the worst luck. Jungkook clicks his teeth behind you as you mumble an apology and start the tedious process of piecing the piles back together.

    After a few moments, while wondering why Jungkook isn’t at least pretending to help, you sneak a look over your shoulder. Heat licks your cheeks and you snap your hand back around, pulling on your skirt. How could you be so stupid? The silky material of your skirt got caught up as you jumped to the floor exposing god only knows what to your boss. The way his eyes bore into yours with a distinct glimmer of lust makes you think he may have caught a glimpse of your lacy thong underneath.

    Scooping the last pile of paper together the heat of embarrassment spreads from your face to your core as you remember the look on his face. Raw. Animalistic. What is he thinking? It takes every ounce of your self respect not to turn and crawl towards him.

    The second hand ticks louder than before, bringing your attention to the large moon-shaped clock up on the wall. You’ve been here for only fifteen minutes yet it feels like an eternity.

    Standing you mutter, “Excuse me,” under your breath as you place the last stack back on the table. Refusing to look at him you instead hang your head as you continue, “Well, if that's all…”

    “You’re leaving already? But we haven’t even started.”

    “I think that’s enough humiliation for today,” you say, trudging towards the door.

    Before you can reach it however, you hear the familiar sound of paper plopping against the ground. With a snap of the neck you turn back towards Jungkook’s desk, your feet carrying you to the scene of the crime before you realise something. You were nowhere near the table when the new mishap happened and judging from Jungkook’s lazy grin as he continues to lean back in the office chair either was he.

    “Oops.”

    “Did you do that on purpose?” you ask from your half-squat position. Standing, you take a step back as he does the same, his steps quicker than your own, each stride bringing him closer until he is close enough to touch.

    “And what if I did?” His brow lifts on the last word as you back into the wall behind you. “Do you think I don’t notice your pitifully obvious attempts to catch my attention?”

    “What do you mean?” you practically scoff, turning your head to look away from him.

    “The slutty outfits.”

    “Slutty outfits! What outfits?”

    “The way you sashay around the office.”

    “We call that walking where I come from.”

    “The intoxicating perfume you adorn yourself with,” he says, his fingers twisting around your wrist to hold you in place as he leans close, his lips against your neck. “Every scent you wear is more exhilarating than the last.”

    His fingers dig into your flesh as he litters light kisses up your throat that leave a trail of fire against your skin, the rough and sweet a certain torture to your erratic heartbeat. A heartbeat that echoes under his very touch.

    This isn’t how you imagined him finally making his move. The slutty outfits, the tempting struts around the office, the scents. You had started to think he wasn’t interested. Who would’ve thought all it would take for him to notice was giving up?

    “Do you like it?”

    “Hmm?” His fingers entwine with yours above your head as he nibbles on your ear.

    “Today's perfume.”

    “I can’t get enough,” he says, a sly grin on his face as his fingers trace down the length of your arms. “You smell like spicy whipped cream. I want to take my time tasting every single inch of you but I can’t stand not having you another moment.”

    His teeth dig into your neck and you moan out from the pleasure and pain. Lifting you up he carries you over to his desk, leaning you against the edge as he shoves everything to the ground with a carnal growl. Papers flutter in the air and before you can fret about how long it’s going to take to get everything back in order your back knocks up against the cool mahogany wood beneath you.

    Agile fingers make quick work of your blouse. With a quick inhale of breath he takes a moment to drink you in as his hands explore your exposed skin. Your nipples perk up both due to his touch and the chilled breeze swirling down from the vent above Jungkook’s desk.

    “Is it always this cold here?”

    “I’ll warm you up,” he murmurs against your chest, one hand snaking under your skirt while the other cups your breast. While sucking on the supple skin, his fingers find your panties, damp and clinging to your throbbing cunt. His tongue glides across the rim of your nipple before rolling it gently between his teeth.

    Arching your back you grind your pussy against his fingers. Desperate for more you push against the constricting fabric as far as you can. He drags your lace thong down to your ankles and leaves them dangling on one foot as he turns his attention back to your core. His fingers trace messages against your clit as he continues to dine on your swollen breasts.

    “Stop teasing me, Kookie,” you moan the words, ignoring his raised brow as he kisses his way up the middle of your chest. “Just fuck me already.”

    “Patience is a virtue, beautiful.”

    “I don’t want to be virtuous,” you say, shifting back and forth under him. He pulls his fingers out from under your skirt and you let out a whine.

    “Suck,” he commands, his fingers hover in front of your mouth. Parting your lips he slips them inside. Your tongue glides against his digits a few times before you clamp down sucking on them like they’re an ice block. Almost as delicious. “Good girl.”

    Pulling them back he ignores your pout, shoving his hand back between your thighs. Biting your bottom lip you watch as he slips one of his fingers inside. Slow. Controlled. He has the power and he refuses to let it go. Not that you mind. You try to keep your eyes glued to his but by the time he slides in the third finger you’re writhing under his touch, the cool air from the vent no longer enough to keep the heat building between you at bay.

    “It’s okay, baby, you can come.”

    “No.”

    “No?”

    “No,” you sob, the pleasure continuing to build as he quickens the pace of his fingers. “No, I want you inside. I want to come with you.”

    He pulls out his fingers with a chuckle, the slick sound of your excitement quickly followed by the clinking sound of his belt buckle and the pull of his zipper. He stares down at you licking his fingers with a hum, his dick nuzzling up against your pussy before he pulls back. Before you can complain his lips are on yours, his hands in your hair pulling you closer. Bruising kisses follow tiny nips then his tongue dances along your lips before he pushes inside you, his full girth filling every inch of your cunt.

    “Oh my God,” you sputter out the words and it comes out distorted as he sucks on your bottom lip. He doesn’t give you time to adjust before he thrusts his hips against yours, his thick cock propelling deep within your tight walls.

    The musky smell of his sweat combined with the sweet aroma of his cologne fills the room as the sound of skin on skin rebounds off the walls. Sweat trickles down the back of your neck as his pace quickens. Raking your nails up the bulging muscles of his arms you toss your head back and forth unable to utter a word. Breathless.

    Savage hunger burns inside as you buck your hips up in time to meet his. Frantic desire fills you to the core, seeping out of every pore. It’s not enough. You want him to fill you more.

    “Don’t you dare stop,” you say, the words practically a growl from between clenched teeth. He smirks down at you but he doesn’t stop, instead his pace increases. He drills deep inside, each thrust eliciting a guttural moan.

    Curling toes and fingers digging into the taut flesh of his shoulders hint at your climax and somehow he hastens the velocity of his movements. You blink away tears as your body erupts into liquid fire, a demonic spark of pure ecstasy rippling waves of fire across your skin.

    You allow yourself to drown in the pleasure as your body jerks in unison with Jungkook’s soothing movements. His cock throbs and pulses inside of you, his body tensing as he cages you within. He rocks back and forth a few more times before he relaxes against you, pinning you under him. Panting you wrap your arm across his back and kiss his neck, the smell of his skin easing you back into a comfortable rhythm.

    “That was hot,” you purr against his ear, raking your fingers through his black waves. The mess on the floor catches your eyes and you make a move to get up.

    “Where do you think you’re going?” You motion towards the paperwork and office supplies scattered across the floor. “Leave it.”

    “It won’t take long to–”

    “It’ll just end up back on the floor again,” he says, his lips trailing across your neck down your throat.

    “Are you trying to fuck me until I can’t stand?”

    “I like the sound of that,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. He pushes his cock back inside with ease causing both his come and your previous arousal to drip down your cunt. “But don’t worry, I can carry you to my car when we’re done.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this content! If you did, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging and/or following, and check out my masterlist for similar content. Have a great day!

[tinydeskwriter]

Traitor

EXTRA ONE; PARTE TWO; EXTRA TWO; PART THREE

singer!reader

summary: he took everything from you, so you are taking something from him. or, Harry is your ex, who left you for another woman after eight years of dating, your feeling revengeful and it's the Grammy’s night 2021.

word count: 3567

warning: angsty

A/n: THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING HARRY. Niall make’s a appearance, Zayn is mentioned, let’s remember that this is fiction and it doesn’t reflect my personal opinions, but, like in every cheating story, we need villains… reader is in no way perfect, she is revengeful, she’s not meek, I decided to write her because I am tired of the nice, understanding, good girl, forgiving and moving on trope, I want someone who will be revengeful and mean and make him pay and regret for her broken heart…even if she still loves him. English is not my first language, so please be kind.

TRAITOR

Grammy Night- 2021, March 14

Her skin is glowing and she is more beautiful than ever.

Her hair shines under the lights, loose in waves to her hips with a diamond star tiara adorning it borrowed from Fred Leighton. Her dress is entirely hidden under a cloak embroidered in silver threads and small crystals, which she has no intention of taking off before her performance.

It's the first time the pop icon has been seen in public since the end of her more than eight-year long relationship was announced by her ex's representatives back in December.

Her team had remained silent, even when they were approached by members of the press for comment after Harry was photographed with his new love less than a month later. Her only comment to the whole debacle was a post on Twitter: {I guess I won our ‘I love you more’ game}, that fans took as a admission that Harry had left her for his director.

For all intents and purposes, Y/n seemed to have disappeared from the face of the Earth after their break-up.

Emails went unanswered, messages went unread and calls ignored. No one had found her in their London home, the penthouse in Tribecca, the mansion in Los Angeles or the Villa in Italy that the couple had acquired together during their years of relationship,— another thing they had to sort out— despite never having married, they had acquired assets together, properties, cars, works of art, Harry's lawyers were already starting to lose patience with Y/n's team not knowing the singer's whereabouts. He wanted to solve everything as quickly as possible to start the new chapter of his life.

Y/n posed for some photos on the red carpet—she looked more beautiful than ever, yes, but fans would comment on the photos afterwards, she didn't look radiant as usual, her smile was small and forced, and her eyes lacked the usual sparkle— she refused to do interviews or answer questions, soon being escorted by her manager into the event.

The singer had seven nominations, and after the critical success that her album had been, it was certain that at least some of the awards she would take home— to join the twelve she already had from her previous albums—, after her dramatic four-month disappearance, her performance was also highly anticipated, as was the reunion between her and Harry—after all, he had also received nominations and was expected to perform that night—.

Y/n walked around the event hall being escorted to her table at the front of the stage, stopping from moment to moment to be greeted and congratulated on the nominations, one person or another regretted the end of the relationship, 'you two made such a beautiful couple' she listened more than once that night.

Their table was between Billie Eilish and Dua Lipa’s table, and she had a perfect view of Harry’s a little further back. He was the opening performance, so she wouldn't see him for a while.

Y/n would only perform in the middle of the show, she was the artist who had received the most stage time— long enough to sing a three-song medley, never heard before music that would be released on EP that night—, it was her way of correcting the narrative and to let people know her side of the story. For far too long she allowed his team to control the narrative, control the damage to his image.

After all, TPWK is kind of hypocritical when you cheat on your girlfriend of almost a decade and leave her for another woman.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” her manager and friend questioned when they were both sitting away from the hearing field of the people around them. “You can keep the cloak on during the performance…”

“But then it wouldn't be revenge...” Y/n said back. “He took everything from me, I want him to suffer a little, I want to make it difficult, I want him to see wha I am taking from him...”

They were supposed to be planning a wedding.

The beginning of the rest of their lives together.

They had been together since she was sixteen years old, she had practically 'grown up' with him, H was as much a part of her identity as she was his. They knew each other better than anyone, all the secrets, the personality traits. They were one of those couples that didn't even need words to communicate, that was the level that they knew each other.

He took her happiness away from her.

And why? Because he was lonely? Because he couldn’t be by himself for two months?

They usually planned their schedules around each other so they could be together, the longest period they had away was when he was still in the band, and Y/n embarked on her first solo tour. But now they were getting into acting, and Covid got in the way of filming schedules, her movie was pushed, and then they are filming at the same time in two different countries.

There was also some sourness over the fact that she got the role in the Elvis biopic and he didn’t.

The ceremony began. Y/n barely paid attention until Harry walked onto the stage, handsome in a black leather suit, shirtless and with a green boa. She smiled slightly, knowing there would be cameras on her, and held back the urge to cry—in vain, as her eyes were watering, and by the end of the performance when she gracefully clapped, tears had run down her face—.

How could she not cry when he was on stage, singing a song about her, as if it didn’t affected him after he'd broken her heart?

She had already won Video of the Year at the premiere ceremony, beating Beyonce, Harry and Drake, and lost Best Duo to Ariana and Lady Gaga.

Y/n was ushered backstage to prepare for her performance just as Harry took the stage to receive his first-ever Grammy—her second loss that night—.

As she walked, an assistant helped her remove her tiara and replace it with a more over the top headdress, a large halo with flowers and a delicate red veil that fell over her eyes.

The singer dropped the cape, showing off the dress she would wear in the performance.

A masterpiece in fabric. Sheer so you could see her skin through the fabric, the delicate tattoos accumulated over the years, the delicate crystal flowery embroidery covering all the necessary parts, and the colorful embroidery of a bleeding red heart between her breasts.

Her belly of almost six months of pregnancy delicately accentuated and proudly showing for the word to see.

Y/n truly looked half a goddess.

The woman smiled when she saw her longtime friend waiting for her near the stage stairs, guitar in hand.

“Thank you for agreeing to this.” She greeted him with kisses on the cheeks as the stagehands prepared her.

“And miss my chance to perform at the Grammys?” Niall joked with a smile, then got serious. “He's my friend but you're a sister to me, and he hurt you, of course I'll stand by your side.” Y/n never had a big family, her whole life had been her and her mother, and her mother had passed away in 2019 after two years of battling cancer. When Harry left her, she lost the last family she had left. Hearing Niall call her sister made her emotional, no matter how many times she heard it.

She didn't know what would become of her if it wasn't for Niall and Zayn in the last few months. Zayn, Gigi and Khai had been her support system when everything seemed to fall apart. It was Zayn who called Niall, who dropped everything to be with her.

Niall and Zayn had helped her write her heartbroken songs, her version of the breakup that still generated tabloid gossip. The songs were more acoustic than her usual, and normally she would play the guitar herself, but her belly wouldn't allow it, so she asked Niall, who knew the compositions as well as she did. She needed the emotional support of his presence to keep from falling apart—other than that she knew the internet would go crazy seeing her accompanied by another member of her ex's former band—.

“Thank you so much Ni.” She thanked him with a sincere smile, squeezing his hand. “You and Z, I don't know what I would do without you two.”

He gave her an understanding smile and helped her onto the stage.

Y/n's stage was simpler than Taylor's cabin in the woods had been, but her intention was to keep things simple and delicate so as not to distract from the songs.

The stage was covered in flowers, a garden of wilted sunflowers, there was a high stool for Niall to sit on, and a white grand piano, the backing singers and her band were already in place. Niall sat in his place, while Y/n positioned herself behind the door she would enter through.

She heard Noah Trevor announce her performance on the main stage, and the voice in the earpiece cued the band to start playing the chords of I Burned LA Down.

Y/n opened the door just before singing, the spotlight focused on her, she walked through the stage in between the flowers as the background changed to the Positano summer sunset.

The same sunset under which Harry had proposed her in 2019.

She hooked the microphone to the stand, eyes closed as she sang to try to contain the emotion, one hand on her stomach where the only good things left of their relationship was kicking her hard on the ribs.

You can’t make a God of somebody, 

Who isn’t even half of a half decent man

Her band started to transition to Traitor, she took a deep breath, knowing she probably wouldn't be able to hold back the tears now, the next two songs in the medley are deeply emotional ones to her.

Green guilty eyes and little white lies Yeah, 

I played dumb but I always knew 

That you'd talk to her, maybe did even worse 

I kept quiet so I could keep you

She was accusing him in every way except calling out his name, everyone knew who she meant, and she imagined everyone's shock.

There was no need for a guessing game as in the songs of so many other singers.

Y/n had only dated Harry since she was 16, he had green eyes, the timeline of his new relationship was already suspicious to many fans, but so far Y/n hadn't spoken about it and everyone accepted the version given by the team of the new couple.

The dancers entered through the same door that she had entered, during the chorus, they danced among themselves and around the singer, interacting with her at one time or another as she could not properly dance.

The background was slowly changing to the starry sky of Palm Springs, the same beautiful winter night sky from the day that he broke up with her—because he was starting to grow feelings for the director ten years older than he was, and he wanted to explore those feelings—.

It took you two days 

To go off and date her 

Guess you didn't cheat 

But you're still a traitor

Y/n didn't even realize when she started crying.

Her voice expressed all the pain and suffering she felt at that moment, and there, present and at home watching, thousands of hearts broke alongside with hers.

The more observant would notice that she still had her engagement ring on her finger, as well as Harry's 'S' ring —which he had given her a few years ago, representing the fact that he intended to one day make her his wife— and she played with the rings over her bulging belly.

When she's sleeping in the bed we made 

Don't you dare forget about the way 

You betrayed me 

'Cause I know that you'll never feel sorry 

For the way I hurt, yeah

Dramatically, Y/n intended to return the rings to him during the ceremony, the famous 17-carats engagement ring and his gold ‘S’ ring would be delivered to his table as soon as she was called on stage to receive an award—because everyone knew she would receive it— her latest album had broken all records, and she was the female artist with the longest-running song on the Billboard 100 for 78 weeks, the same song that had won Video of the Year for.

The lights dimmed as the song transitioned to Enough for You, the dancers left the stage, followed by the background singers and part of the band. Under the spotlight were just Y/n, Niall and Jay, her guitarist.

I knew from the start this is exactly how you'd leave 

You found someone more exciting 

The next second, you were gone 

And you left me there cryin', wonderin' what I did wrong

Y/n looked off into nothing while singing, it wasn't like there was an audience, the only people watching was Taylor Swift, who had performed shortly before and was returning to the main stage, and Dua Lipa, who would perform later, and was on the way to her stage.

She had learned of the closeness between Harry and Olivia through Glenne Azoff back in November, but chose to believe Harry when he visited her in Australia and said there was nothing between them. How foolish she was. The next time she saw him, she was excited to inform him about the possibility pregnancy they'd been dreaming of, but before she could say anything, he broke up with her.

He said all his reasons. And Y/n had never felt so worthless before, so not good enough.

And maybe I'm just not as interesting 

As the girls you had before 

But God, you couldn't have cared less 

About someone who loved you more 

I'd say you broke my heart 

But you broke much more than that 

Now I don't want your sympathy 

I just want myself back

She'd given herself 100% in a relationship for nearly nine years, she'd loved him with every bit of her broken heart, only for him to dump her for a woman he'd met in two months.

Don't you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded? 

Don't you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing?

Her voice failed amidst the tears, though she kept singing the song until the end, it was safe to say there weren't many dry eyes.

You say I'm never satisfied 

But that's not me, it's you 

'Cause all I ever wanted was to be enough 

But I don't think anything could ever be enough 

For you, enough for you, oh-oh 

No, nothing's enough for you

The stage lights dimmed with the last chords played by Niall, and the camera turned to Noah Travor, as stagehands approached to help the singer with the equipment strapped to the back of her dress. Niall dropped the guitar leaning it against the bench he had been sitting on, and approached his friend hugging her while she finished crying in his arms.

“You were fantastic.” Niall praised her stroking her back. “Breathtaking, I don't think I've ever seen such an emotional performance.”

“I'll never be able to thank you enough for everything...” She said against his shoulder.

They were interrupted by Y/n's assistant warning her that she had to change clothes and get back to her table, she only had twenty minutes until the next category she was nominated for was announced. She said goodbye to Niall with kisses on the cheek, promising to see him later at the after party in her house.

The assistant helped her change her hair ornaments on the way to the dressing room, her dress zip was already halfway down when she reached the door, and her support staff made quick work of helping her get dressed. Her second dress was worthy of a movie star, with crystal embroidery, and fringe, tight, again showing off the shapes that Y/n had gained with pregnancy —she was one of those lucky women who had only grown in her belly, from the back she didn't even look pregnant—. She glowed under the artificial lights, the crystals shimmering rainbow colors whenever she moved.

“Y/n...” Lisa, Y/n's assistant for over five years called her. The singer turned, her eyes quickly falling on the jewelry box the older woman had in her hand. The young woman sighed, taking one last look at the rings she had worn more than any other piece of jewelry in her life, she had put them on for the first time in months that night, and it was as if she had never taken them off. She slipped them through her fingers for the last time, depositing them inside the box offered by Lisa. “I'll deliver it myself, as soon as you're on stage.”

The singer just nodded, following the stage assistant back to her table. She was greeted by Taylor Swift on the way back, who praised her performance, the two briefly took off their masks to speak, and Y/n was sure there would be photos online of the moment "Harry Styles' two famous exes hug at the Grammys. After Y/n Y/l/n debut songs about the breakup with the British singer."

Y/n had barely sat down when the night's second General Category was announced. The video with the Song of the Year nominees played on the screen, and then Noah opened the envelope with the winner's name.

“Wow, this is tense...” He said into the microphone, holding up the open envelope. “And the Grammy Award Winner for Song of the Year is... Boys Will Be Boys* by Y/n Y/l/n.”

Y/n stood up to the applause, hugging her manager, and walking to the stage in calm steps concentrating on not falling off her high heels, her music playing in the background as Noah offered her his hand on the steps.

“Thank you.” She thanked him before going to the microphone, and taking the award in her hands, feeling the weight in both hands. She looked at the people seated and smiled. “Golly, I honestly didn't prepare a speech, my manager, I love you Lia, said and I quote: You're against Queen Bey, Billie, HER, TS, Dua and Julia...don't even bother...” Y/n waited for the affectionate laughter to subside before continuing. “I would like to dedicate this award to all of my fantastic team, to the fans, without you I wouldn't be here today, to my fellow nominees, just being nominated alongside you would have already been an immense honor, I would also like to dedicate this award to all the artists who wrote and released spectacular songs in the year gone by and weren't nominated tonight, an award, a nomination, doesn't diminish your worth. Thank you.”

Y/n was hugged by Lia and Lisa as soon as she left the stage.

“He looked like a kicked puppy when I handed him de box.” Lisa commented in the singer's ear when the two hugged. “He's completely stunned, and Jeff looked stressed.”

Knowing Jeff as she did, he was probably thinking of ways to reverse the negative publicity they were getting.

Lia showed the cell phone to the singer.

By all estimates, Y/n's EP could break the record for most streams in the first 24 hours held by Taylor Swift's 'Foklore', while 'Traitor' and 'Good Enough' were competing against each other for the song with the most number of streams in the first 24 hrs. People were listening and commenting, sharing their reactions on Tik Tok and Instagram.

