#buy pencil heels

[maysunfootwear]

Ultimate Fashion Guide for Block Heels – Maysun

Block heels are a timeless staple in every woman’s wardrobe. Whether you are heading to work, brunching with your girls, or dressing up for a party, block heels are the perfect mix of comfort and chic. At Maysun, we believe fashion should feel as good as it looks, and block heels totally live up to that promise. So, let us take a look at this blog from Maysun Footwear, India’s leading and most emerging women’s luxury and stylish footwear brand for block heels.

Why Block Heels?

Let’s start with the obvious—they are comfy. Unlike stilettos that test your balance, block heels distribute your weight more evenly, giving you that extra support. You can actually walk in them all day (yes, even on those long wedding nights!). Plus, they give you a clean, structured look that instantly elevates any outfit.

[7s3ven]

MAFIA AU! TASK FORCE 141 x MOB BOSS GF! READER

( head cannons / might turn into a series )

( master list )

more

Feel free to to request more scenarios with this au LOL

Notes: poly, reader is described as on the shorter side, age gap, daddy issues (reader has a bad father), inappropriate jokes/themes mentioned

YSL, red bottom shoes, sugary cocktails, leopard print, faux fur, y2k, mcbling, lana del rey, cigarettes, mob boss wife…

- When people join the mafia, they expect tough muscled men, maybe a few scarred women carelessly waving around guns. What they don’t expect is you

- You’re an interesting sight, perched on Price’s lap like a little trophy, freshly manicured nails tapping away at your phone screen as you play a game

- You don’t care about whatever meeting you’re in, you aren’t even listening to Price’s rather gory plans. You’re too busy deciding what to have for lunch

- Nobody can look away from your pretty pout as you discover your favourite drink is temporarily out of stock

- Price was the one who found you first. Your father was indebted to the mafia and what better way to force him to pay than taking his precious daughter? Price found it strange how you were so willing to leave your father but it made sense when you told him the truth

- Your father wasn’t a good man. He had blood on his hands and he never cared much about you or your mother. You were thankful to find a way out, even if it meant going with a strange (but equally handsome) man

- You belonged to Price first but his property was Simon, Kyle, and Jonny’s as well

- “Jonny, is this skirt too short?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

Jonny glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Nah. It’s all good, bonnie. I can fight. ‘Sides, shorter skirts makes it easier to bend ya over.”

- Simon loves sharing his cigarettes with you, especially when you kiss him and transfer the smoke into his mouth. The best part is seeing your lipstick stain the end of his cigarette

- Price buys you lots of clothes and accessories. You’re never not draped in the most expensive jewellery he can find. Gaz is the one buying you heels. For some reason, he has a knack for choosing the best shoes

- Seeing you waltz around in your short skirts, lace tops, and clicking high heels is enough of a reward for the four men

- The rookies love the sight of you but you’re forbidden fruit. You belonged to their bosses who did not like to share

- When there’s talk of a rat among the mafia, your four lovers do not take it kindly. They need someone to infiltrate whatever plot is brewing up. Luckily, they have you. Nobody in their right mind would pass a chance on being able to get a taste of your strawberry-flavored lipgloss

- “Oh my gosh, it’s giving office siren.” You say, excitedly tugging on the tight, short-sleeved blouse that Ghost is shaking his head at.

“It’s too short.” He mutters, “Ain’t there a ‘nother size?”

“It was the only one. Sorry, baby.” You sheepishly smiled at your lover’s displeasure. “Anyway, how do I look?”

Clad in that damn white blouse, a short pencil skirt, and thinly rimmed glasses, you were a vision.

“You look like you’re ’bout to get some action when ya get back.” Kyle says, nodding over at Soap who’s staring at you shamelessly.

“How ‘bout this, lovie?” Price steps forward, “If you do a good job, we’ll give you a little reward. Sound good, yeah?”

( please note that for the cod tag list, you will be tagged in all the cod fics i post, not just this one lol )

COD TAG LIST (COMMENT TO BE ADDED/REMOVED): @galactict3a

[captain-hawks]

meian shugo is a relatively private man. with no personal social media accounts to his name, his presence on the internet starts and ends with msby's publicity.

his teammates know him as their captain. they know his leadership style and his tactics on the court. they know his favorite post-game izakaya and that he's a morning person. the rest of his life remains a mystery to the jackals.

—but everyone on the team knows that he's married.

there's a thick gold band that rests on his ring finger, methodically threaded onto the chain around his neck and tucked beneath his jersey in the locker room before each game.

atsumu catches him smiling down at his phone sometimes, lower lip tucked between his teeth in a boyish way they've never seen on the court.

bokuto swears there's always a hint of floral perfume that clings to meian's jacket before he shrugs it off.

hinata caught him buying flowers once—a enormous bouquet of roses.

and it's this one morsel of knowledge that has them all staring dumbfounded after a game as they catch their captain chatting with a journalist.

you're leaning into him as you giggle at something he says, and he doesn't pull away. he nudges one of your heels with his sneaker, one finger reaching out to hook on the camera strap that hangs around your neck. there's a pencil tucked behind your ear, and he plucks it out, grabbing the notebook in your hands and writing something down on one of its pages. you laugh again.

atsumu gapes. hinata and bokuto exchange alarmed glances. because yes, you're beautiful, and they'd all probably be tripping over themselves if you were interviewing and flirting with them, but—

"i wasn't expecting that," hinata blinks.

"they look a little...friendly," atsumu comments carefully, unable to look away as meian drags a hand through his sweaty hair and mirrors your smile.

sakusa's unimpressed voice suddenly interrupts their spectating, "i would hope so, considering the fact that she's his wife."

[yanderedrabbles]

Stupid question I got but how’d some of your OCs feel about thigh high socks, pantyhose, and just general borderline provocative clothing?

Also any of them prefer lingerie? Or don’t really care for it at all?

yandere boys and provocative clothing

Hmm interesting question. I think that each guy has his own version of provocative clothing - something you wear that immediately has him undoing his belt - and its not always what you expect.

Yandere! Cowboy is the happiest man around when it's sundress season. Pretty and flowy and showing off your tits just right. Not to mention the easy access. He'll probably come up behind you and pin you between the kitchen table and his body, hands trailing up your thighs and his nose pressed against your hair.

"Wearin' such a pretty dress means you want me to fuck your little brains out, don't it sugar?"

Yandere! Soldier goes feral when you wear his shirts and socks and nothing else. Nipples just visible through the thin cotton. He's much bigger than you, and his shirts usually fall between mid and upper thigh on you. Seeing the size difference manifested like that is so damn sexy. He's the type to tug at your hemline again and again until you snap at him and give him a reason to pull you onto his lap.

"так грубо - So rude. Shouldn't you be nicer to me when you're wearing my clothes?"

Yandere! Boyfriend buys you tiny, tight gym sets. The kind that toe the line between appropriate and not. HOWEVER you will absolutely not be wearing any of them out of the house. They're perfect for lifting weights in the garage, but no one gets to see you dressed like that besides him. After a long, brutal gym session he loves peeling your sports bra off. Totally ignoring you when you beg him to at least let you shower first.

"C'mon baby, as your personal trainer it's my job to take care of you after such a gruelling set."

Yandere! State Trooper gets turned on so damn easy by heels and pencil skirts. Loves the way your legs look a mile long and he can just make out the heart shape of your ass. Kinda corporate core, it makes him feel all the filthier to have you on your knees. Gets out all the tension after a long day of dealing with stuck up business assholes who think money puts them above the law.

"Say pretty please and maybe I won't handcuff you this time."

Yandere! Academic Rival has low-key Internet brainrot. He gets off to you whenever you look like an e-girl, complete with thigh high socks and a tight leather choker. He might be all old money on the outside, but deep down he's a total gooner. Did you figure it out early on and now constantly use it to your advantage? Who's to say...

"Goddammit, how am I supposed to study when you're dressed like that?!"

Yandere! Cyberpunk Mercenary likes latex and neon, unsurprisingly. Bright body suits that glow fuschia and acid green under the blacklights, showing off your curves like a glow in the dark fuck toy. And tight latex catsuits so he can oil up your thighs and fuck himself silly between them.

"Aww pretty little rich girl doesn't know how to take cock? Don't worry darl', I'll teach you."

Yandere! Sugar Daddy loves designer lingerie. He wants his to girl to dress up for him in the rarest and finest sets, just so he can peel it away layer by layer. He's also got a thing for vintage lingerie. Stuff from older designer collections that's almost impossible to find. The thrill of tracking down a new piece is half the fun.

"My gorgeous girl, you look so good. Just stand still and let me admire you."

Yandere! Werewolf really loves the way you look in your cheerleader uniform. Short skirt, pigtails, so fucking cute he could just gobble you up. And he adores it when you wear his football jersey - his scent is all over it and it drives him crazy knowing it's rubbing off on you. In his dreams, you're usually wearing his jersey and nothing else.

"I'm panting because of training, not because of how good you look, I swear."

[luveline]

bombshell finds tickets to a russian movie thing sitting in spencer’s desk at work and they’re about to like run out (?) so she presents them to spencer and asks him on a date and pretends that she didn’t just pull them out of spencers desk in that bombshell way

You’re looking for gum. If Spencer were at his desk, you’d politely beg for a stick and he’d give it to you, but he’s not here, so you must search. 

You sit in his seat, slinking down as he does with poor posture, your kitten heels hitting the spine of a book kept under the desk. Your dress’ skirt rises up your thighs, the fabric at your neck pulls, but you have bigger problems. You’re feeling the weird franticness of unspent energy and only a stick of gum is gonna fix you. 

He has a drawer full of things, neatness traded for space. Blue and pink paper clips in an arrowhead shaped box. Push pins of all colours, their box more ordinary. He has a travel book on indigenous North American birds with stamps held between the pages, a plastic bottle cap, train stubs from Quantico to the station outside of his apartment and a bottle of ibuprofen missing half of its contents. 

Your fingers dig around for the familiar shape of a packet of gum, hesitating thoughtfully against the thread of a thicker cardstock. 

You pull a cream envelope from the desk and, perhaps wrongfully, unveil the contents: two tickets to see any Russian flick at the foreign language theatre free of charge (if you buy a large drink). They expire tonight. 

You press them to your chest and spin in Spencer’s chair without any regard for whoever might see you slouching. Across the office with his hair out of his face and a smile bordering lackadaisical stands your favourite. He even has a pencil in hand. He likes to underline things in the books he reads for your benefit. It’s the pencil that decides your next move. 

You stand up, brushing down your nice dress that he seems to like, a black cotton with thin pinstripes settling nicely just above your knees. You check your lipstick in the black reflection of his sleeping monitor, buzzing. 

He’s watching you when you turn back. You hide the tickets behind your hip and begin a light walk to his side, the chug of the printer a constant hum you can feel in your shoes. 

“What’s up?” he asks. 

You tilt your head toward your shoulder ever so slightly. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” He squints. “You’re acting strange.” 

“Suspicious,” you correct. 

“That, too.” 

“How come you let me hold your hand?” 

Spencer doesn’t hide his surprise at your question very well. His eyes turn deer in the headlights, then down to the printer. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

“When we first met, you wouldn’t shake my hand. And that’s okay,” —your smile is loving in the hope that he finds your question as the curiosity it is and not an interrogation— “I’m just wondering what changed.” 

“I was distracted.” He’s talking about the first time you took his hand, the two of you on the way to the office. “You stopped me from being late.” 

“Right, but I should’ve asked and I didn’t. And now we hold hands all the time.” You take a half step back. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, I’m just wondering.”

“Nobody’s held my hand in a really long time. And you’re mostly clean.” 

“Mostly!” you laugh, giving him a guilty smile. “I’m super clean, I just forget how gross door handles are sometimes.”

You have embarrassed him, in a way. It’s really not what you meant to do, not when you’re about to ask him on a date. 

Ever since you started your official position at the BAU, you and Spencer have grown closer, but there’s a difference between flirting because he’s lovely and flirting because you want him to be your boyfriend. (Not that he knows what you want.) You shouldn’t have started with the hand holding thing. 

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you go on a date with me?” You present him with the movie tickets. “Got these, they expire tonight…”

“Are those from my desk?” he asks, taking the tickets from you to look over closely. 

“I’d love to go with you, unless you’re gonna take someone else, which is fine.” You embarrass yourself a little, even though you’re not, hoping it makes up for the hand-holding investigation. “Yeah, they’re from your desk. Sorry. I really wanted a stick of gum, my– my nervous energy is through the roof today.” 

Spencer frowns at you again. “How come?” he asks softly. 

“I don’t know. It just happens sometimes.” 

And that’s nothing you’ve ever admitted to him. Your perfect mask is broken, and Spencer doesn’t look at you any differently. “Do you actually wanna go to the movies?” he asks. 

“Only if I’m not stealing you away from somebody else.” 

“There’s no one else.”

Spencer abruptly turns his attention to the printer, where he collects his copies and shuffles them into a straight, neat pile. 

You recover quickly, though inside your heart is a stuttering mess. “I should hope not,” you say. “Okay. Awesome. I’ll bring hand sanitiser and you can hold my hand through the previews.” 

[melanchoire]

hiya!! can i get a wonyoung ceo sugar mommy meal x secretary reader meal! wony making sure all ur needs are met financially and well.. sexually!! she drools whenever u bend down to pick up random files she "dropped" throat going dry at seeing ur ass so perfect!! :(( wanting to rail u in her office!!

cw: cunnilingus, fingering, semi exhibitionism??

ceo wonyoung who looks intimidating and is usually demanding or bossy with the rest of the employees except for her beloved secretary whom she appreciates so much 💗 maybe it’s because from the first time she saw you during the first and only interview you did for the job, you managed to win her attention and heart

and she is super nice and sweet to you! when you arrive at the company you always go to her office first, saying good morning to her and handing over the already completed paperwork or waiting for her to tell you what your task is for today, but you always bring her a steaming cup of coffee along with some toast or a bill because wonyoung usually focuses a lot on her work and and there are days when she forgets to eat breakfast or can't eat properly :( and she is so grateful to you that she usually gives you extra money to buy your own breakfast at the cafeteria that's a couple of blocks from the building, and even though you try to deny it and convince her that it’s not necessary, she does it anyway! making you accept it by giving you a sweet look and a small but beautiful smile

wonyoung also usually takes you to your apartment the times you leave work very late because you stayed up late finishing paperwork or getting some of your work done in advance so that you’re not so overloaded later on. you can try to deny it and tell her that you’re fine taking the bus, but she ends up driving to your house anyway, saying that it’s no problem for her because driving to your apartment is on her way home even when she lives in the opposite direction 🥰

just as wonyoung is sweet to you, she is also depraved in her thoughts. every time you lean over to put something down on her desk, her gaze falls on your cleavage and she admires how your shirt is tight enough for her to see the outline of your breasts — or when you throw something on the floor like a folder or a simple pen, having a pencil skirt and stiletto heels it's somewhat uncomfortable to bend over on your heels to pick something up from the floor, so you decide to just lean forward to grab the object and give her a delicious view of your ass under your skirt? you were practically begging wonyoung to pull down your skirt (or just hike it up a little because it looks so pretty on you) and fuck you right there!

and you always maintain a polite attitude and good manners when it comes to your beloved boss. everyone in the company may address her as “mrs. jang” but hearing that name come out of your lips just makes her want to know what it would sound like if it came out of your lips but you were moaning under her while she takes care of giving you the good fuck you deserve for all your effort working hard day and night 💕

until one day you show up at her office to deliver some documents, but unlike usual, your attitude is downcast and you’re quite tired. wonyoung just thinks you’re a little sleepy because it’s early in the morning, but when she looks up from her laptop she sees your tired expression and dark circles under your eyes :( she feels bad for giving you so much work even if it's your duty to complete the tasks and requests she gives you because that is your job as her secretary!! but seeing how tired and exhausted you look makes her feel bad and she can’t help but blame herself

“what happened, (y/n)? didn’t you sleep well enough last night?”

