#next-generation office cubicles

[kids-worldfun]

Tech-Integrated Workplaces: The Surge of Next-Generation Office Cubicles Integrated with Technology

Workspace is undergoing a lot of tone changes today, as the velocity of technology advancements keeps increasing, thus impacting modern office cubicles changes aided with integrated tech solutions that promise boosted performance and productivity coupled with a satisfying experience for the employees. Innovatively designed and integrated with advanced tech integration, workstations enable…

[lupismaris]

Colleague was potentially passive aggressive in my general direction what if i just leave work and never come back

[alexiroflife]

"possession"

ryomen sukuna x reader [modern au]

Synopsis: you meet a strange, attractive man whose god complex that you have yet to discover proves to interfere with both your self-respect and the law.

to sum it up: sukuna is a man who sees himself above all people and is obsessed with you. when he gets jealous, he copes in sadistic ways

WC: 8,540

Warning(s): violence, mentions & use of a weapon, death/homicide, yandere themes, possessiveness, vulgar language

Your body trembled viciously as his figure stood over you, tall, prideful, and oh so frightening.

Your vision was blurry. You could hardly see what was standing directly before you due to the stress of the previous events and the tears that blurred your vision. Your hands gripped each shoulder as though your own body heat was the only thing that could save you now. 

Unfortunately for you, however, nothing could save you from the looming presence of Ryomen Sukuna, black painted nails releasing the trigger of the gun he’d just pulled on your now deceased coworker.

It wasn’t that you liked the recent victim of Sukuna’s wrath any more than the next stranger. In fact, you had deemed him to be rather annoying. He had always found ways to pop himself into your day to day, whether it was by lingering next to your cubicle at the office for ten minutes too long before lunch, running into him on a whim at the grocery store and finding yourself subjected to his poor attempts at getting you to spend one on one time with him outside of the office, or waking up to a new follower on your Instagram- his name and profile greeting you desperately when you glanced at the screen.

You knew exactly what he was after, but you had paid him no mind. You were hardly a stranger to advances from acquaintances or passerbyers. After all, as well as your looks, you carried yourself in such a way that exuded class and mystery, poise and effortless beauty. You didn’t speak much to those who were not close to you, which was perhaps why you had gained so much attention. Your silent charm needed little to no verbal introduction from yourself. You caught enough glances simply by minding your own, keeping to yourself, and accomplishing your goals all rather contently. You did not desire the attention of other men, which, luck would come to have, was why you had always subconsciously gained it.

And gaining Sukuna’s had been a fluke all on its own. 

The man kept to himself just as much as you did, but in a far less innocent way. He lurked about, observing, judging, despising, taking it upon himself to dispose of any being he deemed a pestilence to his existence. The god complex Sukuna embraced alone was enough to send you running, but for some reason when he first approached you, you did the exact opposite.

He was forward. Brazen. He had observed you days before actually meeting you, walking mutely into your office building from a nearby alleyway. He watched your thighs shift with each movement you took beneath the tight pencil skirt you adorned, heels clacking against the pavement deliciously. Though you had a reserved energy about you, you kept your chin held high and your eyes forward. You weren’t hiding, per say, but you were entirely too occupied with your own business to bother keeping up with the business of those around you. You weren’t shy, you were focused. Attentive. Not easily distracted.

Sukuna could not have understood why your presence intrigued him so much, to the point where he was waiting around your place of work until you clocked out, following you home, and memorizing the path you took to and fro so that he could organize a way to force himself into your life. Sukuna had witnessed and learned so much of humanity, how people concerned themselves so heavily with matters of each other to the point where they allowed their incomprehensible need to stick themselves into all matters led them to war, death, and the collapse of civilizations simply for them to be rebuilt by the next generations and for the same patterns too continue.

Human beings were so incessantly concerned with how others viewed them, with how the next person would react to the way they put one foot in front of the other, with whether their family members approved of their lifestyles or if their friends thought their hobbies were intriguing.

It was truly pathetic how human beings lived for each other, how many women so pitifully clung to his arm for a chance to even be considered someone he would spare a second glance at. Sukuna enjoyed the submission when it served him well, but Christ, were they all so whiny and needy, so desperate for someone else to see and love them when Sukuna made it perfectly clear in each circumstance that he could care less about what a weak girl could do for him beyond sexual subservience. 

But you, you did not even look at him when you brushed past him and into the cafe that you visited regularly. You hardly even spared him a glance when he approached you at the counter as you were waiting for your coffee. It had angered him at first. Truly enraged him to see you refuse him so politely without even having to say a word or spare a glance. You could not have cared less what he wanted to say or had to offer, and it pissed him off but simultaneously sparked a desire to control you. One that he had not experienced for quite some time. You would make him work for it, and that in itself sparked his interest.

He wanted to own you, to possess you. He wanted you to belong to him, for you to come at his beck and call, for you to abandon your selfishness and crawl to him on your knees, crying, pleading for his touch and affection. He wanted you to be a mess at his feet, to be his plaything, his pet. He wanted to conquer you and bring those pretty (e/c) eyes of yours to tears as they finally snapped up to look at him. 

“You,” his voice had greeted you gruffly. 

You jerked slightly, turning to your left to find a tall figure leaning against the counter beside you. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed him before. Your mind had been running over a project you had been assigned last minute in your head, and you were so occupied with your thoughts that you had completely missed the intimidating presence wafting off of the figure beside you. 

He was a sight to look at, you had to internally admit to yourself. Spiky salmon hair splayed across his forehead and crimson eyes the shade of fresh blood boring into yours. His build beneath a black sweatshirt and sweatpants was bulky, muscles stretching the sleeves of the almost loose fabric. His eyes were bored, yet his brows were angled as though he were agitated. What for, you weren’t sure, but you couldn’t help but shift beneath his unwavering gaze, for he stared at you as if you were the only person standing in the cafe. 

You glanced behind you, looking around to find the person this odd man may have been addressing instead, but when you found no one you turned back around. “Me?”

His lips quirked up at the corners, a smile threatening to touch his mouth. “Who else does it look like I’m talking to?”

His voice was so deep, it practically rumbled the floor beneath your feet. He spoke lowly to ensure that you knew he was speaking directly to you, but his words were crisp and perfectly clear. 

You were unsure of how to respond. Guys had approached you many times, but never in such a straightforward, expecting fashion. Never with such power, such overarching confidence that made you think just for a moment that you would stay a while to share a word or two with him. 

“Can I… help you?” you asked cautiously, uncertainty swirling through your mind.

“What a silly question,” he sighed, tilting his head as his bicep pressed into the marble of the countertop, one knee bent while the other stretched out so that he was lounging rather casually in the way of the ‘pick up’ window. 

His eyes glinted with mischief, shamelessly roaming over your body. You had the sense to take a small step back, which only fueled Sukuna’s lust for dominance over you. You watched as a wide smirk settled on his face, eyes drifting lazily back up to yours. 

“Are you scared of me?”

The question caught you off guard. You could feel your lips curling in discomfort against your mind’s will, yet your heart panged with what you could not differentiate between what was either excitement or unease. His eyes carried such vibrancy as they danced across you, almost as though they weren’t human. Though unnerving at first glance, the man surely was attractive in a rather unusual, alarming way.

The way his lips, however, stretched over sharp pearly teeth with a smile that could only mean that he was up to no good struck your hesitant curiosity. 

“I don’t know, should I be?” you questioned in return, raising a brow.

How unassuming and bold you were.

He replied with only a smug grin, tilting his head back as he gazed at you over his nose. “What’s your name?”

“Why should I tell you? I don’t know who you are.”

“That’s precisely why I’m asking. So we can get to know each other,” he hummed. 

God, every red flag was waving aggressively in the back of your mind, screaming at you to take off into another direction, to turn away, grab your coffee, and walk out like nothing happened, but there was something deep within you that kept you planted there. Was it intrigue? Attraction? Perhaps a spell that had been cast on you to make you forfeit any pinch of sense you had left?

You weren’t sure, but whatever it was made you want to stay. You wanted to see where this would go, what line this oddball would throw at you to try to get you to come home with him. 

You were nothing but completely and utterly curious.

But you know what they say about curiosity.

It kills.

You weren’t going to tell him your name, at least. You were smart enough to attempt to keep that barrier, but the universe had other plans. Before you could say anything more, the barista reached forward and slammed a styrofoam cup before you.

“Order for (Y/n)!” she announced loudly, looking directly at you with kind eyes. “Here you go, see you tomorrow!”

You smiled tightly, swiping the drink up in your hand. “Thanks, have a good one,” you said through a strained breath and clenched jaw. 

The pink haired stranger pushed himself off of the counter slowly. He hummed intriguingly, half lidded eyes eating you alive. “(Y/n),” he repeated, your name rolling off his tongue like a prayer.

You shivered.

He held out a hand before you, the other shoved into his pocket. You examined it, the veins running across the back of his palm, the dark paint on his fingertips, the peak of tattoos sliding sheepishly out of his sweatshirt sleeve. 

“Ryomen Sukuna.”

You didn't know what demon on earth possessed you to grasp his hand and shake it.

From that point on, Sukuna kept his interactions with you secluded to the cafe. He would wait for you to walk in, share a few words with you, hit on you shamelessly, then watch you walk to work from his spot at the counter. 

You convinced yourself that there was no harm in the matter if he was only speaking to you in a public space. Though it was strange that he only came to the cafe to see you and that he never ordered anything, you figured it was better than him trying to turn up to your place of work or follow you after you had grabbed your morning coffee.

Sukuna observed you meticulously each time he saw you. You stepped out of the house very professionally, with your hair pinned up and your clothes modestly hugging your figure. You wore a bra and underwear beneath your clothing to maintain an appropriate appearance at work, which aggravated him to no end. 

You wore little makeup over your face. Just a bit to cover a scar here or there and eyeliner to accentuate the shape of your eyes and gloss to coat your plump lips. 

You had also grown more expecting of his company. While you remained reserved to some extent, you engaged in subtle banter with him each time he pushed his advances.

“Still holding out on me, princess?” he would ask with a sinister smirk.

“Don’t call me that.” you would reply, turning your head to hide the amused smile that touched your lips. 

Thoughts of your lip gloss smearing over his mouth snapped into his mind at the very sight of your smile. He was going to ruin you.

Sukuna normally was not one for waiting, but he decided he would make an exception just this once. He wanted to make you feel safe, to ease into the attraction he knew that you felt toward him. He knew that if he tried to force you into him so early on, you’d turn away. And normally that wouldn’t have been a problem for him, but this was a game of minds. He needed you to want it before he moved, he needed you to prove that your facade of disinterest would fade and only fade for the sake of his domination over you, and he needed you to want it so badly that you’d cry for it. 

So, he took his time. 

Three weeks in, he asked to walk you to work. 

Who were you to say no now that the two of you had grown so acquainted? What was the harm in a walk, after all?

On that walk alone, however, Sukuna observed something else about you. He observed how men’s eyes would linger each time you walked past and how you kept your gaze forward, completely numb to or unbothered by or disinterested in the stares. He noticed how quickly men would jump to hold the door for you when he would stop just at the entrance of your office building, glaring down at the poor soul who had managed to reach the door before he got a chance to. He noticed how consumed others were by your presence, how easily you made people stop and stare without trying or without caring. Sukuna knew thousands of women who fought ten times as hard to get half of the attention that was bestowed upon you throughout your daily life, and yet you did not care. 

He could not understand what it was about you as he lifted his foot from the puddle of blood and brains he had stomped in hours after he had tracked down the poor sap who’s eyes flashed over your concealed tits on your morning walk together. He could not understand how you, a human, carried such an enticing presence, how the number of hands he severed and tongues he ripped out doubled over instead of reducing. How, no matter how many of those filthy pests he slaughtered for even glancing your way, there would still be more, and more, and more. 