It was all trending on Twitter, the Harries were disappointed in their idol, and Y/n's fans had even started a boycott campaign on Twitter canceling Holivia and their movie. If until now things were contained with their blurry narrative, after the release of the EP and the singer's performance at the Grammys, it had turned into a truly shit show. Her pregnancy had also blindsided the world, most agreed that the baby was Harry’s, with only a few questioning the paternity.

She gave Lisa her phone back.

They went back to their table, Y/n still had three more nominations.

“Jeffrey texted me.” Lia commented, already typing a reply. “They want a meeting.” The older woman didn’t take her eyes off her cell phone, typing furiously on the device. They knew lawyers would be included in the meeting, Lia was used to Jeff's more aggressive MO.

Y/n had never had to deal with any of that, because until that moment she had been Harry's ‘Lovie’, and they were in same team, now she would be on the opposite side of the table.

“We’re ready.” Y/n said without taking her eyes off the stage, clapping at the right moments. “The lawyers have already prepared all the documents.”

Y/n intended to make him pay for her broken heart.

She glanced quickly at Lia. “Just make sure the meeting is after the interview airs.” Her manager just nodded.

The singer ended the night with three more awards, beating Harry’s Fine Line for Best Vocal Pop Album, and taking the other two awards in the General category, being the biggest winner of the night.

[shuacore]

no thorns, no roses.

reader (f) x jsh. summary: a modeling gig turns into a test of your patience (and your self-control) — 11.4K words — is enemies with benefits a thing?, basically pwp, semi-public hooking-up?? — warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings

additional warnings: degradation (lite), unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), probably like a billion red flags lol

"Good news, y/n!" your boss yells over the phone, and you wince as you pull the speaker away from your ear. Mingyu was a nice guy but, Christ, he was fucking loud. You slowly put the phone to your ear again. "You booked the Dior gig!" 

Your jaw drops. "No fucking way. You're lying!" Silently you kick your feet in the air, a giddy dizzy feeling buzzing through your whole body. If Mingyu could see you on the other side of the phone he'd be laughing at you, but from the safety of your own apartment, you could act as ridiculous as you wanted. Your boss is yelling something into the phone, but you're not listening as you jump around your couch, pumping your fists in the air like the protagonist of some corny rom-com movie. 

"...really liked your stuff. Their girl backed out after getting food poisoning and they need someone else. I know it's extremely short notice, but it's tomorrow afternoon— can you make that work?" 

You nod vigorously before remembering you're on the phone and Mingyu can't actually see your face. "Yes!" you reply breathlessly. You can't feel your legs anymore, so you slump on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest.

"Awesome! I'll get in touch with their creative coordinator right now and forward you the details ASAP. Thanks, y/n," Mingyu says with a short goodbye, and the line dies. 

For a moment, all you can do is sit in shock. Dior wanted you. And not only that, but it was for a shoot in Vogue?! You flop onto your back, still speechless. You had to be dreaming. It had been years since your last major shoot, and it had been such a disaster that you had refused to do any luxury shoots since then. Except that when Mingyu had told you that Dior had sent out a notice to all the major modeling agencies looking for new blood for their latest campaign, you knew you had to try. 

So you had spent the last few weeks filming and editing your best walks together into a video, compiled with countless headshots, past work, and endless pose references. Your favorite brand was looking for new talent, and there was no way in hell you could pass up the opportunity. 

You throw your arm over your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The sick thing was that it had actually worked. And now you were going to Vogue's studio tomorrow to work directly with some of the most renowned designers in the world. God, it made you want to pee yourself a little bit. 

Somewhere across the room, there's a small ding! from your phone from where you had thrown it and you hastily push yourself off the couch to grab it. A small notification reads "Congrats!" and in your dazed state you clumsily click on it, opening the email from your boss.

Hey, y/n! Here's the information from Kelly, the creative coordinator at Vogue. Let me know if you have any questions. 

Congrats again!

Kim Mingyu | Talent Coordinator

AGC Modeling Agency

—--- Forwarded message ------

From: Kelly G. <creativeteam@vogue.com>

Sent: Monday, July 29, 2021 8:56 AM

To: Kim Mingyu <mkim@agctalent.com>

Subject: VOGUE x Dior 2021 Shoot Replacement

Hey Mingyu! 

We've run into an issue with one of our girls and we need a replacement. We really liked the work of y/n and would love to work with them! Here are the details from Dior's creative director, and I've included a few images of the sample pieces they've asked us to shoot. Let me know what you think!

Thanks!

Kelly G. | Creative Coordinator

VOGUE Magazine

Your eyes skim the rest of the email, reading over the shoot info as fast as possible. Well, the clothing is more revealing than you were used to doing, and the colors were, honestly, underwhelming, but your excitement outweighed your trepidation. 

If it was just another solo shoot, and it sounded like it was, you were ready to give them your best material. The creative director wouldn’t even know what hit them.

As you climb into bed that night, you can't fight the smile that threatens to take over your whole face, and you slowly drift off to sleep, dreaming of camera flashes and a world painted with unimaginable color. 

----

The next morning, however, as you stand outside the Vogue studio door and your stomach threatens to push itself out of your mouth, you wonder if you've truly chosen the right career path. 

"Mingyu, I don't know if I can do this," you say, turning to look at your manager. His dark hair is effortlessly tousled, and in the bright morning light, he looks as if he's glowing. You often wonder why Mingyu had never become a model himself, but whenever you asked, he just brushed off the question in the infuriatingly cool way that he did everything. As you watch a few strands of his perfect hair wave in the cool New York morning breeze, dimly, you also wonder why you’ve never asked him out. 

"Your stuff was great, y/n," he says, with a goofy little pat on your shoulder. "If anyone can 'serve face' it's you!" 

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. It was horrendous how he tried to keep up with the youth, but there was no hope with Mingyu. So you simply nod and let him lead you through the door, trying your best not to vomit all over yourself. 

The door shuts behind you with a horrible clunk, and as you follow your manager through the catacombs of Vogue's creative spaces, you try your very best to feel excited. 

No! You tell yourself. You are excited! Except you're also impossibly worried about making a fool of yourself in front of the top fashion magazine in the world, and possibly affecting the rest of your career forever. 

"Ok," you say nervously, "Snap out of it!" Miles of beige drywall seem to pass by you. Why the hell is this hallway so long? You swear you’ve been walking for eons now, and the longer the hallway stretches on, the smaller you shrink. 

By the time you reach the end of the hallway, you can't be more than a few centimeters tall. Mingyu chooses an unassuming beige door and allows you to enter the room before him. Some of the photographers are already in the room, and they wave politely as you enter. The backdrops are set up and ready, with a few more options draped across support beams and tables. There's a chair centered under a few lights and you see your clothing rack, already adorned with a few of the flimsy, delicate pieces you'd be wearing. Being in the space has an immediate effect, and you can't help but feel a jolt of excitement in your stomach.  

After setting your bag on a chair in the back, you catch sight of a bed tucked behind one of the backdrops. Had you read anything about a bed being used on set? You couldn't quite remember, and you were about to ask Mingyu about it, but he had already disappeared into the growing throng of designers, off doing his managerial thing. You take a quick look around. No one seems to be watching you, and besides, it’s your set so why not get used to it? 

You approach the bed, curiosity and confusion battling in your brain. It didn’t seem to really fit with the strange and spunky summer theme, but maybe it was for some kind of boudoir moment the art directors had in mind? There had definitely been some gauzy things mixed in with Dior’s array of pieces. 

Honestly, the longer you look at it, the more delightful the bed looks. The pillows are squishy and adorned in soft, shiny silk, and there are a few blankets strewn artfully across the comforters. Man, you really wanted to jump onto it like a little kid, but you also wanted to appear professional— so that meant no jumping. For now at least. 

You turn to walk back to your seat, barely looking where you’re going when you crash headfirst into someone else. Papers go flying, coffee splatters everywhere, and in the sudden flurry of motion, there’s a cacophony of swearing. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I totally wasn’t looking where I was going. I can pay for your dry cleaning, or run and grab you a new shirt. God, I am so, so sorry,” you babble, suddenly sweating profusely. In a panic, you kneel down to gather the papers as fast as possible, shoving them into a haphazard pile and offering them to the other person with as apologetic of a face as you could possibly make. 

And then you make eye contact with them.

Fuck. Your heart drops into your stomach.

The man you just ran into wrinkles his nose. “Oh. It’s you.” His dark eyes are flat with disdain. 

You fight the urge to throw a punch (and also throw up). It’s been years since you last saw him, and yet, you seem to be having some sort of Pavlovian response to his voice. 

“Joshua Hong,” you say through gritted teeth. The other creatives are watching the two of you with poorly disguised interest, so you attempt to actively suppress the rage gurgling uncomfortably in your stomach by forcing a smile onto your lips. It doesn't work, but they don't need to know that.

Joshua takes the forgotten papers from your hands, offering you a dry smile before stalking away without another word. 

Wow. He really has not changed at all. Still just as insufferable and impossible as the last time you worked with him. 

Vague memories of getting drunk and hooking up with Joshua swim to the front of your mind. You hadn’t known you were going to be working with him the next day. He had just been some hot guy at a bar who you had chatted with briefly. All you can really recall is singing (extremely drunk) karaoke with him, making out with him in his car after a particularly raunchy song, and waking up in his bed the next morning. You wonder if he remembers how he held you like you were glass, whispered empty promises in your ear, and made you feel like a princess. He had made you feel like you were unforgettable. And then he hadn’t even acknowledged your damn presence at the shoot later the same day.

After all these years, even after all the effort it had taken you to forget the heartbreak you had felt, one glimpse of him was all it took to send you back to the very beginning of it all. With a particularly large jolt in your chest, you’re horrified that your body still craves him so badly.

“Y/N?” Mingyu’s voice calls out to you, breaking you out of your reverie. “Are you okay?” 

You realize your nails had been biting into your palms and you release your fists, trying to relax the tension in your shoulders and your jaw. You plant the most reassuring smile you can on your face and nod. 

"Perfect, actually," you say, doing your best to ignore your roiling stomach. The smile on your face feels more like a grimace the longer you hold it. 

"Do you... do you need to go to the bathroom?" your manager asks, quirking an eyebrow and throwing a thumb over his shoulder. He looks a little afraid of you and you can only imagine how insane you look to Mingyu. You brush him off. 

"No, I'll be fine." Yes, go now! Get out of here! Run! You smile again before shuffling quickly back to your bag amid the whispers that continue to follow you across the studio. 

You hadn't seen Joshua Hong in years, and somehow you still couldn't look at him without feeling an explosion of confusing emotions. He had completely humiliated you, belittling you until you had run out of the room and cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes. He made you look like a fool. He had made you feel like shit. Mingyu knew your history with him, but Vogue must have not told him that Joshua was working on this shoot, because you know your sweet, but dense, manager surely would not have booked you for this if they had. 

Professionalism be damned. You wanted to throw (another) cup of hot coffee in Joshua Hong's perfectly chiseled face. 

You look up from your shaking hands for a moment to see that the bastard has already disappeared. You're not sure if that fills you with dread or relief. Ok, you can't ignore this.

"Mingyu!" you whisper loudly, pulling your manager aside. "You didn't tell me Joshua Hong was going to be here!"

Mingyu looks defensive. "They never told me he would be here!" He wrings his hands for a moment. "Y/n, I swear, I never knew he was working this shoot or I would've never booked this gig for you." 

You take a deep breath, forcing your erratic heartbeat to slow until you think you're capable of speaking rationally. "I'm sorry, but I can’t do this." 

Mingyu looks even more apologetic, and he runs a hand through his dark hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, but at this point, you have to. We don't have any backups nearly as good as you, and backing out would be a huge hit to your career."

You were expecting the bad news, but hearing it directly from Mingyu felt like a huge blow. Suddenly your stomach feels like it's going to eject from your body.

"I lied," you say, clapping a hand to your belly, "Where's the bathroom?" 

"Turn to the left and it'll be at the end of the hall," Mingyu replies, concern in his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep! Perfect!" you mumble hastily before walking as quickly out of the room as you could without running. The nervous energy in your body was building until you felt you could climb walls. Clinging to the ceiling surely would be less strenuous than the rest of today.

In your state of mild hysteria, you shove the door to the bathroom open without knocking, only to see Joshua standing over the sink, holding his soiled shirt in his hands. He whips his head around in surprise. And you only just barely see the muscles of his shoulders rippling under his honeyed skin before your eyes are the size of dinner plates. 

You might now hold the record for reddest face in two seconds. 

"I'm so sorry!" you squeak, yanking the door shut. Your heart is racing a million miles a second. You had just seen Joshua Hong shirtless. (Sober.) And even though you had before, something about this felt worse. Fuck. Fuck! Your luck was unbelievable, and there's absolutely no way you could get through this shoot amiably with this man. Not after you ruined his shirt and certainly not after you invaded his privacy in the span of fifteen minutes.

You lean your back on the wall for a moment, holding your head in your hands, heart pounding so heavily you think you might faint. The darkness of the back of your eyelids is somewhat soothing and you stay like that for a while, wallowing in your despair. But then you hear what sounds like the doorknob turning, and walk back towards the studio as quickly as you possibly can.

"Two minutes!" you hear someone call, and the feeling in your stomach only gets worse. Somehow you were going to have to wear skimpy lingerie next to the man that had made you feel ridiculous and sell the illusion of sex! Luxury! Your stomach gives a particularly robust gurgle. 

"Y/N!" one of the stylists calls as you enter the room again. "Let's do wardrobe!" She takes you over to the racks, pulling out a few pieces rapidly, scanning them and your body before settling on a silky black slip dress, which is far more sheer than you had hoped. In any other situation you would have fallen head over heels, but knowing the man closest to being your arch-enemy was going to see you in it suddenly made it extremely unappetizing. The stylist hands you the hanger, showing you to a row of make-shift dressing rooms.

Behind the curtain you slip into the dress, and the silk is smooth and cool against your burning skin. It really is quite pretty, and here by yourself you enjoy the way it clings to your body in all the right places. Unprompted, your brain floods with the image of Joshua's back— broad and tan and toned with muscle. 

Imagine him seeing you in this dress...imagine his hands on your body—

"Ok! That's enough!" you interject, crushing the thoughts before they can fully form and liquefy your brain. You take a breath, staring at yourself in the tiny mirror taped to a support beam.

"You got this. It's just another job. Do it for the check." You flash yourself a quick thumbs up.

After opening the curtain, you're whisked away to makeup and hair, where you're accosted by a few more stylists who fuss over your appearance even more. They end up deciding on a bold smoky eye and some simple lip gloss and fluff your hair until it looks effortlessly tousled. 

But all too soon you're done with prep, and the only thing left is to start the shoot. Awkwardly you stand off to the side of the studio, waiting for the director to give you instructions. You still haven't seen Joshua, which just sets you on edge even more. 

"Y/N!" the director says, appearing by your side. "We're going to start with your solo shots, just for some variety." You smile, allowing your shoulders to relax. Solo shots you could do. A stylist leads you over to the chair and instructs you to sit.

And it goes flawlessly. It's like once you're in front of a camera your body takes over and you know exactly what to do with your arms, what facial expressions to make. The space becomes your own. The director takes your photos, pausing every few minutes or so to instruct you on a new pose or to fix your hair, but the first half of your shoot goes by without a hitch. You feel alive, happy even, as you work, as Joshua fades to the background. When it's just you, you can focus.

"Fantastic work, Y/N!" the director says, as she flicks through a few shots on her camera. You do look great. "The editors have a bunch of really great material to work with." Ok, so maybe this wouldn't be completely terrible. As long as you focused on yourself and on giving your best material, everything would be fine. 

As if on cue... he appears and all your resolve crumbles.

Except— he's still not wearing a shirt. Well, he's kind of wearing a shirt, except that it's completely unbuttoned and exposing his entire chest. He's also wearing a pair of simple black dress pants, but to be honest, you're a little distracted by his perfect abs to really notice. Ok, you didn't know this was part of the plan. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and wrench your gaze away, trying to discreetly fan your face as Joshua walks over. Desperately, you hope that he won't mention your little mishap.

Oh my god, he was still hot. Did this change anything? No... you still hated him. Except now you just felt even more conflicted internally. Your body was telling you one thing, but your head was telling you another and you hoped your awful shoot partner being hot didn't suddenly alter your entire perception of him, but you couldn't even—

"Y/N?" Joshua's voice cuts across your inner monologue like a knife, dry and without humor. "The director is speaking." You shoot a panicked glance at him, withering slightly when you see the same unfaltering gaze looking back. He looks so unamused, it's incredible. You wrench your head back towards the director, hoping you look apologetic enough.

She gives you a nonchalant smile and continues on without issue. "You know Dior. Everyone knows Dior. I want you to look sexy, suave, effortless. I know you're both seasoned professionals so I'm not worried, but try and make it as electric as possible." 

Sexy. Suave. Electric. Yeah, no worries. You shove your heart back down your throat, trying your damn best not to let your trepidation show. Electricity between you and Joshua. Well, there'd certainly be something.

You try to catch Joshua's eye, to gauge his temperament, but he seems content with ignoring your presence like always. As he sits in the chair, one of the panels of his shirt falls open, flashing the slight curve of his waist again. Despite gritting your teeth in annoyance, your heart does a very confusing loop-de-loop in your chest that makes you feel mildly ill. 

After Joshua has settled in the chair, the director motions for a camera. "Ok, for this first shot, Y/N, I want you to place your left foot on his knee so you're facing him. Joshua, let's have you put your hand on Y/N's calf— yeah, exactly like that."

You've forced yourself to look away from Joshua, acutely aware of how short your dress is and how much it's riding up your thigh. Seriously, this is your first shoot and you're already sweating. Joshua places his hand on your leg like it's nothing, but it's taking everything in you not to cringe away. He smells good, too. Fuck! You're trying to remember that you hate him and yet his presence has shaken you to the bone. 

"Lean in a little more, Y/N," the photographer says, "You're a little stiff." You nod, and shift so you're even closer to Joshua that you'd like, your chest uncomfortably close to his face. 

Jesus. And this was only the first set. You breathe deeply through your nose, trying to ignore your pulse racing heavily through your body. Joshua seems unfazed as always, perfect and unruffled. 

Right, because you're supposed to be professionals. Heat flushes up your neck in shame. He hadn't said much and yet you were the one acting childish. You try to distance yourself from the man next to you, telling yourself he's just another model doing his job. And for a while it works. You take a few different shots from different positions— you in front of him, then behind the chair, then next to him, somehow managing to incorporate your leg every time. The director has Joshua inching his hand farther and farther up your thigh until his fingers are practically playing with the hem of your dress, and you are desperately trying to keep your cool. Joshua has a tendency to dig his fingers into your skin every time he moves his hand, and it is doing confusing things to your brain. Then—

"You want him to what?" you say incredulously, eyes wide. You know you shouldn't be reacting like this if you want to keep your job, but Joshua is throwing you off your game.

The director smiles. "I'm going to have you sitting in the chair this time, and I want Joshua on the floor." 

You slowly sit in the chair, back stiff as Joshua crouches on the floor next to you. 

He briefly looks at you and mutters, "Is it okay if I touch you?" but it's more of a formality than a courtesy. You stare at him, mouth agape and swallow thickly. 

"Uh— yeah. No, yeah, that's fine."

He places his hand on your thigh again, fingers gripping the soft flesh ever so slightly, and you desperately hope he doesn't notice the slight shiver that runs through your body. If he does, at least he's civil enough not to mention it. 

The photographer is frowning. Oh no. "The energy is still dead. Joshua can you sit in between Y/N's legs?" 

You freeze. Even Joshua seems slightly put out. But the look in his eyes fades as quickly as it appeared and he dips his head in acknowledgement. Then he turns to you. 

God, you've never wanted to fade out of existence more than you did right now. Having his head right next to your— you-know-where?! Your legs seem to be glued together with the effort it takes to pry them apart. Joshua awkwardly climbs in between your knees, trying to pose as nonchalantly as possible. It's as if your spine is glued to the backrest of the chair; you're completely immobilized. You don't want Joshua there. In fact, you don't want him anywhere near you. 

The director frowns. "Lean back! Relax! Loop your arm under her leg, too. You could even lean your face against her thigh if you feel so inclined." 

Your eyes have to be so wide right now. Joshua, even though he's clearly uncomfortable, wraps his hand around your thigh again, and leans his head towards your skin. His mouth ever-so-slightly brushes against the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your burning skin. Goosebumps erupt across your body, and you feel the ghost of a smile on the corner of his lips.

You, however, cannot relax. You can't make this look natural no matter how hard you try, and Joshua being so close to your womanhood is certainly not helping. The camera clicks echo through the room as the photographers take a few shots of the two of you.

But after a few minutes, the director still looks unhappy, and you have a sinking feeling it's your fault. 

"No... this still isn't right. I like the vision, but this still feels a little forced. Let's try something else."

Isn't it all forced? you think, disgruntled. Joshua shifts his grip on your thigh ever slightly.

The director turns the chair to the side, telling Joshua to sit on it again. She squints for a moment, walking around him a few times and muttering quietly to herself. After a few more minutes, she steps back. Then she looks at you. 

"Sit in his lap."

Excuse me?

You don't move. Every bone in your body seems to be made of lead, every muscle completely froze. Joshua stares at you, an unreadable expression in his eyes. You swear he discreetly raises an eyebrow, as if in challenge, but you blink and it's gone. Even your throat feels like it's closing up. But who are you to challenge the director? 

Awkwardly, you throw one leg over Joshua's lap, settling yourself as casually as you possibly can. Your heartbeat is screaming in your ears, and you're terrified he'll feel it against his chest. The silky fabric of your dress is offering absolutely no comfort as it shifts over your skin. Joshua's shirt is gaping, your own skin dangerously close to his.

Joshua places his large hands on your back, and the heat from his palms seeps through the delicate silk as if there was no dress at all. You can't even look him in the eyes. You know you're supposed to be acting like you're in lust, but right now you're simply immobile. His cologne wafts tantalizingly off of his skin, and you bite your lip, trying your best to ignore the way his breath washes over your collarbones, the way the heat in your core seems to be intensifying every second you spend flush against him.

"That's a little better," the director says, before whispering something to her colleague. They start to take pictures as they flit around you. 

Unconsciously, you've been squirming around on Joshua's lap to get comfortable, and you start when you feel his fingers press into your skin, his breath hot against your throat. 