“i stayed up late to finish a couple of documents. plus, i lost the internet last night and it took me almost two hours to email you the files. sorry, boss.”

and she gets up from her desk chair, walking over to you and massaging your shoulders to soothe your tense muscles, moving down to massage your arms with her palms until her hands are caressing your chest and suddenly she is squeezing your tits through your shirt 😳 your eyes widen at her sudden action, looking up at her face only for her to tell you, “shhh, don’t worry. i will take that stress off of you.”

kissing wonyoung while running your hands through her silky wavy hair 😵‍💫 wonyoung is quite the perfectionist and likes to have a neat image, not allowing absolutely anyone to touch her hair or neat suit, but you’re her sweet girl and she has been longing for months to have your hands in her hair

parting from your lips to kiss all over your jaw and neck and leaving marks of her red lip gloss in the process 🥴 wonyoung knows that later before you leave her office she will have to make sure to remove the lipstick marks from your skin because she knows what her company’s employees are like, but she wants to see her marks on your skin as she makes you hers

“if anyone asks why you took so long in my office, you will say that we were discussing a couple of matters regarding the upcoming conference we will have next week, got it sweetie?” wonyoung is aware that she doesn’t have to give any explanations at all because she is the boss of the place and no one should dare to question her, but she is aware that gossips and bad tongues exist in the workplace, so she has to prepare an explanation beforehand!! just in case 😉

making you sit on her desk with your legs spread for her, exposing your delicate pussy to her hungry gaze… she doesn't know if you're nervous about being so exposed to her or because her desk is literally facing away from a giant floor–to–ceiling window in her office, but either way, she loves both options 🫣

fucking your hole with her tongue while her delicate hands keep a grip on your thighs to make sure they are open, not taking her gaze off yours at any time and keeping her eyes on yours at all times 😩 she knows she should tell you something when you eventually close your eyes and let your head fall back, but you’ve always been so good to her that she doesn’t dare scold you now

ohhh and her lips covered in your juices closing around your clit as she pumps two long fingers in and out of you… maybe this could be wonyoung’s new lip gloss instead of the expensive makeup she buys once a month

squirting all over her face and dirtying the desk beneath you, completely embarrassing for you but a blessing for her 🫠

rising from between your legs, joining her lips with yours so you can taste yourself on her tongue, separating for a moment to say “come to my office during lunch time. i have yet to reward you for doing such a good job for me.”

[celli-ohs]

nepo baby pt.2 | rich ceo's son!nishimura riki x older fem secretary!reader, suggestive, fluffy, sfw, 805 wc

Nishimura Riki notices you before you do him. 

You’re sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone mindlessly, head looking up every few minutes whenever the barista calls out a name for an order.

Even in the early morning you’re gorgeous. You’re dressed for the day in a form-fitting button up, tucked into a long pencil skirt. You’re subconsciously kicking your feet to the beat of the music playing in the background, your kitten heels bouncing up and down. 

Riki quickly orders his drink, and swiftly takes a seat beside you on the couch, keeping a respectable distance. 

At the sudden arrival of another, you sit up straighter, moving your bag out of the way. “Oh, I’m so sorry-”

You stop when you recognize that familiar smirk.

“Riki,” You smile, relaxing. “What’re you doing here? Are you spying on me?”

Taking the opportunity, Riki scoots closer to you. “Hi, I actually came here for a coffee, but meeting you here was just my luck.” He winks.

You stifle a laugh, finding his flirting cute. 

“Is this place any good? I’ve never been here.” He tries to make conversation. “It’s my favorite in town,” You say, looking around the cozy cafe.

“They do take a bit longer, but it tastes amazing so I think it’s worth it.” You explain. As you begin to tell him how you discovered the place, Riki tries his best to listen to you but everything about you is so distracting, it’s a struggle. 

Your lips look extra delicious today, he wonders what lipstick you’re wearing, he’d love to buy you more in all the colors you wanted.

Your name is suddenly called out, alongside Riki’s. The two of you stop to walk together to the counter, thanking the barista for your drinks.

“I take it you’re also on the way to the office?” Riki speaks up as he holds the door open for the both of you to exit.

“Yes, my bus should be on the way-”

“Forget the bus, let me drive you.” He flashes you his silver keys, and before you know it you’re seated passenger. Riki can’t believe his luck today, it just keeps getting better and better.

The drive is quiet, aside from you occasionally sipping your drink. 

“Thank you for the ride,” You finally speak. 

“Anything for you doll,” He’s grinning. You scoff at him, but he knows you like it when he calls you his. Eventually he pulls into the parking garage, parking in his reserved spot. He races around the back to open your door before you even have a chance to unbuckle.

“Thank you,” You smile as you take his hand, stepping out of his luxury car. Oh the things he’d do to do this every day for the rest of his life.

You two take the elevator up into the office, and Riki starts to feel anxious. This special morning with you felt like a dream come true, and now he’d be forced to wake up and face the harsh reality of a long day at work.

He’s too lost in his own thoughts to notice you’ve been eyeing him since you two entered the elevator. It’s not until you finally step closer and clear your throat, catching his attention again.

Riki looks at you curiously, you’re wearing an abnormal expression: shyness.

“M-May I?” You stutter, gently pointing at him, specifically his tie. It was loose, he hadn’t really noticed since he loathed wearing them. 

But the idea of having your delicate fingers wrapped around his neck interested him more than anything. He nods, allowing you permission almost immediately, even leaning down so you’d have better access.

You take your time adjusting and fixing his tie, wriggling it into place before laying a hand on his chest to press it flat. 

Your touch ignites his skin on fire.

“There.” You nod, before returning to your spot beside him. “Thank you,” He hums, a wide smile adorning his lips. 

“Well, we can't have someone as important as you show up to work in a loose tie,” You try to hide your embarrassment.

Riki begins to nod, of course you’re right.

“Does that mean you’ll fix it for me every morning then?” He asks, just before the elevator arrives at your floor. You step out, turn and send him a cheeky grin.

“If I must.” You sigh jokingly. You love to tease him. “Let’s get coffee together tomorrow too.” He insists.

This time you laugh, and he’s a bit disappointed to see you’re hiding your pretty smile behind your hand.

“I’ll see you later Riki,” You shake your head and the elevator doors close. As the elevator begins to move again, Riki sighs and leans against the wall, smiling like an idiot. 

That wasn’t a no, he thinks, already looking forward to tomorrow morning.

author's note: here's the highly anticipated pt.2! hehe I wrote this one in riki's pov this time. I'm so happy you guys liked my first drabble, but tbh I'm probably gonna end nepo baby here, mainly so I can focus on my other longer works/series. but who knows, maybe I'll come back to this later and write more!

taglist: @crimson-reaper576 @manaah02 @sol3chu

nishimura riki masterlist | kpop masterlist

[cherryredstars]

good morning cherry!

may i please request a nsfw miguel x fem reader where miguel is a business ceo (or any sort of high ranking position) and reader is his personal assistant? miguel gets hard while doing paperwork, calls in reader, and bangs her from the back 💗

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Little Plot, Degrading, Masturbation, Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Hair Pulling, Slight Fingering, Choking, Creampie

Summary: You might need to buy a new blouse and a pair of panties.

A/N: Screamed and kicked and yelled when I saw this!!!

Word Count: 2.2K (Barely Edited)

It was extremely unprofessional.

That’s what Miguel thought every time you came into his office, a cute little button down blouse and a too short pencil skirt hugging your thighs. He had to grit his teeth whenever your big doe eyes blinked at him, asking him if there was anything else he needed in the most innocent, seductive voice he has ever heard. Hates the way he had to grip onto the armrest of his office chair whenever you turned around to leave, his eyes wandering to your ass all the way down your long legs to the pretty heels you wore. He wonders if they were a gift. If you bought them just for work, just for him. Wonders if some lousy guy bought them for you in a show of affection. I can do better, he thinks to himself, I can buy you a hundred pairs of designer shoes if you want me to.

He shakes the thought away, scoffing at himself. He shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable with the semi he’s now sporting. He grunts as he opens the file you had given him, picking up a pen and trying to get to work. But it’s so annoying. The sound of your voice keeps floating through his wooden door as you talk on the phone with whoever it is. Probably someone wanting to set up a company meeting with Miguel. He’s trying to focus on the words on the business proposal in front of him, trying to remember where he was and what he’s supposed to be signing on, but he just can’t. Not when the syrupy sweet business voice of yours keeps distracting him and each little giggle you let out goes straight to his cock. 

His grip on the pen tightens and he lets out a stressed breath as he leans his head back on the chair. He sits there, eyes closing as your voice continues going on and on about whatever you won’t shut up about. He fidgets with the pen in his hand, his other hand coming to undo his pants. He reaches into his work pants, groaning as his hand pulls out his painfully hard cock. His thumb pushes into his tip, his hips bucking into the pressure. Slowly, his hand pumps his length, hissing at how good it feels. 

It’s so dirty that he has to chuckle at himself. Here he is, scary CEO to one of the biggest science corporations in Nueva York, getting off to the sound of his pretty little assistant’s voice like a high school boy. He wonders what your voice would sound like if he slid into you. Would you still try to keep your work voice on as he thrusted into you? Would you still call him Mr. O’Hara or would you call out Miguel? The thought of you just moaning for him has his cock twitching in his hand. 

Right when he feels the pleasure build up, right when he starts speeding his hand up, your voice stops and he hears the phone click. A curse leaves his mouth as his eyes snap open and looks down towards his weeping cock. His head is red and swollen, angry that he’s stopped jerking himself off. A vein on his neck twitches in irritation as he presses the button on his desk. Instantly, a speaker clicks and your voice returns, “Mr. O’Hara?”

“Get. In. Here.” He grounds out, releasing his finger off the button.

In less then a few seconds, your shy face peaks into his office, slowly walking in and closing the door behind you. You fidget with your fingers as you stand in front of his desk. He has to keep down a moan as you bite your lipstick-stained lips as you blink your eyes at him.

“Is there anything I can do for you Mr. O’Hara?”

“Yes. Get over here.” He instantly responds, pushing his chair out slightly. 

With a confused look, you start to round his desk before you stop. A scarlet blush covers your face as you see his hard erection out in the open. Your eyes can’t look away from it, your mouth dropping open slightly. Miguel’s chuckle pulls your eyes away bashfully, a smirk on his face when you look up at him. He makes a little come here gesture with his hand, and you hesitantly start walking towards him again. When you get close enough, his hands grab your waist and pull you in between his legs. 

A small yelp leaves your mouth and your hands shoot up to hold onto his shoulder so you don’t fall over. You look down at Miguel with widened eyes, looking like a deer caught in headlights. One of Miguel’s hands leaves your waist, reaching up and playing with one of your curls. The strand coils around his fingers, and he gives it a slight tug that has you gasping. 

“You know, you’re such a fucking tease.” Miguel chuckles out, a lazy smirk covering his face.

“Always wearing these practically see-through blouses,” His hand leaves your hair and he comes to unbutton the top button of your shirt. “No use wearing them when they don’t cover anything up.”

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he grabs the top of your blouse, tugging hard so it rips open and buttons can be heard flying and falling to the ground. The cool air causes goosebumps to rise on your exposed skin, looking down to see your white bra revealed to your boss. Quickly, your hands reach up to try to cover yourself up again, but you’re stopped by Miguel gripping onto your wrists. You’re eyes snap up to him as he growls at you. 

He pushes your hands away, staring intently at you. Your bra pushes your boobs together, almost offering them to him. He lets out a groan as his mouth wraps around where your nipple would be. A startled sound leaves you and your hands instinctively fall to his hair as your face drops down to him. Miguel’s eyes are closed as he sucks and licks the fabric of your bra, pulling away to reveal a spot wet with his saliva. 

Impatient, Miguel grabs your hips and spins you around. You trip on your heels, your chest falling onto his desk. Your hands grab at the ledge for support, causing objects to be pushed off the edge and fall to the ground. Your body jolts further onto the desk as you feel Miguel push up against you from behind.

Miguel grabs your hair, pulling your chest off the surface of the desk. His warm breath meets your ear and you shiver. “Mr. O”Hara! W-we can’t do this. You’re my boss.”

The little chuckle he lets out makes you feel small and it causes warmth to rush to your core. A nervous breath escapes your mouth as Miguel pushes your skirt up to your waist. Your knuckles turn white as your grip on the desk tightens, body tensing as Miguel’s fingers brush over the damp spot on your panties. 

“How dirty. You like this don’t you, dirty little slut wanting to get fucked by her boss’s cock.” Miguel’s voice is teasing, pushing your panties to the side to feel your pussy lips. 

“We can’t…” You try to voice again, your voice is small as your body pushes itself more into his fingers. 

“But we can, it’s in the job description, remember?” Miguel replies simply, finger slowly pushing into you. “You’re supposed to meet my every need.”

A soft moan leaves your mouth as his fingers curl slightly, pressing into your gummy walls. You bite your lip, squinting your eyes at the door in an effort to stop more noises from surfacing. You can taste coppery blood on your tongue, teeth biting through your lip. You look away from the door, looking over your shoulder the best you can with Miguel’s hand still in your hair. “Yes, but this isn’t… this isn’t part of those needs.” 

Miguel hums, ignoring your small gasp as he slides his fingers out to rip your panties off. He shoves them into his pocket for safekeeping before his hand spreads against your back, pushing you back onto the desk. “Huh, guess you just missed it then.”

A sharp gasp leaves you as he thrusts into you unexpectedly. Miguel lets out a deep moan, watching the way your entrance swallows him perfectly. Your walls pulse around him and he grits his teeth. He pulls back to the tip, snapping his hips into you again. Your body slides up at the force, and his hands grab your waist to pull you back towards him. He continues the action, pushing himself deep into your throbbing cunt. You lose hope in trying to stop yourself from moaning, your noises filling his office. 

“Such a pretty little whore, yeah? Lettin’ me use you like this.” Miguel laughs, watching as your body squirms under him. Your moans are absolute music to his ears, encouraging him to speed up his thrusts. Your body keeps pushing into him, desperate for everything he’s giving you. 

“Can’t with those pretty fucking voices. Had me fucking my hand earlier to the sound of your slutty little voice.” His confession causes a broken moan to leave you. You can’t really think clearly, too consumed in the way his hands hold you tightly and how his cock brushes up against that sweet spot inside you. 

Miguel lets out a curse as you clench around him, his hand coming down to play with your clit. It has you jolting in his hands, your mouth mumbling incoherent words. His other hand reaches up and grabs the front of your neck, applying slight pleasure that causes you to whimper. He bends over you, causing him to push deeper and for your walls to spasm. You’re close, you don't know how long you’ll last with him hitting your g-spot and his hand pinching and teasing your bud. 

“Yeah? You like that, nena? Gonna cum all over my cock?” His words are cooed in your ear and you can’t help the small nod your head does in response. 

Your agreement causes Miguel to grunt, quickening his fingers to press tight circles to your clit. Stuttering gasps leave your mouth, eyes rolling back as you feel that pressure about to explode. With a sharp flick of his fingers and his hold tightening on your throat, you cry out his name as you explode. His hand leaves your throat, your head slumping forward to rest on the desk as he continues to thrust into you. Your body spasms as he doesn’t let up on your clit. You don’t think he even hears your sobs, begging for him to stop as his thrusts turn sloppy. Your pleads are drowned out by his heavy moans as he snaps his hips into you desperately, hand wrapping your hair around his fist as he desperately tries to finish. 