He was growing restless. 

Over a month had passed, and Sukuna had yet to throw himself onto you. He himself was not even sure why by this point. He knew everything about you. What time you woke up in the morning, what your morning routine entailed, how you liked your coffee made from the cafe, the things you enjoyed talking about and looking at on route to work, the projects you worked on, what your favorite meal at lunch was, what time you clocked out, the days you put in overtime, what time you went to sleep- he had completely engraved himself into your life when it should have been the other way around, but for the first time in his life, he just did not know how to proceed. You were different, you were strange, you were just as much of a brat as any other woman, but you peaked his interest so much that it was enough for him to pause and ask why.

And Lord, you were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen. Your (s/c) skin, your (h/c) hair, your supple figure, your laugh, your smile. You belonged with him, you were meant to be his, but fucking hell, he was beginning to grow impatient. 

He knew that to some extent he was succeeding at getting you to be his, too. You were talkative, sarcastic, playful with him. Your eyes constantly met him when you talked and you had begun looking for him everywhere, in everything you did, in everything you felt. He had become a constant in your routine so quickly that the thought of him not nearby had begun to feel strange. 

The tension that carried between the two of you was hardly a secret either. His eyes were heavy with desire, deep and mesmerizing, voice smooth like the slither of a serpent’s each time he bent over to whisper a joke into your ear or lowly call your name in address. His frame could put that of a god’s to shame though he often kept his muscles concealed due to the dreary weather, and his hands, oh his hands. The way they pressed to the small of your back to move you out of the way of something in your path, or reached to grab your coffee before you could and lift it to your lips, or how his veins bulged each time he grasped the handle of a door for you. 

You wanted him bad. You couldn’t deny it anymore, but you still hardly knew him. He hadn’t revealed anything about his personal life to you other than his name. He didn’t work by the looks of it, and you had no idea where he was from or where he lived. He was a basket case, but that surely was not enough to ease the ache between your thighs that came each time he spoke to you, voice dripping with playful lust. 

Sukuna could see you gradually melting before him, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more, he wanted more, he had to have more from you, but what could he get without pouncing on you and springing at the wrong time? 

“Have dinner with me.”

You paused before the door to your office building, turning to face Sukuna with parted lips. You needed to clock in within the next five minutes, but the crimson eyed man’s request had thrown you off kilter.

“Huh?” you breathed.

His face was hard, rather emotionless. His hand gripped the door above your head, his arm hovering over you as he looked down into your eyes. He looked deadly serious, not a trace of amusement anywhere to be found on his face.

“You heard me, woman,” he said gruffly. He leaned down, closing in on you, nose inches away from yours. “Have dinner with me.”

You had never been flustered by a man before. You were raised to be unaffected by their advances, to find little enchantment in the bare minimum that man graciously brought forward as though it was the world on wings. You had always been indifferent to men’s responses to your beauty, to their inviting hand, to their promises and boasts and pretty lies. You had wanted none of it, for you found your occupation and making a living for yourself to be far more important than matters of another man’s heart.

But the way Sukuna was looking at you, the way he caged you in as his gaze drank in the sight of you, the forwardness of his tone signifying that he would not take no for an answer, the mahogany scent emanating from his clothing and skin. He was intoxicating, and you both knew it, but for some reason you could not fight the burn in your cheeks and the rush of your blood. 

“Are you asking me out, Sukuna?” you whispered.

His name sounded fucking incredible on your lips, where it belonged. He wanted to hear more. He needed to hear more. For fuck’s sake, he was tired of waiting. Tired of this little game he had forced himself to play. He needed you. 

“You’re not an idiot, you know damn well what I’m doing.”

He was always so mean, the way he talked. Mean and vulgar and you shouldn’t have been aroused by it, but you were desperate for him. You liked him and you wanted him. Why? You weren’t sure.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” Sukuna groaned. “Dinner. Tonight.”

“Ask me nicely and I’ll think about it.”

The tan skinned man’s teeth ground together, eyes slimming in agitation. You were so mouthy. He could have left you high and dry, completely abandoned this whole ordeal for giving him so much attitude, but he shamefully enjoyed it. He enjoyed how you tested your limits with him and how you didn’t even care about doing so. He enjoyed how you thought you had control, though you only held it because he was giving it to you for the time being. 

He wanted to shut you up so badly, to throw you around, to wipe away that confidence instilled in you. 

So he asked you to dinner.

“Don’t order me around, you brat.”

“Well then I guess I’ll have to turn down the offer,” you shrugged. You were quick to turn over your shoulder, leaving Sukuna reeling in shock. “Thanks for the walk. I’ll see you for lunch, yeah?”

Sukuna used his free hand to snatch your wrist in his and yank you back into him. You stumbled, a squeak squeezing past your throat as your body clumsily clashed into his. Your eyes went wide, your cute lips finally clamped shut. You stared up at him innocently, like a deer in headlights.

How cute you would have looked with that face if you were down on your knees before him.

He breathed in slowly, eyes raking over your face as he squeezed your wrist gently, holding you close to him. You could feel his breath fanning against your cheek. You looked down, face blazing and heart thudding so loud you were sure Sukuna could feel it against his chest.

He smiled.

“Cut that out and look at me when I talk to you,” he demanded, releasing your wrist to tilt your chin up with his index finger. Your glossy (e/c) eyes met his once more, the space between the two of you so small it should have been a sin.

“Sukuna, I-I need to get to work-”

“Not until you say yes,” he interjected, gripping your chin softly. “No games. Come have dinner with me. I’ll pick you up at nine.” He raised his brows, tilting his head up. “Hm?”

You could barely find the words to give him an answer. “I didn’t peg you for a dinner kind of guy,” you murmured, mind growing fuzzy with the feeling of his fingers on your chin holding you in place so that you couldn’t look away. 

“That wasn’t an answer, (Y/n),” he mumbled firmly. “Dinner. Yes or no.”

You were hardly sure that he was going to let you say no, but you responded as though you had a choice in the matter anyway, for you couldn’t deny the eagerness that sparked in your gut when he proposed the notion.

He continued staring, waiting, watching. Eventually, you nodded as though in a trance, eyes never breaking away from him. “Okay.”

Sukuna grinned, finally releasing you from his hold. “Wonderful. I’ll see you tonight, then.” 

You stumbled back, slightly discombobulated, unsure of whether what just transpired was a trick of your mind or indeed reality. 

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself again, turning mechanically to enter the building as Sukuna proceeded to hold the door. 

He could feel an urge for misconduct overtaking him as his smirk widened, watching in anticipation as you walked away. He had you exactly where he wanted you. 

He was about to release the door when he felt a man brush past him and into the doorway, having taken advantage of a gesture that had been meant for only the girl ahead. “Hey, thanks man!” the brunette called over his shoulder halfheartedly.

Normally, Sukuna would have been irritated, but would have blown it off simply because he didn’t feel like bothering with such an insignificant interaction. He would have likely kicked his foot out so the guy could trip and then he’d go on about his day, leaving behind whatever idiot who sought to leech off of him out of pure convenience, especially since it seemed that this man was running late.

Sukuna would have walked away, thinking about all the ways he would consummate his possession over you within the next few hours leading up to your date without a single care in the world if what happened next had not caught his eye.

He watched the brunette, hair messy atop his head and a briefcase clutched under his arm, rush up behind you and gently touch your waist with his hand in greeting. You turned to identify the owner of this hand and visibly grew bored when your eyes landed on the kid’s face, but he proceeded to attempt to entertain you. 

“You look nice today,” he had said. “Did you do something different with your hair?” he had said. “I followed you on Instagram last night, you should follow me back.” 

You had not even responded with anything more than a disinterested hum as the two of you rounded the corner to the elevators, out of Sukuna’s sight. You didn’t care, but oh, did Sukuna find far more fault in that interaction than you did.

His smile completely wiped from his face and the door slammed in front of him after releasing it. The muscles in his eye twitched, his pupils shrank, and nose flared. He stood ominously still, frozen in his own rage, and something snapped inside him. 

How dare that guy touch what was his?

This led you to where you sat crouched in the alleyway. Your date was meant to begin thirty minutes ago. 

You had dressed up pretty in a small black dress and heels, hair down, legs bare, and chest exposed. You were a pure sight for sore eyes, drop dead gorgeous, and Sukuna was sure to tell you when he arrived at your home after you had texted him your address. Of course,  you hadn’t known that Sukuna already knew full well where you lived. 

You noticed something off about him the moment you opened the door. He wore a navy button up that was free of its first three buttons, leaving his chest tattoos exposed. His shirt was also untucked over wrinkled pants, and while you hardly expected him to dress like royalty, there was something rather… sloppy about the way he appeared before you that night.

And his eyes, those bright red eyes were alight with passion. A crazed look touched his irises as they gleamed in the street light. His hair was slightly ruffled too, and a wide, eerie smile revealed each and every one of his sharp, pearly whites. He did not look well, not mentally, and at that moment, you could feel your heart begin to sink to your toes upon the realization that something very wrong was about to happen. 

He pulled you out of your doorway without even giving you a chance to lock the door and led you to a coupe parked sloppily next to your apartment complex. He held the door for you, and against your better judgment, you stepped in, wanting to blame your sudden discomfort on nerves or paranoia. 

Sukuna rounded the car with thudding footsteps, throwing himself into the driver’s seat and pulling off with alarming speed. You kept your hands folded in your lap, eyes staring blankly ahead as your heart thudded against your ribcage. Sukuna was acting so strange, almost manic. Perhaps he struggled with mania and was having an episode? Or maybe he was just as anxious as she was, and was acting strangely due to nerves over his first date after a long time alone? 

You wanted to make excuses for him so badly, to believe that this was some kind of misunderstanding, but deep in your gut, you knew that you were in danger. You knew that something was off and that this night was heading into a dark direction.

Sukuna said nothing as he drove, the sound of tires screeching against the pavement the only sound filling the rather empty silence. You tried to regulate your breathing, looking out the window frantically to attempt to memorize the twists and turns you took about the city. It wasn’t long before the car was slowing down, rounding an empty street and turning into a secluded alleyway. 

You began to panic. It was dark and completely vacant aside from Sukuna’s car, which was now parked in the middle of nowhere. You sat up, whipping your head around to attempt to grasp an understanding of where you were and how you got here. Your eyes were blown wide and your panting had now grown audible.

Sukuna released the stick shift and leaned back, taking notice of your antsy behavior. He cooed, turning the car off and leaning over to you, resting his elbow on the back of his seat rest and grazing the back of your hair with his free hand. 

You jumped, pressing your back into the corner against the window and curling your knees to your chest. You looked horrified, like a poor antelope facing the hunger of a lioness. Sukuna had previously thought that he wouldn’t have gotten off on this fear from you, but hell, had he been wrong. The freight in those glossy eyes, the wobble of your lips, the way your breasts threatened to pool out of the fabric of your dress with each heavy breath you took. He loved it. 

“Come now, don’t fuss,” he urged gently, hand reaching to brush the side of your cheek. You tried to tilt your head up and away, but there was nowhere for you to run. “You don’t think I’m gonna hurt you now, do you?”

Your mind played a trick on you. Perhaps he wasn’t going to hurt you. Were you overreacting? Allowing your anxiety to motivate your reaction instead of logic? 

You gulped a breath of air, eyes darting around frantically as Sukuna’s thumb brushed your cheekbone. “Wh-” you breathed. “Why are we here? What’s going on? Sukuna, where did you take me?”

That breathtaking, troublesome smile appeared on Sukuna’s face again as he admired her. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he spoke giddily, like a man on the verge of a mental break. “Don’t be so quick to go crazy on me. Relax.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, confused, afraid. You didn’t like this one bit. You didn’t like the look in Sukuna’s eye that accompanied the chaotic driving and the bizarre atmosphere. 