"Stop doing that," he hisses under his breath, and then you realize... the thing underneath you that you thought was maybe his phone... is definitely something else. Heat rushes to your face and you freeze as best as you can. His chest is heaving just imperceptibly. There's definitely arousal slowly pooling in your barely-there underwear, and you are quite literally praying to God that Joshua won't say anything. 

"Sorry," you squeak, turning your head so you don't have to look at him. He's probably embarrassed, so you'll do your best to be as professional as possible. It happens to everyone. 

Except Joshua seems less mortified than you. He slides his hands down your spine until they're just barely resting on your ass. You swear he squeezes. 

"Are you though?" he murmurs, pulling you centimeters forward on his lap, so for a hint of a second there is a moment of delicious friction and a rush of pleasure, and your eyes widen. But then you clear your throat, looking to the director for more instruction. There's an unreachable itch building under your skin, making you feel antsy.

She still looks unsatisfied, shaking her head. 

"Ok, I don't know what the issue is here, so let's take a break." She frowns at the two of you as you hurriedly clamber off of Joshua's lap, pulling your dress down as far as it can possibly go. He looks unbothered, cooly crossing his legs and sitting back. The flush in your cheeks won't go away and you fan your face, knowing you look ridiculous in the frigid studio. 

"I need you two to figure out what the deal is," the director says, fixing the two of you under a firm stare. "You're two of the best I've worked with, but you're not giving me what you promised. I don't know what happened between you two or if anything did at all, but don't bring this tension into the studio. Use lunch to figure it out." She looks disappointed and you feel your heart sink. They were never going to hire you again! 

The director points at Joshua. "We'll take your solo shots after lunch." She turns away to make the same announcement to the crew, and they start to file out of the room, hardly sparing the two of you a second glance. 

You're frozen in place, not trusting yourself to walk to your chair in the corner. The last of the crew leave the room, and the door closes with an air of finality. 

The silence is suffocating, and you are, to put it in so many words, insanely turned on now. You turn to Joshua, looking everywhere but him. You wonder if he's equally as on edge. 

You open your mouth to speak when his voice cuts through the tension.

"Ok, why don't we just deal with this like adults?" 

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

"Well, I wasn't going to scream and cry, if that's what you thought," you retort, frowning. There he is again with his irritating know-it-all behavior. 

The hint of a smirk flits across his face as he toys with one of the thick silver rings on his fingers. "Maybe not." Joshua looks amused by something, but if there is something humorous he gives no hint as to what it is. Frustration flares in your stomach. 

Your frown only deepens. "Spit it out, then." Your patience is wearing thin. 

Joshua suddenly fixes his dark eyes on you and you're taken aback by the shift in the room. "Do you want me to say it? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg?" 

"I—I have no idea what you're talking about," you say helplessly, pulling on the hem of your dress. There is not enough fucking fabric in the world that would make you feel covered under his stare.

Joshua looks unconvinced. "Are you sure? There's nothing you... need help with?" He's taunting you.

Heat rushes to your face. "If I needed help with something, it certainly would not be from you." You wrench your eyes from his face, suddenly feeling rather small. You're thankful he's far enough away right now— if he came any closer, you certainly would not be able to hold up as well. 

Joshua raises an eyebrow. God, you are so tired of this man and his mind games. A sudden burst of irritation replaces the timidity in your voice.

“What is your fucking deal?” you spit, hands balling into fists in frustration. Joshua's little comments have you riled up far more than you care to admit. How could he say that to you? In the middle of working? 

To your surprise, Joshua doesn’t snap back like you thought he would. Instead, a cocky smile slides across his lips, and he pins you under his gaze, dark eyes shining with vicious gloating. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he says, sitting casually on the chair. His easy demeanor has you on edge.

"I—" You falter, put out. “Notice what?”

Joshua pauses for a moment to examine his nails. “The heat quite literally radiating from you.” His eyes slide back to you, lingering on the strap of your dress fallen off your shoulder (and suddenly said heat in your core increases tenfold). Fuck. 

This is actually the worst possible thing that could be happening to you right now. Like, literally ever. You seem to be trying to make up for all the confessional you missed over the last couple decades because you shoot a couple more prayers God’s way, hoping for a miracle. 

“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say again. You know exactly what he's talking about. All moisture in your mouth vanishes.

Joshua stands, slowly walking towards you. Instinctively, you back away, eyes glued to his face as he approaches. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely turned on right now, and you know Joshua can tell. As your back hits the wall, you let out a small gasp. 

Joshua is impossibly close— somehow even closer than when you were posing, and you know you’re supposed to hate him, and you know there’s supposed to be some kind of thought process repelling him from you, but the same deep, woody scent of his cologne is clogging your senses and you're finding it extremely difficult to remember exactly what it was that you loathed about his stupidly handsome face. 

“What are you doing?” you choke out.  

“Don’t play stupid,” Joshua murmurs, eyes roaming unabashedly over your body. The silk dress is pointless as if he could simply see right through the flimsy fabric. "They put you in this. How was I supposed to concentrate?" 

“You’re the one being stupid right now,” you shoot back, hoping and praying that you can control the tremor in your voice. Joshua is close enough that you can count the faint blemishes across his skin and see his eyes sizing you up. “Do ever think with anything other than your dick?” 

Joshua cocks a perfectly manicured eyebrow. He looks bored. “Sometimes yes.” Suddenly he’s all up on you, boxing you in against the wall in between his arms. Hot breath fans across your face, but you’re frozen. You can’t look away as your heart hammers in your chest. Shit, you can’t stop looking at his chest.

He flashes that same infuriating shit-eating grin. “Other times... no.” 

Joshua's sudden change in demeanor is making your head swim, but there's no point in pretending you don't want him anymore.

There's no going back now.

“Fuck, Joshua,” you breathe before crashing your mouth to his, pulling him into a heated embrace. As soon as he looked at you with those ridiculous eyes of his, any and all of your restraint flew out the window. 

His hands are on your body, hot and heavy, as they roam your skin, giving away his poorly concealed restraint. By the way he holds you so fiercely, he had clearly been waiting to ravish you. Fingers catch on the hem of your dress but you can't even get yourself to stop him. The thin silky fabric is doing nothing to keep the heat from his body out. It's like you're already naked. 

Joshua, ever the show-off, catches your bottom lip in his teeth, coaxing a soft moan from your mouth. He looks smug as he pulls away, delighted at finding one of your weaknesses. You don't have half the mind to play games with him. Your mind is in shambles, and your body might be, too, as he plants his mouth on your neck, nipping at the delicate skin with poorly disguised enjoyment. He clearly likes seeing you squirm. His fingers tangle in your hair. Your knees are weak. Air is already so sparse. 

Joshua's fingers dig into your hips. "You're moving too much," he says lowly, the sound vibrating against your jaw. God, when was the last time someone kissed you like this? Your last hook-up had been (quite literally) so dry and so unimaginative that you had sworn off casual sex for a while.

But kissing Joshua... the way he moaned softly into your mouth, tightened his grip on your body, pulled you towards him. Even though you knew how he was romantically, he kissed you like he needed you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You fought to keep your eyes open, to see the dark hair brushing against your cheekbones, to map the spots dusting his skin hidden ever so slightly under his makeup, to see how the flush on his skin burned and deepened with every single second you two stayed locked together. But it's taking every ounce of self-control in you not to crumple to the ground that you let your eyes fall closed. You know when to pick and choose your battles. 

Except that then he pushes a knee between your legs and there's already so little fabric between you and this man that you freeze. Your eyes fly back open. Joshua boldly presses his thigh up against your body, right against the ache building in your core. You bite down on your lip to stifle the pitiful little sounds trying to escape from your mouth, refusing to give in to Joshua that easily. He shifts his knee, the fabric of your panties catching on his pantleg. You swallow a quiet moan.

You are suddenly very aware of how... hot you actually are. Joshua breaks away from the kiss, a lewd string of spit connecting your mouths together. Your arousal has spread to your chest, and you think you might faint.

"Oh dear," Joshua murmurs, as one hand trails down your waist and over your thigh. His eyes seem to dismantle the last of your composure the longer they rake across your bare skin. You let out a shaky breath as he wraps a hand around your thigh, drawing it up near his hip with startling swiftness. Your heart is thumping so wildly that you're amazed you can even hear him over it at all.

"You doing okay?" He smiles wickedly. 

It’s all you can do to gape stupidly at him, the words dying in your throat before they're even fully formed. It's infuriating how Joshua is able to so easily render you speechless. Every word that falls from his cruel mouth is just another reason not to sleep with him, but the taunts just sound so damn pretty that there's little stopping you from fucking him right here, right now.

Except that you're at work. On a lunch break. Hooking up with your enemy. His nails bite into your skin.

Joshua smirks with some sort of sick amusement. "You were so talkative... what happened?" He asks, leaning in until his lips are mere centimeters from yours. You want to kick yourself for how badly you want him. How badly your body needs him. 

You open your mouth to retort when he catches your lips in another searing kiss, this time with more tongue than teeth. You spineless sucker! The last of your dignity is just barely hanging on by a thread. Joshua kisses you fiercely, even groaning slightly as he kneads your thigh with his fingers. You’re about to completely lose your head.

"Joshua," you moan quietly, hands clumsily tugging his shirt off his shoulders. (Thankfully half the work had already been done for you.) He hardly breaks the kiss before tossing the shirt somewhere in the room with impatience. "They're gonna come back s-soon." Oh, but you can't even get yourself to care. 

Not with the way his hands grip your ass, not with the way his mouth keeps leaving dirty little surprises across your skin. God, you're going to hell.

“Let them find us,” he pants before lifting you into the air, arms holding you up by your thighs. You barely even register where he’s taking you until you roughly hit the mattress with a loud huff! of air. The pillows are just as soft as you had imagined.

Joshua stands over you, shamelessly drinking in your body. You feel a little silly, like a doll splayed across the bed. 

Joshua licks his lips. “You are simply wearing too many layers, my dear.” You’re pleased to hear a rasp in his voice that hadn’t been there before. 

“And what are you going to do about it?” you ask him, tipping your chin back in challenge. The heat is positively radiating through your body, pulsing so strongly you’re amazed he hasn’t made another comment. The tension is so palpable that it’s become a game of who’s going to snap first. 

And lucky for you, Joshua takes the bait without a second thought. 

He mashes his mouth back to yours, roughly pushing the straps of your silly little dress off your shoulders and down your hips, fully exposing your décolletage. Joshua plants his mouth on your throat, sucking less-than-delicate hickies along the line of your collarbones; barely waiting for the contusions to bloom before he’s nipping at them again. The carelessness of his teeth, the crude sensuality of his touches— it’s enough to strip you down into a writhing mess beneath him. 

Barely a second passes after Joshua decides he’s done marking your neck that he suddenly licks a messy line up your chest, attaching his mouth to one of your nipples and slurping with obscene moans. Oh my God, was he trying to kill you?! Your mouth falls open in surprise, fingers gripping the sheets as you writhe underneath him. 

“Joshua—“ you start to say but he just laughs, cutting you off. It's not a sound of comfort, but derision.

“We’ve barely done anything, and already my name seems to be stuck on your tongue,” he remarks, sitting back to admire his handiwork. This man truly is shameless with the way he looks at your body with pride. Covering up the clusterfuck of bites across your chest is going to be no easy feat. 

Your tongue seems to be stuck in your mouth. Truly you can’t even form words. And what’s even worse is that he’s right, because the most you’ve done is make out for a while. Oh God, he’s going to absolutely ruin you. 

His tongue trails down your stomach, leaving a few kisses here and there, stopping right above the waistband of your underwear. Joshua smirks, as his fingers brush over your panties. They're completely soaked and the embarrassment has you hiding your face in your hands.

"All for me?" he asks, before pressing a few kisses along the inside of your thigh. His hair tickles your skin as his fingers playfully pull aside your panties.

"Don't flatter yourself," you say, breathlessly. Joshua simply hums in response, his fingers dangerously close to your crotch. 

He draws himself up, leaning over you. A few dark strands of hair fall in his eyes. 

"Can I?" he whispers, just above your mouth. You simply nod, afraid of the things that will come out of your mouth if you speak. 

And then he's pressing two long fingers into you, watching with rapt attention as you toss your head back in pleasure, stuffing your hand in your mouth to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. His fingers curl in that wicked "come here" motion that has you winded, clutching the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut. The longer you clench down on your jaw, the more difficult Joshua seems to be making it, scissoring and twisting his fingers until you think you might just scream. You're in a fucking studio for God's sake, but Joshua seems hellbent on breaking you as he pushes his fingers even deeper, to the knuckle, inside you. The icy cold metal of his rings presses against your skin, boiling hot.

Joshua smirks as he toys with you, even leaning over to recapture one of your nipples in his teeth. 

"Joshua—mmph," you moan, and Joshua actually places a hand over your mouth, smiling condescendingly. 

"If you're too loud I won't keep going," he says, as you roll your eyes. Didn't he know you were doing your best? It's not your fault his fingers are stuffed in your pussy and he expects you to stay silent. Plus there's something kind of thrilling about hooking up in such a public space. But when you don't respond, he stills his hand, leaving you clenching around his fingers desperately. 

So you nod, eyes fluttering shut as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you again, each time a little bit faster. Joshua's hand explores all parts of you while his mouth explores your neck, never leaving you a moment to breathe. There's something about the way he moves his fingers that has you curving your back into him, fingers weaving into the hair on the nape of his neck as if to pull him into a desperate embrace. But Joshua turns his head before you can kiss him, instead paralyzing you under a disapproving glare. 

"I told you to stop moving, didn't I?" he says with mock sympathy, pressing a large hand against your pelvis to pin you to the bed. The pressure on your stomach only further increases your arousal, and you hold back a groan as Joshua attaches his mouth to the pulse point in your neck. 

It only takes a few more measly minutes before you're falling apart, fingers digging into Joshua's arms as he brings you over the edge. Warmth pulses through your body and you flop back onto the bed, completely speechless. 

Joshua looks satisfied at your dazed expression as he slowly drags his fingers out of you. You watch as he places them on his tongue, messily licking your arousal from his hand, never once taking his eyes off of you. Fuck.

"Turn around and get on your knees," Joshua then orders, sitting back to watch you scramble to kneel, feeling a little stupid. You're not sure what he's going to do when you feel his large hand on the back of your head, shoving you facedown onto the mattress. You let out a choked whine as Joshua lands a firm smack against your ass, and then another, and then another. Each one leaves your skin red and stinging and a little tender, and by the time he's done your eyes are watering. You refuse to look at Joshua—you don't want him to see you crying. 

But still, he says nothing, and for a stupid moment, you wonder if he’s done with you. You're a little disappointed until you hear the sound of a belt buckle clinking and clothing being tossed. You turn to look, but Joshua forces your head against the mattress again, yanking a little on your hair as he pulls away. 

"Do you still wanna to do this?" is all Joshua asks. 

Well, you're currently laying ass-up in the middle of a prop bed, waiting for him to shove his fat cock into you until you scream like a worthless slut.

Truly, there was no recovery from this. 

So you breathe out a strangled "Yes," before Joshua is pushing his cock into you without hesitation, and the work of his fingers certainly helped a little bit, but you weren't expecting him to be so...well-endowed. 

You shove your face into the pillow, smothering the loud moan that falls from your lips as Joshua slowly, slowly thrusts into you. His hold on your waist is bruising, and with your face hidden from view, you miss the way his head tips back in ecstasy.

Not that Joshua would ever let you know the effect you had on him— the sight of your needy body giving in to his every move, the cloying scent of your perfume just as intoxicating as your dripping cunt. You drive him absolutely wild.

Joshua’s voice is strained. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, bending forward to grab one of your shoulders as he thrusts his cock in a few more inches. Joshua has a way of melting you with every touch, like he knows your body better than you ever could. You let out another weak sob, your face buried into the silk of the sheets. He can not see how irrevocably aroused you are by him and his words and his vicious tongue.

“There’s no shame in crying,” Joshua chides the longer you hide your face, but you feel the smugness in every word suffocating you until you could cry from your pent-up sexual frustration.

"I'm not crying," you spit back, screwing up your face as he pushes even deeper into you. “I don’t— I don’t cry.” 

You imagine he’s smiling with that same fake sympathy as he watches your body shake, and the image of Joshua taking you from behind is enough for you let out another particularly strangled cry. But before the mortification even has time to settle in your chest, Joshua sinks the rest of his cock into you, bottoming out in one smooth motion. He lets out a string of expletives under his breath, fingers digging into your hips like he’s holding onto his last thread of reality. Secretly you’re pleased you have such an effect on him. 

“Jesus, would you relax?” Joshua mutters with exasperation, as your cunt clenches around him tightly. You try to tell him it’s not really your fault, but before you can answer, he deals a particularly harsh spank to your ass that knocks the air out of your lungs. 

Thankfully he gives you a brief moment, even if it’s just a breadth of a second to adjust before he’s drawing his hips back and thrusting forward with brutal efficiency. You smother your face into the covers, muffling your sounds of deep satisfaction with the comforter.

Clearly, Joshua has done this before, because he fishes for one of the pillows, lifting your hips to shove it under your pelvis before snapping his hips back again, slowly building speed until he’s just shy of pounding you into oblivion. Every so often Joshua’s cock brushes against that spot, leaving your cunt clenching involuntarily, and you have to bite down to keep your pitiful whines from escaping. Just to tease you even more, he leans forward to leave harsh bites across your shoulders, all the while murmuring how good you look from behind. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with the sound of Joshua’s shallow breath is erotic, and it makes your head positively swim.

“Fuck!” you whimper as Joshua continues to rail you without mercy, the brutal steady pace of each stroke bringing you closer and closer to your release. The pleasure is reaching white-hot status, pulsing in your stomach and slowly spilling into the rest of your body. It takes everything in you not to cry out in frustration as Joshua suddenly slows, just shy of stopping completely. He wraps an arm around your waist, hand flush against your stomach as he leans his weight against your back.

“Now, you know that’s not my name,” Joshua simpers, breath hot against your ear. He shallowly rocks his hips, coaxing a few more weak babbles from your lips. “Try again.” He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, and the motion would be tender if he wasn’t oozing sordid satisfaction at seeing you all hot and bothered by him.

“J-Joshua,” you beg, clawing at the sheets. And then humiliation blooms in your chest at how quickly you act to please him, but there’s something so sadistically fulfilling about being abused by this man that you can’t even get yourself to care. You’re fucking your enemy in broad daylight in a studio of Vogue. Really, there's little left for you at this point.  

"That's right," he whispers.

You let out a particularly drawn-out groan of pleasure as he snaps his hips quickly, bringing the pace back to the same mind-blowing rhythm as before, arching your spine until you feel like you might snap. Joshua’s fingers in your hair tug your head back as he whispers vile sweet nothings into your ear. The messy symphony of sounds echoing throughout the room is just shy of pornographic. You clutch the sheets tightly in your fingers as your head tips forward in pleasure. Every muscle in your body is taut as your orgasm builds every second. 

As your eyes flutter shut in anticipation, you start to say, “I’m gonna—!”

Except, of course, Joshua won't let you off that easy. 

Just as you think you're about to reach your climax, he stills his hips for an agonizing second, rocking them slowly, slowly, slowly into you. Your release fades just as quickly as it appeared, and now your whole body is uncomfortably sensitive. This time you do groan in frustration, stuffing your face in one of the pillows again.

"Fuck you," you curse, but it's weak and hardly venomous. Your head is cloudy and full of fluff and in your pitiful state, it's the best you can manage. Joshua merely seems amused by your distress, fingers petting your head again as if to comfort you. You take a moment, breathing through the burn of arousal through your entire body.

Then Joshua snakes an arm around your throat, yanking you against his chest in one smooth motion. Your moans come out as choked whines, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his forearm in deep ecstasy. You feel Joshua smile against your ear, before his free hand creeps down to finally touch your aching clit, his fingers just barely grazing your skin. This bastard.

"Aren't you?" he mutters in your ear, landing a firm smack on your cunt and you gasp, jerking forward as much as you can while being restrained. The ache in your body is unbearable; you don't know how much more you can take.

Joshua presses a few digits against your lips, coaxing your mouth open, and unceremoniously forces his fingers in without a second thought. He presses down roughly on your tongue, massaging a few circles with the pads of his fingers. You whimper again, but the words won’t come out. 

“Use your words,” he murmurs, and you can practically feel the arrogance dripping from his voice. “I can’t do anything unless you tell me.” 

Evil, evil, evil man. You can’t even form syllables with his fingers shoved so far down your throat, and you’re half tempted to bite them off. But then Joshua ruts into you again, drawing a low groan from your throat as you fight to keep your composure. His chest is scalding hot against your back, electricity zipping up and down your spine every time you feel your bodies move and shift against each other.

God, you feel as if you could unravel right here. You’re half-tempted to plead to Joshua (once he finally takes his fingers out of your mouth) that he could do what he wanted with you, but the half-cognizant portion of your brain quietly reminds you that you need to be able to walk later.

Plus, you have a sneaking suspicion he'll do just that anyway. 

Joshua withdraws his fingers from your mouth and you choke for air, drool dribbling from your lips. He hardly lets you catch your breath before brazenly spitting on his already-soaked fingers, lowering his hand to rub cruel circles against your painfully tender clit. He’s barely touched you before you feel your climax re-building. Your body acts before you do, succumbing to Joshua like a wretched woman starved. 

“So touchy…,” he muses, as he continues to play with your clit, even tweaking occasionally to watch you writhe under him. Your stomach spasms as you gasp, digging your nails into Joshua’s thighs. You snake a hand up his neck, twisting your fingers in his thick, dark locks.

The words never even make it out of your mouth before Joshua draws his fingers away, jerking you roughly up by your hair. 

“Flip over,” Joshua says tersely, watching with amusement as you ungracefully slide off of his cock to lay on your back. You’re embarrassed by how needy and clumsy you’ve become. Joshua is criminally good as what he does, and your body is craving that final release; if he so much as looked at you a certain way you swear you might come untouched. 

Joshua spits on his hand again and pumps his cock a few times, eyes roaming over your body again, mapping the contusions blooming across your skin. His ego truly is through the roof, and if you weren't such a pathetic, wanton beast right now, you might even make fun of him for it. Dimly, you hope he’s going to shove his cock back in you and pound you into the mattress until you both come and that’d be the end of it. Problem solved! We can all go home now.

Well… you were half right. 