With a grumbling grunt, his hips snap forward and still. A weak moan leaves your lips as you feel his warm seed fill you. Miguel’s heavy pants mix with yours, trying to catch his breath as his hands slide to your hips. He pulls out of you with a hiss, collapsing onto his office chair that groans with his sudden weight. He watches with a soft moan as a mix of cum follows after his cock, white liquid leaving your entrance and running down your thigh. A small whimper leaves you as you feel it, looking over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s hungry eyes. 

After a few minutes, Miguel grunts and reaches for a few tissues from the tissue box on his desk. He wipes off the cum from your skin, throwing away the napkins and pulling your skirt back over you. Hesitantly, you stand back up again, fixing your hair quickly while clearing your throat. You don’t meet Miguel’s eyes right away, looking at your heels on the floor before trailing up to his face. He still has a cocky smile on his face as he tucks his cock back into his pants. He gently guides you to the side of his desk, grabbing the file and pen that fell. 

You watch in shock as he opens it, beginning to work as if he didn’t just fuck you over his desk seconds ago. He chuckles at your shocked expression, not looking up from his work. “Be a doll and get me a coffee, yeah?”

Your mouth falls open more at his casual request. You blink at him, before straightening up and fixing up your blouse the best you can. You reply with a curt ‘yes, sir’, before you begin walking towards the door. The breeze between your legs makes you stop before you exit, warmth flooding your cheeks as you slowly turn around. 

“Um, Mr. O’Hara,” You don’t look at him as you clear your throat, “Can I have my panties back, please?”

Even with his face turned towards his desk, you can see the small smile on his face, “Don’t know what you mean, I’m afraid.” 

Your eyes widen and you resist the urge to stomp your foot like a child. You nod, letting out a deep breath as you clench your hands. As you open the door and are about to close it, your annoying ass boss calls out: “Two sugars.”

Reverse AU Part 1.5 Part 2

Join the Taglist!

[busybeewriting]

And so, the stars aligned. Pt. 2

Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader

Summary: Azriel knew you can't read. And he knows you would never admit it. So he tricks you into taking reading lessons.

Warnings: Slight mentions of nightmares.

part one part three, Part Four Masterlist Requests are open!!

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You had come into your room to grab something. And had lost every train of thought as you saw the note neatly placed on top of the book you carted around for show- not quite sloppy hand writing but it was clearly male and in a rush. A...stick figure drawing of you? Clearly Feyre had not drawn this. But there is an attention to detail, your hair is colored correctly, and your eyes also the right shade- or as close as you could get in crayon. Truthfully, it could have been anyone female but since it was in your room, it was safe to assume. And then a book- the library? Is that where this mystery would be solved. You were far too curious now to just not go.

And so, you folded the note up and put in into one of your pockets. Heading down there quickly. The only sound as you enter is the clicking of your shoes. Looking around you, and making your way over to Clotho's desk. The priest doesn’t look up at you but quickly writes, 'Ah, y/n to what do we owe the pleasure?'

You smile and pull out the note to show it to her. "It seems- I was summoned." Clotho's amusement oozes off her and she simple writes.

'Go down to level five and you should find what you're looking for.' Squinting suspiciously at her for just a second you debate listening. But that is your inner Nesta speaking, and as much as you loved your oldest sister you didn't want to be completely like her. So, complying with a general order wouldn’t be an issue.

Thanking Clotho quickly you make your way down to the fifth level. And you could have throttled Azriel as he looked over at you with a set of children's books, letter sheets and pencils. He was leisurely sitting there, legs crossed, his ankle resting on his thigh. Arms crossed as he looked at you. And knowing him, while his face remained neutral- he had a feline smirk just like Rhys’s on the inside. Stomping over, crossing your arms and glaring down at the Illyrian man you hiss, "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you how to read." He answers simply, not even slightly phased by your intense gaze. The shadows that normally linger around him aren’t there, instead- as if to mock how little of a threat you are- they pool at his feet like a dog. You'd have to talk to Nesta about getting that icy glare down pat.

"You're still on about that?" You scuff, turning on your heel to leave him with his silly ideas. But before you can get far, a gentle but rough hand grabs your elbow.

"If you can read, then I'll accept I was wrong and even buy you dinner." Azriel compromises. But he knew better, he saw the way your eyes glazed over when they looked at your book and there was no rhyme or reason as to when you flipped the page. Normally people had consistency when they were reading, You had none. Even when Nesta was reading smut there was consistency to it- albeit the page turns got faster but it was still consistent.

You were convinced you could do this. You didn't need him to know this about you. Not even your sisters knew- sure Nesta and Elain probably had inklings to it but you were just six when poverty struck. They were just kids too, it wasn't there job to teach you. Sitting down at the table you looked at the page. It was easy- just trace the letters. You could do that. So you picked up the pencil and started. And once you were done you slid it over to him. "See?"

He nods, taking the sheet and looking it over. Nodding as he examines the work. Then he sets it down and meets your intense eyes, but he doesn't shy away. He takes the first book off the stack. It was a young child's book- it should be a breeze for someone of your age. Prick. You think as he slides it over and folds his hands on the table. Watching the way your eyes widen. Your breathing hitches and there's a slight tremble to your hands as you take the book. He knows that look in your eyes- it's the one Feyre gets when she's calculating a plan. And he couldn't deny that he was slightly excited to see what you'd come up with.

Flipping open the book you know what he's probably looking for is some sortive consistency, so you'd let your eyes look at each word and then flip the page. And so, that's what you did. Finding it hard to keep up your little deception with his eyes focused so intensely on you. But you got to the end of the book and closed it with a triumphant smack. Looking back up at him- before you can open your mouth to speak, Azriel looks at you and asks. "What was it about?"

Shit. Fuck. You didn't look at the pictures! You quickly look down at the book and see a dog and a young boy on the cover. "Its about a dog and his owner." You say as evenly as you can manage for how fast your heart was beating. Azriel raises an eyebrow. Silently waiting for more. "When did you get so expressive?" You ask to quickly change the subject.

"I don't have to be on guard here. There is no one else around. And the priestess won't judge me for showing an emotion." He addresses your question simply, smoothly. Damn him and his stupid sliver tongue. He was the Shadowsinger! Of course he knew how to evade topics and questions to redirect to what he wanted! He taps the book in between the two of you again. And you look at his hands, scars running all along them, and of course you had know that. But it was the first time that you saw them this clearly. And as much as you wanted to get out of this situation- you knew that question was out of the question. "What is this about?" His voice remains gentle, but slightly stern.

Azriel watches you for any signs. He had seen many of them- you were a bad liar. Your emotions written all over your face. Your eyes, they showed everything. How no one else saw it astonished him. And for a second, as he watches how you look down at the book with apprehension and sorrow, that you quickly wash away once your gazes meet again...he sees your resolve break.

"Fine." You say quietly. "I can't read." Your cheeks heat at the confession- it felt so...so...mortifying that you were now twenty, an immortal High Fae and had no idea how to read. "Please don't tell the others." The last thing you wanted was for your sisters to look at you with that pitiful look they always seemed to give you when you mentioned something. Let alone, how awful it make you feel if Nesta fell back into her vices. Granted you knew Cassian wouldn’t let that happen.

He thinks his heart might just burst for a moment. Seeing you so somber. Azriel had watched you from the second you were dumped out of that Cauldron. Shaking, crying, gasping for air. The first thing you did was try and push it over so your sisters wouldn’t bare the same fate. And for the first few weeks after, when he heard your screams in the middle of the night. He'd make sure you were alright, given you the space to talk to him if needed. You rarely took the opportunity. Pushing him away despite him reaching out. Keeping him at an arms length for reasons he didn’t understand. Time, though. Everyone kept telling him with time, you’d come around. But you pushed him right into Elain. Not that he hated your older sister. No, far from it. They were good friends, they could talk for hours about anything and everything. But she wasn't you. She wasn't his. She had her mate, and Rhys has made it clear to him that despite his feelings toward her- they could never be. Lucian wouldn't accept it until she flat out rejected him, and even then they had no idea what the other male would do. Rhys didn't want to loose his brother over a girl. And while Azriel grumbled and snarled at him, deep down. He knew that he was right.

But watching you, moving through the Night Court with a smile that didn't reach your eyes and a grace that rivaled Elain's...Hearing your laugh in a crowed room and smiling into his drink. He knew that you made yourself seem happy, chipper, played the part of the sweet younger sister for everyone. So looking at you now, as your cheeks burn red and tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. He'd do anything he could to make sure you'd never look like that again. Azriel gently takes your hand, letting his thumb swipe over your knuckles as you look up at him. "I won't tell a soul."

And you believe him. The sincerity in his eyes, he's got no reason to lie to you. But you can't help the smile that creeps up. "Thank you."

And a comfortable silence falls as you both continue to look at each other and let your thoughts run free. Before Azriel clears his throat- and you were about 87% sure that there was a blush creeping in. "I can continue to teach you, if you'd like."

Looking down at the book in between you, where your hand was still in his. Tracing the lines of his scars gently, you nodded. "I think i'd like that."

Azriel didn't bother to hide his smile.

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a/n: This got very long, very fast. But I hope you all like it! Let me know if there is anything else you guys wanna see! And if y’all wanna be added to the tag list, let me know! :3

tag list: @sidthedollface2 @cat-or-kitten @impossibelle @brunette-barbie1220 @scatteredstardustt @sammanna @cherry-cin @tele86 @judig92

[pretty-boy-baby-girl]

Garcia buys her and Reid matching/complimentary outfits. Reid finds it highly amusing.

Every now and then, he and Garcia will coordinate their fits and show up to the office in the same outfit at which point everyone busts up laughing. (Partly because it's always startling to see Reid in anything even half as outlandish as what Garcia usually wears, and partly because of Morgan's reactions every time.)

Garcia does a pretty good job of getting an even number of matching outfits for both her eccentric style and Reid's more neutral one.

And yes, this does mean that Reid sometimes wears dresses, skirts, and high heels.

The first time Garcia and Reid walked into the bullpen wearing matching checkerboard dresses with chess pieces patterned across them (I'm imagining they were custom made and are supposed to reflect a moment in an actual chess match of some sort which Reid was over the moon about bc hes a dork and Garcia knows it) and little black pumps (because Reid wasn't tall enough already) with both of their hair up in half pony tails and matching glasses, Morgan tripped over his own feet and almost ate it right there in the middle of the bullpen because holy shit his Baby Girl and his Pretty Boy are stunning and hold up he needs a minute.

Spencer, walking into the bullpen with Penelope: *info dumping about the chess match modeled on their dresses*

Morgan, getting coffee across the room: *chokes on his own spit and almost drops his mug because he's busy staring at Spence and Penny*

Prentiss, walking up beside him and slapping him on the back as he coughs: lmao real smooth, Derek. *sips at her own coffee*

JJ: *enters the bullpen in a pencil skirt and an off the shoulder blouse, her hair put up in a bun*

Prentiss: *chokes on her coffee, unable to tear her eyes away from JJ*

Derek: lmao real smooth, Emily. *walks away laughing*

[b3nnyrafe]

bunny!reader & obx boys

“pretty” by coco & clair clair, okthxbb. pink bows. glittery gloss. long lashes. mini skirts. crop tops. thigh highs. pink, pink. bimbo. lace everything. love language; physical touch. bicep holding. high heeled boots. hair rollers. dior. bubblegum. “old money” lana del rey. silk. xoxo. bratty. submissive.

w/ jj maybank; he is obsessed with you. he would take you out to dinner every pay check even if you insisted all you needed was him— but you were his princess he had to treat you. he’s dominant and you know that, but you also know he can be a softie when it comes to you. princess, mama, babydoll. on days where you were specifically all pouty & bratty, he’ll finger you till your crying. then he’ll fuck, hard, you, face down ass up.

w/ rafe cameron; dominant bf omggg ! he shows sm casual dominance it’s insane. tapping your chin when you get snappy, patting his lap for you to sit, it’s so sexy. he showers you in gifts after every argument. he is the definition of treat her like a queen, fuck her like a slut. pretty girl, sugar, doll. if your in public and you catch an attitude with him or his friends from the country club, he won’t hesitate to drag you to the nearest bathroom. one hand over your mouth, the other hand spanking you. then, he’ll take you home and fuck you till all you know is manners.

w/ john b; he’s so in love with youuu! loves having you in his lap so everyone knows who you belong to but you don’t mind at all. moves your hair out your face while you complained. he didn’t care all that much if you were mouthy, it just turned him on more. he would edge you for soo long, completely ignoring your cries and please.

w/ pope heyward; poor baby is whipped. he will help you with anything you needed at the drop of a pencil. everything about him is vanilla and sweet. he would kiss your forehead. he would buy anything that he could for you, showing up at your doorstep with bags atleast once a week. he loved eating your pussy, a total munch. he loves, lovesss missionary so he can look at that pretty face.

this was concept completely inspired by loveebots, princessbrunette & donatellawrites! if anyone is offended or doesn’t want their work to be remade, message me and I will take it down!

[temporarywelcome]

Late - Spencer Reid

Wordcount: 969

Summary: getting ready for a Halloween party with Spencer

Warnings: some swearing

A/N: technically a pt 2 of "Costumes" (can be found on Masterlist), but can 100% be read stand alone

_________

Spencer was lucky as hell she loved him to bits.

She stood in this fuck ass costume as he yapped and yapped about some fantasy series. She was dressed as the main woman, he was the main man. 

Y/N could care less for Halloween. But because her boyfriend and his persuasiveness (he just had big brown eyes, for fuck’s sake) (oh, and he offered to let her handcuff him) demanded they got into the holiday spirit, she folded. Almost instantly. 

So, being as whipped as she was for him, she did fall activities like pumpkin carving, apple picking, making a billion pastries with said apples, corn mazes, fall movies (some not even horror, to her disdain), and of course, dressed up for a Halloween party as a nerd character he wanted her to dress up in. 

To add, she took the time to sew them herself. Anything to make that brat happy. 

“I spoil you too much,” she grumbled, forcing him to still so she could fix his costume. 

“I feel it is a perfect amount,” he grinned at her through the mirror, “I know I complain about dating someone in the arts literally all the time, but I take it all back. You’re awesome.”

“Gee thanks, glad I’ve now become of used to you,” she deadpanned, “Glad my costume design abilities are to your standards,”

“They are, it looks so realistic,” Spencer replied, not catching her sarcasm, “I love it, thank you so much for doing this for me. I know you didn’t want to,”

She hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder from behind. Luckily, she was in heels, because he’s tall, “Yeah yeah yeah. You know I can’t say no to you,” she squeezed his hip lightly before pulling back, “Now hurry up, we’re going to be late,”

“You sound eager,” he said smugly, taking a seat to slip on some boots (that she had to buy, of course).

“No, I don’t,” Y/N huffed, “I just don’t want to hear the passenger princess complain and complain while I’m forced to drive,”

“I don’t complain,”

“Oh my Goddddd that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” she rolled her eyes before doing a quick eyeliner wing, being the expert performer she was. Always had to be quick. “The fact your team doesn’t know this is crazy, you must be saving the brattiness just for me,” 

“You bring it out of me, I guess,”

“See? Spoiled,” she laughed, doing the other eyes. 

“Well, do you want me to be like this with other people?” he raised a brow at her.

“No, I have to make the sacrifice to protect others,” Y/N said dramatically, being the woman of the arts she was. 