You swallowed down a pool of saliva, body shaking involuntarily.

Ruby eyes melted over your body, watching the way your flesh trembled with your limbs.

“You dressed all pretty for me, huh? Tryin’ to get lucky on our first date, princess?”

“Sukuna,” you whimpered, pressing yourself further into the glass. “Why did you take me here?”

He stared at you for a few seconds longer before a hefty sigh filled his chest. He leaned back into his seat, pushing the car door open swiftly. “I’ll show you in a second. Be patient.”

The car door slammed behind him after he stumbled out. Your body jerked and you began to panic once more. You tried to shrink in on yourself, to make everything go away. You tried to gaslight yourself one more time into thinking that this ‘surprise’ would be pleasant, that this was some kind of twisted joke that Sukuna wanted to play and you’d be back at a nice restaurant in minutes. 

You wanted to tell yourself that you wouldn’t have agreed to this date if you had believed Sukuna to be dangerous, but you couldn’t even convince yourself of that for more than a second. 

Your gut instinct had been warning you to stay away from the man the second you met him. He was always isolated, yet he was charming. Alarmingly so. He placed himself into your life, stalking around for you at a coffee shop and waiting until you were comfortable for him to start asking to walk you to work. You had given him your number, your work address, your home address, access to your personal life, access to your vulnerability, and all the while your gut was begging you to turn away, to let this idea of this attractive man go before you got hurt.

But you stupidly chalked it all up to unwarranted paranoia, to fear of growing close to someone after having been closed off for all those years. You thought that something within you was trying to hold you back from finding happiness, that though Sukuna was hardly the person you would go for, you could have given him a chance, even if it was casually. 

And that mouth of his should have been the telltale sign. The way he ordered things rather than asked for them, the way he looked at you with such expectation in his eyes, as if he knew you would fall for him in only a matter of time, as if he had planned it all out so carefully. It was all so disquieting.

You thought that a month had been enough time to know someone, but boy, were you wrong. 

You shivered as the car rocked with the thrust of the trunk being opened. You could hear and feel a struggle as Sukuna lugged something heavy out from the back, the vehicle wobbling with the commotion. Suddenly, the car jumped forward as a thud hit the ground. 

Your brows arched, but you didn’t dare to turn to see what was happening behind you. You didn’t want your eyes to confirm the first, dreadful thought that popped into your hand.

Heavy footsteps rounded the car again and Sukuna was outside your window, pounding on the glass. You ripped yourself away, turning to face him with petrified eyes. He yanked the door open, reaching in and grabbing your forearm to pull you out. 

You cried out, horrified of what was to possibly come. Was he going to kill you?

“Shut the fuck up, Jesus,” he hissed, yanking you from your seat and pulling you onto your shaking feet. He closed the door behind you, pressing your body to him as you hyperventilated, hands tucked into you under your chin. “Shhh, quiet,” he pressed his lips to your ear, his voice lulling to a tender tone. “I won’t hurt you, but if you scream, I will have to punish you. Okay pretty girl?”

A weep broke past your lips as you scrunched your eyes closed, the reality of your situation crashing down like a tidal wave. 

His hand gripped the back of your neck tightly, your body tensing beneath him. “Okay?” You nodded hysterically, sniffling as tears brimmed your eyes. “Good girl. Come on, now.”

Sukuna’s hands pressed firmly to your waist, guiding you forward to behind the car. 

You didn’t open your eyes. You kept your face tucked to Sukuna’s chest, absolutely horrified to see what he was prepared to present to you. 

You felt Sukuna stop you from moving. You trembled as he leaned in close beside you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, firmly. 

A tear dribbled down your chin as you shook your head. “S-Sukuna, I can’t. Please-”

“Open. Your fucking. Eyes.”

With no other option, with no access to control, with your life at stake, you opened your eyes. 

Your vision took time to adjust at first. The darkness of the alley hardly allowed you the privilege to see much ahead of you, but as you casted your gaze down, Sukuna’s ‘gift’ registered within your sight.

You smacked a hand over your mouth, stifling a scream. Sukuna’s hands caressed your back softly as you took in the sight, breaths stuttering into feeble gasps.

There before you lay your coworker, the very coworker who had been persistently flirting with you since the moment you arrived at the office. He lay unconscious, mouth duct taped shut and ankles and wrists bound tightly by rope. 

But his face… you could hardly recognize it. It was bloodied and bruised beyond comprehension, features mangled into each other as though his head had been bashed in repeatedly. Blood matted into his chestnut hair and stained the white collar he walked into work wearing that very morning. 

He looked half dead.

“There, see?” Sukuna exhaled contentedly, moving to step around you. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he chuckled, gesturing his arms out as if presenting a show. You stood in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape behind your palms. Tears spilled down your chin, dripping onto the ground and over your fingers.

Sukuna lowered his arms, a perplexed expression meeting his face. “What?” he drawled out. “Don’t tell me you cared about the guy. You didn’t look too interested in hearing what he had to say this morning.” 

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You were paralyzed with devastation, with heart stopping, blood curdling fear. 

Sukuna shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning over to examine the body at his feet nonchalantly.

“I mean, I can hardly see why you’d care about him now, of all times, either. He doesn’t even look like a person anymore.”

He raised his leg and landed a harsh kick to your coworker’s head, his skull snapping to the side then falling limply against the pavement. You choked out, tilting your head down to avoid the scene. 

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Please, he’s just another insect at the end of a long line of pests I’ve killed for you.”

You stopped, lifting your bloodshot eyes to find Sukuna’s figure in the darkness. “W-What?”

“W-What?” the tan skinned man mocked, chuckling darkly afterward. “I told you before, you’re not an idiot. Stop acting like it.”

“What do you-” you lowered your trembled hands and revealed your tear drenched face. “You’ve… you’ve killed people before?”

“Again. You ask too many questions that you already know the answer to.”

Your skin went cold. You stumbled backward, tripping over your own heels and pushing yourself back against the brick wall. Your eyes were huge, terror-stricken, and your mascara was running, leaving dark streaks down your darling cheeks. 

What a pretty sight, Sukuna thought.

“What the fuck,” you hissed, head rolling on your shoulders as you registered this confession. 

Images of Sukuna reappeared in your head, the way he smiled at you upon greeting you at the cafe, how his eyes flooded with such passion when he looked at you, how he followed you around as if he never wanted to lose sight of you. 

And you had liked it. You had looked forward to it. You had fallen for it all. You had grown blind to the signs that were blaring all around you because you actually liked him.

And here he was, standing before you with your half dead coworker at his feet, telling you that he had killed before- and for you, at the matter. 

“What the fuck! What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” you cried, griping your hands in your hair. How could you have been so stupid?

“Here come the hysterics,” Sukuna grumbled.

“You- You’re a murderer! You’re a fucking murderer, and I let you- fuck!”

“‘Murderer’ is such a restrictive term,” Sukuna sighed. “That’s not what I am.”

“What the hell are you talking about! You’ve killed people! Look what you’ve done to a person I work with!”

“Princess, you have no idea what I am or what I can be,” he said deeply. He took a step forward, making slow strides over to you. You were quick to shuffle away, keeping your eyes glued to him as you tried to slither out of the space between the car and the wall. “I’m so much more than what you think,” he grinned. He sounded insane.

“Get the fuck away from me,” you barked. You were a mess, tripping over yourself, choking over your own words. Sukuna watched you, amused, taking his time as he approached you. “Get away!”

Your heel got caught against the rubber tire of Sukuna’s car, leading you to fall backward onto your back, your leg twisting beneath you. You winced, sweat beading your forehead as you looked up and found that Sukuna was already hovering over you.

He was slow to crouch down to meet your height. You leaned back on your elbows, watching as he leaned over you predatorily.

“Please,” you whined, anger melting into desperation. His red tinged palms reached out to your knees and slid up thighs, massaging the plush skin with lazy eyes and a lazy smile. “Please, Sukuna…”

“Keep begging, princess,” he slurred, craning his neck to press a soft kiss to your temple as he trapped you beneath his mass. You had never realized just how big he was until this very moment, his biceps caging over you and chest lingering inches away from your own. “It turns me on,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, twisting your head away. This was wrong. This was bad, he was going to harm you, but you still could not deny the way his warmth swallowed you whole and how the softness of his lips against your head almost manipulated you into forgetting what was happening. 

“C’mere, (Y/n),” he urged. “Don’t run from me.”

He pulled away to look down at you with those intoxicating eyes. 

“S-Sukuna, you’re a monster,” you stammered through hushed, heavy breaths. He seemed unfazed by the accusation, for he had been called many things before.

“Come. Now.”

You did not have another choice.

You cautiously pushed yourself up from the ground, allowing Sukuna to wrap his arms around you and pull you up into him. He sat up, bringing you along with him to sit atop his thigh. He lifted your legs over his and rested his hands on your upper thigh and lower bum.

You sat stiffly, head pressed against the car door from the angle you sat. “Look at me.”

You obeyed. 

He lifted his hand to wipe the tears from your cheek, smearing your mascara across your face. “You’re pretty when you cry.”

“S-Sukuna-”

“Quiet,” he snapped. “I’ve spent this past month doting on you. Trying to figure out why you caught my eye. When I first saw you in that tight skirt and those damn heels, I knew I wanted to fuck you.”

You stiffened, pressing your lips together tightly as he proceeded to wipe away at your tears.

“I know you wanna fuck me too, yeah?” he hummed. “But you’re not an easy girl. I see the way you act around men and how they act around you. You couldn’t give less of a fuck how they practically grovel at your feet. It’s kinda funny, you know? Seeing how pathetically you’ve got these people acting, but I’ll be damned if you don’t pay attention to me.”

His hand moved to cradle your jaw.

“I knew you were mine the second I spoke to you. But all these fucking insects keep trying to get in the way. Keep thinking they got a chance with you, so I have to put them in their place. Six feet under the ground.”

Your brows curled and your lips turned down, lump forming in your throat.

“But even so, none of those guys had the balls to touch you. They’d just look at you. Dream about you- dream about touching you. And that was enough for me to have to get rid of them, but then I saw the damndest thing this morning after I had just asked you out on a date.”

He jerked his head backward, gesturing to the body laying on the ground.

“This fucking moron walks past me and puts his hand on your waist, and starts telling you how pretty you are and all this shit. He was complimenting my woman. Touching my woman. Trying to fuck my woman. You know I had to do something about that, right? I couldn’t just let that slide, and I couldn't afford you making me look like a pussy.”

You furrowed your brows. “I wasn’t-”

“You’re mine,” he growled. He gathered your cheeks in his hand, yanking you close to him. You winced, scared eyes forced to stay on his for the umpteenth time. “You belong to me. Nobody else gets to touch you, nobody else gets to talk to you, and nobody else gets to breathe your air. You’ve given me the greatest headache of my fucking life and I won’t let a puny man try to challenge my name or try to take what rightfully belongs to me,” he spat, giving your head a jerk. “I’ve killed more people than that pretty little head of yours can count, and I’ll keep doing it as long as people like him so much as spare a glance into your direction. I’m done playing games with you, girl. You’re stuck with me.”

There was no air left for you to breathe, no room for you to even respond to what Sukuna was saying to you. The man hadn’t even properly tried to date you, and he had already taken ownership over your entire being, to the point where he had taken lives. 

He smiled condescendingly at you, taking in your sloppy features. “But you wanted that, didn’t you? You wanted to be mine?” He pulled you in, lips practically brushing your squished ones. “Say it. Tell me how much you want me.”

You hated how despite his heinous crimes, despite his brutality, despite his unbridled possession over you, you still reacted helplessly to his force, to his touch, to his voice, to his presence. Those eyes of his could have pulled you into a trance, devilish smirk churning something deep within your gut. 