You weren't prepared for Joshua to press on the backs of your thighs until your knees were by your ears, crudely spreading your legs wider for him. He smiles up at you, smacking his cock against your cunt a few times and you choke, each lewd slap driving you nearer to the edge of madness. Joshua leans up against you until his face is inches away and presses a languid kiss to your lips. If you weren’t fearing for your sanity, it might’ve been a tender moment. 

“I’m gonna fuck you until you scream,” Joshua says, without decorum, calmly watching as your face falls. "And you're going to take it."

And he’s nothing if not a man of his word.

Joshua fucks you into the mattress until you’re a snotty, disgusting mess, moaning his name like some kind of fucked-up mantra. You know you’re supposed to hate his guts, but when he’s so deep in your guts, you can’t seem to think about anything except the way his cock slams into you, brutal and unrelenting, bringing you the closest you think you’ve ever come to seeing Heaven. 

In the time after you leave, you’ll faintly remember being fucked in one way, coming, being contorted into another degrading position, and promptly being fucked again. For more times than you can count, Joshua has you pleading, crying, begging like some insatiable harlot to let you come, and you don’t even have enough dignity left intact to care.

“Please,” you practically sob, “Joshua, please.” You’re a complete trainwreck under him, uttering his name over and over like some kind of filthy disciple. True to his word, he has you close to tears, practically pleading for his cock to ruin you— and it has.

Joshua braces himself on your thighs until his fingers leave marks, each stroke of his cock feeling even deeper than the last. After what feels like the umpteenth time, you don’t know if you can take any more denial, and he must sense it in the way you're scrabbling for his hand because Joshua finally relents. 

You let out the loudest, most unbridled cry yet as pleasure rushes through your body, tingling in your toes, your fingers, your stomach. It scrubs your brain of all thought, wiping the last of your hatred from your consciousness. The intensity of your release leaves you heaving, clenching around his cock until you can't breathe. Caught in the throes of pleasure, you don't see the way Joshua's brow knits together the more you whimper his name, the tighter you grip his forearm. As the very last of your orgasm ebbs, you collapse in relief, feeling woozy and deeply satisfied. 

Joshua continues to languidly pump his cock in and out of you while you ride out your high, a few residual whimpers falling from your lips. But with a simple touch from your fingers, he stills, the beginning pangs of overstimulation setting in. Your head feels like it's filled with cotton. 

Then you realize Joshua is still painfully hard, struggling to stay present. His hips stutter as he gives a half-hearted thrust, his mouth falling open lazily. Now it’s your turn to smile— little does he know, he’s put himself completely at your mercy. You clench around him a few times, watching with poorly disguised glee as his eyes flutter closed, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. 

“Should we deal with this like adults?” you ask as innocently as possible, smiling as Joshua nods desperately, the words lodged in his throat. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows thickly. Oh, how quickly the tables have turned.

You pull yourself off of his cock slowly, hissing at the tenderness of your cunt. Instead of kneeling, however, you push Joshua onto his back, scarcely giving him a moment before taking him in your mouth. 

His cock is still rock hard, and Joshua tilts his head back with a throaty sigh as you moan around his length. His fingers curl into your hair and he pushes on your head, pressing your mouth down until you’re gagging around the base of his cock. Now he’s the one letting out breathy moans as you swirl your tongue around the head, cheeks hollowed, hand twisting up and down in tandem with your tongue. After everything the two of you had done, you know it won’t take long to tip him over the edge.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans, and as his abdomen tightens in anticipation, you know he’s close. With one last vulgar slurp, Joshua comes hot in your mouth, cursing under his breath as his fingers tense in your hair. You freeze, letting Joshua come down from his high, and as he raises his head to look at you, you smile coyly. 

With a soft “pop!” you pull your mouth off his cock, swallowing as you do, letting the self-satisfied smirk spread on your lips. You can't even imagine how indecent you look, with your eyeshadow and mascara smeared ungracefully around your eyes, lips shiny with spit and cum, but there's something in the way Joshua looks at you that has you reeling with delight. 

“Christ,” is all Joshua manages to say before pulling you by the back of the head into a searing kiss. It’s a strangely intimate embrace considering all of the filthy words and insults he had hurled at you a few brief moments before, but considering he had also given you the best orgasm of your life, you choose not to dwell too much on it. 

When you break away, you feel a little light-headed. Joshua gives your ass a light smack, but it lacks the same aggression as before. He notices a stray dribble of cum on your chin, and collects it on his pointer finger, pushing it between your lips. You swirl your tongue around it, watching as his eyes burn. He pulls his finger from your mouth, resting his hand on your thigh instead.

"You look… crazy," Joshua says, fighting a smile. You catch sight of yourself in a mirror on the make-up table and let out a bark of laughter.

“Crazy” is the understatement of the year. You look fucked out of your mind. Your hair is knotted beyond belief, there's a jumble of bruises all across your chest, and there's no convincing excuse as to why your makeup would be completely streaked across your face. You hide your face in one of the pillows again, letting out a feeble groan.

"I'm gonna get fired, and it's all your fault," you moan, hiccuping into the soft silk of the pillowcase. Joshua presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, surprisingly kind, and chuckles. 

"Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a thing or two about make-up.” He slides easily off the bed, pulling his pants back on before padding softly over to the make-up table. Joshua grabs a few brushes and bottles, joining you again on the bed, tugging you gently into a sitting position.

As he covers your ruined eye shadow, you wince a little, a dull twinge reminding you of the ache in your ass cheeks. To be honest, most of your body was a little sore, all thanks to Joshua. You laugh softly.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "I got a little carried away."

“Was that ‘dealing with it like adults?’” you ask mockingly, shutting your eye as Joshua lifts the eyeshadow brush. The soft hairs dance across your eyelid as he works. Joshua's skin still smells like it did all those years ago. Warm and citrusy.

You can’t see him, but you hear the smirk in his voice. “I guess so.” 

“Well, for the record, you definitely were the one being childish.” You make a sound of surprise as you feel a pair of lips against your own, fierce and hot. His teeth drag at your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you are unsuccessful at stifling the soft hiccup that escapes your throat.

“Who was the one crying just a little bit ago?” Joshua challenges you, and when you open your eyes, he’s sitting in front of you, nose just inches from your own. “Didn’t you say you don’t usually cry?” 

You open your mouth, ready to shoot back a bitchy little return when you see the smirk playing on Joshua’s lips. He’s goading you on. 

“That’s not fair and you know it,” you respond instead, hoping you seem nonchalant enough. (Or, at least, as much as you can be while you’re still butt-ass naked.) 

Joshua laughs, and the sound is surprisingly stunning. “Since when have I ever been fair?” He hands you your little silk dress and your thong from the floor, and it almost feels silly to be putting it back on, the delicate fabric still hardly covering anything at all. 

But he pouts, toying with one of the straps in between his fingers. “I’m almost sad to see you put this back on. You look so pretty all fucked up underneath me.” He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, eyes sparkling mischievously, and you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t jump into your throat. 

You scoff, eyebrows rising on your forehead. “You’ll be lucky if you see me like that again after last time.”

He frowns, his smile sinking. “Yeah…,” Joshua scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I— I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what I was thinking—"

“It was horrible,” you interrupt. "And this," you say, gesturing to the bed, "doesn't erase that."

But Joshua does look apologetic and it was long enough ago that you’re not that mad anymore. At least, in your post-coital bliss you certainly aren’t.

Joshua sits on the bed again, grabbing your hand in his. “Come home with me. I’ll make it up to you.” He presses a tentative kiss to your cheek for extra measure. 

You fight a smile, forcing yourself to frown instead. “Only if I don’t lose my job, and only if you help me cover these fucking hickies you gave me.” 

Joshua smiles, and he looks so different from the Joshua you met a couple hours ago that you can’t help but smile, too. 

When the crew comes back in the room, you try desperately to act as if nothing had happened, but every time Joshua looks at you, you have to suppress the girlish smile playing on your lips. The marks across your chest had been haphazardly covered with foundation, and the hair team looks bewildered as they assess the birds' nest on your head.

"What the hell did you do on your lunch break?" the stylist asks as she attacks the knots with a comb. 

It takes everything in you to avoid Joshua's eye. You clap a hand to your mouth a second too late as an ugly snort bursts past your lips, and you freeze, eyes wide. Joshua grins broadly, and you turn your head, fanning your bright red face.

Later that night, as you watch Joshua’s sleeping figure in the soft moonlight, you wonder how you managed to find yourself in his bed again, and when he kisses you good morning the next day, you’re sure it won’t be the last time.  

----

a/n: i have never publically shared any smut before so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!! :,) thank u for reading bae can't wait to share my next one <333

check out my other stuff! :)

[volixia669]

Sure Bioware, I totally believe that Joker, the guy calling Cerberus assholes back in Mass Effect 1, and probably read the report where Shepherd shot the Cerberus scientist behind Akuze, joined Cerberus because "The Alliance wouldn't let me fly."

ESPECIALLY since I refuse to believe an Earth military would ACTUALLY ground one of their best pilots (particularly given the whole LOSING A CHUNK OF THE ALLIANCE FLEET bit) as well as just LET him go awol.

See, I read a theory on here that Chakwas is actually an Alliance plant via Hackett and yknow what I believe that.

But I think Anderson did some finangling behind the scenes as well. (Maybe in league with Hackett...) Council position or no, he DOES still have plenty of weight, and I BET one of the first things Joker did was report all the oddities of the attack. Add to that no body found? Anderson is going to go digging, contact some spies, and discover Project Lazarus.

But of course getting close, and finding specifics would be difficult. Gonna need someone in Cerberus that Shepherd, if they're really them, is going to trust on the spot.

And oh look at that, Joker is temporarily grounded for psych evals. Perfect.

Tl;dr: Anderson pulled strings to get Joker permenantly grounded so his "turn" to Cerberus looked more legit. Joker played his part as, well, a snarky pilot that had quite a few gripes with the Alliance. (Hey, easier to lie when part of its true.) All the pieces came together just as Anderson hoped.

Bonus: Between Joker, Chakwas, and Tali all sending Anderson and Hackett WTF SHEPHERD IS ALIVE messages, it explains how those two find out fast enough to send you emails when you first check your terminal.

[lovelybarnes]

sushi and fun mugs 2-b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, ocs warnings: injury, angry reader, comfort about: sunshine and grumpy shittier part two? is it really sunshine/grumpy or a weird panic/comfort for no reason? hm let’s think this through

you sigh something long and tired through the dramatic filter of your mouth, letting your chin slump into the nestle of your hand. genevieve glances at you, lips puckering as she sees the slope of your back, index clicking your mouse lazily.

“what is wrong with you?” she accuses.

you straighten to glare at her. “nothing.”

she smacks her lips and shoves her keyboard away from her, eyes squinted suspiciously as she spins slowly to look at you. you look back uneasily as she does, shifting in your seat. unforgiving, your eyes flicker to the clock.

“do you have something to do?” she asks, noticing immediately, the tilt of her chin nearly predatorial. “you didn’t tell me you had something today.”

“the team comes back today,” you explain. it comes out more meek than you intend. “it’s a big day.”

genevieve’s sigh morphs her face, leaning back. “is this about your crush on broody mcbrooderson?”

you level a glare at her. “bucky isn’t broody.”

“then how’d you know i was talking about him? there are more people on that mission, y’know.”

you groan, running your fingers down your face. “because you’re always so mean about him!”

“i am not mean.”

“you’re not kind.”

“he’s not kind!”

at that, you raise a finger. “that is not true. bucky is very kind.”

“him accidentally holding a door open for you is not being kind, it’s standing in front of a door as you pass by because he dropped something,” genevieve argues.

you open your mouth to argue but predict it fruitless, settling with a glare her way and a mumble of what really happened. she doesn’t catch all of it but doesn’t believe you anyway.

huffing, you turn to the time again, frowning as you see numbers only continuing to pass and no agents coming back. “they’re late,” you let genevieve know, unable to help the worry that tinges your voice. it’s one thing to be an hour late with a message explaining plane malfunctions, but a whole other one to be nearly two with no word.

genevieve softens. “it’s probably nothing. you know the avengers don’t really think letting us know anything that happens is important. they probably already arrived and just didn’t file the paperwork yet.”

you don’t argue with the fact that bucky would never do that, always stopping by to drop some souvenir he managed to pick up wherever he was and a kiss on your skin. the bear at your desk reminds you of it, its stuffed arm between the handle of a shanghai mug, a stick he picked up when he was supposed to keep everything disclosed lying inside.

your computer dings with a message in sync with various others, and with a fervor you rarely hold, you jump to attention, fingers quick to guide the pointer to the notification. you scan over the official email, but you don’t process much when you catch letters making out bucky barnes and critical condition.

your breath hitches in your throat, an ice fear shooting straight down your spine. unfocused eyes try hard to read the rest of the email, noting that the time typed into the message was equal to the estimated mission end time but the received one was hours later.

genevieve winces from beside you, shooting you a concerned look. “shit,” she curses softly. “he may be a little intimidating but still. i hope he’s okay.”

“they should be here by now,” you whisper. it’s breathy in your frantic, ignoring genevieve’s words. shaky fingers scroll up to reread, make sure this is real. it is. “this… they should be here. why aren’t they…”

“he’s probably in the medbay,” genevieve points out, her face already going sour with a rant as she swivels in her chair to continue typing. she’s huffing, her head bobbing mockingly as she speaks. “you know they don’t bother to tell us when they arrive. ‘cuz we’re smart enough and our clearance level is high enough to work in fuckin’ shield and handle their unfinished mission reports and desk work and fight aliens and shit but not to be notified when they’re--” she cuts herself off when she turns again and you’re gone, chair astray.

she purses her lips together and breathes deeply from her nose. “f’course.”

she shakes her head, watching the door to the office close in your wake, letting her head fall back.

your steps are quick and sharp as you make your way down the stairs, open features hardened and set as you make your way down to the medbay. you’re seething, the trip only making the pit in your stomach deeper and colder. your fingertips shake by the time you arrive at your goal, flanked by large agents.

when you recognize one near the entrance, you breathe out in relief, stepping toward him. “gary?”

his eyes meet yours with a tight smile, the most he gives people on the job. you feel a little proud. “hey. agent.”

“i thought you were off duty right now?”

“there was an emergency. they called me in,” he explains, looking around him. “apparently, the threat wasn’t completely eradicated and someone was brought in on the brink of death.”

“emergency,” you repeat, his words making your heart stop. “gary, is it bucky?”

gary pauses, hesitant to answer, but you wrap your hand around his arm and squeeze desperately. “that’s what i’m hearing,” he gives in.

frenetic, your nails go to your forehead before you aim for the door. gary stops you with a hand to your shoulder. “you can’t go in,” he says.

slowly, you turn to him. “gary, you need to let me in.”

gary blinks at you. “only approved people are allowed inside.” with an apologetic shrug and a mutter of your name, he purses his lips as if expecting you would give up.

panic turns hot beneath your skin. “gary, i like you. but if you don’t let me in right-fucking-now, i will--”

he sighs your last name. “i’m sorry, but you don’t have the clearance.”

dangerously, you inhale. “i am bucky’s emergency contact, you have to let me in.”

gary looks down at you, his lips in a thin line. “i’m sure his emergency contact has already been called.”

“no, they weren’t because i’m his emergency contact and i haven’t been called!” you exclaim, words getting jumbled and shrieky as they near the end of your sentence.

he extends his hands in an attempt to calm you down, opening his mouth to speak.

your scowl cuts him off. utterly done and thoroughly terrified, you examine your surroundings quickly, realizing the other guards have shot you mere glances because they recognize you. gary himself doesn’t look too on edge even with you raising your voice. you’re glad none of them have gone on a mission with you.

you swipe at your nose and straighten, patience wearing thin. “gary. i need you to let me in or i will hurt you.”

he sighs, shaking his head, obviously not believing you. “i can’t do that--”

“i’m sorry about this,” you say, half-honest. he’s halfway through a question before you jab your knee into his groin hard. he groans immediately and drops down to his knees. quickly, you slam the side of your palm against his neck, precise but quick, and he slumps. 

you cringe a little, feeling bad but not enough, and lower him down to the floor gently, patting his head gently in apology.

commotion starts quickly, but you shove your body weight into the door hard enough to throw it open, striding fast through the rooms until you find someone familiar.

bucky stands inside a room with clear glass, expression surprised, clearly having just jumped to his feet at the noise. he says your name in confusion, and you’re so relieved to hear it isn’t coated in something bloody and dangerous you run into his arms, hands clawing at his back to make sure he’s solid and real.

“bucky,” you whimper. he’s taken aback for a second before he’s responsive, wrapping his arms around you and tucking you closer.

“hey sunny,” he mumbles, a hand smoothing up and down your back. “what’s wrong?”

you crumple at his touch, fire-hot anger melting to ebbing relief-panic. “you were--it said you were in critical condition and they wouldn’t let me in. i thought--” your words give away to a hiccup, the repose of his warmth heavier than you thought.

“i’m fine,” he assures. “steve freaked when there was an explosion they couldn’t find me. when they found a body they assumed, but it wasn’t me.”

you grunt in frustration, pulling him back when he begins to step away to take a look at you. “genevieve is right, they don’t tell us shit.” it’s what bubbles out, but you want to fall to your knees and thank the world bucky was still on it.

“how’d you get in here, pretty? it was only supposed to be us.”

“i thought it was you who was hurt, i had to see you,” you offer.

“that’s not an explanation.”

you sniffle, rubbing your cheek against bucky’s shirt. “i broke in. i’m gonna have to answer to some people but i’m just glad you’re okay.”

bucky chuckles, and you finally let him pull back, a sympathetic pull on his lips as he rubs his thumb underneath your eyes, brushing away your tears. “don’t worry about it sunshine, i’ll handle it.”

your responding hum comes out wet in your relief that you’re actually looking into his eyes, pushing yourself back into his arms. he’s sympathetic in his letting you, hand gentle as it smooths between the planes of your shoulders. it slows for a second, his mouth nearing closer to the edge of your ear as steps thunder behind you, halting suddenly.

“guess we’re made,” he whispers, sounding entirely fine with it.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

In Plain Sight (Part 2)

Summary: The reader has a talk with Jensen about what actually happened with her ex-fiance that led her to come back home...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x daughter!reader (with lots of daughter!reader x OMC)

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, mention of cheating/family angst/minor character death

A/N: More of a peek of Jensen and the reader’s relationship in this part along with some insight into Crew’s past!

______

It was late afternoon when you found yourself out back with your dad, his computer in his lap as he laid back in one of the lounge chairs under the porch. You were by the edge of the yard, camera focused on a lady bug hanging out on the edge of leaf. A few clicks of it went off before the little thing decided to fly away.

You spun around, taking a candid one of him working away, probably responding to several thousand emails if you had to guess.

“Y/N,” he chided without looking. “What’d I tell you about taking pictures without people’s approval?”

“Hey. This would go great on your insta,” you said, snapping another picture when he gave you a bitch face.

“I just had to buy you that camera when you were a kid, didn’t I.” He patted the end of the lounger and tucked his feet up, typing out another message as you walked over.

“Blame yourself. I would have been an accountant if you hadn’t pushed me to try photography as a job.” He closed his computer, setting it down on the small side table. 

“That’s what I get for being a good parent,” he chuckled as you sat down cross legged to face him. “Two things. One, I would really appreciate it if you gave Crew the friends and family discount for his pictures.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s your friend. Of course I will. I was just messing with him.”

“Good. He normally doesn’t warm up to people so fast but he’s pretty relaxed around you.”

“Are you trying to set me up on a play date with him?” you scoffed. He shook his head. “Is he some weirdo loner or something? Both you and mom have said-”

“Crew went through a bad breakup last year. He lost a lot of his friends over it. He’s kind of on his own. He reminds me of a certain someone else in that way,” he said, nudging your knee with his foot. You glanced at the taupe cushioned space between you, not wanting to have this conversation. “I know you didn’t go out with friends last night, Y/N. Why did you lie?”

“This falls under the privacy thing we talked about.”

“This falls under I’m your father and I can damn well know what happened to you to make all your friends disappear.” You lifted your chin and faced him. He wouldn’t drop this. Not when he was like this. He’d wrestle you to the damn grass and get it out of you if he had to. 

Stubbornness unfortunately ran in the family.

“What happened with Anthony, kiddo?” he asked. 

“You know he cheated,” you mumbled. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yes, but something else happened. You don’t lose all your friends if-”

“They weren’t my friends! They were his. All my high school friends are gone from Austin or I haven’t spoken to them since graduation. My college friends were all Anthony’s friends. I was just too stupid at the time to realize, to realize he’d been cheating on me our entire seven fucking year relationship. That he only wanted to marry me so he could divorce me once I got my trust and get a whole bunch of money. I came home because I was alone. The only reason I went out last night is because I see you and mom looking at each other like something’s wrong with me cause I spend my nights at home and-”

“Sh,” he said, pulling you straight into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. Sniffles filled the air as you realized you were crying, staining the shoulder of his t-shirt. He stroked his hand over your head, shushing you for a few moments. “God I wish you didn’t bottle shit up like me.”

“I was embarrassed,” you whispered, closing your eyes, hiding away in him. “I thought you thought I was weird or anti-social when I came home. I just…I got so used to Anthony doing things with his friends without me all the time in Atlanta and I buried myself in my work and-”

“One good friend is worth more than a thousand bad ones. You are not weird. I mean, you are, but in healthy ways, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing.”

“I know but…” you trailed off. “I miss when we used to talk.”

“We were so close when you were in high school. I thought you grew up and got sick of me was all.” You shook your head, his hand rubbing up and down your back. “Well, it’s not true that you have no friends, you know. You got mom and your sisters and brother. Your whole family and I’d really like if we could be best friends again too.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding your head, hugging him tightly. 

“And you got Crew and that boy doesn’t make friends easily. I know you don’t have as big a social battery as most but there is not a damn thing wrong with that or with you. You need to cut yourself a break because Anthony and his friends are scumbags that are not worth a second of your time.” 

“Thanks dad,” you murmured, a heaviness in your body floating away. “And thank you for letting me come back home.”

“This place will always be your home. No matter where that is, you always have a place with us.”

“Especially since rent in Austin is obnoxious and you won’t let me live in anything in my budget,” you laughed.

“True,” he chuckled. “But, and you can tell me to shove it, I’d like it if you stuck around home for a bit. I don’t want you going off on your own until I know you can be okay by yourself again.”