“You’re so selfless,” Spencer said dryly, biting his lips to hold back a little giggle, “Sacrificing yourself so others don’t have to hear my mouth,”

Y/N stood back up to grab her bag and the prop sword he forced her to buy, “You’re lucky I love you, brat,” she playfully bonked his head with the sword.

“You’ll mess up my hair!” he swatted it away with a huff, “Asshole,” 

She bonked his head again, “I think I’m allowed to be a little playful considering what you’re forcing me to do,”

“A Halloween party, the horror,” he rolled his eyes as he stood up, arms going around her waist, “You’re so dramatic,” His eyes lit up, “Wait! Can you help me?” he holds up an eyeliner pencil to her.

“Ah, babe, I’m a liquid liner person, but I’ll try,” she laughed softly, pushing him to sit down. Straddling his lap, she carefully began applying the eyeliner to his waterline.

“Ah ah ow! Ow! Holy shit how do girls do this shit shit shit!” On reflex, he slapped her hand away, blinking repeatedly.

“Stop moving and it won’t hurt,” Y/N grumbled, gripping his chin in a semi-tight manner, “Now stay still,” she came at him with the pencil again.

As soon as the tip pressed against his waterline, he was cursing again, “Shit shit shit shit ow ow ow!” he pushed her hand away again, “How do you do this every day?”

“I use liquid,” she reminded him before scolding him once again, “Now stop moving,” 

“It’s hard,” Spencer whined, biting his bottom lip.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Baby you go face-to-face with unsubs without even blinking. I think you can handle an eyeliner pencil. Now stay. Still.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grumbled back at her, hands going to her hips as she went in to do the damn eyeliner once again, “Can I squeeze you if I get scared?” Spencer asked teasingly, leaning closer.

“Move one more time and I’ll poke your eyes out,”

“I love you too,”

“Hardy har har,” she rolled her eyes, finally able to do the waterline, “A miracle has graced us! It has been done!”

“Thank you, babe,” Spencer practically threw her off of him to see how he looked in the mirror.

Of course, she dramatically crumpled to the floor, “Oh, how I despise this treatment. Always used, never loved,”

“Get off the floor you’re going to ruin your costume!” Spencer gasped, yanking her to her feet.

“Wow,” she brought her arms around his neck, “You care more about the costume than the fact I feel used and unloved?” 

“Ignoring you,” he said dryly, leaning his forehead against hers, “Save the drama for the stage, I beg of you,” he turned his head to the clock on the wall, checking the time, “Shit! We’re late!” he gripped her hand, dragging her out of the room in hurry.

“Great, now you're going to be on my ass the whole ride,” Y/N grumbled out, following him. 

Spencer glared at her over his shoulder, “No, I'm not.”

He so was.

[coryosmin]

Late Nights In The Office - Lawyer Coriolanus Snow x Secretary/Assistant Reader

summary: coriolanus is caught up in a case and ends up staying late. but whenever coriolanus stays late, his assistant and secretary does too. some late night work turns into something else when reader buys coriolanus dinner.

warnings: nsfw, mdni, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f), fingering (f), pussy drunk coryo, praise kink, etc.

word count: 3,600

Being a secretary and personal assistant to Coriolanus Snow, your hours strongly depended on his. Truthfully, he was a workaholic. Being a lawyer, he constantly ensured perfection to all of his work no matter the case he received. And this case was no different. He was filing paperwork, gathering the evidence to defend a man who was wrongfully convicted of a murder he did not commit. Coriolanus was always a hard worker. He dedicates himself wholeheartedly to the things he is passionate about and that was one of the many things you admire about your boss.

Coriolanus was known to be many things around the office. Working for the Plinth Legal Services alongside Strabo Plinth and Sejanus Plinth, Coriolanus Snow was known for being a hardass. He was usually hard on his employees, expecting nothing else but perfection at all times. More often than not, he’s categorized as rude. However, to you, he’s anything but. Perhaps it’s the fact that you make sure you do your job perfectly. It’s the perfectionist in you that allows you to ensure all documents are filed and organized to Coriolanus’s liking or perhaps that you’re the only one who has memorized his coffee order (It’s strangely very specific). Coriolanus was kind to you, respected you, even flirted with you. And you didn’t dislike it.

You sat at your desk, typing up Coriolanus’s schedule for the next day in Microsoft Excel as you glanced at the time. It was already past the time you usually went home as the time was hitting seven p.m. You frowned, realizing that Coriolanus likely didn’t even notice the time yet. You got up out of your chair, soothing out your pencil skirt before making your way to Coriolanus’s office. Your heels clicked on the tiled floor as you walked. You knocked on the door, popping your head in to see Coriolanus wearing his reading glasses as he read the documents from the case.

“Yes?” He asked without looking up, keeping his attention on the file.

You stepped into the office. “It’s already seven p.m, sir,” you said, looking at the blond.

Coriolanus looked up from the file to the clock on the wall, looking at the time. “Oh,” he said before looking at you. “I just have a few more pages to read and then we’ll be out.” He said with a small smile.

You smiled back, nodding your head. “Alright,” you said. “Do you need anything?”

Coriolanus shook his head. “Not at the moment, no,” he said.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” and with that, you walked out of his office and back to your desk, going back to what you were doing before.

As the clock turned from seven p.m to eight p.m and then eventually to nine p.m, you sighed. At this rate, there was no telling at what time you’d be going home. And neither of you had eaten dinner yet. So you took it upon yourself to order food. You ordered takeout from Coriolanus’s favorite Italian restaurant, getting him his favorite chicken francese while you ordered yourself chicken alfredo. The food arrived within forty minutes, making it about ten p.m by the time you could have dinner.

Holding the food in hand, you walked to Coriolanus’s office and knocked on the door. “Come in,” came the muffled reply of Coriolanus’s voice.

You opened the door with the bag of food in hand. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet,” you said softly, looking at Coriolanus. “And it’s already ten p.m. I think it’s time you take a break, sir,” you exclaimed.

Coriolanus took a deep breath as he glanced at the clock and then back at you. As if on cue, his stomach growled, causing him to let out a breathless chuckle. He took off his reading glasses, placing them on his desk before standing up and stretching. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, walking over to the couch in his office. “Did you order yourself something as well?” He asked as he took a seat.

You nodded your head, placing the bag on the coffee table in front of the couch. “With your card, too,” you grinned, taking the containers of food out of the bag. You handed Coriolanus his meal. “Got you your usual,” you said. “I’ll leave you to it,” you said, grabbing the bag that still had your food in it and turning around to leave.

Coriolanus grabbed your hand, stopping you. “Stay,” he said, letting go of your hand and patting the seat next to him. “Eat with me?”

You bit your lip, nodding your head before placing the bag back onto the coffee table and taking a seat next to Coriolanus on the black leather couch. The two of you ate together. It was awkward at first, the both of you not knowing quite what to say. Until Coriolanus said, “You know, with a highly intelligent woman such as yourself, I wonder quite often why you’re nothing but a mere secretary.”

You were chewing as Coriolanus spoke, swallowing before replying. “Aren’t you glad that I’m your secretary?” You asked, tilting your head as you looked at Coriolanus.

Coriolanus nodded his head, cutting his chicken. “I am very grateful,” he exclaimed. “You’re the only person to ever do anything correctly,” He said with a slight annoyed tone as he thought about the incompetent people within the office. “But isn’t there anything else you’d rather be doing?” He asked, glancing at you.

You took a deep breath, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m not entirely sure, truthfully,” you replied, looking at Coriolanus. “I like what I do, even if I don’t have much of a social life because of it,” you teased, giving Coriolanus a small smile.

You and Coriolanus continued talking, learning more about one another. When the clock hit twelve in the morning, you realized that rather than getting work done, the two of you spent the past two hours doing nothing but talking. “Oh, it’s very late now,” you exclaimed, looking at the clock with a smile on your face. Coriolanus too had a genuine smile on his face, something he didn’t often do.

Coriolanus hummed in agreement. “I suppose it is,” he said, adjusting himself so he sat a bit closer to you. “However, I must say, I’ve been enjoying this time with you.”

You nodded your head in agreement. “I’ve been enjoying it too, sir,” you said softly.

“Coriolanus, please,” Coriolanus murmured into your ear. “When it’s just you and I, I’d rather you call me Coriolanus.” He whispered. He was close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin as he spoke to you.

“Okay, Coriolanus,” you whispered back, turning your head to look at him. Your faces were mere inches away from one another, just one movement and your professional relationship would be completely ruined. Your cheeks reddened at the close proximity, turning your head away and looking down at your lap.

Coriolanus, however, put his fingers underneath your chin, turning your head to face him. You looked into his blue eyes as he looked into your shiny ones. And without saying anything, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips. You froze, unsure of how to react. Your boss was kissing you. The logical side of you should pull away and scream “what the fuck” but the woman in you is screaming to kiss him back.

After all, Coriolanus Snow is indeed an attractive man.

After a few moments, you relaxed, kissing Coriolanus back just as gently. Your lips moved in sync with his as your eyes fluttered shut. Coriolanus cupped your right cheek while his other hand went to your waist. Your right hand rested on his shoulder while your other hand made its way to his hair, entangling your fingers in his golden locks. Eventually the kiss got heated as Coriolanus pushed you gently onto the couch cushions, laying down on top of you as the two of you continued kissing. He kissed you with more heat, biting down on your bottom lip slightly. You let out a soft gasp and Coriolanus took that as an opportunity to let his tongue explore your mouth.

Coriolanus’s hand slowly traveled up your body and to your chest, massaging your right boobs through your blouse. You let out a soft moan in the kiss, feeling your arousal pool in your panties. Coriolanus pressed himself against you. You could feel his bulge through his trousers on your thigh as he kissed you. He pulled away from the kiss to press a trail of kisses from your jaw to your neck. Coriolanus’s hand moved back down your body and underneath your skirt. You bit your lip, letting out a soft moan when his fingers found your clothed pussy.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers beginning to rub circles on your clothed clit. “Soaking through your panties.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding your head. “Yeah,” you replied, looking at Coriolanus. This should be wrong. He’s your boss and you’re his secretary. But how could it be so wrong when it feels so good? Coriolanus pulled your panties to the side, running a finger up and down your slit to spread your wetness around before inserting a finger inside of you. You bit your lip to avoid making sounds. Truthfully, you were a little embarrassed about how compliant you’re being under Coriolanus’s touch. Shouldn’t you be fighting it?

Truthfully, you’ve been wanting this for a while. Coriolanus was a very attractive man. Being 6’0, blond, a skinny but athletic build, you couldn’t help but be physically attracted to the man. Not to mention, his personality wasn’t so bad either when you get to know him. Yes, he’s absolutely a dick to everyone he knows, including to Sejanus who’s his best friend. But he was always so kind to you. Or at least what can be considered kindness in his eyes. So maybe you have always had a crush on your boss. But how could you not?

Coriolanus thrusted his finger in and out of you gently. You held back a moan, not wanting to make any noise. Coriolanus kissed your neck as he fingered you, adding a second finger and curling them inside of you. You inhaled sharply, biting back a moan. “Don’t be shy, darling,” Coriolanus murmured in your ear. “Want to hear those pretty noises,” he said as he sped up his movements with his fingers, hitting that spongy spot repeatedly. Unable to help yourself, you moaned, cheeks flushing in embarrassment from your noises. “So good,” Coriolanus cooed before sucking on your pulse point.

The office was filled with the sounds of your moans and the squelching of your pussy as Coriolanus fingered you. You could feel yourself getting close, arching your back in the process. “So close,” you said, practically whining.

Coriolanus smirked against your skin as he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, causing you to whine at the loss of contact. “I want to taste you,” Coriolanus breathed out, pressing a kiss onto your lips. He undid the buttons on your blouse, revealing your black lace bra. You watched Coriolanus as he took in the curvature of your breasts, admiring your form. “So beautiful,” he murmured, taking your shirt and tossing it to the side. Coriolanus licked his lips as his hands made their way to your skirt, hiking it up enough to reveal your matching black lace panties. He moved down your body so that his face was near your thighs as he hooked his fingers underneath the fabric of your panties, pulling them down. Coriolanus let out a shaky breath as he saw your glistening pussy. He took your panties off of you, stuffing them into his trouser pocket as he spread your legs.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Coriolanus said, licking his lips in anticipation. His eyes were fixated on your pussy, as though already drunk.

“Please,” you said, biting your lip.

And without any further hesitation, Coriolanus took your “please” as a signal to dive right in. He immediately buried his face into your cunt, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit before assaulting your clit with his tongue. Unable to help it, you moaned loudly, bringing a hand down to grip Coriolanus’s curls, tugging on them. Coriolanus let out a moan against your pussy, sending vibrations through you.

The blond sucked and tongued at your clit, eating you out messily but oh-so-good. You relished in the feeling, not a single thought in your brain other than about Coriolanus’s skilled mouth against your cunt. Coriolanus’s tongue dipped into your hole, his nose rubbing against your clit. You moaned loudly, grinding your hips against Coriolanus’s face. “Oh my god,” you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut. You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly as you arched your back and threw your head back in pleasure. And soon, your thighs were clamping around Coriolanus’s head as you came undone on his tongue. Coriolanus groaned against your pussy, eating you out through your orgasm.

And when you finished, you relaxed against the cushions of the leather couch. Coriolanus pulled away from your cunt, his lips and face glistening from your juices. His eyes were displayed and glossy, most definitely drunk off of the taste of your cunt. He stood up, his bulge very prominent in his black trousers. “You taste so good,” he said thickly, looking at you.

You breathed heavily as you came down from your high, looking up at Coriolanus. “Uh…” you began, unsure of how to respond. “Thank you,” you said shyly.

Coriolanus smirked as he reached up to unbutton his button-up shirt. “I’m not done with you yet though.”

You couldn’t help the grin forming on your face as you looked at your boss. “I didn’t expect you to be,” you replied.

Coriolanus finished unbuttoning his shirt but kept it on, revealing his well-toned chest. You bit your lip as you looked at him. He then unbuckled his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down along with his boxers, revealing his large red and angry cock. Your eyes widened at how big Coriolanus was. You’re obviously weren’t a virgin. However, all of your sexual partners were not as largely endowed as Coriolanus was. Noticing you staring at his cock, Coriolanus spoke, “Everything okay?”

Your gaze moved from his cock to his eyes as you processed what Coriolanus had asked. “Huh? Oh. Yes,” you said, swallowing. “You’re just much bigger than what I’m used to,” you said shyly.

Coriolanus smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment then,” he said, making his way over to you. “Will I still be able to fuck you?” He asked softly, making his way back onto the couch and crawling on top of you.

You nodded your head. “Yes,” you murmured, looking up at Coriolanus with doe eyes.

Coriolanus smirked back, pressing a kiss onto your lips. “Good,” he said as he reached between your bodies, gripping his cock and guiding it to your pussy. He rubbed the tip along your cunt, spreading your wetness around. You let out a shaky breath as his cock rubbed your clit. Coriolanus let out a soft groan as he moved his cock to your hole, slowly easing himself inside of you. There was a slight stretch, causing you to whine a little bit. He was bigger than what you’re used to so it hurt a little bit. When Coriolanus bottomed out, he stayed still, gently kissing your lips.

You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. Coriolanus stayed still for a few minutes as you adjusted to his size and when he felt you relax, he slowly moved his hips. He pulled away from the kiss to look at you. Your pretty face was looking up at him as he moved his hips slowly. “Truthfully, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” Coriolanus murmured, dipping his head into the crevice of your neck.