He killed people. He was about to kill your coworker. He saw himself as a god, as above people. He was insane. He saw you as an object, something to physically possess. He didn’t respect you. He never did. It was about control.

But those eyes, but that voice, but those hands, but that goddamn smile. 

You were putty in his hands, though your mind screamed at you to push away and fight back, to call the police, to land a blow to his face. 

You were terrified of him, but he had you just where he wanted you. You were too weak. Weak for him. 

“Say it,” he teased, leaning further in, brushing his lips past yours and pressing them to your damp cheek. “Tell me you need me. Say my name.”

You hated yourself in that moment. God, you wanted to hate him too, and you did, but not enough to pull away. Not enough to fight back. Not enough to muster up whatever self respect you had lost and say to hell with him. 

Your fingers reached to clung to the collar of his shirt and you could practically felt his smile widen against your skin. He eventually released your jaw and your lips parted, the intimacy of his closeness melting your mind and blurring your senses. You swore this man was a drug. 

When he leaned back to look at you, the same sense of expectation lingered in his eyes. He knew that no matter how far he went, no matter what he did, he would have you wrapped around his finger. He had broken past the wall you’d forced up. He’d tricked you into trusting him, into needing him, into yearning for him. He had succeeded in his goal, having found a way to make you submit to him willingly. To make you say and do as he pleased. 

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but the warmth of his palm sliding up and down your bare thigh, far softer than he’d ever handle the people who have died at his hand, and his piercing gaze awaiting your response as his forehead brushed against yours was enough for you to give in.

“I need you,” you sobbed out, pathetically. “I need you, Sukuna.”

He beamed. “There it is.”

His lips were on yours in seconds, molding passionately to meld into the shape of your mouth. He could feel a fresh set of salty tears slip down your face and he pushed in harder, grabbing the back of your head and gripping your hip securely. He tilted his head, plunging his tongue past your lips to entangle heatedly with yours. You tried to pull back to breathe, but he had none of it. 

He pressed you back into the side of the car, devouring your lips as if you were his last meal. You reached your arms up and around his neck, pulling him closer, sinking into the vibrance of his grip and his lips against yours. He groaned, yanking your thighs close and slipping a hand between them, large digits dancing over the warm plush of your inner thighs. You moaned softly, brows pinching together as sharp teeth sank down into your bottom lip.

You gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself from the dizziness he made you feel. He yanked away, ducking down to nip at your neck. “Mine,” he hissed, curving into your soft body, breathing raggedly. 

You nodded mindlessly, tilting your head back as Sukuna marked all over the expanse of your throat. His lips smoothed all over you, trailing down to your collarbone and over your breasts. His teeth were sharp, breath hot, lips wet and velvety despite his hardened exterior. 

He picked his head back up, kissing your chasing lips gently before pulling back, kiss-swollen lips cracking a smile. “I almost forgot,” he began. 

You looked at him in a daze, eyes hazy as he slipped your arms from around his neck. He carefully maneuvered you off of him and stood. You watched him blankly, disoriented and heated. You observed him grab the handle of the back seat to his car and yank it open, leaning over the seat to retrieve what you discovered to be a gun.

Suddenly, the haziness of the previous moment had faded, the weapon clutched within Sukuna’s hand breaking the glass cage that he had trapped you in. 

He loaded it, pushing the ammo into the slit  by the hilt of his palm with ease and pointing it upward. He turned over his shoulder to smirk down at you as you drew your knees into your chest, gradually registering what you were now involved in.

“Let me take care of this kid first, princess, and then you’re all mine.”

[itsnevercasual]

I Wanna Be Yours

pairing: boss!ceo!harry styles x reader

request: Omg, can I request a boss!harry fic where he’s mean to everyone except from her??

summary: harry is the notoriously mean owner of pleasing, and he might have a slight soft spot for the new girl in the marketing department.

warnings: cursing, not edited

--

you were extremely new to pleasing, a very famous brand known for their nail polishes and perfumes. ever since you started (about three months ago), you’d hear literal horror stories about the founder and ceo.

rachel, the girl who trained you, told you that he was just plain rude. it was safe to say you feared the day he came in. thankfully, he wasn’t around much. not at your location, anyway. you were at the los angeles location, but he preferred to stay at the new york one.

tuesday morning, you got ready like every day. put on your usual outfit (a skirt, white button-up, a blazer, and heels), along with some black fleece-lined tights and a headband to push your hair back. it was getting cold out, and you couldn’t get away with just a skirt much longer.

with your iced coffee in one hand, your macbook and a few files you’d taken home in the other, you walked quickly into the building.

“good morning, miss townes,” the concierge greeted you.

“morning, nancy!” you greeted back as you ran to the elevator and pressed the button.

“late?” nancy asked.

“almost! this stupid elevator—“ said elevator dinged, and you let out a sigh of relief. “speak of the devil. see you, nance!”

—

by the time you made it up to the marketing floor (the twentieth floor out of fifty), you were exactly on time.

you moved as quickly as your heels would allow, dropping your car keys, computer, and files onto the desk.

“right on time, y/n,” rachel teased as you sat down. the two of you had cubicles right next to each other.

“long line at the coffee shop.”

“lucky you weren’t any later,” she commented as you sat down and took a generous sip of the iced coffee that had almost made you late, “mr. styles is said to be coming in today.”

you nearly choked on your drink.

“you finished those edits, right?”

“.. uh.. yeah. yeah, finished them last night,” you lied with a nod.

“y/n! he’s ruthless— he will literally fire you! that’s the new launch, and it’s overdue!”

“i know! i know, but i’ve been so busy, and fucking josh keeps making me do his shit—“

“oh shit, shut up. he’s here.”

“what?” you squeaked, quickly cleaning up your desk and opening the new launch photos on both the desktop and your personal computer.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched as what had to be mr. styles strolled through with an assistant who was talking about what you assumed was his schedule.

“you’ll have a meeting with the investors at three, and we have some papers to sign—“

you tuned her out as you tried to speed up the editing— brightening colors and adjusting the text so it fit better.

and suddenly, the footsteps of mr. styles and his assistant stopped. directly in front of your desk.

“you,” a voice spoke, and oh my god, he was british, “i don’t know you. who are you?”

your eyes snapped up to meet his, “oh. uh.. i’m y/n.. y/n townes. i’m.. um.. i’m new.”

he mouthed your name as if thinking it over.

“you’re the one doing the edits for the new launch?” he asked.

“yes, sir.”

he nodded before continuing his stroll. because, of fucking course, his office had to be on the marketing floor.

you let out a breath, sinking into your chair. rachel grabbed your arm with a comforting smile, “it’s okay, babes. he could’ve been rude.”

“he’s gonna see i’m not done and fire me!”

“it’s fine, just don’t think about it.”

—

right as you were about to head out on a quick lunch break, mr. styles’ assistant popped up at your desk.

“ms. townes, mr. styles requested your presence in his office. you, as well, ms. evans,” she said, glancing at you and rachel.

“uh— me? for.. for what?” you questioned.

“you’ll find out. i have to find a.. josh richardson. go on.”

you and rachel shared uneasy looks as the two of you stood and made your way to mr. styles’ office.

“if i get fired, i’m jumping out of a window,” you muttered as rachel pulled the door open.

“ah, ms. evans. ms. townes…. where is mr. richardson?” mr. styles spoke.

“your assistant went to grab him,” rachel answered. “what are we needed for?”

“you’ll see… ah, mr. richardson. so kind of you to join us.”

even you could tell he did not mean that.

“what is this?” josh asked, looking to you and rachel.

“you three were all put in charge of the new launch. correct?”

you all chorused variations of yes.

“and yet… nothing is done. why is that?”

you glanced to your shoes. you knew rachel was done. the whole project was all three of you were to make 300 campaigns and promo photos for the new nail polish launch. you'd devided it to be 100 each, and you all picked however many billboard designs, posters, social media posts, and so-ons that you'd do for the project. however, josh had slowly but surely pushed all of his work onto you.. until you had to do 200, and you only had around 130 done.

“i expect an answer.”

“i.. i finished all my photos and campaigns,” rachel finally said.

“i'm nearly done with.. my things. i was just helping josh before i--“

“so.. what i’m hearing so far, and correct me if i’m wrong, is that mr. richardson hasn’t been doing his job?”

josh cleared his throat, and you could feel the daggers he was glaring at you burning into your skull, “yes, mr. styles.”

mr. styles nodded, and you understood the horror stories now. he wasn’t even trying and he was terrifying. “do you like your job, mr. richardson?”

“yes, mr—“

“so why aren’t you doing it?”

“i— i’ve been.. busy.”

“busy.. right. well, i’ll make you less busy. you’re fired. get out.”

“wh— what? you can’t fire me!”

“i believe i can. and i just did. so get. out.”

“i have worked at this company for eight years! i make one mistake, and—“

“i will not ask you again!” mr. styles shouted, standing up from his chair. you flinched. “because i am not asking you, i am telling you. you are fired, and you will leave this building. and don’t even think about puttin’ this place on your resume, i won’t say a single good word about your ass.”

josh scoffed and stormed out of the room, you and rachel followed.

you turned the corner, yelping when someone grabbed your wrist and yanked it.

“what the hell, y/n? you said you’d do my—“

“i didn’t say that. you just assumed i would. i am not just apart of the valentines launch, josh, and i have fifty other things to do, and i can’t drop that just because you’re lazy.”

“you better watch what you say to me—“

a voice spoke from behind. mr. styles’ assisant, “uh.. miss townes? mr. styles requests he speak with you.. privately.”

you yanked your arm back, rubbing your wrist, “yes. of— of course. sorry.”

you walked back towards his office with your head down, glancing up at him once you entered the room.

you were surprised to see a... calm look on his face.

"miss townes, correct?" he asked.

"ye-.. uh.. yes, sir."

he smiled, which was very odd from what you'd seen of him so far, "you can relax, darling. you aren't in trouble. have a seat."

you hesitantly wandered towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

"what did you mean by.. helping mr. richardson with his work?"

"oh, well... he just.. he kept saying he was busy and asking if i could do.. certain parts of his work. and i--.. well, sometimes i'm a bit of a pushover, so i said yes."

"i see... and how much of his work, in total, did he push onto you?"

"uhm... all of it, mr. styles."

his eyes widened, "all of it? and you didn't tell a supervisor he wasn't planning on doing any of his work?"

"i.. i felt bad," you shrugged, looking down at your hands.

"yes. well... mrs. maruska, can you please bring mr. richardson back in here for a moment, please?"

you jumped when his assistant spoke behind you, not realizing she was even in the room.

"yes, mr. styles."

it was silent for a minute after the door shut, maybe two minutes, until the door re-opened and two pairs of footsteps entered.

"mr. richardson, before you leave, you are going to do something for me," mr. styles spoke. "you are going to apologize to y/n--"

you nearly choke on your own spit at his use of your first name.

"for making her do all of your work. and.. you will also apologize for whatever the hell that was i heard outside. that is no way to speak to any colleague."

josh scoffed, "i'm not apologiz--"

"i'm not asking."

mr. styles gaze switched to you as josh begrudgingly sighed, "i'm sorry, y/n."

"it's okay," you murmured, glancing at him.

"no, it isn't," mr. styles quickly interjected, keeping his eyes on you. you much preferred them on you than on josh. they were a lot kinder when they focused on you. softer. "but.. if ms. townes says it is alright... you may leave now."

you aren't quite sure what happens afterwards, because you keep your gaze away from mr. styles, because you're afraid he'll notice how nervous he makes you.

"how many did you have left?" mr. styles asked quietly. softly.

"i have 130 done. so.. seventy left. but i-- i can get them done soon, i promise. i can just stay late, or.. or--"

"no. none of that. you'll submit the ones you have.. and we'll figure out something for the rest."