“I’m actually kind of scared to live alone. I know that’s such a girl thing but I don’t…want to live by myself. I can pay rent or-”

“You clean up after yourself, you help around the house and you help trudge the other three around when it doesn’t inconvenience your work and you can stay here until you’re a hundred and thirty seven. I draw the line at a hundred and thirty eight, though.” You rolled your eyes, his large hand ruffling your head. “So. No more moping over the dickhead?”

“No more moping,” you said, giving him another hug before his arms loosened and you stood up. “What you said about Crew…”

“He’ll tell you in his own time if he wants. Just know he could use a friend right now.” You hummed, picking up your camera. “Send me that picture. I’ll tell all my followers you forced me to post it.”

“Knowing you, you will.”

“Y/N…” he chided as you turned to head inside. “Don’t get in the habit of working on the weekends. Trust me on that.”

“I know,” you said, taking a step and getting tsked. “Dad, please don’t ask me how the business is doing.”

“I know starting over in Austin set you back. You doing okay?” he asked. 

“Well if you really want to know, it’s none of your business,” you said with a smile, patting his head. “Later pops.”

“If I find out you’re not doing okay-”

“Dad,” you said, looking over your shoulder, halfway to the back door. “I’m doing fine. I promise. I need to build up a client list again but I got this.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, waving you off. “Let me or mom know if-”

“I need help. Now get back to your emails, movie star,” you said. He groaned and threw the pillow behind his back at you, barely grazing your leg. “Your aim’s gotten worse, old man.”

“I’m forty five you little shit,” he said, suddenly hopping up. “You need a good old fashioned toss in the pool is-”

You bolted inside, finding your mom in the kitchen and hiding behind her with your camera strapped firmly around your neck. He wouldn’t dare let that get ruined.

“You watch yourself, honey bun,” he said, circling you around your mom when his phone started to ring. He wandered off to the kitchen table, speaking in hushed tones before he was staring at you. “One sec. Hey Y/N? What’s your schedule look like this week?”

“I have an engagement shoot tomorrow morning and some family pics on Thursday afternoon for an hour and a wedding Friday evening,” you said. “Is that Crew?”

He was talking in his phone again though, nodding his head quickly. “Sounds perfect.”

“Did you just book me? I need to offer packages to my clients before-” you said before he put a finger against your lips and shushed you.

“Our on set photographer started her maternity leave this week and they screwed up getting her backfill in. The DP knows you do photography and if you can swing it, he wants you for the week, possibly longer. He can work with your schedule you already have,” he said. 

“Oh how exciting!” said your mom as you held up a hand.

“Dad, I’ve never done that kind of photography. Not since college and even then, it was only a few weeks on a real film set. I only shadowed. I wouldn’t even know what to do.” 

“You take pictures of scenes and behind the scenes. The job is everything you’ve ever done of me on a film set since I got you a camera when you were eight years old. Plus they’re in a bind and it doesn’t hurt to make some contacts in the business,” he said.

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes. “One week is all I promise. And I’m charging double my usual rate.”

“Let me handle your salary and all that. You just bring your A-game to set tomorrow. Deal?”

“Fine. But only this week, dad. Got it?”

“Crystal clear.”

Two Weeks Later

“This should be illegal,” you mumbled, snapping a picture of your dad between scenes. 

“I heard that and hey, I’m not a fan either,” he said, laying in the bed, forcing a smile out. “Think of this as a gift for your mother.”

“I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than think of what she’ll be doing with this ‘gift’ of yours,” you said, adjusting your focus. “Now act like I’m not here and give me your best blue steel or else I tell mom about the whole taking me skydiving thing.”

Several heads turned at you as he suddenly looked a whole lot more relaxed. Some would call it sexy. He was lying shirtless in bed, nothing but sheets wrapped around his slim waist. Well, he was wearing nude colored underwear but still. 

If you saw him looking like that at home you’d laugh and tell him he’d have an easier time seducing mom if he brought home an extra large burrito for her and cleaned the bathroom.

“Thank you. You look slightly less horrifying in these,” you said, putting your camera down.

“We really didn’t think about all the shirtless scenes when we hired you, did we,” your boss said, arms crossed as he stood by your side. “This doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it? If there was ever going to be any full nudity-”

“Y/N’s out sick those days,” said your dad, closing his eyes and laying back against the pillows. “When are we rolling again? I need the bathroom.”

“Can you hold it for fifteen?” asked the director from nearby. Your dad gave a thumbs up and soon they were filming. You quietly lurked underneath one of the steady cameras, switched to a much quieter shutter. Crew suddenly appeared in the scene, the two of them sharing an awkward exchange. They repeated the scene one more time before they claimed it was set, your dad jumping out of bed, grabbing the robe that was thrust at him and rushing off to the nearest bathroom.

“Y/N.” You looked up, finding your boss, the director and the lead producer standing in front of you. You shot to your feet, immediately hitting your head on the camera rigging above and stumbling back down. “Are you-”

“Y/N!” Crew said, at your side in a second. You patted the top of your head, annoyed to find something sticky. 

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. Is the camera okay?” you asked, standing with Crew’s help, keeping one hand on top of your head.

“She’s bleeding,” said Crew, voice rough. 

“I’m really fine,” you said, spinning around, trying to inspect the camera. “Please tell me I didn’t break it.”

A trickle fell on to your forehead, your boss immediately taking your hand, shoving the camera in your hands at the producer. “It’s not that-”

You stopped when you felt more trickles, multiple pairs of hands on you sitting you down. “Medic now!” shouted the director.

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, grateful Crew had his arm wrapped around your back. They were all important people on set. They didn’t have time to deal with this. “I just need to…rinse it off or something.”

“What the hell happened?” said Crew, his hand pulling away only so he could rip his shirt off one handed, balling it up and pressing it against the top of your head. “There’s supposed to be padding under the cameras for this exact reason.”

“We must have-”

“Jesus christ. She has a head injury because you forgot?” said Crew, raising his voice. You turned your gaze to him, his eyes softer when they found yours. “You’re gonna be fine. It’s just a lot of blood.”

“I-”

If it wasn’t apparent when your dad walked back on set, the person either had to be deaf, blind, or all of the above.

The shout he let out made your whole body shake. He was at your side in an instant, his face in horror for only a split second before he was forcing it to be soft and relaxed.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, to the both of you in equal parts you were sure. “You’re okay, honey bun. What happened here?”

“She hit her head because they forgot to put up the fucking padding,” growled Crew, an edge to his voice that made everyone stare at him. Before anyone could respond, the medic arrived, forcing the group away. You winced when they pulled Crew’s shirt from your head, dropping it to the ground and instead handing you a towel from their bag to use. They gave you a quick concussion test that you passed but their face was still neutral.

“It looks like a bad laceration. Head injuries are fairly bloody. She should go to a hospital to be checked out and get her head stitched. I don’t want to do that in the field.” 

“I am not going on a stretcher,” you said, standing, both Crew and your dad’s arms around you. 

“Let’s get going,” said your dad, already moving when the producer cleared his throat nervously. “What?”

“You have a very packed day and this sounds like a minor…” he trailed off when your dad gave him a death glare. “Injury. Of course we can stop and reschedule.”

“Mandy flies out tonight. She’s got that shoot thing tomorrow,” said Crew, nearly tucking you against his side. “I’m done for the day, Jensen. I’ll stay with Y/N the whole time and bring her home later if that’s okay with you.”

You looked up at Crew but his focus was on your father. “Are you okay with Crew staying with you? You tell me you want me there and I’m there.”

“Dad, I’m fine. I don’t need Crew to babysit me,” you said. Your dad crossed his arms and you groaned. “Fine. Crew can stay. Please don’t worry, dad. It’s just a cut.”

“Call me if anything changes,” said your dad.

“I’m literally right here,” you said.

“And you’re stubborn as fuck. Crew,” he said, turning back to his director. “Get me through these scenes as quick as possible.”

“Come on, Y/N,” said Crew, guiding you away, an arm over your shoulders. “Let’s get you feeling better.”

“Hey,” said Crew when you exited the hospital room, heading to the nurses station to get discharged. He stood up from his chair by the wall, a nervous smile on his face. “How’d it go?”

“Just a cut. Only three stitches. It was like the medic said, head injuries can look worse than they are,” you said, signing a few sheets of paper the nurse slid to you.

“You’re all set,” he said.

“Thank you.” You turned, Crew standing beside you. “You really didn’t have to stay.”

“I made Jensen a promise. Not to mention you looked like Carrie for a second,” he said, stroking a piece of stray hair behind your ear. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

You walked in silence, sliding into Crew’s passenger seat without a word spoken between the two of you. He seemed different. No flirt about him. Maybe he really was more shy than you gave him credit for.

“My dad said the funniest thing about you, you know, that you’re a pretty shy, quiet guy. Funny cause that’s not my experience,” you said. Crew chuckled, pulling to a stop at a red light. “So which is it?”

“Oh, I’m definitely an introvert. Absolutely hate attention and fanfare and all that. But you, kid? You make me the good kind of nervous which gives me all the confidence in the fucking world to lay it all on the line.” Your lips parted, Crew smirking out of the corner of his eye at you. “That’s your new nickname by the way. See, honey bun, that seems special to you so I’ll give you that one. But kid? Now that I can tease you with and I know it doesn’t have any sentimental feeling while being classically being one of the most romantic nicknames in all film history ala Casablanca.”

You shook your head, Crew shushing you. “Just go with it, kid.”

“Crew.”

“Kid,” he grinned. You crossed your arms, smiling as you stared out the window. “Don’t be asking me to explain a damn thing about this newfound confidence either. I’ve heard Jensen talking about you enough to know you do not talk to people you’ve just met the way you talk to me. See, that tells me I’m already well on my way to catching you.”

“Pft. You wish.”

“Damn right I do,” he said, the car moving forward again. You shook your head, leaning it against the cool glass window. “You know, I dig chicks with brain injuries.”

“Oh my god. You’re such a guy,” you said. His deep chuckle filled the air, your stomach flipping over and over. “And don’t be thinking just because you gave me a ride and stayed with me or anything this is getting you any closer to anything.”

“Oh, of course not. Women hate when you’re kind to them.” You smacked his bicep, keeping the surprise off your face of how hard that muscle felt under your skin. “I’m going to tell Jensen you beat me up.”

“Wimp,” you teased. He tsked you, shaking his head.

“You don’t know your own strength. I’m just telling you now that you’re going to be opening all the pickle jars in this relationship.” You groaned, Crew laughing to himself as he ran a hand through his gorgeous head of lush brown hair. “You ain’t sick of me yet, kid.”

He pulled onto the highway, tapping his finger lightly against the wheel as he headed towards your house. “Tell me something real about you Crew Foxe and maybe things will start going in your favor.”

“Well, since my attempt at showing kindness and concern so clearly failed,” he laughed, ruffling his hair into a messy floof that you so desperately wanted to touch, “I’ll try a different tactic. Sixteen.”

“Sixteen what?” you said before he was putting a hand over your mouth, shushing you.

“You’ll find out another day,” he said with a big ass grin. “Maybe.”

“Tease,” you said, his hand shooting in front of your chest as he slammed on the brakes. Your seatbelt caught as his forearm pinned you back into your seat, the two of you breathing hard as he’d narrowly avoided a car stopped dead in the middle of the road. “Crew.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice husky. 

“You can let go now.” He pulled his hand away quickly, not saying another word the whole way home.

“I am fine,” you said for the hundredth time that night when your dad and Crew got back from a ride in Baby. 

“I know. Hard headed like your mother,” he said, gently kissing the top of your head. You finished up going through your shots from earlier in the day, surprised to find Crew still around after dinner.

“Y/N,” he murmured, nodding toward the front door. He was still off, an uneasiness to him. You bypassed your dad who’d settled in with the twins on the couch. 

You were expecting Crew to head to his car but instead he walked around the side of the house and down to the back porch. “Jensen said it was okay to sit out here. I…I need to tell you something.”

You settled into your usual spot, Crew taking one close by but out of arm’s reach. He sighed, closing his eyes as it dawned on you.

“You’ve been in a car accident before and you got shook up today. Didn’t you?” you asked. 

“No,” he said with a smile. “No, I’ve never been in an accident. Your parents have really never told you about…?” he trailed off.

“Honestly Crew, my parents take secrets to their grave. You can trust them.” He nodded. “Is that why you took a ride with my dad after dinner?”

“You’re right, I am shook up. And he noticed so we talked and I think I owe it to you to tell the truth. Because you’re right. I’m not the cocky, flirty guy. People think I am because of how I look but honestly, I miss every social cue on earth. I hate parties and press and I’d rather stay at home where I can be myself. You’re just the only girl I’ve flirted with like that cause it feels like a game and you’re in on it so it’s just fun, not so scary.”

“Don’t tell the cocky guy but getting the nickname from Casablanca does give him some brownie points,” you said. Crew’s face was soft, his eyes showing only a hint of sadness in them.

“That’s good because what I tell you, so few people know. They will someday I’m sure but right now, honestly, your parents are my only industry…” he trailed off, closing his eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

You slid closer to him, taking his hand in yours, Crew seemingly grateful for the movement. “Not a soul.” He took a few moments before he inhaled deeply.

“When I was sixteen, in middle of nowhere Kansas, I’d just gotten my license. It was Wednesday night, pizza night in our house cause I had basketball practice and my little brother and sister had soccer and dance so it was very chaotic in the Foxe household. So we always got pizza on the way home. And my dad said I should drive myself to practice and after I’d drive myself to Wally’s pizza for dinner like we did every single Wednesday in the winter to meet up with everyone else.” He started to bounce his knee rapidly, looking out to the dark yard. “They were on the highway and a tractor trailer hit black ice on the other side and it was fine one second and then it wasn’t.”

You put a hand on his knee, Crew exhaling. “Crew.”

“They left early that night because they didn’t pick me up. They were only on the highway right then and there because I wasn’t in the car. I didn’t even know what happened until I was sitting in Wally’s waiting and waiting and I drove home because I knew something was wrong. When a cop showed up and no one else, I knew it was my worst nightmare. So that is why I haven’t said a word to you all night. Because if you got hurt in an accident? One I caused? No, no. I’d be done for. I can’t. I fucking can’t.”

“Crew, Crew,” you said, wrapping your arms around him when he shivered. “Honey, it wasn’t your fault. It was shitty fucking luck. I’m so sorry.”

“I know it wasn’t. Sometimes I have a bad day and it gets to me again. Seeing you get hurt at work and then the car made an otherwise good day really crappy.” He rested his chin on your shoulder, slowly embracing you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. You had a bad day too and-”

“Relax,” you murmured, tentatively sliding a hand up to his head, stroking your fingers through his hair. He turned into the touch, an involuntarily happy little sound slipping past his lips. “You’re allowed to have bad days and get scared. You have no idea how nice it is to meet a guy that doesn’t act tough because he thinks he has to.”

“It’s all part of my master plan. Drop all my emotional baggage right up front. Makes the girls go crazy,” he chuckled, tilting his head so he was leaning it against yours. The air was quiet, Crew’s body calming down as you ran your fingers over his scalp. “You don’t have to do that, Y/N.”

“I know.” There was a small laugh, his chest rumbling lightly against yours. 

And just as suddenly, he was pulling away, standing and taking a step back. “What the hell am I doing? I have to go.” 

“Hey!” you said, jogging after him as he tried to walk around the side of the house as fast as humanly possible. You grabbed his arm, spinning him to a stop when he was nearly to the driveway. Hidden in the dark shadows, you could only just make out his face. 

Your cocky bastard looked so embarrassed it made your heart break. “Kid, don’t cry.”

“Then don’t run away from me. You’re supposed to chase me, remember?” He glanced down, eyes fixated on where your hand rested on his wrist. 

“That was until I remembered I’m not a normal guy. I-”

“Look at who my parents are. I was raised by a single dad most of the first decade of my life because my mother wanted nothing to do with either one of us. Do you know the guilt he carries? How he still to this day thinks if he’d done something different she wouldn’t have…” Crew was staring at you, eyes attentive, concerned. “Crew, you’re not the only person around here with a secret. So no, you’re not a normal guy. You’re more attractive than most human beings on the planet. You’re famous and only going to get more famous. Do you have any idea that I might be the one person that can understand that? Growing up in this world? Watching my dad be your age and go through the same exact things? If this doesn’t work, it’s not going to be because you’re not a normal guy. I don’t give a shit about that. I just…fuck Crew, you’re breaking my heart over here. You don’t have to be scared of me.”

He jerked his arm, tugging you right into his chest. When you tilted your head, he was there, pressing his lips to yours, cupping your cheeks, fast and hard, pulling away much too soon. You swallowed and blinked up at him, Crew nodding once.

“You had your chance to get rid of me. Remember that.”

“Who said I’ve let you in?” you said, smiling as he cracked one himself.

“Lying doesn’t suit you, kid.” He grazed his knuckles over your cheekbone, smiling when it made you visibly gasp. “Just my opinion but you were better off with just your dad. You wound up with two good parents that obviously raised a kind young woman.”

“Your parents would be proud of you too Crew. You’re alright.” He chuckled, nodding his head.

“I appreciate that,” he said, still stroking your cheek. “I guess I should go home now before Jensen catches us staring longingly in the dark.”

“Don’t you want to know my secrets?” you asked as he turned to leave. He looked over his shoulder, stepping next to your side.

“Kid, I want to know everything about you.” You’re breath caught, Crew kissing your forehead. “I’ll still gonna catch you. Whatever your secrets are, they don’t scare me, because Y/N Ackles, you are going to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He kissed your forehead again, a smile on his lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you at work.” 

With that he was gone, leaving you standing in the standing in the shadows while your insides were lit up in a way Anthony never had.

_____

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[halfmoondaze]

Price Of Fame

Previous

Series Masterlist

author's note: I wanna thank @iguessweallcrazyithinktho for helping writing this, she's such an amazing writer and if you haven't already check out her fics, you're really missing out

“I didn’t wanted to say anything but-” Neelam started saying but got interrupted.

“Jack where is Y/N?” Marc and Camille came rushing to the door. 

“She’s inside” then he turned to Neelam. “What the fuck is this?” 

He held the letter in his hands. 

The letter contained threatening messages of disturbing acts this person was planning on doing to you. 

“We became aware of this issue this morning, after hotel staff informed us about a man calling repeatedly to front desk demanding to get information of the hotel room Y/N was staying in. He kept sending me emails and phone calls all day regarding Y/N; so when we heard the news from hotel staff, we put the pieces together” Marc said. 

“We cant tell her about this. She’s already been through enough. I’ll take care of it”

At 2 am there was a loud knock on the door.

You and Jack woke up abruptly. 

Jack walked to the door thinking it was probably Neelam or Camille; but then a male voice at the other side of the door started talking and he stopped in his tracks. 

“Front desk sent me about the bathroom problem you called in” 

Jack became puzzled as there wasn’t a bathroom problem. 

He turned to you, as had a concerned expression on your face.

Jack looked through the peephole and saw a middle-aged man wearing a balaclava carrying a black duffel bag in his hand.

In that moment, Jack turned to you 

“Jack, what’s wrong?” 

“Go lock yourself in the bathroom” he whispered to you. 

“You have the wrong room” Jack said to the door. 

Then the knocks became more aggressive. 

Jack turned to you now getting more distressed. 

“Now” he said firmly.

You ran to the bathroom and lock yourself. Then you sat on the bathroom floor and started frantically texting Camille, and your manager Marc. 

Meanwhile you could hear Jack from a distance as you pressed your ear against the door, calling for hotel security. 

Then after 10 minutes, everything went silent, and you started to silently sob while hugging your knees as you feared for the worst. 

“Y/N, babe is me. Please open the door” you heard Jack from the other side of the door. 

You quickly got up from your spot and opened the door. 

“What happened?” you asked still a bit shaky about the situation. 

Jack pulled you into his arms and hugged you while rubbing your back.

“Some guy is stalking us.” 

You pulled away from him wiping your tear-stained cheek. 

“What?” you asked pulling away. “Since when?”

Jack ran his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“I- I didn’t wanted to say anything because of everything that’s been going on…but remember when Neelam came by when we were watching TV?” 

“Yeah?”

“I told you she just wanted to go over some things for the soundcheck tomorrow. But actually, she was letting me know about the whole stalker thing”

 You looked away and stared at a empty space while trying to process all of this.

“Wh-what are we going to do?” you asked. “I don’t feel safe here knowing someone is following us-”

“-I know baby, I know…I’ll see if our teams can find us a place to stay” Jack kissed you before he went and made some phone calls. 

-

Taglist

@heavyhitterheaux

@yamahex

@harlowsbby

@harlowcomehome

@jackharloww

@harlowsbby

@carma-fanficaddict

@msliz

@baxteravenue

@kentuckyboyharlow

@yonduismarrypoppins

@rina-writes

@kalaharlow

@jacks-cafe

@ogfangirlc

@sathina

@avengersbtch

@alreadyjackbestfriend 

[helio-nex]

title - mixup

pairing - robert fischer x fem!reader

summary - after the death of his father, robert realizes life is short and decides now’s the time to make his move on you. however, miscommunications erupt and leave you both feeling hurt.

word count - 10k

warnings - smut (18+), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, drinking of alcohol before sexy times (idk if there’s a specific name for this but thought i’d mention it just in case), robert gets a little mean (not for long) and it actually kind of hurt to write

author’s note - um so i wrote this a while ago and barely went back through to edit, so don’t burn me at the stake. it’s also the first time i’ve written smut in like, forever, so don’t come for me lmao

masterlist

Robert Fischer, son of a multi-millionaire. Robert Fischer, tired and uncomfortable after his long flight from Sydney to LA. Robert Fischer, already tired of hearing condolences. His father’s death, while expected, was shocking, and Robert didn’t particularly feel like hearing from people who didn’t know him give their sorrows to him through their grinning perfectly white teeth.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead as he waited for his luggage at baggage claim. He couldn’t wait to get out of the stuffy airport and take the longest nap he’s ever had. He wanted to sleep, but knew that’s probably unlikely seeing as arrangements for his father’s funeral will need to be run through him, as well as any company matters. His uncle Peter should contact him shortly, as he had told Robert he would have to take care of some things before Robert came back into town. He glanced down at his phone. Now that he was off of the plane he was sure to receive at least a dozen messages, emails, any way of contacting him, he probably had a message on it.

Finally he recognized his suitcase and duffle bag. He shouldered the duffle bag and grabbed the rolling suitcase, finally ready to hopefully have the silent driver. He was not excited for more human interaction, he thought as he handed his passport to the man working TSA.