You let out a soft moan as Coriolanus began moving his hips, wrapping a leg around him. “Been wanting this for a while too,” you sighed, closing your eyes as your hand made its way to his curls, entangling your fingers in his hair once more. Coriolanus let out a shaky moan, moving his hips faster as he got into a rhythm. You both let out moans as he moved.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” Coriolanus said, kissing your neck. “Clenching me so good,” he said, burying his cock deep inside of you with each thrust.

You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as you relished in Coriolanus’s big cock deep inside of you. It felt so good to finally be stretched out so well. “You feel so good,” you said, pressing a kiss onto Coriolanus’s shoulder.

For what was supposed to be just a hookup with your boss, it certainly seemed much more intimate than it should be.

Just as you thought that, Coriolanus pulled back, pulling out of you completely. “Stand up for me,” he said as he got off of you. Confused, you stood up. Your pencil skirt was still hiked around your waist and your bra was still on. Coriolanus sat down on the couch, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You complied, sitting down on Coriolanus’s lap. He wrapped an arm around you, using his other hand to grip his cock and insert himself back into your pussy.

You both moaned as you sunk down onto his cock. And when he was fully inside of you, you took it upon yourself to start riding him. You bounced your hips up and down slowly, your hands resting on Coriolanus’s shoulders for stability. Coriolanus’s hands gripped your ass, kneading at the flesh as you rode him. “Doing so good, darling,” Coriolanus groaned, closing his eyes in pleasure. “So fucking wet.”

Coriolanus’s cock, in this angle, was going inside of you deeper. You whined at the pleasure, loving the feeling. “So deep,” you said, bouncing your hips a bit faster.

Coriolanus opened his eyes to look at you. You looked so beautiful riding his cock. With your cheeks flushed, lips plump, whiny from his length inside of you, your tits bouncing in the confines of your bra, threatening to spill out. He couldn’t help but meet your movements with his own thrusts, holding onto you. He began thrusting into you, causing you to moan loudly. “You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, reaching up your back to undo your bra skillfully. The material fell forward off of your shoulders and onto Coriolanus. He grabbed the bra and tossed it aside, looking at your tits bouncing with each thrust.

As Coriolanus began thrusting up into you, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. He moved his hips hard and fast, making you unable to hold back your almost obnoxiously loud moans. Thankfully, no one else was at the office.

“Good girl,” Coriolanus moaned. “Taking me so good,” he said, breathless as he fucked up into you. “Your cunt was made for my cock, hmm?”

“Yes!” You moaned out. “Love how good it feels.” You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly as Coriolanus’s cock kept thrusting into that spongy spot of yours.

Coriolanus licked his lips, grabbing one of your boobs and massaging the flesh. “You close?” He asked. “Tightening around my cock so beautifully. I’m close too, baby,” he said, pressing a kiss onto your lips. “Gonna let me cum in that pussy of yours?”

“Yes, please,” you whined at the idea, grateful you were on birth control because you wanted nothing more than to be filled up with Coriolanus’s cum. “So close, Coryo,” you said.

“Oh I know, baby, I know,” he said, thrusting his hips a bit faster. “You can do it, you can cum on my cock like a good girl.”

And with a loud whine, you came a second time that night, moaning loudly as you arched your back. Your body was shaking as you came, your pussy gushing around Coriolanus’s cock. After a few more thrusts, Coriolanus came inside of you with a loud groan, filling you up with ropes and ropes of his cum. When you both came down from your highs, you slid off of Coriolanus’s cock, sitting down next to him on the couch as you both stared at the ceiling, basking in the post orgasmic glow.

When you both calmed down, Coriolanus turned his head to look at you and you turned your head to look at him. Neither of you spoke as you just let out soft chuckles at one another.

The following morning at work happened as normal as could possibly be. You had arrived to work as though absolutely nothing had happened. And when Coriolanus arrived, he acted as though nothing had happened. You both had gone along with your days. That was until around lunch time when you received a note from Coriolanus that wrote “Let me take you out on a proper date tonight for dinner, my treat. We’ll go after work. Come to my office with your response. - Coriolanus”

It was safe to say that Coriolanus Snow most definitely took you out to dinner at a very high end restaurant. Which most certainly led to him taking you home that night and fucking you so good that you were able to see stars.

[veltana]

Buy my heart - 2

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~1,2k

✦ Rating for this part: Mature

✦ Warnings/tags: Alpha!Bucky, Omega!Reader, slow burn, eventual smut, pet names (little darling/darling)

✦ Series summary: In a desperate attempt to rescue your family from debt, you decide to auction yourself off. The alpha who purchases you turns out to be quite different from what you imagined, leading to a marriage that exists only on paper. However, when an omega moves in with an alpha who hasn't experienced a rut in years and is determined to keep things strictly professional despite his instincts, complications arise.

✦ In this part: Bucky and you have a chat.

✦ Note: Thank you so much for all the wonderful words about part one! ❤️ Reblogs, comments and asks are much appreciated!

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

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Light filters in through the curtains in the places where you didn't close them properly. The small clock on the bedside table tells you it's just a few minutes past ten.

Last night you did as Bucky suggested and took a bath, exploring all the different dials and buttons before scrubbing your body with soap that smelled incredibly expensive. Afterward, you dried off with fluffy towels and found a robe on a hook. Clothes had been placed on your bed and a tray of food waited on a small table.

According to the label, the pajamas were 100% silk. You'd had no energy left after that and crawled into bed.

Getting up you find that the tray is gone. Which means someone was in your room while you slept, and that makes you uneasy. Instead of a tray, there is a note. I'll be in the office, find me once you've had breakfast. It's not signed but there is no doubt who wrote it.

After washing your face you try to figure out what all the different creams, mists, and toners are for and have a proper look around your room. The closet is empty, so you guess you'll just have to walk around in your pajamas. Bucky did say something to the person on the phone about clothes but as far as you can tell, nothing more arrived last night.

You stand hesitantly in front of the door, your hand hovering over the handle but not daring to open it. This new place is intimidating. Bucky seems fine so far, but you’ve only just met him—can you really gauge anything yet? Taking a deep breath, you twist the handle and step out. Now to figure out where the kitchen is.

You head back down the stairs Bucky carried you up yesterday, hoping to find someone who can give you directions.

At the bottom, you look around but don’t see anyone. But you do hear voices and decide to follow them. It leads you to a set of double doors slightly ajar. From within, you can hear Bucky’s voice and a woman’s. The note suggested having breakfast first, but now that you’ve found him, you might as well join him. Again, you hesitate, but since the doors aren’t closed you gently knock on the door. “Come in,” Bucky answers.

He’s sitting behind a large desk and in front of it stands one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen. Her hair is long and red, but the tips are blonde, arranged in a messy braid, dressed in high heels, a pencil skirt, and a white shirt. She smiles sweetly, and you find yourself feeling shy.

“Hey there, little darling,” Bucky says. The nickname he's given you feels just as strange now as it did yesterday but you don't ask him to stop. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes, sir. Sorry! I mean, yes, Bucky.” The woman chuckles and now you feel flustered too. “This is Natasha, she's my right hand. Don't let her appearance fool you, she's as lethal as they come.” You nod at her.

“I hope some more clothes will arrive during the day, I wasn't sure what style you preferred,” She says with a smile. You have a suspicion that she was the one Bucky called from the limo yesterday. “Thank you!” “As soon as you've settled in a little we'll have a girl's day and go shopping on Bucky's credit card,” she laughs and steps away, passing you on her way out. She smells amazing too.

Natasha closes the door behind her and you're alone with Bucky. “Take a seat. How was breakfast?” As you sit you throw him an apologetic smile. “I haven't eaten, I don't know where the kitchen is.”

Bucky looks confused for a moment, then shakes his head. “Of course, sorry, do you want me to show you?” “No, I prefer waiting a while after waking up to eat.” “Oh, then we might as well go over the agreement I've drawn up.” “Agreement?” “Kind of like a contract. I'll explain,” he leans back in his chair.

“I took over the business from my father, who got it from his father, and so on. My grandfather is still alive but my father passed away recently.” “I'm sorry,” you say. “Don't be, we didn't have a good relationship. Anyway, I've been without a partner for a long time and it doesn't sit well with my grandfather. So he gave me an ultimatum two weeks ago: get married or see the money I'm set to inherit go up in smoke when he passes. And between you and me it could be any day now.”

“You need a wife?” Looking at Bucky, you find it hard to believe he would have trouble finding someone willing to marry him. Which could mean a lot of things.

“A friend gave me a tip about the auction.” “You decided to buy a wife?” “Yes, it might not seem like a very honorable thing to you, but I'm in a bit of a time crunch at the moment.” “I understand,” you nod. It's not your place to question his motives. You should be happy that he's even willing to discuss terms with you. You’ve heard stories of omegas being sold to horrible people.

Another thought enters your mind. Bucky seems to be well off, and when you're his wife then maybe you can convince him to send some money to your family. The money from your auction will last them some time but sooner or later it will run out.

He pulls a bunch of papers out of his desk and hands a bundle to you. “Read through this during the day. Write any questions down. My lawyer will be here tomorrow and can answer them.” “Okay,” you nod.

Then Bucky picks up a pen. “The paperwork I got from your auction wasn't very thorough. Are you on suppressants?” “No, couldn't afford them.” “And what's your family situation?” “Complicated.” That is all you give him.

He shoots you a look but you don't explain further, it doesn’t concern him. “When was your last heat?” He asks in a very professional voice but it makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat. You start counting backward but it's hard to remember exactly.

“Maybe three months ago?” you guess. “So that should give us around three months before the next time?” Bucky’s eyebrow goes up as he eyes you questioningly. “Yeah, I suppose,” you shrug. “You don't keep track?” “No, not really,” you confess. “I notice when it's about to happen and then it does.”

Bucky puts down his pen with a frown. “That can be dangerous for an omega,” he points out. “What if you're not at a safe location when it does.”

That makes you snort and then realize you’re talking to the alpha who’s bought you to make you his wife and you look away sheepishly. “Sorry, it's just that I was either home or at work and maybe occasionally at the library.”

“I see,” Bucky says as he picks up the pen again, but you can't help but wonder if he truly understands. The mansion is enormous, clearly not something he built on his own—it's likely been in his family for generations. Everything about the place exudes wealth, including Bucky himself. His suit is so crisp it seems brand new, with barely a trace of scent, as if it's never been worn. How could he possibly know what it was like to live your life?

“And have you been alone for your heats or have you had help?” Your mouth falls open and you stare at him. “Excuse me?” “You heard me.” “That's none of your business,” you cross your arms.

He leans back into the chair, eyes thinning as he looks at you. “It's not?” “No, it's private.” “You forget one thing, little darling.” His voice is void of warmth “I own you.”

There it is, you think. The reason he's been unable to find a wife.

You don't answer that statement, well aware of your predicament. “Why do you need to know?” You ask instead. “Because it matters if my soon-to-be wife is a virgin or not.” “I'm not,” you bite out. “A mate I should be aware of that's going to cause trouble?” “No, we split a few years ago.”

That appears to please him, and he jots down another note before placing his pen back in the holder on his desk. “Good,” Bucky nods. “That's all for now, let's get you some breakfast,” he looks down at the watch on his wrist, “or brunch, and then I'll show you around.”

next

[befemininenow]

Are you a trans girl or non-conforming and would like to try out feminine clothing? You may want to check this out.

Say you found this dress online and you really love the overall style of it. Great! If you’re like me, you would say “F it! I’ll buy the dress and I’ll wear it how I like!” and move on with your life. That should the end of this guide, right? Except, there is one little problem: not everybody thinks this way. Those who look for the best matching outfits aren’t just searching to fit their style, color, or personality. It also has to do with their body type. If you’re in that situation, this guide may help you out.

Body shape

Believe it or not, there are many different types of body shape (up to 10). However, the most common tend to be the following (in no order):

Rectangle- Even distribution on shoulders, hips, and waistline

Pear/Triangle- Wide hips, well-defined waist, small shoulders

Hourglass- Near-exact hip and shoulder measurements, thinner waistline

Inverted Triangle- Broader shoulders, narrower hips, little waist definition

Apple/Round- Broad shoulders and big bust, thin legs and hips

Many transgender women have the inverted triangle body shape due to several factors such as genetics, bone structure, and age. However, your body shape may also change over time due to a rebalancing of hormones, body fat, and even lifestyle. While you can’t change your bone structure, you can change your body definition through exercises.

Body proportion

Here is something you may find useful if you’re looking to customize your look. Body proportions are unique to every individual and play a factor on clothing and to some extent, accessories such as jewelry. For instance, you may find the skirt you bought looks either too long or short. There are a few areas where to measure your body proportions such as wrist length or neck size. But the best way to improve your dress type is by following the “golden ratio rule” of dividing your body into three:

The way this is read is you’re either one-third top, two-thirds bottom, or you’re two-thirds top, one-third bottom. Once you get more knowledge, you can go upwards even eighths! But for now, the focus is on these two outcomes.

The two-thirds top, one-third bottom words well with long dresses:

while the one-third top, two-thirds bottom works well with more casual clothing:

Body measurements

Now that we got a few problems out of our way, it’s time to figure out what measurements you have. The best way to find out is by using a mirror and a soft measuring tape for body. Measure all the crucial parts of your body, which are the waist, hips, shoulders, and bust. This will determine the type of body you have and have a better idea on what length you will need to try out your clothing of choice.

Shoe size

One thing very important about an outfit is choosing footwear. Although you can use your old Converses with your flared jeans, you’re certainly not going to use them with a ruffled dress. You’re definitely going to want heels or flats! Unfortunately, women’s shoe size are not exactly the same as men. But don’t give up! Fortunately, there are women’s size conversion charts that help you choose what shoe size you need.

To find out your measurements on your own, grab at least two blank pieces of paper, a pencil or pen, and a measuring tape. Place your foot firmly forward and carefully trace around the outer area of your foot. Repeat this with your other foot. Once finished, grab your measuring tape and measure from your highest point to your lowest on both sheets. Measure the width as well. If both feet measure close to 10.5, your women’s size is a 12. However, due to a difference in manufacturing based on shoe brand, as well as shoe type like pumps, the average recommended size is at least 2 inches above your actual size. For those living in other countries that don’t use the US measuring size, I left a chart that shows all the possible measurements you may use to convert your shoe size into women’s size.

What to wear based on body type

Since not all clothing is made for everyone, it’s time to list what is considered the “ideal” clothing choices based on body type. Note that these are opinions from my source’s authors. IMO, the pictures below each suggestion are a better opinion. Your are free to choose your type of clothing.

Rounded or apple shapes fit best with monochrome colors and make the person look more “fit”.

Pear or triangle shapes look more balanced with decorative accessories on top while keeping the bottom more plain.

Rectangle shapes tend to have more volume with a waist belt while pleated pants give more volume on hips.

Hourglass shapes look best when wearing bodycon dresses and cardigans to emphasize volume in their waistline.

Inverted triangle shapes pull off the wide leg pants and fitted top combo the best.

For a much more comprehensive guide for each body type, I highly recommend reading The Concept Wardrobe’s guides. It gives more details on what to wear and how to choose the best combinations. Link is provided here: https://theconceptwardrobe.com/search?query=body+frame

Tips on what to wear

Now that you reached this point, I’m pretty sure you’re excited to try out what your heart desires. However, before you go out and buy that two-piece dress, I recommend researching and observing the type of clothing women wear today. Believe it or not, people will judge based on your way of dressing, from background to social status to age. A simple look like bodysuit and jeans may look perfect on you and blend you in with the girls, but something like a hot pink bodycon will make you stand out, and most likely not in a good way. So how would you choose something that blends you in with society, but also be comfortable at the same time? Here are some tips and pics:

Find clothing that “feels” feminine. In other words, buy clothing that “feminizes” your body, such as tops that make your shoulders look shorter, wrap dresses that make your waistline shorter, and skirts that make your hips look wider.