"really? i mean.. are you sure?"

"i wouldn't have offered if i wasn't. you can go, now."

"thank you, mr. styles," you mumbled, standing and walking to the door.

right as you grabbed the handle, he called out.

"oh, and y/n?"

you turned around with a furrow in your brows.

"let me know if you have any other problems."

you can't even help the foolish smile on your lips as you nod and leave the room.

--

a/n: part 1!! i really love this request

[kp-alice]

The Fall of the Undefeated One

Summary: Your boss is the epitome of a workplace bully, pressuring everyone to work overtime even through sick days and family emergencies. Most infuriatingly, though, no one has ever dared to go against him - until now, that is.

AKA blackmailed boss!sub!Yunho x sadistic!dom!f!reader

Word count: 5 505

Warnings: While I made it obvious multiple times that this is all roleplay, I still want to give a huge warning for !!!!!CNC!!!!!, blackmailing, forced feminization, pegging, taking photos during sex, crying, begging and just resisting in general (though Yunho is just pretending obv), blowjobs (f rec), Yunho gets slapped once, checking in on each other mid-scene, some pretty dark dialogue (esp at the end)

A/N: This fic is the fifth part of my sub!Yunho Kinktober 2024! The event's masterlist can be found here.

"So you're absolutely, totally, one hundred percent sure you want to do this?"

"I've only told you like fifty times but yes, I am definitely, completely, one thousand percent sure."

"And you'll tell me if you want to stop?"

"Just like you'll tell me if you want to stop."

"Alright, then. See you next Friday, 'boss'."

You were sitting in your office, checking various reports and scheduling meetings for next week as usual. As Mr. Jeong's secretary, you had your own office instead of sharing a cubicle with other employees. It didn't stop you from chatting with them during lunch break, however, which led you to some very interesting information.

Contrary to your initial belief, it wasn't just you who your boss decided to be extra stern towards. As you quickly realized, the entire department was permanently overworked and underpaid, all thanks to the one man at the top. And the most infuriating thing about it all? No one dared to stand up against him. Even if they were living off 3 hours of sleep every day, even if they were denied holiday to visit their families in a dire situation, everyone just hung their heads low and obliged. The company had an incredible reputation, after all, and nobody wanted to lose a chance to write it down in their resume during their next hunt for a job. And even if someone did decide to stand up for themselves, all it took was the smallest, vaguest threat from Mr. Jeong about how other hiring companies would hear about this behavior and all protests would immediately cease.

There was nothing you could do about it, either. All you could do was just watch on as the bullying went on, shaking your head in quiet disappointment.

Until you'd also been wronged by your boss.

"What do you mean, 'paid overtime'?" Mr. Jeong mocked you right to your face. "What you call overtime, I call the bare minimum, sweetheart. I don't care if your mother is sick or your rent is past due, you only get paid for the work you've done, no charity. If you think this is too much for you, feel free to leave anytime. Don't expect to be hired anywhere else, though, every reputable company around here would love to hear my opinion on your performance before hiring you."

You were stunned, rage quietly boiling within at the audacity of the asshole in front of you. Every day for the past month and a half, because of his impossible demands, you'd been working two to four hours extra just to meet each deadline. You barely had time to sleep, let alone actually live your own life and talk to friends and family, and this is how he decided to treat you?

"Glad we settled that, then. Now go make yourself useful and bring me those copies from yesterday's meeting, will you?"

That day, you decided that your boss, Mr. Jeong Yunho himself, would pay dearly; both for what he'd done to you and to the other workers.

For the next three weeks, you dug through every file and article you could find in the office and online, desperately searching for anything big you could use against him. And, by some miracle, you found one. A real big one, in fact.

This was it. You had him in the palm of your hand, even if he didn't know it yet.

A knock came at your door, making you look up from the report you were currently working on.

"I expect to hear a very good reason for coming here right this instant, Miss L/N," was the first thing he said as he walked into the room, visibly angered. God forbid he had to approach someone for once instead of everyone crawling to him.

"Oh, don't worry Mr. Jeong, I'm sure you'll find what I'm about to tell you very interesting," you smirked as you spoke, gesturing for him to sit down on the small couch near your desk.

"Get to it then, darling, I really don't have time for this," Mr. Jeong commanded, yet again slipping a condescending pet name in to try and throw you off. Typical.

It wasn't you who was surprised, however, when you suddenly stood up, walked over to the door, and locked it. "Be patient, Jeong. If you don't want to fuck up any more than you already have, I suggest you behave yourself."

His mouth hung open, fully taken aback by this new attitude of yours. Perhaps you had a death wish, speaking to him like that, or maybe, you had just gone completely insane. Either way, he was excited to show you why you should never, ever, do that again.

But before he could say anything, you were already back at your desk, turning your laptop to face him.

"As your hard-working and thorough secretary, I've gone back on some reports and files from this year, and you'll never believe what I found!" You said with fake excitement, eyes shining. "If you look really closely, you can see each worker's salary, and then here is the amount of money they should have actually been given each month according to the government-mandated minimum wage. Care to explain why those numbers are vastly different and why none of us were notified about a raise in salary, Mr. Jeong?"

Yunho's eyes widened as he scanned the document, recognizing the spreadsheet he'd secretly made for himself to keep track of all the cuts he'd been taking from everyone's salaries. He could have sworn he'd kept the file fully private, likely even password-protected, yet, somehow, you'd managed to get your hands on it.

"Why are you- how did you get that?!" He finally said, trying to suppress the sudden anxiety churning his stomach. "Those are private files and you have no right to be looking through them! Go pack your things immediately, because you are fired - and I'm being very merciful with that decision."

"Oh, if only it was that simple, Jeong," you replied cunningly. "You can fire me all you want, but once these files go public, your reputation, company, and maybe even life will be over, I'm afraid. And we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Yunho gritted his teeth, looking down as he considered his options.

"...Alright. What do you want me to do?"

Despite your best efforts, you barked out a laugh at his question, too amused by the cold facade he was still fighting so hard to keep. "There we go, finally on the right path! You're not the one making demands here, Jeong, I am. If you want to preserve everything you've managed to build so far, you better start listening to me and me only."

Yunho let out a deep, frustrated sigh, refusing to admit you were right. If any of this information were to get out into the public, his entire professional life would be over in an instant. Just as you'd said, he was completely at your mercy right now.

"Well, what do you want then? Money? A promotion? A transfer to a different company? What?"

"Strip."

...

Yunho's entire world paused the second you'd said it, freezing him in place. He had to have heard you wrong, right? There was simply no way you could have said something like that to someone like him.

"W-what?"

You let out a sigh yourself, frustrated with how uncooperative your superior was being. This was the guy demanding Herculean tasks from his subordinates on a daily basis?

"I said strip, Jeong."

His breath hitched at your angry tone, chest tightening to an almost painful degree.

"Y-you can't be serious, there's no way that-"

"What part of 'I can ruin your entire career in seconds' did you not understand?" You spat, sending a shiver down Yunho's spine. "The company or your pride, your choice."

A heavy silence hung in the air for an uncomfortably long time, turning Yunho's cheeks a deep red. He didn't know what was worse - the fact he was actually considering doing it or the fact that you knew he was considering it, judging by his lack of a response.

"...How much?"

You looked at him in confusion, swinging one leg over the other before leaning closer to his nervous form. He was clearly nervous, playing with his fingers, one leg bouncing up and down.

"'How much' what?" You finally asked back.

"How much do I have to take off?"

You snorted at the question, making him look up into your eyes. "What do you think, Jeong? Just stand up and start undressing; I'll tell you when to stop."

Yunho gulped at your words, eyes shaking. Never in your years of dating had he seen such a cold, sadistic expression on your face. Somehow, it was both incredibly intimidating and extremely arousing.

Trying his best to ignore his trembling hands, he stood up on two weak legs and reached for his suit jacket. A whimper threatened to spill past his lips as he finally undid the first button, feeling like he could just break down and cry right now from the overwhelming humiliation.

"Oh my god," you marveled, leaning back to enjoy the show, "you're actually doing it! And here I was worried I'd have to threaten you with something even bigger, yet all it took was a few words and you're already doing whatever I say."

"You know very well it's not just a 'few words'!" Yunho hissed indignantly. "If my entire future didn't depend on this, I would never-"

"Shut the fuck up and do as you're told before I get angry, Jeong," you growled back, making him immediately back down again. His hands were visibly shaking now, eliciting a few quiet curses from him as he struggled with the remaining button.

At last, he was able to get the garment off, looking at you to see if he could stop now. But your expression remained stoic, leaving him with no other choice.

Tears of humiliation stung in his eyes as he began working on his shirt but he bit them back, absolutely refusing to cry in front of you. Soon, the shirt joined his discarded suit jacket on the floor.

"Wow," you said appreciatively, unabashedly ogling his chest. "Who would have thought the office asshole had such nice tits. This is even more fun than I had imagined."

It took every ounce of willpower in him not to react to your comment, desperately wanting to but knowing it would just make everything so much worse.

"What are you waiting for?" You asked impatiently. "I didn't say you could stop yet, did I?"

"Miss L/N, you can't possibly be serious-"

"What would your family think if they found out how you treat your employees? Your father is a reputable business owner himself, isn't he?"

"I- well, yes, but- fuck," Yunho muttered to himself, trying not to let the growing despair take over. His pristinely ironed pants pooled around his feet before he stepped out of them and gave you one more hopeful look. When he was met with nothing, he sighed, taking off his socks as well before looking up again. Surely, this had to be enough, right? Right?

Silence.

Yunho's hands shook at the realization of what the silence implied, unable to bring himself to remove the last piece of clothing he still had on. Your gaze on him was unwavering, watching his every move and expression like a hawk ready to swoop in.

Which is why you also noticed the signs of genuine anxiety in him very quickly.

"What's your color, Jeong?" You asked as neutrally as you could, not wanting to fully break the scene but still wanting to check in on him.

"Green, it's green, I just-" Yunho took a deep, shaky breath, balling his fists by his sides, "I just can't get my hands to listen to me, I'm sorry."

"Listen, Jeong," you began, standing up to approach your shaking lover. "I'm going to be very generous right now and take it off for you, okay? But you can't expect me to help you with everything you're the one in trouble. Understood?"

Yunho gave you a quick, thankful nod, lips pressed into a thin line as he watched your fingers slip under the waistband of his underwear. Then, in one swift motion, you tugged the garment down, leaving him completely bare in front of you.

"There you go," you whispered softly, stepping back to admire the view. Yunho's hands did their best to cover himself but it was not exactly effective, considering your amused face. "What? Feeling shy? Don't worry, sweetheart, I have just the clothes for you."

Yunho was confused by the sudden, surprisingly nice gesture until he saw the clothes in question.

"Go on," you encouraged, shoving the clothes into his arms, "make yourself pretty."

A tear rolled down his eye as he looked at the mix of pink and white, but he quickly turned away and wiped it off, still trying to keep some semblance of dignity.

"Now, Jeong," you began, back in your office chair, one leg crossed over the other, "I'm going to give you a choice. I'm afraid you have no say in what's going to happen next, but you can decide how it will go. Do you want it the easy way, or the hard way, hm?"

Yunho meekly sat on the couch, keeping his hands in his lap to prevent the pink skirt from riding up even higher than it already had. The white thigh highs on his legs didn't do much to keep him warm, sending small shivers up his spine.

"The easy way, please."

"Good boy," you praised him, though there was no actual warmth to your words. "Close your eyes and don't open them until I say so."

Yunho complied, feeling like this was one of the simpler tasks you could have given him, yet it also gave him no clue as to what to expect. He didn't dare think about what might happen, fearing you were going to subvert his expectations anyway.

And subvert them you did.

"Open, Jeong."