At least, he thought he wasn’t excited to talk to anyone until he looked up and saw you standing, waiting for him. Your nose was in your day planner that you always carried with you, standing next to the driver who held a sign that said ‘Fischer’. He took a deep breath, his nerves acting up as he saw your pretty face scrunched in concentration. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, relieved to see you, perhaps the only person he wished to see in the whole world.

You finally looked up at him, and a small smile settled on your lips as you saw him. Butterflies erupted in his stomach and he suddenly felt like he was sweating. The corners of his mouth twitched up as he approached you. Luckily, the driver was silent as he grabbed Robert’s luggage from him. He wanted to throw his arms around you, but held back.

“I hope you had a good flight, Mr. Fischer.” Right, you were just his secretary.

“As good as any ten hour flight can be.” He said, raising his eyebrows with a certain sass that he hadn’t meant to convey, at least, not to you. The driver began to lead the two of you to the car parked outside.

“I apologize for intruding on your drive back, Mr. Fischer-” God, he hated when you called him that. “-But I needed to go over some things with you.” He nodded. He wished you were on every drive.

“Of course.” He tried not to hope it was because you secretly wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you.

The two of you stepped into the sunlight and he felt like the air left his lungs. You had a perfect halo surrounding you, confirming his suspicions that you must be some sort of angel. His angel. He hoped his desperation to hold you close to him didn’t show, he had mastered the art of stoicism for a reason, but he always worried that you would be the one to crack it.

The driver went around the back of the car to load the luggage in, and you began to reach for the handle of the back of the sedan. You were seconds away from pulling on it with your well manicured hand, but he rushed forward, popping open the door easily and holding it open for you. He gestured for you to go in first, and you smiled and shook your head, gripping your day planner tightly as you crawled in first. He tried to hide his smile but it was no use, not when it was you making him smile.

As the two of you settled in the back, Robert slid the divider between the driver and the two of you up. Your day planner sat in your lap, and he noticed from your neatly crossed off notes that you had done quite a lot that day, even without him. He felt a sudden guilt, he hadn’t done anything other than board a flight that day. True, it had been a grueling and long flight, but still, not difficult compared to what you had done for the day. His guilt melted away as he looked up at your smile.

“You know, I should be opening the door for you. You are my boss.” You raised an eyebrow at him. He found that only your sass and sarcasm could match his. He loved it.

“Well, I believe the saying is ‘ladies first’, right?” He said with a soft smile. You let out a laugh at his remark. He smiled wider at your reaction, but you don’t seem to notice, lost in the humor.

“At least chivalry’s not completely dead.” You smiled, and he couldn’t help but grin at you, showing his teeth. It was rare that you saw him so joyful, but you saw it more often than anyone else, of that he was certain. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, and your smile faded. He wondered with anxiety if he had said something wrong, or if there was something in his teeth. If he had known you were going to be at the airport-

“Mr. Fischer.” You bit your lip, looking hesitant. He gulped the lump in his throat, or he at least tried to. “I’m sorry about your father.” He deflated a little at the mention of his father, at the subject of his death ruining his moment with you. Even beyond the grave his father messed with his life. “I know you’re tired of hearing it already, and it would be rude of me not to say anything, so there, I won’t mention it again.” His heart leapt at your words and his lips parted in surprise.

“Thank you.” He said, and this time, unlike every other hundreds of interactions he’s already had just like this, he genuinely meant it. He wondered how you knew he was tired of it. He was sure he gave no indication. Maybe you really did just know him better than anyone else. In fact, after meetings with his father, you would be there right afterwards, ready with his favorite coffee and a warm pastry from down the street at the small bakery that he knows you love. Every. Single. Meeting. Sometimes they happened more than twice a week, but you always seemed to pick up on his sour moods afterwards, and you always went out of your way to cheer him up. You often drew a smiley face on the lid of his cup. He tried paying you back for it, but you always said it was on you and denied any payback.

The silence fell back over the two of you like a fuzzy blanket, and Robert swore, watching you write something new down in your planner, that he had never loved anyone as much as you. His heart skipped a beat thinking of your pleasantries. The pastries and coffee were thoughtful. You always greeted him in the morning or before you left, and you never minded staying late to help, even when he insisted you go. You were kind to him. He wondered if it was all pity, if it would stop now that his father was gone. Robert had never been religious, but he prayed to every god that you wouldn’t stop. He wasn’t sure what he would do without your cute smiley faces on his coffee.

Shifting in the leather seat of the sedan, you tried to busy yourself with your planner, trying your best to look busy. It was never easy telling someone you were sorry for their loss, even worse when it’s your boss, you have a slight crush on him, and you know his relationship with his father was less than ideal.

You were more observant than most, especially when it came to Robert. You tried not to be when you first started working at Fischer Morrow, but it’s always hard to keep your eyes off of important and attractive people, which Robert certainly was. It was disappointing that he was your boss. As handsome as he was, you being in a relationship with your boss was definitely against company policy, granted he would even want to start anything with you.

It was hard not to think about though, hard not to do anything about, either. Your trips to the bakery down the street was one of those instances. From your first couple days at Fischer Morrow you knew the relationship between Robert and his father Maurice was not good. You took notice immediately, how his face was in a permanent frown after the meetings and lasted the rest of the day, how he didn’t speak much unless he needed to. He tucked himself away in his office and would busy himself with work. This bothered you greatly. You were his secretary, after all, and while it might not have been in your job description to do it, you couldn’t help but want to give him some joy from life, even if it was a small one.

You took notice of the coffees he usually ordered and memorized it, getting a different pastry until you concluded which was his favorite. You knew it was probably a bit weird to memorize his order, but when he returned to his office after meetings and saw the bakery items sitting there, the corners of his mouth would twitch up, and he would stick his head out of his office to thank you, softly. He offered to pay you back every single time, but you brushed it off. Your overtime was certainly enough to keep you buying your boss the coffee, and you truly didn’t mind. Seeing him happy, and knowing you were the cause made you happy.

Now, that was the problem with Robert Fischer. It would have been so much easier not to have a crush on him if he was just an attractive man. But he was insistently kind and quite humorous. He wasn’t always that way, he knew when to be serious and when he needed to put his foot down, but that only seemed to make him better. It almost made you swoon to think about. Swooning… it made you think of the time you spent in his office, three weeks ago.

It had been a long day at the offices. The wolves were closing in on the company, on Robert specifically, knowing that Maurice could go at any minute. It disgusted you, the way they swooped in to collect and try to break Robert down into deals. You knew it was all part of running a major corporation, but you worried for Robert. It was stressful, and he was already stressed enough with his father on his deathbed.

You were the only two left, most of the lights were off, but you sat at your desk, going over the calendar, making sure everything was up-to-date and ready for the next day. Being Robert’s only secretary was an important job, and it had it’s own stressful work, but you thought it was quite rewarding to work for him, which was why you stayed late. You didn’t really need overtime, but you wanted to make sure everything ran as smoothly as it could for Robert’s sake.

Seeing that the calendar was updated and everything was ready for tomorrow and the week ahead, you checked the time. It was half past eight. You sighed, but grabbed the documents you needed and strolled to Robert’s office. The door was open and you knocked on the dark wood.

Robert looked up at you, and his eyebrows rose, clearly surprised to see you still there. He also looked quite busy, papers littered his desk, an empty mug of coffee sitting in its place on the coaster. He readjusted in his chair, leaning forward.

“Y/n, I thought you’d gone home.” He said. You smiled, shrugging.

“There’s always work to be done, Mr. Fischer.”

“Clearly.” He laughed, looking at his own desk. You liked when he laughed, it made him look younger. “What are you working on?” He asked. It wasn’t often that he was curious enough to ask, he trusted you to get your work done correctly and on time.

“The proposal for the meeting tomorrow morning.” You said, gesturing with the papers in your hand. He beckoned you in, and so you did. He stood up to meet you halfway, and you handed him the papers. His fingers brushed gently against yours as he took the documents from you, but you pretended not to feel the electric current that passed through you.

“Shit.” He cursed.

“What?” You asked.

“I forgot all about it.” He ran his hand through his hair, clearly stressed. “It’s not ready yet.” Your eyes went wide. This was perhaps the most important meeting this week. Your eyes softened as you watched his eyes scan the papers hurriedly, suddenly understanding just how much his father’s condition must be stressing him out.

“Come on, I’ll help you put it together.” You said, walking quickly to the door to grab your meeting details.

“Y/n,” He stopped you as you got to the door. “You don’t have to stay, I can get my driver to get you home safe.” The papers were forgotten for a moment, his hands at his sides. You smiled.

“Not a chance. We’ll get it done faster if we work together.” With that, you grabbed the file off of your desk and made your way back to his office, where he had started arranging piles of paper on the floor.

The two of you worked, talking about what order things went in or what documents matched what outlines and exhibits. You worked rather well together. You sat on his rug, scanning the words on the paper, but they were starting to blur together. You barely noticed Robert handing you a cup of coffee, you hadn’t noticed him brewing any. You accepted gratefully, taking a sip.

“I know it’s not as good as that cafe, but it’ll keep us awake.” You felt the buzz of caffeine already.

“No doubt.” You laughed.

You looked over at him, just a glance, and you could see how tired he was. You were glad you had stayed. He had enough stress on his shoulders as it was, and this proposal would’ve kept him here all night if you hadn’t. In the yellow glow of his lamp, even exhausted, he looked handsome. He certainly was under too much pressure, he worked too much for being so young. You two were close in age, and you couldn’t imagine having his job. True, he’d been raised to one day inherit it, but that didn’t make it much better.

You wanted to say something to him, something that would help him relieve his stress, but you weren’t sure you were the right person for that. You wanted to tell him he was doing his best and that was all that mattered, but in the business world, that mindset could get you eaten alive. All you wanted was to reassure him, and you settled on just helping finish putting the proposal together. That would be the most helpful to him right now.

Finally, the two of you began to clean up. You sighed in relief. The proposal was ready for tomorrow and, looking outside, it was still nighttime at least. You held back a yawn, but failed. Robert seemed to notice, and he dropped the file on his desk. You both looked at the clock. It was nearly eleven.

“Come on, I’ll get my driver to take you home.” His hand hovered on your lower back, and if you weren’t so tired your heart would have been jumping out of your chest.

“Thanks, Mr. Fischer.” You smiled at him, clearly the coffee only worked so much.

The two of you got down to the parking garage, where the driver was waiting with the keys. The two of you climbed in the backseat, and you told the driver your address, thanking him, before Robert slid the divider up. The two of you sat there, and you had your eyes closed.

“Thank you, Y/n.” Robert said softly. You hummed in response, a small smile starting.

“It’s no problem, really.” You told him, opening your eyes to look at him. He looked a bit nervous, his usual confidence gone. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“You just saved my ass, you know, telling me about the proposal.” He couldn’t look at you, instead twiddling his thumbs as he looked down at them, his voice still soft.

“Like I said, it’s no issue. You’re under a lot of stress, it’s normal to forget things in such situations.” You said, feeling your heart pang in hurt for him.

“Situations. Right.” He scoffed, looking out the window, watching the sky scrapers shrink as you headed out towards the suburbs. “Not everyday you inherit something like this.” You wanted to comfort him, but again, you didn’t think it should’ve been you. You wanted it to be you, though. Damn it, you may not be close but you cared about him, and he was clearly hurting.

“You’re great you know.” You said, and he nearly got whiplash he turned so fast to face you. “And you’re gonna be just fine at this. You’re just not used to it yet, but you will be. And-and you’re gonna make this company great.” You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks, feeling the heat rise in your body, and you prayed that in the darkness he couldn’t tell. Robert seemed speechless.

“Thank you, Y/n… really.” His voice went soft again, and you hoped you said the right things. You nodded, scared that if you spoke it might come out as a squeak.

You looked out the window and noticed familiar houses, knowing you were growing steadily closer to your home, probably only a couple streets away. You suddenly wished more than anything that he would ask you to stay. For what reason, you didn’t know. You just didn’t want it to be over. He had laughed, he had joked with you… He had been vulnerable with you. You just wanted to be in his presence a bit longer.

You tried to push the thought from your mind. It was stupid. You had a stupid crush on your handsome boss and that was it. And, as much as it hurt to admit and think about, it wasn’t like he loved you. You weren’t his wife, or hell, even his girlfriend. You were his secretary. A cog in the machine that makes Fischer Morrow run. Replaceable.

The car slowed to a stop outside of your small home, and you turned to Robert, thanking him for the ride home and wishing him a goodnight. He told you it was no problem, an echoing of your earlier sentiments, and he said he’d see you the next day. You hopped out of the car and up the steps of your home. You noticed the sedan sat there until you made your way inside before driving off.

You pulled yourself out of the memory. You would’ve done almost anything to stay in that car a little longer, but here you were, three weeks later. It was different now, you supposed. His father was gone, Robert was going to be burying him. It wasn’t exactly an ideal time to cherish your moments together, but you couldn’t help it. You loved the small moments you got to have with Robert.

It was all you had to think of him by. It was all you were ever going to have. Robert, even if he knew of your affections for him, would never return it. Why would he? He was a big deal, even if he didn’t always act like it, he was important, and you were his lowly secretary. It was a fantasy to imagine he would choose you when he could have models or socialites, or any woman for that matter. It was a fantasy to imagine him confessing his love to you in the rain, but it was just that, a fantasy, and fantasies aren’t real.

You capped the pen in your hand and glanced at Robert in the seat next to you, only to find he was already looking at you. Surprised, you saw that his face was relaxed, any hint of stress that had been there earlier was gone. His gaze was soft, raking over your face carefully. You blinked a couple times, not completely unsure this wasn’t a dream. The way he looked at you… Surely not. You hoped your surprise remained in your head and didn’t show on your face.

Robert moved closer, turning more towards you. You held your breath as his hand moved towards you, brushing against your cheek as he moved a strand of hair behind your ear. You could feel the heat rising in your face, embarrassed, you tried to look away to hide it, but Robert moved his hand under your chin, keeping you looking at him. You noticed the pink tinge to his cheeks. You looked at him, the surprise you tried to hold back came through, but he simply looked at you softly. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was looking at you with adoration.

Even more to your surprise, he moved even closer to you, and you could smell his cologne strongly. His scent basked over you, you had never been this close to him before. His breath mingled with yours, his nose barely touching yours as he moved ever closer. Coming to your senses about what must be happening, you placed a hand on his chest, pushing him lightly away from you. His face read disappointment.

“You’re grieving Mr. Fischer.” You said, looking down at your lap. He was still rather close to you. You heard him sigh.

“No, I haven’t been alone with you in exactly three weeks. I should’ve walked you to your door, I should’ve kissed you when I had the chance.” It was now your turn to get whiplash at his words. “I’ve been putting this off for too long, and life is too short.” You blinked a couple times at him in shock, unsure how to respond. Was he just saying the right things? Or did he really mean it?

He moved closer to you again, slower this time, and you realized he was letting you move away if you wanted to. You knew that you shouldn’t kiss him. He was your boss, there were rules against this, and if HR found out they’d have an absolute field day with the two of you. But none of that seemed to matter, because Robert Fischer had just told you he should’ve kissed you weeks ago, and now you needed to know what that was like. Hoping your breath wasn’t bad, you leaned forward and your lips met.

The kiss was passionate. His lips were warm and soft as they moved against yours in a perfect rhythm. His hand moved to cup your cheek, gently running his thumb over your soft skin. Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling themselves in his chocolate locks. Fireworks were going off in your stomach, and you were convinced that only air could take you away from him now.

Correct in your assumptions, you both broke away from each other, panting for breath when there was no more air to breathe. You sat there with your foreheads together, both breathing heavily. In that moment you were very glad that the windows are tinted and the divider is up, that the driver couldn’t see nor hear you in that moment.

After a few moments of labored breathing, and looking into Robert’s eyes, he spoke.

“Come up to my hotel room.” He breathed quietly. Your chest constricted as your face flushed.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, your cheeks burning.

“Yes, I want to spend more time with you.” Your lungs stop working for a moment. What kind of time is he implying? You wondered to yourself if it really matters. Time with Robert, any kind of time, is fine with you.

“Okay.” You smiled, moving to fix his now messy hair, blushing at how your fingers had ruined it, and he laughed lightly as you did.

As the two of you pulled up to Robert’s hotel, he couldn’t help but feel absolutely flustered. He had finally made a move on you, and you had denied him at first. Your reasoning was sound, and he wondered if it was possible to love you even more in that moment. After confirming he wasn’t acting rebellious with his secretary to get over his grief, you kissed him back. It was better than he could’ve imagined, and he only hoped for the chance to do it again, but he had to show you it was more than just your body. It was you, all of you.

Robert opened the car door to the sidewalk and helped you out of the car. A bell boy appeared out of nowhere, grabbing his luggage from the trunk. Robert signaled for his driver to go park, and the bell boy led the way into the hotel. You and Robert walked up to the front desk, and as he checked in he noticed you attempting to make this look strictly business, writing what he assumed was nonsense down in your planner. He knew you, he knew you’d desperately try to make it look like no funny business was going on, and he wanted to laugh. You were always one to try to keep up appearances.

Him on the other hand, didn’t mind. You could’ve thrown your arms around him and kissed him right in the lobby and he wouldn’t have cared who saw. He would tell the entire world he loved you, appearances didn’t matter now.

As you passed through the halls on his floor to his room, you were writing notes on your notepad. Finally, you arrived at his room, and he keyed in, letting you and the bell boy in first, who dropped off his luggage. Robert tipped the man and the bell boy gave a gracious thank you before leaving the two of you alone.

Robert turned after closing the door and noticed you looking around the room with amazement, a bit of a sparkle in your eyes over how grandeur it is. He suddenly realized that you’ve only ever booked his rooms before, you’ve never actually been inside one. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him for not giving you a room just like this one. He paused his train of thought. If all goes well and you don’t end up quitting your job by the end of the night, he might only have to pay for one room at all. The thought of it had him giddy.

Nearly transfixed by you, he crossed the room and grabbed two wine glasses and a bottle of complementary wine. He poured two glasses. He made sure at the front desk that the wine they had put in your room was your favorite. He’d noticed you’d drink a specific kind at all the work gatherings you’d been forced to attend.

“Here.” He smiled, offering you a glass. You shined your brilliant smile at him, it made him dizzy. You took the glass from him and the two of you sat on the velvet couch.

“So, do you take all your secretaries up to your hotel suite?” You teased.

“Only the beautiful ones.” He charmed, and even he knew that was very smooth of him. You laughed, taking a sip of your wine.

“Mmm, is that the response you give them when they ask?” You asked, grinning at him.

“Hmm, can’t think of the last time one was up here…” He trailed off. Your eyes narrowed playfully at him.

“Right, of course, Mr. Fischer.” He swallowed his wine.

“I don’t think you can call me that anymore, Y/n.” He said, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“And why not?” You asked, sass dripping from your words.

“I think we’re a little past formalities.” He smirked, and he saw you try to hide your blush, but you failed. You laughed a little.

“You might be right, Robert.” Now that was better.

The conversation flowed smoothly, from one topic to the next, and somehow the two of you managed to avoid the topic of work, for which he was very grateful. And then you laughed at something he said, and his heart stopped. It wasn’t the first time you had laughed at something he’d said, but for some reason it truly sank in this time. Your laugh was the most beautiful thing he may have ever heard.

He watched, listening as you told a story, and he watched the way your smile formed, the way your eyes crinkled just right when you laughed, how you sometimes covered your mouth with your hand. Your cheeks were rosy and your eyes shined. He could look at you forever, he decided. He could spend every moment looking at you, and he would never tire of seeing your smile, or how your eyes lit up. He wanted to leave everything behind, for just a moment, he pictured running away with you to the country side where no one knows him, and spending every day and night with you. He could watch you sleep peacefully and wake up to you the next morning. He could cook you breakfast and you could go for long walks in the sun. The two of you could have a family.

Yes, Robert thought, he loves you. He’s never loved anyone before, at least, not like this. He’s never wanted to see someone everyday for the rest of his life. No one has ever made him want to run away from his life, not until you. You were everything. You were beautiful. You were smart, you were funny. He loved you.

You sat cross-legged on Robert’s plush couch, the wine in your glass dwindling slowly. You weren’t sure you had ever laughed so much in your entire life. Robert was more humorous than you had realized. You looked up for a moment, surprised to see that the sun was setting. You hadn’t realized you’d been sitting talking for so long, you’d met him at the airport at noon, and now, checking the clock on the wall, it was half past seven.

Robert finished his story about his uncle Peter, whom you knew and had met a couple times, and now you would never think of him the same. You laughed as he finished the story of how his uncle had somehow been tricked into buying a dud gift for Robert’s eighth birthday.

As your laugh died out, a silence filled the room, maybe for the first time that evening. It was, again, comfortable. Robert was a gentleman, of course, and he had never once made you feel pressured or uncomfortable. It made your heart swell.

You noticed that he was sitting closer on the couch to you now, and steadily getting closer until he was right next to you. His cologne entered your senses, and you couldn’t help but let it overtake you, relaxed into it. You knew you shouldn’t be in his suite, as much fun as you were having with him, he was still your boss. Maybe in a different life this would work out, but not the one where you’re his secretary. This was no way to run a business, but you couldn’t deny that you loved spending time with him, knowing his stories, knowing his life. You were getting to know him in a personal way, laughing and drinking with him, feeling as comfortable with him as if you’d known him forever.

He took the now empty wine glass from your hand, putting both on the coffee table in front of you. His hand cupped your cheek, and you couldn’t help it, it was instinct, you both moved closer, your lips meeting.

This kiss made the one in the car feel like a kindergartner’s first kiss on the playground. Robert bit into your bottom lip softly, making your lips part. His tongue took charge, battling your own before his ultimately won dominance. He pulled you closer to him, and you felt a burning in your chest. You weren’t close enough, not yet. 

His hands roamed down your body, making sure to feel every part of you as your hands tangled in his hair. Your teeth gnashed together as you both got sloppy, and his hands found their way to your hips. He tugged, trying to pull you closer, and you moved into his lap, straddling him.

In this new position, he broke the kiss, trailing his lips down to your neck. You moaned as he kissed the soft spot of your neck. He nibbled on the spot, and you moaned a little louder. You could feel him growing hard under you, and you were aching for him. His lips lifted from your neck and he tugged gently at your blouse. You looked into his eyes, which were blown out with lust. You nodded at him, and that was all he needed to lift it off of your body, throwing it somewhere in the room. Your lips reconnected, a hungry desire filling both of you. Your breasts pushed up against his chest, and you moved your hips to get closer to him, causing him to groan.