Find the best colors based on skin tone and hair color. For instance, try out warm colors such as orange if your skin tone is warm.

Dress sexy, but never go too revealing. Seriously, have some respect to yourself. But if you really want to go out wearing, for example, a two-piece outfit, wear one that looks stylish and flatters your body in a great way.

Use accessories that fit and blend well with your body. Large jewelry goes well with larger frame, small jewelry fits with smaller wrist, and so forth. Don’t forget the purse! It is absolutely necessary now that you’re wearing pocketless clothing. Choose one that fits your taste and needs.

Bras and undergarments are necessary to wear now. As you further into your transition, your breasts will start growing and it will become more difficult and uncomfortable going out braless. Start out with a brassiere, then move on to a fitted bra as they become bigger over time. As for down there, I would use boy briefs as they’re similar to boxers. Although HRT will cause it to shrink, it does not make it disappear. If you must hide it, use a gaff or a tuck, but do not use chastity belts (Seriously, stay away from that unless you’re really into that thing). 

Optional: use waist shapers or corsets to slim down waist. Hip enlargement pads will also give your narrow hips and butt much needed volume. Breast forms can also give you an idea how big you want them in the future.

Fashion sense

But the most important part of choosing clothing as a trans girl is to wear whatever suits your taste.

For instance, are you more into the traditional and simple feminine aesthetic? Cottagecore may be for you:

But what if you’re the rebellious type that prefers to defy tradition? Well, maybe the alt-girl fashion is for you:

Maybe you’re the type that changes clothing based on season. So if you’re a summer-season type of girl, you’re definitely going for an outfit like this:

How about if you’re into the gym? Clearly your goal is to be like this:

Are you into business casual? There’s also a pic for that:

(The girl in the pic is also transgender! Her name is Suzi Hunter, better known as The Sphere Hunter.)

But we also can’t forget cosplay, either!:

(Cosplayer is Eden the Doll, a trans woman cosplayer! Picture belongs to Geo Leon.)

You’re probably the party type who loves some action:

Casual wear can also be tasteful and attractive too:

There’s so much to pic, but each style says a lot about what type of woman you are.

Where to buy clothing

If you’re interested in finding the right clothes for you, check out places that are especially gender-inclusive. As I’m based in the US, clothing stores such as Target are a good start while higher-end chains such as Nordstrom and Macy’s may have a better variety to choose from. If you’re a thrifty shopper, your local outlets, discount stores, and thrift shops have a surprising amount of great clothing for affordable prices. Although online sites like Amazon, Shein, and Zara have affordable and appealing clothing, many of these brands also have ethical concerns that overshadow their reputation. Dubbed “fast fashion”, they are a source of scrutiny among fashion fans and I would personally avoid them if possible. If you really need something affordable and new, I highly recommend purchasing through discount and thrift stores.

If you’re in need of safe undergarments, check out Urbody. They have clothing suitable for trans people, non-binary, and other identities, varying from binders to tucked leggings. They are founded by trans and non-binary people and use ethical practices and living wages for their workers. If you’re interested in checking their site out, here is the link to their page (I am not sponsored by them): https://urbody.co/

Conclusion

The whole point of this guide is to help you pick the proper clothing and accessories as a newly-out girl. I made this guide since there doesn’t seem to be many that are detailed. Keep in mind I’m still learning about female clothing as I am still in the first stages of transition myself. If anyone would like to add more info that is missing or provide any corrections, please reblog and add more helpful tips as it would help trans girls, trans women, non-binary, and anyone else that desires to wear affirming clothing. Please refrain from using any hurtful language if you’re doing so. Thank you and hugs!

Links to sources:

https://www.healthline.com/health/women-body-shapes#why-shape-fluctuates

https://www.thestylatude.com/post/the-most-common-body-shapes-for-women-and-how-to-find-out-yours

https://theconceptwardrobe.com/build-a-wardrobe/inverted-triangle-body-shape

https://www.thestylebouquet.com/2020/02/17/5-most-common-body-shapes-for-women/

https://dressedformyday.com/how-to-discover-your-body-proportions/

https://gabriellearruda.com/how-to-dress-better-female-body-shape/

https://m2fguide.com/how-to-pick-clothes-if-youre-transgender-or-crossdressing/

https://feminizationsecrets.com/mtf-clothing-tips/

https://www.instagram.com/p/CHBk9v0J_WO/

https://www.transgendermap.com/social/clothing-accessories/

https://apexfoot.com/shoe-sizing-chart/

https://www.glamourboutique.com/crossdresser-fashion/guide-male-female-shoe-sizes-33255#:~:text=Minimize%20the%20chance%20of%20having,11%20in%20a%20women's%20shoe

[the-kr8tor]

Mr and Mrs Smith AU: When Jane met John

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 9k

Summary: Joining a spy agency? Check ✓ Hired in said agency? Check ✓ Getting a new fancy house? Check ✓ An entire armoury of weapons at your disposal? Check ✓ A new Husband? Check ✓ wait, what?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie and R call each other by fake names (ie: John, Jane, Smith etc), spy AU, CW suggestive, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, CW vomit mention, TW death.

A/N: Happy 1k! Happy reading!!!❤️

Navigation

Masterlist

Buy me a ☕?

The waiting room seems like it's designed to make you extra anxious. From the bright fluorescent lights that whir above, to the carpet that smells like a very harsh citrus soap. Add the metallic chairs that's incredibly cold under your slacks— It all makes you bounce your leg from the bundle of nerves inside your stomach. The people waiting around you don't help either, they all look like they came out of magazine covers. Hair all tied up in a perfect bun, pencil skirts that cinch their waist perfectly. Button ups that are ironed until there's no crease in sight.

You bite your lip, eyes glued on the steel door, to where your last resort is, to where your entire future depends on. Looking around the room full of models, it doesn't seem like you're applying for a security job.

Maybe you should've worn that pencil skirt that's gathering dust in your closet.

Even though you technically don't know what kind of job it is, you really need to get this one, or else. Your savings could only get you so far. An old ‘friend’ of yours recommended this ‘company’. It operates at the highest security, the risk is just as high, but the pay is higher. More than what you've ever earned in the five years you've worked anyway.

Flicking your eyes above the door, the light finally turns green from red, and a chiming sound can be heard as the door clicks open on its own. You still wonder where the applicant goes after their interview since you never saw them exit out the same door. A morbid thought passes by your mind: a gun plus a bullet to the head. The image makes you grab the rubber band on your wrist to slap it against your skin. It leaves the stinging pain for only a moment, but it's enough to throw away the vision from your brain.

An applicant enters and you look down at the piece of paper in your hand— you're next.

The number, 2715 is written in Times New Roman. You can recognize that font anywhere, for it's the same font used on newer gravestones, the same font on his— you slap the rubber band against your wrist again. This time harder than the last. The stinging stays for a minute more. Your heels tap against the carpet, the clock ticks, the fluorescent whirs, someone coughs and you want to punch them in the face— you slap the rubber band against your skin again.

Your ears perk up at the familiar chime like you've been Pavlov’d by the sound after waiting for three hours on that uncomfortable metal chair that has tiny holes that you've gotten your pinky finger stuck in on hour two.

With a deep breath, you saunter your way towards the creaking door, trying to summon all the confidence in your body. They may be watching so you do your best to not look as nervous as you feel like.

As you enter the room, the large screen in the center raises a curious brow. The light from the monitor shines a spotlight on the singular office chair right in front of it. The room is dim, save for the single light. The screen reminds you of one of those mall touch screens that shows you the map of the building. There's another door on the opposite wall, now you know where all the other candidates exit, and it's definitely not from a bullet judging from the clean floors.

With a tentative step, you cross the distance. Sitting down, the chair is a comfortable welcome from the last one you sat on.

“Am I supposed to push a button?” You roam your eyes over the circular shape up top. You surmise that it's the camera.

The calming sky blue screen flashes words,

> Hihi, welcome

“Hi?”

> Insert nail clippings

A box slides out below the screen, prompting you to take the ziplock with your nail clippings from your bag. It slides back in with a mechanic hiss once you place the plastic on the drawer, and the screen blinks to a couple of questions that you answer honestly.

> What's your ethnicity?

You don't falter. Answering it truthfully.

> Height?

You clear your throat, the lump is either from the nerves or how your voice faltered when you answered.

> Are you willing to relocate?

You wring your hands together on your lap. “Yes, absolutely. Nothing's holding me back.” Then the dreaded question pops up on the bright screen.

> Tell me about yourself

“Uh, I graduated top of my class.” You scratch the back of your neck. “MI6 agent for three–no, uh four years.” Chuckling shakily, you continue. “I got high merits…w-well until the thing— but I was on the road to promotion b-before it happened.” God, you hate interviews.

> Words that people would describe you with?

You blink, sucking in a breath. “Truthfully?” Joking, the screen doesn't appreciate your humour.

> Yes

“Oh, p-people would describe me as a… someone who has initiative. Cunning…” unfeeling— you slap the band on your wrist again. Sitting up right, you gaze at the camera like your eyes could see the person typing behind it. You guess it's a person at least. “Passed all my training with flying colours, infiltration, marksmanship, hand to hand, you name it. You tell me the job and I'll do it with no questions asked.”

> Are you okay with high risk?

“More than okay.” You answer quickly.

> With a team or alone?

“I'm alright with either, but I prefer alone.”

> Why did you get fired?

“You know why.” You say intensely, eyes boring holes into the screen. For a second you thought you flubbed it but the screen continues to flash a new question.

> Have you killed anyone?

> And why?

The question turns into what you're more accustomed to. “Yes, approximately…” you inhale sharply. “Forty three. Two unintentionally, the rest with various…weapons.” You mindlessly play with the loose thread of your blazer to get rid of the flashing images in your head. “As for why, that's confidential information.”

The robot or the person behind the screen seems to accept your vague answers for it moves on with the interview.

> Favourite food?

Your eyebrows knit at the sudden turn of question. “Uh, I have a sweet tooth, ice cream. I think. But I can't resist good popcorn.” Your tone wavers at the end.

> Have you been in love?

You laugh, but the question still flashes on screen, unchanged and unamused. Clamping up, you feel for the rubber on your wrist.

“I-I'm sorry but what is this part for?”

The screen remains the same.

“—No,” you remember that they've probably already known everything about you even before you applied. So you decide to answer vaguely, that seems to work out before. “Once, just once.”

> When was the last time you said ‘I love you?’

“A long time ago.”

> To whom?

“You know who.”

—

You're surprised that you got the job even after the disastrous interview. The suitcase is light in your tightly clasped hand. The belongings you've tossed inside are sparse, only packing the ones you only need.

The large wooden door looms in front of you, the street behind you is bustling and right across your new home is an expansive park. A park that looks like you need to pay just to get inside. The neighborhood that you're situated in can be described as exclusive, rich and very suburban. The kind of setting where parents would do anything to raise their kids in. Something you've never thought in your dangerous life to live in, more so even step foot in.

With an exhale, you unlock the door. It clicks open surprisingly, you doubted the company for a second when you pushed it in. Maybe they gave you the wrong address? Maybe something went wrong in their system and your name popped up instead of someone more worthy? Someone who's a better shot, someone who isn't as bat shit insane as you.

The long hallway greets you, the low warm light brings comfort to your rattling bones. Its carpet runner is soft beneath your sneakers, red and blue threads weaved around the thick cloth. Framed art is posted on the walls, the artist's name you recognize from some pretentious reality tv about selling mansions that you once drunkenly watched alone on a friday night.

You leave your baggage in the hallway. Opting to explore the cinnamon scented home. Its rich walls remind you of chocolate that you once got for your birthday. The furniture doesn't look like it came from Ikea, the oak is sturdy under your palm, no rough surface, no protruding nails that slashes your flesh.

You snap the rubber band on your wrist for the umpteenth time today.

There's an ornate door sitting on your right, robins and roses are carved on the wood. The biometric scanner is placed right next to the door, it’s a stark contrast to the traditional home. Flipping the cover open, you place your thumb on the smooth surface of the scanner. After a half second, the door clicks open, revealing a steel elevator. The bright light above it almost blinds you.

Your curiosity makes you enter the steel cage, roaming your eyes, you spot the buttons.

“Might as well.” You say to the emptiness of the house.

As the elevator door closes, the front door opens.

There's a lack of elevator music, perhaps that's the best since you always hated the cheery chiming of it. The second the door opens, you take a peek inside. The weird smell combination of chlorine and butter hits your nose.

“Holy shit,” you mumble in disbelief at the indoor pool and theatre. “A fucking pool under the house? And a fucking theatre screen in front? Which rich fuck decided that?” Your voice echoes, bouncing off the tiled walls of the pool.

Roaming the large room, eyes wide and strides small, you marvel at the high ceilings with the same warm tone lights hidden in the coves to soften the lights. You crouch down, letting the warm water lap at your hand.

There's a handful of sun loungers on the side, tables in between them for drinks and whatever rich people put on it. A projector hangs above the pool, an electrical hazard, you thought and an image of an entire pool party getting electrocuted lingers in your mind. You snap the rubber band against your wrist.

The popcorn machine helps distract you from the intrusive thought. Opening the machine, the popped kernels are still warm against your skin. You quickly scoop up a handful of it in your palm, the butter slicking your hand and your mouth as you eat it like how a baby deer eats grass.

You've had enough of the overly decorated basement, getting back on the elevator, you finish off your popcorn with one big bite. Still chewing, you wipe your hands on your trousers to press the shiny buttons on the elevator. The doors close as you chew loudly, eyes up on the screen showing the floors of the house, you don't notice the stranger standing outside of the opened doors.

Butter on your lips, you almost smack him on his pretty face.

“Christ!” You yelp, almost choking on a kernel.

“Close, but no.” He smirks, eyes flicking at the sheen on your lips.

Your husband, the title echoes in your popcorn filled head. His smile captures your attention, a ten megawatt grin that could power the entire posh neighborhood. His piercings glimmer in the warm light, and your eyes are glued to the ones on his eyebrows. Hazel eyes, the left one seems to be lighter than the other, watercolour eyes stare back at you, scanning your features. If you stare long enough you swear you can see patches of green and gray in those expressive eyes.

“John Smith.” He introduces himself, your husband, your partner. John doesn't raise his ringed hand for you to shake, instead he nods at you, waiting patiently for you to say your name. As if he doesn't know.

Clearing your kernel filled throat, you quickly run your tongue across your teeth (with your mouth closed of course) because you don't want to embarrass yourself further by having popcorn stuck in your teeth.

“Jane, Jane Smith.” You reach towards him to shake his hand, he raises a brow at you in turn.

“I don't do that, love, sorry.”

“Shake hands?”

“Yeah,” he looks to the left of your face, his eyebrow twitches slightly— a tell.

“Are you a germaphobe?” You ask before you could stop yourself.

“Not really, I've got issues…with intimacy.” John shrugs, the metals on his leather jacket clinks together. You think he'd rather be a model or a rock star instead of a spy with how he dresses and carries himself with confidence.

You smile knowingly, “We all do, but you don't have that issue. It's our first day of marriage and you decide to lie to your wife?” You click your tongue, eyebrow raised. “Not a very good first impression, John.”

He'll never get used to being called that basic name. ‘John’ takes your hand, it's warm, searing hot under your slippery hand. You'd thought his warmth would cook your flesh, you guess the butter on your palm would work wonders. You're starting to regret snacking. The calluses on his palm matches your own, a large scar across his palm tells you a story untold. Silver rings decorate his long fingers. There's a more simple silver bracelet on his wrist, a stark contrast to the ornate rings he sports on both hands.