Yunho's mouth hung agape as he looked at your hips, fully bare save for the leather harness secured around them. What stood out even more to him, though, and quite literally at that, was the silicone cock fastened to said harness.

"Come over here and get on your knees, if you'd be so kind."

Yunho was yet again frozen solid, unable to process what he was seeing. "I-I'm sorry, but have you gone absolutely insane?"

You chuckled at his incredulous tone, taking a step toward him. "Oh? I thought you just said you wanted to do this the easy way, what's with the attitude?"

"I don't know if you forgot who the fuck I am, L/N," Yunho gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to try and match your tone, "but you better snap out of this power trip right now or-"

"Or what?!" You finally snapped, startling the man back into his seat. "What are you going to do, Jeong? Lose your entire career because you were too proud to be under someone for once? Is that what matters to you the most?"

Yunho panted as he looked at you with nothing but disdain.

Letting out a sigh, you gestured back to your laptop, clicking over to the next tab in your browser. "Since you couldn't play nice, let me up the ante a bit. If you look over here, you can see a few emails that are ready to be sent at any minute. A lot of them, in fact. Wanna know who they're addressed to?"

He stayed silent, refusing to play your disgusting games.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you anyway," you grinned, scrolling down the list. "Here we have each of your family members, every single employee in your company, your 20 biggest competitors, journalists, workplace inspectors, and a few dozen more big contacts. With a single click, they'll all learn the truth within minutes, evidence included."

Yunho's face fell at the sight. "Y-Y/N, Miss Y/N, please..."

"Begging won't change my mind, Jeong," you spat, leaving the tab open as you walked back in front of him, "but actions just might."

Tears once again threatened to spill past his eyes, throat squeezing uncomfortably tight as he suppressed them. He couldn't cry. Not like this, not in front of you.

Swallowing back a whimper, Yunho slowly shuffled forward, all the way to the edge of the couch, before sinking down to the floor. You watched on with a satisfied smirk, lips curling even further up as his eyes met the fake cock in front of him again.

Oh god, he was really going to do this.

Trying to keep his hands as steady as possible, he reached for the strap-on, feeling it under his fingertips before wrapping a hand around the base. Angling the tip to his mouth, Yunho closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh before finally diving forward.

You stared at him in awe as his lips wrapped around the sizable tip, brows furrowing while he tried to push deeper. "There you go, good boy," you praised in a sickly sweet tone, resting one of your hands in his hair. His other hand that wasn't gripping the base of your cock fisted his skirt instead, likely trying to keep his gag reflex at bay while he sunk further down.

When his lips met his own fist, he let his throat rest for a bit, trying to breathe as best as he could despite the big piece of silicone in his mouth. After a few long, uncomfortable seconds, he decided to start moving again, giving a few experimental bobs with his head. On the fourth one, though, he audibly gagged, throat spasming while he quickly dove back up for air. You silently watched as he coughed and gasped for air, leaning to the side with his palms against the floor.

Once he got his breathing under control again, he looked up at you, meeting your gaze for the first time in a while. You smiled back down at him, a genuine smile this time, and used the opportunity to mouth a quick "All good?" to him. His eyes sparkled in excitement as he happily nodded back, calming any potential worries.

A quick tug at his hair was all it took for him to snap back into the scene.

"Did I say you could stop, Jeong? We haven't even gotten to the main course yet."

Just as Yunho began asking what you meant by that, he was shoved back onto the dildo, giving him no more than a second to prepare. You slid back into his mouth with ease, not too deep to make him choke, but deep enough to get his attention again. "Or do I have to show you another incentive to keep going?"

With a small grunt, Yunho shook his head as best as he could given his position and got back to work. He made sure you saw as he diligently sucked on the tip, swirling his tongue around it before pushing further down. If he had no choice but to do this, he might as well get it over with. Soon enough, he could almost take the whole thing in his mouth. You caressed his hair gently, a small show of praise that wouldn't break the scene too much.

The hand in his hair quickly turned more domineering, however, as you suddenly tightly clutched the strands, warning him of what was likely to come.

His prediction turned out to be spot-on as you began to pull him back up by his hair, only to push him back down again and start all over. Yunho could do nothing but let you move him as you wanted, desperately willing his lungs and throat to calm down so that he wouldn't choke again. Or too badly, at least.

Small, wet sounds filled the room as you moved him up and down on the strap-on, using both hands now to steady his head while you picked up the pace. A tear or two rolled down his cheeks this time, but you knew it was no reason to celebrate just yet. These were just a natural response to you fucking his throat, not a sign of you actually breaking him.

That would have to come later, it seemed.

"On the couch," you ordered curtly, pulling him off you at once. He was left hunched over, face bright red and lungs heaving for air.

Once your words finally registered for him, he willed his limbs to move again, crawling up on the couch. You wasted no time with him anymore, manhandling him into the desired position.

As much as he hated to admit it, Yunho's fight was faltering. His tightly clenched jaw had relaxed, giving way to the tired pants leaving his body. All snarky remarks and threats were long gone, his head too much of a muddy mess to come up with anything smart to say. You could feel it too, how much more pliant he'd grown under your touch, letting you press his upper half into the couch cushions.

When he heard the click of a bottle cap opening, some of that fight rushed back, only to leave just as quickly with a single reminder from you about what was at stake for him.

Yunho let out a quiet grunt as a finger breached him from behind, still hell-bent on hiding his reactions from you. He knew you'd revel in it, in every moan and beg and whimper, which is exactly why he could never give any of it to you. Until that dam broke, he could pretend he still had some dignity left.

"I advise you to relax as much as you can, Jeong," you spoke softly, burying your finger inside of him to the last knuckle before pulling back again, "otherwise this is going to hurt quite a bit."

"You're sick," Yunho spat back but quickly shut up again as you pressed in a second finger, causing a whine to almost push past his lips.

"So? What are you gonna do about it?" You asked back. The satisfaction within you only grew when he had nothing to say to that, too scared to admit the truth.

So far, Yunho was faring quite well. The biggest sign of this having even the slightest effect on him was how hard he was gripping the couch cushions, but that was about it. And it was exactly because of that that you began to grow bored.

Time to make him speak up.

Curling your fingers, you began angling your hand this way and that way, until-

"Fuck!" Yunho cried out, involuntarily clenching around your hand. You watched as his thighs quivered and his back arched, trying to simultaneously push back against you and fight the urge to do so at all costs.

"What was that?" You taunted, focusing on that specific spot you'd found while your other hand roamed along his hip. "Is someone starting to enjoy themselves? And here I thought I was the sick one?"

"Shut- ah! Shut the fuck up!" Yunho moaned out, eyes tightly shut as he tried to fight the onslaught of pleasure. He knew he couldn't help it, that it was just his body's natural reaction to being stimulated, and yet, he couldn't help but feel betrayed by it as well. He fought so hard to keep any and all noises at bay, only to then completely crumble without any say in the matter.

Then, without warning, your fingers pulled out of him, leaving him empty and clenching around nothing. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to get up, to run far away from whatever the fuck this was, yet his mind knew very well it would be of no use. Not when your hand was back on his hip again, bringing his ass closer as you poured more lube over his hole.

"Hmm, no, this won't do," you thought out loud, looking at the way Yunho was presenting for you.

In the blink of an eye, he was flipped on his back, legs forced apart to accommodate you between them. Your strap was now peeking at him from behind his own half-hard cock, making his cheeks heat up. How was that thing bigger than he was? Moreover, what the hell were you planning to do with it?

"Say cheese!"

A bright light flashed into Yunho's eyes, making them squint in discomfort. When they managed to refocus, however, he was met with a sight somehow even more horrifying than all the evidence on your laptop.

A camera.

You were holding a camera and taking photos of him with it. Photos of him in a state like this.

"W-what are you- what?" Yunho stumbled out, voice laced with genuine horror.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Jeong?" You asked back, flipping his skirt up to show his prepped and needy hole. Another click and a flash of light.

The third snap finally managed to break him out of his trance, and his hand immediately shot up to grab your wrist.

"Ow! What the-" You hissed out in pain, almost dropping the camera to the ground. "That shit's expensive, you idiot!"

Yunho either didn't hear your words or simply ignored them, too busy trying to wrestle the camera from your hand. Doing sexual favors for you to save his business was one thing, he was already too deep in to stop that, but this? Oh, no, no no no, he was not going to just let you get even more dirt on him. Sure, he might have sold his body today to try and save his career, but he was NOT letting you trap him into a vicious cycle of blackmailing. He knew exactly how these things went, he knew you wouldn't be satisfied with just today, he knew you'd just keep demanding more and more from him and that-

A sharp sting dug into his cheek, the force of the slap turning his head to the side.

"I fucking told you to let go!"

The tight grip on your wrist eased up as you broke Yunho out of his spiral, preventing him from getting too deep into whatever inner chaos he tried to enter. His confused eyes met yours, studying your stern expression for a moment before he settled back into the scene, giving you a small nod as a sign to keep going.

"Before you try any of that shit again, I'll have you know that all of the photos I take on this are automatically backed up on my laptop. Breaking it does nothing except piss me off even further, and I don't think you want that, sweetheart."

Your hand slid up to grab his face, squishing his cheeks together.

"Now just accept your fate and let me take my pictures, hm? I don't think you want these to end up on the news tomorrow."

Yunho had no words left. No matter how his mind tried to twist this, there was no lie left that would convince him he had any sort of upper hand in this scenario. From the moment he walked into your office, his fate was sealed. Unlike everywhere else in his life, he didn't hold any power here. No amount of threats or intimidation could ever get him out of your grasp unless you yourself decided to let him go. He was yours to do with as you pleased.

All of those thoughts swirled around in his head as he lay under you, dressed like a girl, his entire body on display while you took as many photos as you wanted. He almost started to leave his body for a second, feeling too helpless to stay present in the moment any longer, but the feeling of cold, wet silicone pressing against him stopped him from doing so.

"Please..." Yunho said so quietly you almost didn't hear it, but it made you smile nonetheless.

"Please what, Jeong?"

Yunho took a deep breath but choked on it midway through as, finally, the first real tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Please don't do this, please."

Your pupils blew wide open at the sight before you, feeling a sudden high you'd never felt before. He - your boyfriend, the man everyone knew as a strong, independent, reliable guy, was now crying under you, lips trembling as he begged with a wobbly voice. Thanks to all the reassurances throughout the scene and the obvious hard-on between his legs, you didn't have to worry about his comfort or safety, letting you truly focus on the mental rush you were currently experiencing. The insane amount of trust between you felt almost palpable in that moment, an indescribable wave of tenderness so twisted yet so sweet it was almost overwhelming.

"Just let it happen, Jeong," you finally breathed out, eyes lidded as you reached down between the two of you. "Just let go and take it."

Yunho let out a watery whimper as you finally breached him with your strap, not caring to hide his noises anymore. He had nothing more to lose, after all.

The atmosphere shifted into something more quiet and subdued, yet simultaneously a thousand times more intense. Just like him, you had no more condescending comments and mean remarks left in you as everything had already been said.

Yunho was yours for the taking, and take you did.

With each snap of your hips, you pushed him further into that soft, pliant headspace of his. You could feel his muscles relax, going almost limp from the rush of it all. There was nothing in his head anymore, nothing but the physical sensations you were providing. More tears escaped his eyes as you leaned closer, hitting that sweet spot inside him with even more precision. Yunho rewarded each jab at his prostate with a small, punched-out noise, too hazy for anything more than that.

You watched his hips buck up when you wrapped your free hand around him, the other pulling him towards your thrusts by his hip. His breath hitched at the sensation, face scrunching up as you began to stroke up and down.

"Ready to cum, babe?" You whispered tenderly, causing him to open his eyes again.

"Yes, please," Yunho sniffled weakly, reaching up to grasp your shoulders for support.