As his tongue continued to explore you and his hands moved down to your ass, you fiddled with his tie, slipping it from around his neck and beginning to work on the buttons on his shirt. As you did, his hands squeezed and massaged your ass, causing you to gasp into his mouth. The two of you managed to get his shirt off, and your hands rested on his chest.

You broke the kiss, grinning at him and grabbing his hand as you stood up, taking him with you. You led him to the bed on the other side of the room, and his eyes watched you with lust. You grinned, you couldn’t believe this. If, somehow, this was a dream, it was one you never wished to wake up from. He grinned at you as you laid down in the middle of the bed, beckoning him to you. He slid himself on top of you, slotting himself between your hips.

His lips brushed against yours but they didn’t stay there, he trailed down to your chest. You arched your back, allowing him to unclasp your bra. It was then lost in the sea of chaos of the room. His mouth made its way to your breasts, and he took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, sucking and licking it. You arched your back even more into him, moaning as you did. You could feel your core dripping with the need for him. He gave the same amount of attention to your other breast before giving you a cocky grin. 

He moved lower, lower, lower, until he got to your waist. He began unbuttoning your slacks, and you told him to continue. He threw them somewhere behind him.

“I need you, Robert.” You whined. If possible, the cocky grin got wider.

“Don’t you worry angel, I’ve got you.” You started to let out a whine, but he was toying with the waistband of your panties, which were soaked through. “You’re already so wet for me, gorgeous.” He let out a delicious groan.

He slid them painfully slow down your legs, and you wanted to let out a sound of discontent with this, but he pulled them quickly down the rest of the way and flung them off of the bed. You saw him lick his lips hungrily, and you pushed your hips towards him. He made eye contact with you again before pulling your legs further apart and sticking his face right into your wet pussy. You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from being too loud, but Robert’s hand took it away.

“I want to hear all of the sounds you make, angel.”

That was all he needed to say. He went right back to your pussy, experimentally flicking his tongue at your folds. You whimpered loudly as his tongue continued. Then, he thrusted his tongue into you. You moaned, louder than previously, clutching onto his hair, trying to pull him closer as he ate you. How his tongue was able to get so deep inside of you, you didn’t know. He pushed his tongue in and out of you, curling it just right, enough to make you scream in pleasure. His hand came to rub your clit, his other massaging your thigh. You chanted his name like it was the only word you knew. You felt the coil inside of you twist and burn as he wound it tighter and tighter, and you knew this one could be the best you’ve ever had.

“R-Robert, I’m so close-” You moaned, and just as you were about to clench your walls around his tongue, he pulled away. You whined in frustration and pouted at him as he looked up at you, your arousal dripping from his lips as he grinned at you.

“No, you’re going to come with me inside of you.” Your eyes widened slightly, this was not the Robert you knew, but it was one you could definitely get used to.

“Well then, I guess you’ll have to fuck me, Robert.” You said, returning his grin.

“I suppose I will.”

With that, he stood, taking off his belt, and you watched him carefully, ready to see what you’d been missing out on for so long. He dropped his pants and boxers in one go, and your eyes widened as you looked at him.

He was rock-hard. You licked your lips, and he laughed. He slid back on top of you, fitting himself in your hips like they were made for him. Maybe they were.

“Not this time. This is all about you.” He smiled at you adoringly, and your heart stopped. There was no mistaking it this time, he looked at you with adoration.

He pressed his lips to yours, and you feverishly kissed him back. While you did, your guilty mind charged forward with red alarm bells. Robert was your boss. You could get in major trouble for this. Your mind was foggy as his hands roamed your body like it was his, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he did. You knew this was wrong, what if you lost your job? Fischer Morrow was all you had options for, career-wise, and doing this was career suicide.

You could feel Robert was positioned at your entrance, and you broke this kiss hurriedly, your mind still foggy. It wasn’t too late to stop, was it? You didn’t want it to stop, but you were risking your future.

“Wait,” You said, and you saw Robert’s eyebrows furrow. “We can’t, you’re my boss, I could be fired-” You panted. Robert smirked.

“Who’s going to fire you, Y/n? I’m your boss.” You blushed at the sudden realization. Robert would have to be the one to fire you. He gave a laugh at your reaction, and instead of saying anything, you nodded, pulling him back closer to you.

With your acknowledgement to go forward, Robert pushed the burning head of his hard cock against your wet pussy, and you hissed as he pushed into you, painfully stretching you more than you had ever been before. He groaned as he pushed further and further in, and your pain turned to pleasure as he pushed further inside of you, slow enough to let you adjust to him as he went. When he was all the way in, he paused.

“You ready, angel?” He asked, panting as he smoothed your hair.

“Yes.” You said, out of breath.

Robert pulled his hips back until only his tip was inside of you, and pushed in. You moaned loudly as he created friction against your walls. He set a fast but sensual pace as his hips snapped to yours. The only sounds you could hear was the two of you moaning and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Your hands returned to their favorite spot, his hair. He ducked down to your neck, kissing and nibbling, but not hard enough to leave marks. He found the sensitive part of your neck again, and the combination of his thrusts and his lips drew an extremely erotic moan from you, you were surprised, you didn’t think you could make a sound like that.

You lifted your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. This new position put him at your perfect spot and he hit it with every thrust. Your moans increased in volume, and you knew it was very possible the other suite could hear you, but you didn’t care, not when this felt so good.

The coil deep inside of you started to burn and wind up as Robert continued, and your fingers tugged on his hair as it did. Your breathing got heavier.

“R-Robert, I’m so close.” You moaned. He groaned and continued his thrusts, becoming more erratic as how slowly came undone.

“Come for me, angel, let go.”

At his behest, within moments, the coil burned hot and exploded, and you nearly screamed at the feeling as your orgasm hit you. Your walls squeezed around him and his thrusts got sloppy. He continued through your orgasm, and your body shook and you tugged even harder on his hair as your legs quivered. As you were coming down, Robert gave two more thrusts and you felts his hot seed shoot inside of you, coating your walls. He gave a few more thrusts, and both of you were panting as you looked at each other.

Neither of you spoke, but Robert pecked your lips sweetly and pulled out of you, collapsing on the bed next to you. Both of you laid there, your chests rapidly rising and falling as you caught your breath. Robert looked peaceful, his eyes were closed and there were no hard lines on his face.

You pulled the sheet up to your chest, thinking about how it was the best orgasm you’d ever had. If he could do that good with so little foreplay, you wondered, what else could he do? You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, his breathing had slowed. Was he asleep? You bit your lip, was this a one time thing? How awkward would this be at the office? Maybe it was time to go.

You began to move away, pulling the sheet off of you, but Robert’s warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you back in. You let him pull you in close to him, and he nestled himself right behind you. He was warm and comfortable, and you felt safe in his arms.

“Stay with me.” He muttered. You smiled to yourself, trying to control the way your heart raced at his words. You settled yourself in his arms, and soon enough, you were asleep.

It’s been days since Robert saw you last. After the two of you woke the next morning in his hotel suite, he gave you the next couple of days off, paid, of course. You had tried to argue, but he told you he needed time for his father’s funeral, and you cracked and agreed.

Fischer Morrow was still going, of course, it never stopped. That Saturday, however, the day of the funeral, Robert made sure every single worker had the day off. No overtime allowed. The work-alcoholics didn’t particularly enjoy this, but Robert knew everybody needed a break from the stress that had befallen the company with his father’s passing.

Robert wished he could’ve brought you to the funeral. He needed you, needed to hold your hand. It was difficult. It was a private funeral, and that’s how Robert wanted it. Close family and friends only. Robert gave his eulogy, and while he didn’t cry, he was very upset about it. It was his father after all. He wondered if he would’ve cried if you could’ve been there to support him, smile gently at him and encourage him. Perhaps you would’ve made him feel less empty.

Robert had let his driver have the weekend as well. He needed to be alone driving to and from the funeral, that much he knew. As much as he had grown up with drivers all his life, it didn’t feel right on this day. Nothing much seemed right, only thoughts of you were enough to pull him out of his dreary thoughts.

He couldn’t help but think of you in the hotel. He had thought your laugh was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard, but in truth it was now competing with your moans. Robert hadn’t had a girlfriend since college. That was years ago. The demands of his work were too much to see anyone, let alone be in a serious relationship. Robert had quite literally given up on love, and then you walked into Fischer Morrow for your first day, and Robert felt himself fall in love with you.

He knew it wasn’t professional, he had professional control over you and your career, so he did nothing. He tried to treat you the same as other employees, but it was difficult. You went above and beyond for everything. You were the best secretary he’d ever had, and perhaps the best Fischer Morrow had ever had. You made sure everything was set and ready, and he was convinced that not even his father would have had anything bad to say about you. Most certainly, his father would’ve looked down on how Robert felt about you, about what Robert wanted to create with you, but that was only about status. In addition, Maurice no longer mattered in that respect. He was dead.

Robert was driving around, not aware of where he was going, just thinking of you. The wake had ended an hour ago, it was half past six now, and all Robert could think about was you. He needed to see you, see your smile, hear you laugh. Your laugh could pull him out of the earth’s gravity, even if only for a little while. His next step in earning your heart was to take you to dinner, and no time seemed better than the present.

Robert knew it was wrong to just show up at your house unannounced. It was impolite, but he was already more than halfway there when he realized he needed to see you. You were so kind, he hoped that you would understand. He knew you might not join him for dinner, you might have already ate, or maybe you had plans with friends. He hoped that you would join him for the night, that he could press gentle kisses to your lips and taste the sweet wine you liked.

Robert remembered the way to your house. It was a quaint little ranch style, and it fit your personality. It was beautifully kept on the outside, and your front garden was blooming with beautiful flowers. He wondered if you planted them yourself. It was still mostly light out, but the sun was fading away into a purple and pink sky. Robert parked his car in the street, taking a deep breath. Why he was nervous, he didn’t know. He had already been intimate with you, but he was seeking a different intimacy tonight.

He walked the path up to your front door, admiring how well kept your house was. You clearly took pride in keeping your space organized, clean, and good-looking. It was similar to your desk at work in an odd way. He stood at your door, a bit hesitant, and knocked. A flash of nerves lit up his body and he wondered if he should just leave, but then you opened the door.

As your eyes landed on him, he could tell you were surprised to see him, and he felt a wave of guilt rush over him, but you smiled warmly and it melted away. You looked absolutely stunning. Your hair was down, and you wore jean shorts and a white t-shirt. He had never seen you look so relaxed and comfortable before. You looked domestic.

His mind wandered, could it be this way forever? Could he be domestic with you, seeing you in outfits just like this one? He wondered if one day he could have the privilege of seeing you this way everyday, of being around you, comfortable and at ease. He shifted in his suit from the funeral.

“Y/n, I wanted to see if-” He began, but he heard a voice call out from behind you.

“Y/n, everything okay?” A tall man appeared at the door next to you. He had dark hair and a bit of scruff from a beard. Robert felt dread and envy crush him. The green monster raged and clawed inside of him as he and the man watched each other for a moment.

“Um, Mason, this is Robert Fischer, my boss.” You instantly became nervous, and Robert felt hurt pound in his chest. “Mr. Fischer, this is Mason, my-” Robert cut you off quickly, not wanting to hear you say it.

“Actually, I was just checking in. I was just going.” Robert excused himself quickly and made his way back to the car.

As he drove off, he felt hot tears sting his eyes. You clearly didn’t feel the same about your encounter at the hotel as he did. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He should’ve known a beautiful woman like you would already have a man in your life. He wondered if he had ever deserved you.

You watched Robert get into his car and drive off, shocked and confused that he had taken off so quickly. He hadn’t even told you why he was there. You wondered if you should text or call him, but you knew his father’s funeral had been that day, and it was probably a mess of emotions. You thought he most likely needed his space. You would see him on Monday and make sure he was okay.

“So is he always like that?” Mason teased, pinching your shoulder. You rolled your eyes as you shut the door before slapping his arm.

“Oh stop it! He’s got it bad enough, his father’s funeral was today.” You snapped. Your brother’s eyes widened.

“Oh damn, Y/n, sorry.” You returned to your kitchen, where you and your brother were cooking your weekly get together dinner. You wondered why Robert had come to your house if he was going to leave so quickly. Had he changed his mind about something? Was it a bad time? Was he needed at the office? You sighed to yourself and continued preparing dinner, but your mind stayed with Robert.

Monday rolled around, and you intended to check in with Robert as soon as you could. You got there early, earlier than the usual early, but his office door was closed. You knew better than to knock with the door closed, so you continued to your desk. You spent the next hour going through your usual day, but something felt off. There was a coldness in the office and it seemed to be coming from Robert’s office. After another half hour, you needed his input on one of your weekly projects and approached his office. The door was still closed, but you knocked anyway. Robert’s voice beckoned you in, but not in his usual tone. You opened the door and saw him sitting at his desk, quietly working on a stack of papers. He didn’t look at you as you opened the door.

“Mr. Fischer, I need to know what you want done with the New York meeting.” You said, trying to ignore the fact that he still wouldn’t look at you. Why wouldn’t he look at you?

“Push it off for another week.” He said, his voice even and firm. You waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. You opened your mouth to say something, to ask him if he was okay, but you fought against it, nodding and closing the door to his office as you left.

As you went about your day, you were continuously ignored by Robert. You couldn’t understand why he was giving you short answers and being so cold to you. While he was in a long meeting with board members, you took your lunch and went to the cafe, picking up his favorite pastry and coffee. You wrote a smiley face on his drink, like normal, and returned to your desk, patiently waiting for him to leave the meeting.

Your eyes constantly left your work to watch the door to the conference room, and after another half an hour, the door opened. You not so discretely watched Robert pass you, not even glancing your way. You knew that he knew you were watching him, and you felt desperate as you watched him walk into his office and shut the door. You watched through the open blinds as he approached his desk, spotting the coffee and pastry. You expected him to look up and smile at you, thank you like he always did. You watched eagerly, waiting for his response, and he collected both the coffee and pastry in his hands and threw them both in the trash can next to his desk.

Your heart fell. He was mad at you, that was for sure. You tried to hold back your own tears as you leaned back over your desk, trying not to give away how upset you were to your other coworkers. You wondered if he knew you were upset. You wondered if he cared.

Slowly, your other coworkers trickled out of the office as business hours closed, but you remained. You needed to clear this up with Robert. Perhaps you had been wrong. Maybe he had come to your house to tell you it was a one time thing, but saw your brother and felt pity for you. You clenched your jaw at the thought. He was the one who had kissed you. He was the one who pulled you in to stay the night. He was the one who drove you home the next day with a sweet goodbye as he walked you to the door. And now here you were, your peace offering of coffee and warm pastry in the trash of his office.

When the last person left, leaving you alone with Robert, you stood. Immediately, not leaving without your answers you rightfully deserved, you marched yourself to his office. You knocked on the door, and for a moment it was quiet. You waited, for a moment, but decided it didn’t matter. He had treated you poorly today, and you deserved to walk in on whatever he was doing.

 You opened the door and saw him standing, ready to leave himself. This was unusual. He typically didn’t leave for at least another half hour. He truly was pissed. A chill ran down your spine as he looked you dead in the eyes. They were unfeeling, but you felt the anger there.

“Miss L/n, I’m rather busy, this will have to wait.” You continued to stand there, feeling a bit of your own anger rising, but the hurt flooded you and creeped up your throat, tightening its hold on your airway.

“No.” You said firmly.

“No?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“No. You’ve been acting cruel. Why?” You stood your ground, but you felt your heart race and you wanted to disappear. This felt terrible, it felt wrong. This is not how this should have gone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grabbed documents from his desk and started towards you, intending to leave, but you stood your ground still, blocking his path. Determined, you tugged on the papers in his hand, and he must have been a bit shocked by your directness, because he let go rather easily. You tossed the papers on his couch, crossing your arms in front of him.

“You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder all day and giving me the shortest answers possible. You’ve never called me ‘Miss L/n’ in my entire time here, and-” Your voice broke a little and you looked down at your shoes. “I saw you throw away the coffee.” You paused, trying not to sound as weak as you felt. “I just want to know why.” You mumbled. You looked back up at him, and guilt washed over his face for a moment before his face tried to become stoic again, but he just looked upset and hurt. You knew the look well.

“Our time together obviously meant more to me than it did to you, Y/n.” He said quietly. His voice was soft, and he tried to get around you, but you blocked his path again.

“What?” You asked, your voice laced with confusion as your eyebrows furrowed together. “What does that mean?” He sighed, and he didn’t seem angry, he just seemed sad.

“The other man in your home was evidence enough.” You blinked at him several times, trying to process what he had just said to you. You had to hold back a laugh, but your face contorted into a grin. After a moment, you did laugh out of absurdity. His face breaks out in more pain, and you’re quick to speak, your laughter dying quickly.

“Robert, Mason is my brother, which you would’ve known if you stayed an extra five seconds. I introduced you as my boss because I didn’t really want my brother knowing that much about my um, personal life.” You watched all emotion leave his face, a red tinge spreading across his freckled cheeks and his ears. He blinked a couple of times, staring off behind you.

“Brother?” He said quietly. You nodded, trying to hide your giggles. He let out an embarrassed sigh and rubbed his forehead with his palm, not looking at you. Though he looked thoroughly embarrassed, he also looked ultimately relieved. “Right, well, I guess I neglected to ask about your family…” He trailed off, and you laughed at that.

“Rob,” You started, straightening his tie as you got closer to him. “It meant something to me too.” You whispered, and his eyes found yours again. He seemed to have regained his confidence and straightened his posture.

“Good to know. We should do something about that then.” He smiled at you, and you smiled back. As you got closer, he whispered. “I’m sorry Y/n.” Regret laced in his voice. You smiled a bit wider.

“It’s okay, Rob.” He closed the gap between the two of you, gently moving his lips in sync with yours.

“I like when you call me that.” He mumbled, his hands cupping your chin as he pulled you in for another sweet kiss.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted on Tuesdays.

Interview with Lydia Bower

Lydia Bower has written some true classic X-Files fics. Do yourself a favor and dig into her collection! She has 29 stories at Gossamer and 35 stories at AO3.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Actually, yes, it does. With AO3 becoming the premiere spot for fanfic (rightfully so, by the way) I assumed most of the newer fans were unaware of the Gossamer Archive and the few other sites still available for the older fics. So I was delighted to come back into the fandom and see folks reccing a lot of the classics.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I remember how incredible it felt when I initially found people who got me, who were just as stupidly invested in this weird little TV show as I was. It was like nothing else I’d ever experienced. There were message boards and newsgroup lists and email lists; anything you wanted to talk about, you could find a place to do it. I loved the post-episode discussions and would spend hours at that. We had a week (or months) between episodes, so nothing went undissected. We were all very, um, focused. Yeah, focused is as good a word as any.

And then the fanfic started showing up. That was it for me; I was all in. I can still remember going first to Vincent’s archive and it was like achieving a state of nirvana. The heavens opened up, the birds began to sing, and all was right with the world.

What did I take away from it? More friendships and good memories than I can count. That’s something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my days. Oh, and the two best imaginary friends a person can have: Mulder and Scully. I carry them too, etched indelibly on my being.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I was involved with all of it in the beginning. I bounced from newsgroups to mailing lists to message boards to web sites. Around the 5th or 6th season it got to be a bit much since I was also doing a lot of writing then, so I narrowed things down and got the majority of my fix from The Haven message board and the smaller Primal Screamers email group.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

As I said before, the friendships and the good times with fellow Philes. I also took away a better sense of who I am as a writer and how to use that to hone my skills. I learned how to look at media as a whole with a more critical and analytical eye and to dig beneath the surface of what I was consuming. I learned how to better express myself and maintain a cool head while in the midst of a fiery discussion. I became more confident of who I am and the worth of my opinions. I finished growing up, basically. Most of all, I learned how to just let go and enjoy being a fan of something so incredible that still connects with people almost 30 years later. That’s a legacy to be proud of.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I’ve always been drawn to the paranormal and the strange, and when I caught an ad for TXF, I made sure to tune in. The Pilot itself was enough to hook me. It was creepy and a little scary and the two leads were incredibly smart. It didn’t hurt that they were also good-looking and had smoking hot chemistry. Like the kind that jumps in through your eyeballs and settles into a low boil somewhere below the waist.

The final act of my undoing came with the episode Conduit. By the end of it I knew the show had a firm grip on my soul. Mulder captured my heart that night, too. He still has it. He’s one of a very small handful of characters I’ve encountered over the years that I just get, at a bone-deep level I can’t even begin to explain. I am him and he is me.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I’d been writing fanfic since the mid-80s but hit the proverbial wall that is writer’s block right around the time the show premiered. I wanted to write TXF fanfic from the start, but the muse wasn’t having it. She reappeared not long after The Field Where I Died first aired. I hopped around on the web a bit and found much wailing and gnashing of teeth on the shipper front. The muse decided we needed to give my fellow shippers something to make them feel better and give them a bit of hope. So I wrote Games. And the rest is history.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I reacquainted myself with it earlier this year after an extended absence. I walked away from the show and the fandom after my utter disappointment with the direction the show took after the 7th season. I just couldn’t choke down what TPTB were trying to feed me in S8, and completely tuned out of S9 (with the exception of the finale). I saw IWTB a couple years after it was released in theaters and watched the revival, too. Sadly, nothing I saw there made me want to dive back in. Then one night this past spring I was poking around for something to watch and caught Paper Hearts on a broadcast channel. That was all it took. That feeling I thought I’d lost came roaring back and I settled in for a complete S1-7 rewatch. I poked around looking for a spot to call home and came back to my safe place on Tumblr.

I’m neck-deep now, for however long that feeling lasts, and devoting a lot of my free time (again) to this weird little show about aliens and monsters and two people who love each other dearly. And I’m writing fanfic again - after another bout of writer’s block that lasted almost seven years.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I got pretty deeply involved with the Game of Thrones fandom when the show began. I was already a fan of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice book series and liked what I saw the first few years. I wrote several fanfics in the ASOIAF universe, and I’m still involved, but only from the perspective of a book fan. The show went too far off the rails toward the end of its run and killed my love for it.