He's handsome, you think, rightfully so. With his chiseled jaw that rivals any greek statue and eyes that could be mistaken for stars; he's tall too, so that's a plus. You lucked out on the fake husband department. Well, there's worse men to fake marry out there. Just judging from first impressions, you're glad he's the one you have on your side,

“How'd you know?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

“I'm very perceptive.”

“Trained?”

“Nope,” you hide your bundle of nerves with your casual tone. His hand is still clasped on your own, you don't notice it. “Just very good at reading people.”

“Did you have a stint at the BAU too?”

Too? You ignore it for now. “No,” chuckling, you finally notice the heat on your palm so you let him go. “Just…natural talent, I guess.”

“What’s under the house?” John asks, stepping aside so you could exit the elevator.

“A beating heart.” You curse yourself, fingers already reaching for the rubber band on your wrist.

To your surprise, John laughs. The sound is genuine, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I got the reference.”

“I figured.”

“I saw a black box in the office, you wanna check it out?” He points behind him with his thumb.

“Why? Do you think there's a beating heart in there too?”

“Maybe.” He plays along, walking beside you. “You never know with the company, for all we know there's a head in there.”

“Morbid.” You joke as he opens the door for you.

“Says you?” John keeps reminding himself of his real name whilst he memorizes the side of your face. He already wants to tell you his real name, not the one assigned to him by the suits behind the faceless screen he has grown familiar with. He says his name in his mind again, if he accidentally blurted it out, well, c'est la vie.

“Says me,” you shrug casually, trying to keep up with his wit and charm. You already think you're losing. You scrunch your face at the painting above the mantle. It's an art of two lovers doing the tango, if tango excludes clothes and includes intense snogging.

He chuckles right next to you, an airy laugh that has you smiling too. “A very brave choice. Not my taste, but whatever floats the company's boat. What's inside is a bit better though.” Your ‘husband’ reaches towards the frame of the painting, gently pressing down, it releases a metallic click as it reveals a secret compartment full of weapons.

You hide a snort behind your hand. The cabinet reminds you of your own. Unimpressed, you flick your eyes down at the office table, the large black box sitting on top of it is just begging to be opened.

Without a second thought, you open it. Taking out the bottle of expensive looking wine, you read the card that is tied in a neat ribbon around the neck.

“‘Good luck on your first day of marriage’” you look at the man beside you. He's incredibly close to you, his elbow grazing yours, lips slightly parted whilst he takes a peek at the wine. He smells of burgundy and leather, it calms your senses for some odd reason. “I prefer coke.” You practically shove the bottle in his hands. The glass clinks against his metal rings.

“The snorting variation or the fizzy one?” He asks, placing the bottle down on the narra table with an almost silent thud.

“The fizzy one.” You take his question at face value. He doesn't question why you don't prefer alcohol. Sitting down on the plush office chair, you open the laptop in front of you. It dings, needing a password to open it. “It needs a—”

Before you could even finish the question, he gives you a scrap of paper from the numerous envelopes inside the box. The password is printed on it with the same font as the one from the piece of paper you held a couple of weeks ago.

You type it whilst he rifles through the box. The home screen pops up, nothing too fancy or out of the ordinary. Except for the single application in the corner that's only labeled as ‘S’

Clicking it, a chat box appears.

> Hihi, follow man

John snakes up next to you, the harsh light from the laptop shines on his pensive face. You return your attention towards ‘your boss’. A picture of a young blond man pops up in the chat, there's a mole near his left eye, he sports dark eyebrows. And a look that says ‘daddy paid for my college!’

> 40.748817, -73.985428

“That's downtown I think.” John pipes up next to you, and you look at him like he just said the sky is green and the grass is blue.

> Take keys, take car. Bring car here

> 51.505554, -0.075278.

“A car?” You rhetorically ask.

“Must be a very expensive car, or an important one.” John answers back as he leans further down to take a better look at the monitor. His hand is on the back of your chair, his necklaces dangle on his neck like a pretty chandelier.

You both wait for more instructions but it doesn't come.

“Hihi isn't very talkative, huh?” Your voice echoes in the awkward silence.

“‘Hihi?’”

“Yeah, I thought I'd give it a nickname.” You think he's weirded out but with an amused laugh he pats your shoulder nonchalantly.

“Cute.” You don't know if he's referring to you, or to the nickname you dubbed your electronic boss. “I've separated our papers.” John says as you still contemplate his last comment. “Here's yours.”

“Thanks.” You scan the pile in your hands. Your own face greets you as you flip through it all.

“It has everything we need. Credit card, ID's, carry permit and a passport.”

“What's that one?” You point at the larger envelope next to John's pile. A smaller black leather envelope sits atop it.

He opens the large envelope, giving you the contents of it. “Marriage certificate. And this one…” shaking the leather envelope, whatever is inside of it clinks. Taking it out, he shows you the gold bands. “...our wedding rings.” Heat rises in your cheeks unavoidably once he says it softly. “May I?” Open palm reaching out, he beckons.

You try to remember which hand wears it. With a split second decision, you place your left hand atop his own. Carefully sliding the cold ring in your marriage finger, you stay locked in on his eyes that's concentrating like he's disarming a bomb.

John pats your hand and then inserts his own ring in his finger, mirroring yours.

“Guess we're married.” You shrug casually like your heart doesn't beat against your ribcage, like it's trying to escape its confines. “It feels kind of weird?”

“We are,” he flashes you his signature smirk. “And we'll get used to it, hm, wife?”

“Yeah, I'll adapt.” You say just barely above a whisper, hands suddenly clammy.

“That's my girl.” Throwing you a wink, he walks away from a flustered you.

Yeah, you got lucky.

—

Morning comes and you had the best sleep you've had in years. Even if you slept on an empty stomach last night, you still slept like a baby on the eight hundred thread count Egyptian cotton blanket. You stare blankly at the beige ceiling, hands roaming around the soft bed sheet like you're making a snow angel. Sleep ridden eyes roam around the expansive master bedroom to which your new husband has graciously let you take.

Speaking of ‘John’, his bedroom is just across your own. Surprisingly enough, he hasn't woken up yet based on the silence in the hallway outside, you hadn't pegged him as a late riser.

Breakfast calls for you when your stomach rumbles loudly, but you're too comfortable to even move from your spot. Something taps from your window that's facing the foot of your bed. A soft tippy tap of something hitting the glass that has you sitting up. Eyes blinking rapidly, you stare off a pigeon perched outside. Its iridescent feathers shine in the early morning sun, its beak tapping rhythmically at the window.

Sliding your hand behind you, blindly grasping at a pillow, you fling it across the room to scare off the bird. The pillow hits your mark and out flies away the annoying pigeon. With a sigh, you get off your ass to get ready for the day ahead. You don't want to be late to your first day out in the field, no use in rotting in your luxurious bed if you can't keep it after you get fired for being late.

You dress for the day and for the cool weather. Spring has come but the freezing temperature has decided to stay for a little while. With a cozy turtleneck and comfy slacks, you forgo the torturous device called ‘heels’ for a pair of trainers. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you shrug with a huff. And you snap the rubber against your skin once again.

Taking the chair off the doorknob and then unlocking the door, you exit your sanctuary. Closing your door softly, you find yourself in front of John's room. Judging from the soft snores, you notice that he’s still sleeping. You might be his fake wife but it's not your job to wake him up. So you continue down the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of cereal.

Bowl in hand, you chew as you walk up to the rooftop. Unlocking it, the sun greets you with a comfortable heat, and you frown at it. You keep eating whilst you explore the space. There's a bountiful garden in the corner, raised garden beds full of fresh vegetables and fruit that is ripe for the taking. An outside dining area sits in the middle, you recognize the long table from a catalog you once read to pass the time at the dentist. You remember that it doubles as a grill and leg warmer in the winter.

“Fancy,” you murmur with your mouth full of grainy goodness. Sipping the leftover milk in the bowl, you place it on the expensive table to crouch down next to a bushel of strawberries to sniff. “Almost ripe,” you figure from the softness of the fruit.

A bird flies above you, it's shadow casting over you. With the sound of fluttering wings, the bird perches on the table, black orbs staring at you, head tilting like it's observing your presence.

“Are you the same fucking bird?” You question the pigeon. It coos at you, and then pecks at the ceramic of your discarded bowl. “Motherfucker—” standing up, you have the look of someone ready to square up with the feathered creature.

“Why are you fighting an innocent bird?” John appears with a mug of tea in his hand. You forgot to make tea.

“I wasn't fighting with it.”

“He,” your partner crosses the distance, the bird doesn't fly away from the close proximity. You raise an eyebrow at that. “might be hungry.” He gestures towards the strawberries behind you with his chin. “Think you can grab us one, lovie?” You're gonna need some time to get used to that term.

“It's not ripe.”

“I don't think he's picky.”

“It's too sour, it might upset his stomach.”

“He's a pigeon, he's used to eating shit off the pavement. I think that's fine, love.”

With an awkward nod, you pick the one that's redder than the rest. Throwing it towards John, he catches it with a practiced hand. He sits down before laying the fruit in front of the bird. You watch it unfold, the pigeon hops on the table, beak pecking at the seeds. You're intrigued at their interaction.

John sips at his drink, still in his sleep clothes. Toned arms in full display from the loose tank top he sports. Pajama pants hanging low on his hips, silk bonnet on his head. He only has one sock on his feet, you tilt your head.

“What happened to your sock?” You point at his bare foot curiously.

“Hmm?” He looks down, and he chuckles like he just realized the missing article of clothing. “Don't know, probably kicked it off while I was sleepin’”

“Oh,” you blink, “you should get ready, we might miss our target.”

He fakes salutes at you, drinking casually from his mug as you leave the rooftop. He doesn't miss how you didn't take your dish with you. Sighing, he watches the pigeon eat his fill.

—

You and John arrive at a pub. It's dim inside with only a few miserable patrons sitting sparsely at different corners of the musty establishment. They all look miserable, all having expressions from different points of the human emotion. But there's only one face you're observing— your target.

He sits alone on the bar stool, back hunched, eyes red and nursing a half filled pint of beer. Holding his face in his hand, blond hair raked in between his fingers, bomber jacket hanging loosely on his form, bags under his sagging eyes. He's the picture of someone who's on the bottom of the barrel.

John guides you with his hand hovering on your back. Not touching, at the same time still close, you are supposed to be a couple after all. You slide into a booth that has the perfect view of the target, but still out of his sight and out of earshot. The leather seat is worn down, tiny bits of it are ripped, at least it's not sticky. He orders for you, and you observe how he slyly roams his eyes towards the man, looking out for the keys.

He comes back with a plate of chips and dip. “Thought it would be weird not to order anythin’”

“Good call,” you take a chip whilst your eyes only briefly leave the target's back. “Thought you'd buy me a pint.”

“Did you want a pint? This early? Do you want to talk about it?” He half jokes as he takes a smaller chip.

“No,” you scoff, “and no. I just thought you'd order it instead of this.”

“You're not the only perceptive one in this relationship.” John looks over his shoulder to quickly do a once over at the forlorn man.

“Did you see where he's keeping it?”

“Inside his jacket, right side.”

You nod, “Is he carrying?”

“Not that I can tell.” He shrugs, licking the salt off his finger. “So, why'd you join?”

“Really? We're doing that?” You watch as the man gulps down his remaining drink and then orders a new one immediately.

“Yes, we're doin' that. Won't that make us work better together? To get to know each other a bit more?”

“Fine,” you silently huff. “No one else would take me, this is a last resort, I guess?”

“Bullshit, love, I think anyone would be happy to have you in their…agency?”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere, birdman.” A small smile appears on your lips, he beams at you. “Besides, who else is hiring for someone with the specific skill set that I have?”

He hums, while turning subtly to take a peek at the target. Returning his attention to you after seeing the blonde man still hunched in his stool, John takes another chip. “True, did you get kicked out from the last one?”

“Not really,” you stare at the crack on the wooden table. “You?”

“Not really,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“You MI6?” He asks casually. “This your first time in London?”

“I'm not answering either of those questions.”

“C’mon,” he wiggles his left hand, the wedding band shines in the pub light. “Husband, remember? ‘sides, I won't tell anyone.”

You place your elbows on the table, smiling sarcastically at him. After a beat for his anticipation, you grin wider. “No.”

His shoulders fall, a chortle escaping his lips. “Cheeky.” Pointing an accusing finger at you, he quickly looks behind him, only to find the target sluggishly exiting the pub. “He's on the move.”

You both follow the drunk man like gravity is pulling you towards him. Walking the streets of busy downtown London, stranger's faces whizz past you. John has his hands casually in his pockets, yet he stays close to you, eyes flicking in the corners to check on you.

“Why don't you ask me a question? Y’know tit for tat?” He waits patiently for you to answer back, hell he'll even take a grunt at this point.

“Okay,” you surprisingly start the conversation on his behalf. “Have you killed anyone?” The passing pedestrians don't seem to notice you and the morbid subject.

Your partner snorts, nose scrunched up, eyes glued on the staggering target. “Nah. Have you?”

“I call bullshit,” you dodge a distracted woman scrolling on her phone. “Anyway, I have. I'm not exactly proud of it or flaunting it if you're thinking that I'm doing that.”

“Good, once you start flaunting it like a bloody trophy, you've lost it.”

You hum in agreement, the sound of a deep rumble in your chest as you two turn a corner. “Why do you think hihi needs us to nick the car?”

“Hihi” he chuckles, you turn to him with a serious face. “There's probably a stash of confidential information in the trunk or somethin’”

“Maybe a stash of weapons?” The man in front of you stumbles. “I don't see him as the type to harbor secret documents.”

John nods, “a highly infectious disease then?”

“Christ, we better drive carefully once we get a hold of it.” You turn to him briefly. “Maybe it's a really expensive sports car and he's all sad and mopey because he's gone broke after buying it?”

“Got a whole story now, huh?” He pushes you lightly with his leather clad shoulder, and you smile softly. “You good at pickpocketing him?” Your partner gestures with his chin, said target is walking into traffic. He seems unbothered by the oncoming vehicles. John curses under his breath.

“We should do that now before he kills himself.” You speed walk across the crossing, grabbing the drunk man before a car hits him.

Arms enveloping around his bomber jacket, swiping him away and quickly carrying him to the footpath, you save him before an suv hits you both. The car honks loudly and angrily as your target groans in your arms like he's about to hurl the contents of his stomach.

John punches the hood of the car, pointing at the driver accusingly. A distraction for you to take the keys hidden in the man's jacket.

“You almost hit my fuckin' wife, you wanker!” Your partner yells, covering the sound of jingling keys in your expert hand. He plays the part well.

Surprisingly, the target straightens up in your hold, a split second after you pocketed the car keys inside your own coat.

“Y-you,” he slurs, feet struggling to keep himself upright. “Dickhead!” Slamming his fists on the hood with a loud *thunk, he joins John who gives you a look and a shrug. The drunken yelling gets louder and the driver now exits his car with an equally angry look.

John takes this opportunity to come back to your side, hand holding your elbow, he leads you away from the screaming match as more and more people try to intervene.

“Got it?” He whispers closely to the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps to rise in your arms.

“‘course I did.” You jingle the keys inside your pocket. “I'm not an amateur.”

Playing along, he laughs, hand still holding your elbow softly. “Good job, missus.”

With an awkward chuckle, you lean away from him. “Just so you know, I'm not in this for…the romance.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I'm not looking to date my co-worker.”

John raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. if the situation calls for us to actually act as a couple—”

“We'll act as a couple, I won't fuss if that's what you're saying.”

“Good, now let's get this bloody car.”

—

“A fucking ‘99 toyota corolla?” You stare in disbelief at the rusting metal. “At least it's one of the good models.” Kicking the wheel, you expect it to tumble over like in an old timey cartoon.

John is crouched way down to check the bottom of the car. “It's clear.” He stands up fully, cleaning his hands on his jeans. You wince at his movements. “What?”

“Nothing.” You open the driver's side, the smell of alcohol and something musty hits your nose. “Nasty.” Coughing, you air it out by opening another door.

“You know your cars?”

“A little bit.” You say with your nose pinched. Sparing him a look, he stands in the parking lot like he's still waiting for the rest of the story. “What?”

“Throw me a bone here, love.” You roll your eyes. “Why do you know so much about cars?”

“I said I know a little bit.” You place your hands on your hips like an exasperated mother whose son keeps asking weird questions about dinosaurs. “I dated a mechanic.” You say flatly.

“Really? Did you date a pickpocket too? Or do you date people so you could absorb their skills like kirby?”

“Are you jealous?” You tease him with a comment you didn't have the foresight that it would backfire.

“We are married.” He says matter-of-fact with a killer smirk and eyes glinting with mischief. “And this is technically our honeymoon so—”

“Get in the fucking car, birdman.”

—

The wheel is sticky under your hands, you have an intense urge to wash your hands or to at least grab a sanitizer. Apparently your disgust shows on your face, for John chortles next to you.

“What?” You say through gritted teeth.

“Nothin’, you just look like someone shat in your tea.”

“The wheel is sticky.”

“I have a handkerchief with me, d’you want me to?” Taking out the dark green cloth from his jean pockets, he's already twisting in his seat to wipe it clean.

“Please,” you ask softly, hands sliding down to make space for him.

Your hand never left the wheel while he cleans it for you. John's seatbelt is unclasped so he could have more movement, his face is close to your vision, warmth blanketing over you. He's so close that you can smell his cologne, it's a different one from yesterday, it's more flowery with a hint of mint. You spot a hidden mole under his ear. A tiny dot that is just begging to be poked.

Without thinking, you press softly with the pad of your finger. He yelps, flinching away instinctively. Looking at you with wide eyes and mouth agape, you're ready to be called a nasty nickname, or be cussed out with a loud voice. Instead of what you're anticipating, a laugh bellows out, a rumbly laugh that makes you smile and let out an almost silent chortle.

“I think you found my mole.” John holds the side of his neck with a grin. “You let your urges get to you, love.”

“Sorry,” you keep your eyes on the road to hide your embarrassment.

“It's fine, your hand was just cold. Ask me next time, I have a few more cute moles on me.”

“Nevermind, you ruined it.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you park at the coordinates. “Nice acting back there, I see an Emmy nomination for you in the future.”

“Thanks, I barely remember what I said. You sure this is the place?” John peeks at the map pulled up on your phone. “Shit, we're here.”

The entire street is suburban, large colonial houses lining the sides, tall pine trees decorate the sidewalks. There's not a lot of people walking by, save for a couple pedestrians walking their dogs, the place is devoid of people.

“What now?” You unclasp your seatbelt to twist around in your seat so you could observe the neighborhood.

“Hihi told us to bring it here, so maybe we should��?” John lets out a high pitched scream that also has you yelling in surprise, not from whatever made him shriek but from the sound that escaped him. “What the fuck!”

Leaning slightly to look at what had his knickers in a bunch, you stare blankly at a bespectacled man in a bespoke suit. The man gives you and your partner an apologetic look, he points for John to open the window.

He turns towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Should I?”

“Yeah, I think you should.”

“What if he's got a gun?” He whispers.

“We also have guns, John. I'll cover you, don't worry. Maybe this is what hihi asked us to do.”

“Easy for you to say, you're not the one opening it.” He gives you a glare before rolling the window down an inch. “Hi, mate. What can we do for you?”

“The car,” the stranger points a lengthy finger at the wheel. His voice is crackly and gravelly, like he just smoked a pack of cigarettes before he went up to the car. “You're late, but that doesn't matter. How much do I owe you, folks?”

“Uh, the usual.” You say with fake confidence.

“Good,” the lean man straightens up, “mind gettin’ out of the car then?”

“Right, sorry, bruv.” John, gives you one look before exiting the car. He's nervous and so are you.

As the doors shut, the man flexes his open palms expectantly for the keys, to which you hand off immediately. He gives you bad vibes, maybe your intuition tells you to run for the hills.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I'll wire the money to the usual account.” The nickname sends shivers down your spine.

He closes the door and starts up the car. With a splutter of the exhaust, he slowly drives away. You and John watch, standing side by side in the middle of the street in confusion.

“He was weird, right? Not to mention it was too easy.” You turn your head to look at him. “Maybe they're trying to ease us in?”

“It was all weird, not just him—” A blast coming from the car interrupts him, the sheer force of it sends you two down on the rough pavement.

Your cheeks are incredibly warm from the searing heat of the bomb. The light from it blinds the two of you.

Palms skinned, trousers slashed at the knees, your ears ring loudly like an annoying buzz from a broken microphone. Coughing loudly, smoke fills your lungs, debris is scattered around the once pristine neighborhood. There's blood on the concrete, you can't hear John calling for you, your vision is blurred by the cloud of smoke. His hand reaches for you, and your instincts tell you to run.

“Fuck!” He yells, running beside you at full speed. “What the fuck!”

“Keep running!” You yell as he turns around to check on a woozy you. “I'm fine!”

Someone behind you screams for you to stop so you and your partner run faster. Knees aching, thighs burning, you don't stick around to look who's running after you. The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety is loud in your eardrums, even if your lungs threaten to give out, you sprint right next to John as he turns a corner and into a carwash.

The smell of soap and heavy pine scented car freshener hits your bloody nose. He tugs you towards the plastic curtains and inside what you presume as the employee lounge, someone yells after you but it falls on deaf ears as you and John continue your escape.

Exiting the establishment, the metal doors open to a messy alleyway. Boxes upon boxes of trash and god knows what are littered all around. The pungent smell makes you want to hurl, or maybe that's the adrenaline having a weird effect on your stomach.

You two find reprieve for a second, huffing, trying to get oxygen back in. Hands on your aching thighs, the concrete below you slowly turns crimson as your mysterious injury drips precious blood on the messy ground.

“You're bleedin’” He says in between inhales. There's rustling of fabric next to you, and you feel the warm cloth placed on your forehead.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Waving the drenched cloth away, you scoff lightly. “Don't.”

“What am I supposed to do? Let you bleed?”

You stand up straight, blood coating your lashes as you stare at him. “I've got a better idea.” Placing your palms on the source of the pain, you let your blood coat it.

“What—?” You roughly smudge the warm ichor all over his face and shirt, the plain white of his t-shirt turns a dark pink shade with your touch. Leaning away, he gives you a slow nod of understanding. “Ease us in, huh?”

“I'm rarely wrong and this is one of the rare instances.”

“Let's hope you're right about this one.”

—

You kick the backdoor open with ferocity. It bangs loud against the wall, getting the restaurant staff's attention.

“Help please! My husband!” John's limp arm is around your shoulders, your hand gripping on to his waist to add that one detail that would convince them of your innocence. “There was a bomb!” You don't let the bystanders touch you or John whilst you quickly lumber through their dinghy bathroom. There's murmurs and chairs scraping on the tiled floors as you lock the door behind you.

The bathroom is small, tiles yellowed from the years, the stench of bleach itching your nose. The lightbulb above you whirs like it's about to burst out. He leaves your side to take off his bloodied jacket, tossing it outside from the window— his exit, you presume.

“Your phone.” He holds his empty hand out to you, when you only raise an eyebrow at him, he sighs, eyes turning soft, adrenaline melting out of his system. “Please, c’mon, love, you got me sayin’ please and shit.”

“What for?” You try desperately to wipe the blood off your face.

“To contact you, just in case you need help.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can, how else did you get the job then? Just let me,” his voice wavers a bit but he corrects himself with a timed clear of his smoke filled throat. “Please, Jane.”

After pausing, you take your phone out from your pocket to give it to him. He enters his number after seeing your home screen of a basic mountain range.

“There.” Giving the phone back, you expected him to give his too, but he doesn't as he's already halfway out of the window. “I'll see you at home?”

You let out a chuckle, “yeah, I'll see you at home.” He gives you one last smile as he exits the small bathroom and into the streets where numerous sirens go off from ambulances and fire trucks.

—

It was a blur the entire trip home, you bought a loose hoodie from a thrift store and then promptly discarded your blood soaked coat in the bottom of a dumpster. It was a shame though, you liked that coat, it had real wool in the lining. The uber drive was thankfully uneventful, if the driver noticed the remnants of dried blood on your skin he didn't mention it. You gave him five stars for it.

An empty house greets you, John's shoes are nowhere to be seen in the hallway, nor his jacket. You worry for a second, mind rushing through possibilities. The rubber band burns as you pull it back and release it with a harsh thwack against your skin.

The water is cool as you shower, your blood mixing in and pooling around your feet and into the drain like a macabre whirlpool. You don't let your mind wonder about the man that you turned into a street pancake. Instead, you focus on yourself in the mirror.

You stare at the gash near your hairline, the skin around it is angry, leaving a throbbing sensation. There's also a few scratches on your face, especially around your chin. Your main concern is the large gash. It doesn't look like it needs to be stitched together though, which is a good thing since you don't have the energy to even tend to the tiny scratches on your palms. Cleaning and bandaging the wound, you put on clean pajamas and head to bed.

You stop in your tracks when you see John lying face down on your bed. Still in his iron soaked clothes, save for the jacket. You glare at his boot, it's off the bed but you still grit your teeth at the thought of it grazing your bedsheets.

He senses your presence, and he lifts his head up, chin helping prop himself up. “Your bed is better than mine.” His multi coloured eyes are laced with exhaustion, dull yet there's still a spark when he looks at your annoyed gaze.

“Who are you? Goldilocks?”

“Yeah, I ate your porridge too.”

“Damn, not my porridge.” Too tired to fight him, you slither into bed next to him, an arm's length away from his equally tired body. Staring at the ceiling, you feel his eyes on you. “What's up with your eyes?”

“It's called heterochromia—”

“I know what it is, I'm asking why you're staring at me like you're about to devour me.”

“I could devour you if you want.” He says nonchalantly but with the charisma of a man who knows what he's talking about.

“Maybe next time.” You blindly pat his shoulder which ended up with you patting his cheek. He hums at your touch, a deep rumble that you felt through the mattress. “Not bad for our first day huh?” Lifting your hand away, he twists on the bed to mirror your position. Now you're both gazing at the beige ceiling like it owes you money.

You're tired but for some reason you're fighting off the sandman from sprinkling sand in your heavy eyes.

“I lied back there, I've killed before.” His voice is merely above a whisper but you heard it as loud as a trumpet blaring in your ears.

“I know, you wouldn't be here if you haven't.” You answer with empathy. “If it makes you feel better, I've been to London before. Twice, on a family trip and a decade later…on vacation.”

“Glad to know.” He taps the inside of your elbow as a thank you for trusting him. “You CIA?” He blurts out above the comfortable silence.

“God no.” You truthfully say.

“And here I thought you're an alumni of the culinary institute of America.”

For the first time in years, you let out the loudest laugh you could muster. Snort and all.

Your ‘husband’ joins in with his own rambunctious laughter, the bed shakes at the loud guffaws. The happy sound fills the room, and your heart feels like it isn't as heavy as before. It's still there, the heaviness, but it isn't as cumbersome. You now realize that you've only snapped the rubber band on your wrist a couple times today.

An annoying tapping sound interrupts you both. Simultaneously sitting up by the elbows, you two tilt your head at the intruder.

“It's that pigeon again.” You actually smile at the thought of the same bird coming back to your house like a white strand of hair that keeps growing even after you've pulled it out. “I think we should name him. Something like Terry or Flanders.” You chuckle softly.

“Jeff.”

You shake your head. “Nope, doesn't suit him, what if it's a she?”

“His name is Jeff.” John turns to look at you, eyes full of certainty.

You turn to him, blinking rapidly in realization. “He's yours. He's your bird, isn't he?”

“You are insightful.” He smiles, a soft one that fills you with endearment that you haven't felt in years. “Met him a few months ago, fed him once and now he wouldn't leave me alone. I guess he followed me here too.”

“Y’know, pigeons are really smart, kinda like crows. He probably thinks you're his daddy.”

“Does that make you Jeff's mummy?”

“I don't want to be Jeff's mom.” Said bird taps on your window again, like he senses that you're currently talking about him.

“Too bad,” he raises his marriage finger, showing you the gold band. “He's our kid, love.”

You smile, hiding it with a huff and by laying back down with a gentle thump.

“Can I tell you somethin’?” His face pops up in your vision, you nod in place. “My real name is—”

“Let me stop you right there.” You sit back up, almost hitting his head with your own at how fast you sat. “There's a reason why they gave us fake names. Whether we like it or not, It's John,” You point at him. “And Jane Smith.” You point at yourself. “Until they dismiss us, that's our names. Not whatever you were about to tell me.”

“But you know it's not our names, right?”

“Of course I do. You don't look like a John, John.”

“And you don't look like a Jane. I just…” He sighs. “Just want someone to know my real name. We almost died back there, what if we stayed a minute longer inside that car? What then? I don't want to die with someone else's name written on my grave.” His words are genuine, but it sounds like he has said these words before.

Still, you sympathize with him. You've gone undercover before, taken someone’s name instead of yours for months. Those missions were so long and tiring that you almost forgot your own name. But it was…survivable because he was with you. John has no one, and this time you have no one. No one that calls your real name, no one that can identify your body if you suddenly croak in the middle of a mission.

No one else but John and Jane Smith.

So with bated breath, you give him the go ahead. “Okay, tell me. But I can't promise that I'll call you by that name.”

“Don't want to get in trouble with hihi?”

“No,” you scoff. “I don't give a shit what that robot says. I just don't want to die with a stranger's name. So fuck it, tell me yours and I'll mine.”

He smiles the same smile that he gave you before he went out of that dinky bathroom window. The smile that reassures you, a smile that tells you everything will be alright.

“It's Hobie,” Hobie finally says. “Hobie Brown.”

“It suits you better. Thought it was Jeff.” You whisper, and you give him your real name. The same name you were born with, not the fabricated ones your former agency has given you, not the ones your new company has given you.

He whispers back your name, tongue rolling off it like honey. Then, Hobie smiles again, nodding and those heterochromatic eyes bore into you comfortably like the sun's rays kissing your skin in the summer.

“You look like one. Definitely suits you better than Jane.” You smile shyly as you lose the fight against sandman.

In Hobie's mind, he hopes that knowing your real name is enough, enough to keep you alive, enough of an incentive for him to keep you safe, since you're not just a typical Jane anymore that the company randomly selected for him, no, you're Y/N L/N, and he'll do anything to protect you better. Because maybe, just maybe, knowing your real name this early would work, and you'll outlive all the Janes that he himself has outlived.

As you fall asleep next to him, he stares at Jeff the third. In that luxurious house, within those bulletproof walls, and in your room lies a deep anger in him. An anger that keeps him sane in all those years trying to pay his debt. He needs to end the cycle, not just for him but for all the agents that are in the same shoes as him. For now he lets you sleep soundly, for now, he plots the demise of the people behind the screen.

The laptop flashes a new message from the company.

> Mission complete: 3 fails remaining

> Good job, next mission?

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A/N: thank you for reading!!! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️❤️❤️