Getting your sweet boyfriend over that imaginary edge took no more than two minutes after that, already too pent up from everything up until now to hold it any longer. You held him close as he seized up, chest arching into yours while he spilled into your hand.

You reached behind you for the tissue box on your side table, careful not to jostle Yunho around too much. He wrapped his legs around your waist, feeling too tender and small to let you go.

"Don't worry hun, I'm not going anywhere," you comforted him as you turned back around. You quickly wiped your dirty hand with one of the tissues before leaning forward and dabbing his tears away with another one. Handing him a third one, you helped him lift his head up to blow his nose before throwing all three tissues into a nearby bin.

As much as you wanted to debrief with him right then and there to make sure he really enjoyed himself, one look into his eyes assured you he was nowhere near ready for that right now. He looked content and comfortable, sure, but his eyes were still too distant for any complicated discussions and introspections.

So, you simply asked him what to do next.

"Can we just cuddle for a bit?" Yunho asked meekly, a small pout on his face as he extended his arms out for a hug. "We can clean up and talk after, but I just really need you right now."

You took him up on his offer with zero hesitation, snuggling into his embrace as close as you could. The position was a bit awkward from your position, given you were still lodged inside of him, but oh well.

A few minutes of curling up with your precious love bug never hurt anyone.

taglist: @justconniez @domribo @another-random-fanfic-blog @imrllytootiredforthis

Thank you for reading! And remember, feedback is always very appreciated! <3

[ninzied]

and that's how it works

a co-worker au. based on the prompt: kiss out of spite. ~2.4k.

Alex can’t stand him from the start.

He tries not to actively dislike any co-workers, as a general rule. It takes effort, and time, neither of which he wants to spend on this guy—unless said work has been affected, which, Alex has to admit that it hasn’t.

But there’s something about him that rubs Alex the wrong way the moment they get introduced.

He’s hard-working, Alex supposes, and the quality of the work isn’t lacking. He’s punctual, and to-the-point in his emails. None of those things are an issue. He does make a habit of helping himself to Alex’s office supplies, but a few missing staples and running out of printer paper don’t exactly justify a grudge.

The guy’s personality is, objectively, annoying. He has the worst taste in ties, which to Alex says a lot, and he can’t go more than five minutes without alluding to his pedigree in some way (Alex knows this because he and Nora have made a drinking game out of it at work functions).

Still, it doesn’t explain the weird surge of resentment he gets every time he looks at the guy. And not understanding it might be the most annoying part of all.

He just wishes he knew why.

.

Alex works in the legal department, but the coffee’s way better in HR down the hall, so most mornings he’s using their break room. Most mornings, and at lunchtime too, and in the afternoons more than once until Nora starts cutting him off, which. Fair.

Apparently he’s not the only one who’s discovered HR’s superior coffee, though, because he’s always there too, and always at the same time as Alex. Seriously, can he not? It’s bad enough that they share a cubicle. Now Alex has to suffer the insult of watching him fucking microwave his coffee like some kind of sociopath, too?

“Are you following me?” Alex demands to know one morning, a little ridiculously. He’s aware that HR is not the best place to be throwing accusations around, but he’s kind of had it with this guy. “Because—”

At that exact moment, the door is opening, and Henry Fox is walking into the room.

“Oh, hey,” says Alex.

Henry glances at him the way he always does, that is to say, a little bemused as to what Alex is doing here. But Henry had been his point person when he was hired six months ago, so he must know Alex works here, right? Besides, he’s been coming to drink their coffee every day of those past six months now, and he knows Henry knows this because their breaks usually overlap and the way Henry barely says two words to him half the time is starting to feel kind of personal.

“It’s Alex,” says Alex, because, well, just in case.

“Yes, I’m aware,” says Henry. After a beat that’s long enough to get awkward, he says, “Err. Right then.”

And then he smiles and waves at Hunter, who isn’t even supposed to be here either, and walks over to take the seat Hunter has saved him like they’re all in fucking high school.

Hunter says something smarmy about a new art gallery or what-the-fuck-ever he went to last night, using a slightly too-loud voice that’s clearly meant to be overheard. Alex grits his teeth.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to go,” says Henry. “What did you think?”

Alex scowls. Fuck, he fucking hates Hunter.

.

“So how’s the transfer going?” asks Hunter one day.

Alex jerks involuntarily and splashes hot coffee all over his hand. “Motherfucker,” he says, and then, because his filter is fully shot now anyway, he glances over at Henry. “You’re transferring? Like, jobs?”

“Oh. Um. No. Departments,” says Henry. Alex supposes that’s all he’s getting—four whole words must be some kind of record—but then Henry continues. “To editing. Starting first thing next week.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Cool. That’s…a big move.” Literally. That’s, like, whole floors away. He opens the freezer door with his good hand, and wonders what the coffee tastes like up there in editing, if it would be weird to find out sometime. He grabs a fistful of ice.

“Yes,” Henry is saying. “It will be quite the change, and I—wait. Sorry.” He stands abruptly, and Alex stares in surprise as Henry comes over and stops right in front of him. “Please put the ice down.”

“Um,” says Alex. “O…kay?”

“You should use lukewarm water,” says Henry. “Cool, at best. For your hand.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Right. Thanks.” He turns to the sink, feeling weirdly aware of the fact that Henry is still standing there. “It’s too bad,” Alex says before Henry can decide to sit down next to Hunter again. “Kind of a big loss for HR.”

Henry’s brows knit back together. “Is it?”

Alex shrugs. “To my knowledge, no one else personally escorts new employees to their cubicles on the first day of work. Like you did with Hunter here, for example.” He levels Henry with a grin. “I was there when you showed him around, in case you don’t remember.”

Henry’s expression is inscrutable. “I do,” he says.

Alex makes a point to not look away. “Guess that wasn’t a thing back when I started.”

“Ah,” says Henry. He’s flushing for some reason now. “No, I suppose not.”

Alex considers him. He can’t decide if Henry’s playing dumb, or if he really doesn’t remember that he’d been the one to help hire Alex. Then he decides he doesn’t care, because both options make him feel like something on the bottom of Hunter’s shoe, which he hates.

“Think I’m gonna head back.” Alex looks expectantly at Hunter, who only lifts his mug like he’s still planning on being a while. Fucking fine.

He can still see the two of them through the glass pane in the door when Nora walks by with a stack of folders.

“You okay?” she asks, in a tone that says she’s guessed the answer.

“Fucking no,” says Alex anyway. “What are they even doing? Talking?”

Nora sneaks a peek through the window. “Appears so,” she deadpans. “Talking in the break room. Unbelievable.”

“I know, right?” Alex scowls, then realizes he’s left without his coffee, which makes him scowl even harder.

Nora sighs, then slips her free arm through his. “Let’s walk.”

“Do you think Hunter likes him?” asks Alex. Because—not that he’s spent a lot of time on this—Alex thinks that Hunter does, and nothing is worse than the thought of Henry liking him back because he doesn’t know any better.

Maybe Alex should say something.

Nora is looking sideways at him. Alex isn’t sure why. “I think what Hunter likes is people with a pedigree,” she says. “Anyway, what’s not to like? Henry’s a snack.”

“What?” says Alex. Objectively, Henry looks a bit like an Adonis, but, “That is so beside the point. And just because Hunter’s like Harvard royalty or whatever doesn’t give him the right to come in here and trick people into liking him when—”

“When you were here first?” Nora supplies.

“What?” Now Nora is really missing the point. “This has nothing to do with me, or with Henry. I just meant, like, you know. In general.”

“Right,” says Nora. “I must have misunderstood.”

.

Alex keeps going back to the break room, of course. The coffee’s still better, and he can keep bothering Nora even though she’s transferring soon too (to marketing two floors down, the traitor). None of those things have changed just because Henry is no longer there every day.

The one thing that does change, Alex notices with a dark kind of satisfaction, is that Hunter does not go back to the break room. In fact, he starts bringing his own coffee each morning (Starbucks, which seems very on-brand). If anything, Alex only has more reason now to escape to HR and not spend any more time around Hunter than necessary.

About a week after Henry’s transfer, Alex realizes he’s used the last of the break room’s cinnamon. Again. Goddamn it, he thinks. He’s just spent the morning in back-to-back meetings, he’s getting his coffee hours later than usual, and now this?

He rifles through the cupboards for a second and then a third time just in case there's a rogue bottle somewhere. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

“What’s the occasion?” comes a voice from the door, and Alex turns to find Henry leaning against it. His arms are crossed, and he’s doing that chin-tilty thing that apparently means Alex has zero control over what comes out of his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Alex blurts.

Henry raises an eyebrow. “I could’ve been asking you the same thing for the past six months or so, but I haven’t.” He uncrosses his arms and comes over. “Would you believe me if I said I came here for the coffee?”

“No,” says Alex, with absolute certainty. “You don’t drink coffee.”

Henry blinks. “I could,” he argues after a moment, then straightens a little. “In fact, maybe I planned to start today.”

“Uh huh.” Alex gestures for him to have at the machine. “Do you even know how to use it?”

“Can’t be that difficult,” says Henry. He gives the machine a dubious look, and Alex doesn’t mean to but he starts to laugh.

“Here, I got it. Was about to make some for myself anyway.”

“Ah.” Henry looks abashed suddenly. Even the tips of his ears have turned pink. “Suppose you’ll be wanting this, then.” He pulls a ground cinnamon bottle from his pants pocket.

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. He could actually kiss Henry right now. “How did you—?”

“Well, you were running low last I was here,” says Henry, like that’s a totally normal thing to have noticed when Alex has never seen him touch the spice rack once. “Figured you'd be out by now, so I nicked some from the break room upstairs. No one’s been using it there anyway.”

The shock on Alex’s face makes him backtrack. “Sorry,” he says, flushing an even deeper pink now. “I—didn’t know you’d be here. You’re usually, um. Earlier. I can return it, if you’d like.” He says all this in a rush.

“No, it’s great,” Alex says emphatically. “Don’t you dare take it back.” He’s still staring a little, but that can’t be helped. Henry knows how he likes his coffee. And Henry had planned to restock the cinnamon without Alex ever knowing.

Henry clears his throat, looking around them. “You didn’t bring Hunter with you today,” he notes.

“No,” says Alex immediately. “God, no. And I don’t bring him anywhere, he just. Shows up. Honestly, I can’t stand the guy.” Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Henry says, looking immensely relieved. “Now that I don’t work in HR anymore, can I just say how little I enjoy his company?”

This is way better news than when Henry had first reached out to Alex with his offer letter and starting salary. He grins. “You can. In fact, please say more.”

Henry looks rueful. “I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s just that—” Alex sobers a little. “He was the only person you seemed willing to talk to.”

“It was easier, for me.” Henry takes a breath. “I feel less shy around people whose opinion of me doesn’t matter as much.” He pauses, something meaningful in the way he looks sidelong at Alex now. “I do want to be better about it.”

Alex nods, considering this. He tries hard not to smile. Probably not hard enough. “I can work with that.”

.

“You do realize neither of you work in this department,” says Nora, pulling food from the fridge.

Henry sips the tea Alex has just made him. Coffee, turns out, had been a lost cause. They’re both leaning against the counter, elbows not-quite-touching but getting closer to it every day, by Alex’s estimation.

“Do any of us, at this point?” Henry muses.

Nora shrugs. “Fair.”

“Just don’t tell You Know Who,” says Alex.

“Who’s You Know Who?” Hunter asks from the doorway. He has a confused smile on his face as he looks from Henry to Alex back to Henry again. Normally the sight of Hunter fills Alex with the most profound irritation, but now he’s feeling kind of pleased.

That’s right, he thinks smugly at Hunter: Henry is mine.

Huh. Suddenly things make a lot more sense now.