Compared to TXF, I think it’s a much more segmented fandom. There are several small groups built around dozens of characters there, instead of what I see in TXF fanbase as a larger, more inclusive community. I think it’s safe to say we’re all here for Mulder & Scully in one respect or another. The other characters get their share of love too, but it’s the MSR that draws us in and helps keep us here. Other than that, fangirling is fangirling. You find your tribe and take it from there.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Well, let’s start with Fox Mulder, with the why of it being what I tried to explain earlier. Dana Scully, because I want to be her when I grow up, but without all the emotional and physical damage she had to endure. I’m also a fan of Sandor Clegane from ASOIAF. Stu Redman from Stephen King’s The Stand. Kevin Garvey and Nora Durst from the HBO show The Leftovers. Olivia Dunham and the Bishops from Fringe. The Three Musketeers that make up the core group of the TV show Evil. I could go on, but I don’t want to bore you. Suffice to say I’m drawn to characters who are complex, damaged, and deeply flawed, but are trying their best to do the right thing and who are ultimately perfectly imperfect human beings.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

At present, every day. I’m very much back in over my head right now. If I’m not watching it, I’m writing about it, or talking about it. I don’t know how to obsess just a little bit when it comes to TXF and Moose and Squirrel.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

Absolutely! It’s almost overwhelming how much fanfic I have to catch up on, let alone the new fics being posted daily; and all that while trying to reread some of my old favorites on Gossamer and the other OG archives. I don’t have time to read fanfics in other fandoms right now. Maybe someday.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

How much room do you have for this? <g> Okay, in no particular order and no doubt forgetting some folks, I’ll read anything by these OG authors: Karen Rasch, Terma99, Nascent, Jill Selby, Madeleine Partous, Meredith, Kipler, MCA, Anne Haynes (Paula Graves), Penumbra (@mashnotesofthemythopoeic), Rachel Anton, Joyce McKibben, Tim Scott, Darwin_xf (@darwin-xf), Suzanne Schramm, Prufrock’s Love, Sue Barringer, Mustang Sally, Rivkat, Dianora, Plausible Deniability, A.I. Irving, Rachel Howard, MD1016, Punk Maneuverability (@seepunkrun), bugs, Dasha K (@dashakay​), Khyber, Blackwood, and OneMillionAndNine.

As far as new to me authors (OG or not), these folks are also talented wordsmiths: leiascully (@leiascully), Aloysia_Virgata (@aloysiavirgata), audries, and lepusarcticus (@lepus-arcticus). I’m sure there are more great authors out there, but I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to dig into the newer stuff on AO3.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

TXF: Pass You By, Light Don’t Sleep, Red Letter Day, Primal Sympathy, In the Ruins, Dance Without Sleeping, and Incomplete. I’ll stop there but please understand that they’re all my babies and I love them equally. I’m also very fond of the Let Everything Happen to You series I recently completed.

ASOIAF: These Scars We Wear, The Calling, Beggar’s Banquet.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I’m doing both. I’ve written and posted 10 new fanfics since I came back into the fold and I’m working on another one right now. I also have a casefile WIP I’m struggling with that I began during the early part of S4 and set aside when the cancer arc reared its head.

I’m also in the process of bringing all my older stuff from Gossamer and my defunct website over to AO3. I think I still have 2 or 3 shorter pieces still to be moved and one post-Fight the Future fic I wrote that’s lost somewhere on the net. If anyone has a copy of my fanfic titled Shift laying around, please give me a holler! [Lilydale note: Fic found! I had a copy and sent it to Lydia.]

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

See above!

Where do you get ideas for stories?

From the ether. Seriously. Something, whether it be a line of dialogue, a question, an image, or a scene, will just pop into my head and demand my time. I’ve written 6,000-word fanfics just to slip in a single line. I don’t know how the muse works or why; I’m just along for the ride.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I always published under my own name until I set up my AO3 account. I went with wonderland there because I’m like Alice when I’m writing: I fall down the rabbit hole into Wonderland and enter a different reality.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Yeah, they know I write it but not where to find it. Though I suppose a Google search would make it easy enough to locate. My family and friends have always been supportive of my writing, albeit confused that I’ve chosen to write fanfic instead of “real” fiction. Yeah, I know.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

wonderland on AO3

@amplifyme on Tumblr

amplifyme271 on the bird app

Lydia Bower everywhere else

Thanks for your invitation, Lilydale, this was fun!

[cycloptically]

please sign and/or share this petition!

[artsydudejude]

Additional info under the cut (please read the whole thing before commissioning me).

If you want to commission me, just send me a message via my tumblr, insta, furaffinity, or at artsydudejude@gmail.com (preferably the latter; makes it easier to exchange ref pics and wip screenshots, as well as keep track of my work history). I currently work a full-time job on weekdays from 7am-3pm mountain time, so I’m most likely to respond outside of those hours.

I will require

Type of commission

Character reference images

A general description of what you want (poses, types of clothing, colors, etc.)

An email address to send an invoice to.

Regarding NSFW commissions: You must be at least 18 to commission me for suggestive or explicit art. See here for a complete list of things I will and won’t draw. If you need examples of my NSFW art, I can provide them on request.

Rules:

Payment will be requested via P*yp*l invoice. Payment upfront, or split in half on larger orders if you’d like (anything over $60). I will only begin drawing once the payment is received.  

I only take up to 3 slots at a time; first come, first serve. If payment is not received within 3 days of you contacting me for a commission, you risk losing your slot to someone else.

If you’d like to commission me for something that isn’t listed here, shoot me a message and we can negotiate a price.

Simple, single color, or gradient backgrounds are free.

Completion time depends on the complexity of the request, how quickly you respond to/approve in-progress updates, and how many other commissions are ahead of yours. I will give a time estimate on  request.

I will send you in-progress screenshots at each stage of the drawing (rough sketches, lines, and onward). Once I get your approval/change anything that needs changing, I’ll move on to the next stage.

I will allow multiple small revisions/tweaks throughout the process, but only one major revision (like re-doing the pose or composition) and only during the sketch phase. Other major revisions will cost extra. I have no hard or fast limit for the number of small revisions, but excessively nit-picky and frequent changes/additions have a tendency to exhaust me. Please be considerate of my time and effort.

Once the commission is completed, you will receive it in the form of a high-res .png image (other file types available on request). I can also provide full-res images of the WIP stages.

You are free to re-post your commissioned work, and print it out for personal/nonprofit use if you’d like. You may not use my work for monetary gain (such as selling it on prints/shirts/other merchandise).

I do not provide refunds for anything beyond the rough sketch stage.

I reserve the right to deny any commissions that I am not comfortable with.

Any other questions? Just message me!

[fcb-mv33]

“I think I’ve only just recovered. Last thing took every ounce of energy and commitment that this team had. We just did a better job as team during that period (covid) and to give Max a car for the first time to challenge consistently, some of the races he drove last year were phenomenal.

“He had some bad luck, he had the puncture in Azerbaijan we had the incidents as well that cost a whole lot of points, weather it was at Silverstone or Hungary or even Monza, they were very expensive championship wise but when you think back to races, how he delivered in Austin, the phenomenal victory in Monaco etc etc Imola…It was a phenomenal season he put together and one of total drama.”

“When you look at the season he was the deserving champion, when you take into account the points that had been taken away from him.”

“Just a sense of pride and joy and seeing that number now applied to the car for the first time.. It was a very emotional moment to see what we managed to do and what we managed to achieve and bring it home to milton keynes ”

“Yes on a couple of occasions, I felt that it wasn’t fair the way he had been treated. I think he had done the best that he could following the principles he had been told. The only thing he did screw up on was no allowing the final two cars to unlap themselves but everything that he had done you know was absolutely by the book and followed the principle of getting them to finish the racing on track and we saw recently in Monza, nobody wants to see a race finished under a safety car.”

“Then I think the reaction after the race, the amount of abuse sent at him, death threats to his family no individual deserved to go through what he did”

“There were things we felt very aggrieved about during the season or even that race the Max passed lewis on the first lap, Lewis wasn’t told to give the place back we felt that you know it was a very harsh decision that had gone against us, we felt there were harsh decisions in Qatar and in Saudi Arabi and leniency shown at different times but that is subjected to each individual”

“That was a precedent that was started, it started with Toto for the first time because the messages started to get broadcasted which I was probably guilty of because I was pushing for that within the F1 meeting. It was in Barcelona that I heard them broadcast the radio with Micky which was strange cause I have never had a one to one on channel.”

“Then it really permeated at Silverstone where suddenly there was an awful load of dialogue from Toto to Michael then he is sending him a email, then he is suddenly coming up and I thought ‘right okay I’m not having that, Im going up because I felt it was incredibly one sided that a team principle should not be able to lobby an influence like the race director and in hindsight. Toto and I had a fairly headed exchange in race control at that event the Toto was arguing the he driver shouldn’t be penalised and Ive got a driver in hospital and a car taken out of the race so really after that race we should have said that there should only be one channel of communication.”

“Toto at several points during the race was trying not to get a safety car, he was trying to steer the race, my immediate reaction was defence.”

“There was a narrative credited against Red bull that I certainly felt was a bit unfair and certainly against Max which was very unfair”

“It was that inner belief and self confidence that on so many occasions you saw come through. He’s the type of driver that gives absolutey everything”

“Max had a respect for lewis but he was never afraid of him”

“The DNA of this team is you have to go for it, we are an attacking team.”- Christian on F1: Beyond the grid.

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 1: Rebook

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Summary: The debt.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, Sex Worker!Frankie, implied other Triple Frontier Boys!Sex Workers, watch me make up shit about sex work, allusions to sex with clients (past, non-descriptive), mentions of drug use, discussion of the aftermath of military service, fingering (F receiving), fuzzy feelings in abundance.

Notes: Welcome back :) I've been chomping at the bit to give you more Frankie, so let's dive back in and see what they're up to...

Cross-posted on AO3

Something More Masterlist || Sex Worker!Frankie AU Series Masterlist

After the first couple of “real” dates you and Frankie went on, he mentioned that some of his military buddies (who he’d subtly hinted at being his sex worker buddies as well) go out on Thursday nights for drinks at a shitty dive bar and bust each other’s balls.

You sipped at your drink through one of those too-small bar straws thoughtfully.

“Pope go to those things?”

Frankie nodded and blushed a little bit at your question. You hadn’t gotten folded into any events yet, hadn’t met his friends, but you also weren’t 21 anymore, and the whole “Meet my friends! Meet my parents!” song-and-dance wore off after you hit 30.

“Well I better start paying my debt back then,” you said, taking your wallet out. Frankie’s eyebrows furrowed as you pulled out a twenty and slid it across the bar to him. “Buy Pope his drinks at the next one and tell him they’re from me.” When Frankie looks at you blankly you sigh and lean in closer. “He didn’t charge me for our hour, remember?”

Frankie was almost purple by now, coughing into the back of his hand as you sipped coyly. The ice had watered down your whiskey but you weren’t in any hurry to get drunk. Nights with Frankie were much more enjoyable sober.

“Okay, um, yeah, yes, I’ll…do that,” Frankie says, picking up the twenty like you put your panties on the bar. You wave your hand at him.

“If he refuses you can let it go, but I think it’ll be funny. Maybe endear your friends to me,” you say. Frankie pockets the twenty and slips an arm around your waist, turning to the live music playing at the other end of the bar. 

“So you’re trying to bribe your way in then?” he asked. “Pope’s got a lot of experience with that, he’s gonna see right through you.” You turn your head to Frankie, your nose brushing against his strong one. He gives you a lopsided smile, all squinched-up eyes and dimples. You kiss him fully and sweetly, unable to resist.

“We’ll see.”

The next Thursday you got an email at about 9pm while you were home watching some weird dystopian show on Apple TV. It’s got Adam Scott in it, and Christopher Walken, so you thought you’d give it a try. 

It was from the same email address Pope used to send that cute revelation - that Frankie was smitten and you should absolutely ask him out for dinner. One dinner turned into several and suddenly you had an almost-boyfriend, in all senses except the name. 

You paused the show (Patricia Arquette is scary in it too) and opened your phone.

Fish told me you’re buying my drinks tonight? I was just kidding but I’m not going to turn you down. 

You laughed to yourself, shooting off a quick message back.

For introducing me to Frankie? I’ll keep a tab open for you.

Frankie called the next day to tell you Pope got exactly one Patrón shot and toasted you to the other boys. And that the rest of the night they spent calling you Sugar Mama, mostly to make Frankie blush. It made you blush too, sitting at your desk at work and smiling into your chest thinking about it. 

The routine continued; you sent some cash with Frankie whenever he went out with the boys, and Pope would message you back about it. Sometimes it was a silly tally of how much of your “debt” is left. Other times it was a recount of what you bought him. After the third time Pope asked you to send him your phone number so he wouldn’t have to open Gmail with clumsy thumbs. 

Boys’ Thursdays became your second favorite night, your first being your Friday-Saturday-sometimes-midday-Sunday dates with Frankie. You’d order takeout on Friday, “watch” a movie (you’d only finished one so far and it was National Treasure, “because it is a National Treasure, babe”), and Frankie would spend the night panting into your skin as you drew pleasure out of each other. Sprawled under your covers, you’d sleep either tucked up into Frankie’s chest or him curled around your back until one of you woke the other with touches and murmurs. Then long lazy mornings melted into sweet afternoons and repeated evenings and by Sunday you’d be bemoaning how quickly the time passed.

Thursdays, however, were a peek into a Frankie that you weren’t close enough to know yet. Pope didn’t text a lot, but he’d send you pictures of the drinks you bought him (last time was a scorpion bowl), or the wings he got for the table (covered in sauce from wrist to fingertip). Your favorites were the group ones. You’d come to learn who each person was from face alone - Benny, Will, Pope, all incredibly handsome, what the hell - but Frankie’s relaxed happy face was your favorite. 

One Thursday after having an especially bad day at work, you Venmoed Pope $200 and told him to treat the boys to a wild night. As you drank your own bourbon on the couch you got increasingly unhinged texts from both him and Frankie detailing the rounds of drinks, pictures of the table of apps they devoured (it looked like a crime scene), and messages that became harder and harder to read. Frankie’s were messy finger mashes that almost made sense

Hey bby thr boys think your awesome and they gave you a cllsign

A what?

Clsin

Call

Dammit

Callsign

What’s that

Like m Catfssh, that’s my clll

Dammit

My call sign

Haha ok what’s mine?

Ms Jackson

Because of the twenties?

Oh shit that mks sens now

But it was the selfies Frankie sent that made you curl up in your bed and smile, screen illuminating your face. His hat a little askew on his head, eyes half closed and hair a mess around his temples. He looked so happy it made your heart clench.

He sent one last text at midnight.

R u sleep?

Door’s open big guy

He was coming up your stairs twenty minutes later, peeling his clothes off before finding your face in the dark to kiss and lick into. He tasted like spice and beer and you guided him between your legs and draped him over you, his weight comforting. You didn’t have sex, him grumbling about whiskey dick, but he rutted gently against you while laying hungry kisses along your neck and face. His arms wrapped around you, you stroked your fingers through his hair and basked in the glow of his attention. Then you basked in the afterglow when he gave you a slick little orgasm with his thumb on your clit.

“Can’t let my girl go unsatisfied,” he’d mumbled into your neck when you came down, sliding off to the side as you felt sleep taking him.

“Your girl?” you hummed, finding his cheek in the dark to stroke.

“‘Course,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

His girl.

You both called out of work the next day.

On Monday after you and Frankie spent your long weekend together, him helping you make some shelves for your garage, you cooking dinner and trying to watch the new Dune movie (and failing, even with Jason Momoa as incentive), Pope messages you.

Ms Jackson, the Millers are having a BBQ this weekend. You should come.

You stare at the message. Frankie hadn’t said anything about it. You weren’t sure if he was ready for you to meet the boys. It had been a little over four months, it made sense that people might expect to see you. However neither of you had brought it up.

One of the refreshing things about Frankie was how open he was with you. About the work he used to do, both in the military and as a sex worker. It’s not like he could hide the latter, you being his “client” to start, but he’d also been direct when you’d brought up things. When you asked about the coke, he looked wistful but spoke candidly.

“I was a mess when I got back from the service. The coke made it feel easier, like I could be my old self. And then when I got in too deep, needed it more than just a little fix, I worked for Pope, which scratched a few itches for me. I made decent money, I liked the work more often than not. But Pope caught me high with clients a few too many times, and he couldn’t turn a blind eye to it anymore. He took me off and got me to talk to someone.” Frankie’s eyes shone with gratitude, his hand squeezing yours where you’d been holding it. “The therapy helped a lot, and Will helped me with getting my job at the shop, which has been…honestly great. I relapsed once, about a year ago, and since then it’s been…not exactly better, but easier?” He’d looked into your eyes with trepidation, but not with secrecy or deflection. Your acceptance made his shoulders relax, and he spent the rest of the afternoon holding you on the couch and smiling at nothing with the TV droning in the back.

With Frankie, the big stuff felt easy. It was the little stuff you were worried about. Was accepting this invite stepping into a secret boy’s club you were only allowed to be outside of? Would it be too much like you’re the odd one out, in-jokes and military service putting a wall up around them? 

You didn’t have to stress much longer. A text from Frankie slid down at the top of your screen.

BBQ with the guys this weekend? They’ve been dying to meet you.

You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. Maybe the little things could be just as easy.

Sounds like fun. Should I bring anything?

The chat bubbles bounce back and forth for a minute.

I like everything you make, I can’t decide. 

You take a moment to swipe back to Pope’s conversation.

I would love to. I’ll bring the cornbread.

NEXT

[flamyangelwings]

Still not going to write this, but I came up with a general plotline of my ideal Submas Reunion fic

-Ingo has been gone for three years, seven months, and twenty days and Emmet is...Functional. He has bad days still, but they're getting father and fewer between.

--It took Emmet time to reach Functional, but he had Elesa, Uncle Drayden, and Iris to get him there.

--Emmet still runs the Battle Subway, Single Line in the morning, Double Line in the evening.

---The Multi Line is closed. Indefinitely

-Ingo has been gone for three years, seven months, and twenty days and there is a family visiting from Sinnoh that is about to accidentally change his life.

--In the family is a young kid with a fascination with ancient Hisui history and a brand new book to read on the trip.

---The kid sees Emmet and is like "ARE YOU DRESSED LIKE WARDEN INGO ON PURPOSE?! YOU LOOK JUST LIKE HIM!! SEE??" And shows Emmet...Ingo?? In a history book?

----Kid let's Emmet photograph the book pages while he infodumps

-Emmet does research and makes a plan

--Emmet was supposed to be going on vacation to Kanto. Uncle Drayden's orders.

---[Functional does not always account for things like 'taking time off', but that's what family is for.]

-It isn't hard to go from Kanto to Johto.

--Finding Celebi is harder, but not impossible

-Ingo has been gone for three years, eight months, and nine days and Emmet has acquired Celebi, and is now going to Sinnoh.

--Unfortunately, Emmet is so hyper focused that he hasn't noticed his X-Transceiver is still on Travel Mode and none of his messages have gotten through to the others.

---You know, like email for Drayden and Elesa with a photo of himself and Celebi as well as all his proof on where Ingo is.

----And his daily updates such as "I've befriended a Celebi who will take me to Hisui."

-Meanwhile, Emmet has been gone for three days and Iris, who is Joltik-sitting, goes into Emmet's room to find stray Joltik's and finds a...familiar mess.

--Oh no, Emmet found another 'lead', no wonder he stopped arguing about the vacation!

---Elesa and Drayden make calls and find out that no, Emmet isn't in Kanto, he got on a boat to Johto almost right away.

----Everyone prepares for Emmet's eventual despondent return, just like every other time he thought he found a lead on where Ingo was

-----Everyone also prepares to scold Emmet for vanishing without a trace.

-Ingo has been gone for three years, eight months, and fifteen days and Emmet and Celebi go to Hisui.

--He literally appears in front of one of the other Pearl Clan Wardens

---"I am Emmet! I am looking for my brother!"

---"How did you just appear like that?"

---"I got help from Celebi to travel several hundred years into the past. You are in this photograph with my brother. Where is he?"

-Emmet is brought to Irida, who happens to be with 'Akari' and Rei. Rei runs off

--Irida isn't buying it, but Akari does and mentions what Ingo remembered about a man in white who looked like him and smiled

--I should clarify this would 100% also be an 'Uncle Ingo' fic.

---Emmet was already aware from the history books that Warden Ingo had no memory, he is overjoyed that Ingo did in fact remember him.

----"Also...Are you Dawn Berlitz?? The missing champion of Sinnoh??"

-----Emmet has been paying attention to Missing Person Cases

-----"She's the Champion of WHAT?!"

------Cue casual reveal that Hisui is called Sinnoh in the future and that Dawn is the strongest trainer in the whole region

-----Akari/Dawn: "Huh...That feels...right."

---Emmet brought a miniature photo album of himself and Ingo, since he knew Ingo was missing his memories.

----It's pretty convincing

-Ingo shows up, having been fetched by Rei when he saw Emmet

--Ingo still doesn't FULLY remember, but the moment he sees Emmet, he knows Emmet's name and knows for sure who Emmet is.

---Cue hugs

--Ingo DOES fully remember after saving Emmet from something stupid

---"SAFETY CHECKS EMMET!"

----Emmet is too happy Ingo remembers to pay attention to the scolding he'd receiving

-Emmet finally notices that none of his messages were sent.

--"Oh...Iris, Elesa, and Uncle Drayden are not going to be happy with me..."

--Ingo, resigned: "Emmet, what did you do?"

--Emmet: "Nothing!"

--Ingo: "Emmet..."

--Emmet hands Ingo his phone "there is a good chance we are both missing people now..."

--Ingo: "EMMET!!"

-Emmet stays in Hisui with Ingo and Dawn until she finishes the Pokedex and then they all go home to their own time.

--Emmet releases Celebi

-Ingo has been gone for three years, ten months, and eleven days and Emmet has been gone for two months and five days when they return to Nimbasa City.

--Coincidentally, it is the EXACT date Emmet was due back from his vacation.

---Emmet: "Right on schedule!"

--Emmet goes shopping and Ingo takes a nap on the couch, being cuddled by his, completely ecstatic, Unovan team.

--Drayden and Iris stop by the apartment with groceries hoping, but not really expecting, that Emmet will be there.

---The door is unlocked, this is a good sign

----Cue this scene.

--Meanwhile Emmet has been spotted getting groceries and Elesa finds out and leaves work for the rest of the day to chew him out.

---She arrives at his apartments five minutes after he gets back with groceries, by which point Drayden is already scolding him while Iris and Ingo are putting the groceries away.

----Record scratch

-----"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

------Ingo and Emmet at the same time "Ancient Sinnoh."

-------"WHAT?!"

But again, not writing this, just getting the ideas out of my head where other people can enjoy them.

Also sorry about the format, I don't know it's my theme or the Hellsite itself but bullet points weren't working right so I had to make do