“Hey, did you get my email about the museum opening this Friday?” Hunter asks Henry, and Alex bristles instantly. Did Hunter not get the look Alex just gave him?

“Ah,” says Henry awkwardly, and it would be endearing if he didn’t also look so deeply uncomfortable. His awkwardness now is so different from the bashful kind of awkward he used to be around Alex; honestly, Alex can’t believe he’d never been able to tell between the two until now. “Actually, I’m—”

“Going,” says Alex, “already. With me.”

Henry looks at him in happy surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” Alex says firmly. And then, because he likes how dumbstruck Hunter looks right now, and because Henry doesn’t pull away when Alex puts an arm around his shoulders and he really, really likes that too, he does the only thing left that makes sense to him, which is to lean in and kiss Henry. He kind of feels like he might die when Henry kisses him back.

Fuuuuuuck.

Henry’s eyes are still closed when Alex leans back. He’s dimly aware that Nora has shooed Hunter out and closed the door behind them. He’s more acutely aware of how Henry licks his lips, then opens his eyes with an oddly vulnerable expression and says, “Alex, please tell me you didn’t just kiss me for Hunter’s benefit.”

“What? No. I mean—not exactly.” Fuck. Why can’t he use only the words that he needs? “The answer’s still no, but I might’ve used it as an excuse if I’d kissed you like two weeks ago. But that’s not why I kissed you just now, and it’s not why I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Oh, you think you’re going to kiss me again, do you,” Henry says with a hint of a smile, lifting his chin in a kind of challenge that Alex does not intend to back away from.

“One-hundred-percent,” he says, then pauses. “Unless you plan on reporting me to HR.”

“Honestly,” says Henry, “I might have to report you if you don’t.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Alex says, very seriously, and he pulls Henry back in.

[danosrosegarden]

HIIII ELIII !!! firstly THANK YOU for all the work you do for danonation… you are our strongest soldier !!! 🙏🙏💕💕💕 secondly, i’d like to put in a request for the anniversary celebration !!! <3 if i could may i get glitz + edward nashton? i love that lil freak … maybe something with creepy mutual obsession? i need him to know i’m just as obsessed with him as he would be with me …. THANK YOU SO MUCH AAAH !!! ^_^

it's hot and we rot - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW)

elijah's anniversary celebration: post three!

✨ glitz prompt: give me a character, and i will write a nsfw piece for them. ✨

{contains: male masturbation, public masturbation, underwear thievery, sub edward, and general mutual creepiness and obsession.}

♡ Sharp, grimy talons of guilt pierce through his heart and spill the thick, gushing blood all over each time he finds himself back in the bathroom next to his cubicle. Edward Nashton knows that there's nothing good in what he's doing. There never is.

♡ But God, does it feel right. Sorry. He really shouldn't tell you that, it might make you uncomfortable, he knows. But he thinks it's something you should know. An inky black secret too revolting and shameful to keep to himself. A slowly swirling python of perverse glee wraps itself around Edward's sweat-slicked body as he pulls your underwear out of his pocket: the carnival prize he'd won for himself last time he was over at your apartment.

♡ He hears your voice swimming around in his head as he wraps it around his cock, already slick with precum and throbbing a harsh, blushing pink. That's disgusting, Edward! I trusted you, I let you into my home, and that's what you do when I'm not looking? You're a fucking freak, you know that?

♡ Jesus. He's already biting down hard on his cracked lips so as to not alert his coworkers. It's all a rolling ball of sharpened knives, a blazing firecracker of intensity...the thought of your horrified look and cruel, venom-laced words spat into his face. The idea that somebody in the office could walk in at any moment and accidentally catch sight of him through the spaces in the stall doors, crimson-cheeked and leaking all over his tightly-gripped hand.

♡ His mind runs chaotically wild as he pumps himself, the fluorescent light above his head humming a low, growling buzz. You. He wants you. He doesn't give a fuck what he has to do. He'll beg for scraps. He'll whine and plead. He'll get on his knees and pray. God, he just wants you.

♡ Heat. It rushes through his body, injects itself straight into his bloodstream. He feels the white-hot warmth tingling deep in his gut as a high whine slips from the slits in his clenched teeth. It feels dirty, what he's doing, but that's part of the charm. He feels appalling, painting his hand with thick dribbles of cum in his workplace bathroom while thinking of your acidic, outraged insults, but he cannot stop himself.

♡ Maybe it's for the better that Edward doesn't know how deeply you want him, too. He's hardly able to be around you as is without the sickening thoughts infecting his brain...if he knew you reciprocated, he would never be able to calm himself down.

♡ For sure, Edward would explode if he knew about the picture of him you kept in your bedside drawer. You took it on your Polaroid while he was over one evening, destressing from work. His smile is crooked and his hair is ratty, but that was the picture. The picture you held tight in your hand when you masturbated and whispered his name into the hot, blanketing air of your bedroom. The picture you stared longingly at when the aftershocks subsided. My precious boy. Sweet angel. I wish I could ruin you.

♡ Edward stuffs his prize back into his pocket and washes his hands with a sheen of light sweat dusted across his forehead and a heavy coat of shame wrapped around his shoulders. He knows deep down in the depths of his heart that you're far too good for him. He'd actually much rather be the loser moaning and writhing to the thought of you than risk the friendship he'd somehow managed to obtain. At least he'd gotten away with his gross thievery. Nothing more, he promised himself. There is no going further.

♡ He also knows deep down in the depths of his heart that there was no stopping the enormity of his depraved desire. It was famished and on the hunt for any fragment of you it could find. And if only he knew the same hunger lived within you, chronically clawing at your gut, demanding more, more, more. God, if only he knew.

[transformers-spike]

@yandereskies come get your juice, guess who couldn't take a break without writing a sequel to the G1 Soundwave x reader fic Tw:dubcon

You've grown used to it Someway, somehow, it doesn't feel as bad. A few months ago, you would have rather died than allowed it to happen. But now, you're too tired to do anything about it. Kick yourself all you want, you can't force flight or fight. You've run out of adrenaline.

The human mind isn't designed to withstand constant stress; you notice the threat, you run, you fight, you freeze or you allow yourself to be molded by it. The alarms blaring in your head have shut off, leaving you numb and exhausted with nothing to rely on.

You've been waiting for so long for the Autobots to reach you, but it's like you never existed. Are you this forgettable ? A no-one with the misfortune of meeting Gods? You are no Paris, no Perseus and certainly no Achilles; not even a meager soldier. You're a background character in your own life, meant to be overlooked and eventually forgotten.

“So why…” you want to ask, “why did you notice me?

He handled you gently despite your aggression, even as your insults turned vicious, he ignored your desperate attempts to hurt him.

The dread caused by the mere echo of his synthesized voice has disappeared altogether, lending a new strange sort of comfort that beyond all logic should not exist.

Yes, you are trapped. But is it so wrong to trade your freedom for recognition? He listens to you no matter how boring and one sided your conversations get. He offers you a generous (although limited) access to your favorite media; obscure shows he shouldn't know about, movies on your private watch list, and plenty of books, most from your old apartment. You still recognize their faded pages and worn out books.

You don't have to attend your 9 to 5 white-collar job anymore. Your office cubicle is empty if not outright replaced, your place in the company has never mattered and so does your fate. Why can't you let yourself be happy?

Your basic needs are met, you have more time than ever to focus on what you love, and you have access to much needed social interaction.

At first it was Laserbeak assuming sentry duty, standing guard in Soundwave’s quarters, watching you like a hawk. You must admit , you've made a wild dash for the exit countless times, only to have Laserbeak dive between you and the door, wings spread out and snapping his beak.

But you've mellowed out over time. Laserbeak switched to Ravage. Ravage switched to Buzzsaw. Buzzsaw switched to Rumble and Frenzy. Soon enough , you started watching your series with them; Laserbeak perched upon the edge of the couch, Ravage curled up at your feet, Buzzsaw lying next to you or Rumble and Frenzy casually hanging out on your ouch like roommates.

It shouldn’t be that hard to accept. You're fine. You're part of their fucked up little family – if you can even call it that. Soundwave carries you around like a beloved pet, the other Decepticons treating it so casually you wonder if you're the only human they own. If Megatron is bothered by his Communications Officer’s behavior, he shows no sign of it.

This is fine. Being around Soundwave makes you feel secure in yourself, because he cares about you. And if this is the only love being offered to you, you’ll gladly take it. Past you would have abhorred your actions, but that version of you is long dead and buried.

You let him have sex with you. It started off small; lingering touches, digits ghosting over skin you’d never let anyone else see. When he entered you, you felt complete, like he was your missing piece, and you became at peace with your own being. A single one of his digits filled you to the brim, unlike your old dildo. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt, a burning sensation as he stretched you open, having you clench around him like a virgin. He patiently worked you up until you came, delicately circling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs with the tip of his massive thumb.

When you opened your eyes, he was leaning over you, spike fully pressurized. You welcomed it against your entrance, stroking it between your spread legs until your inexperienced mouth brought his overload, coating your stomach in transfluid. “I love you,” you said, unsure of your own reality.

[joshsindigostreak]

Blue Christmas 💙🎄

Authors notes: Hi y’all!! This spawned from a dream I had the other morning and I couldn’t get it out of my head. My first official Rom-Com, and friends to lovers! Shout out to @gretasmokerising and @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine to hearing me out with this idea and yelling at me to write it! Enjoy!

Word Count: 6813

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, and SMUT at the end! MINORS DNI, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap y’all’s willies), alcohol use, agonizing mutual pining? I think that’s it.

It had been 4 weeks, 2 days, and 7 hours since Josh Kiszka had last spoken to you. The most he had ignored you since the day you met over 2 years ago. His cubicle was stationed next to yours, and you could always look to your right to see him typing away at his computer, eyes trained at the screen and never once glancing over at you. He would arrive in the mornings silently, and clock out at 5 without a word. But it was the lunch hours that hurt the most. Ever since you had started this job, he was always your lunch buddy. He showed you where all the good vending machines were, and how to get down to the courtyard on the bottom floor where most of the office population ate their lunches. You hadn’t seen him down in that courtyard since…the incident…and you sat at your usual table most days hoping you’d see him come through the double doors, lunch in hand and a smile on his face. But in the weeks since, he had either eaten elsewhere or stayed in his cubicle working. A few times you tried to stay behind as well, hoping the silence from being the ones in your general vicinity on your floor would coax him into conversation, but it didn’t work. 

But what was this “incident”? What was the catalyst to make him so cold to you all of a sudden? As you twirled your mouse over your screen pretending to be busy, your thoughts drifted back to the day everything changed. 

Josh had a usual lunch table. It was in the courtyard, but in the back corner where he could have the best privacy. This back section used to be the smoking section before smoking was banned per company policy, but they left all of the plants and hedges in place that separated it from the rest of the courtyard. His lunch hour was sacred. It was the part of his day that he could be by himself and not have to talk to anyone if he didn’t want to. Not a lot of people sat back there, which was another blessing. But he didn’t mind sharing it with you. He jumped at the chance to show it to you on your first day. You made a comment about how it was very “Rainforest Cafe” that endeared you to him even more. Ever since, it has been the two of you back there, hidden amongst the hedges. 

That day wasn’t much different from any other, a run-of-the-mill Tuesday in the middle of November. For that time of the year, it was unusually warm, so you felt that it was imperative to take advantage of it and sit outside when you still could. You made your way down to your table, walking past various coworkers chattering away. You could smell the Caesar salad through the container in your hand and you couldn’t wait to dive into it. Finally you made it to your table in the back corner, with your lunch buddy sitting with his back to you as he typed away at his laptop. He was a true workaholic, but his efforts never went unnoticed. Your immediate boss, Ted, always gave shout outs to Josh in meetings, and you would be lying if you said the way Josh’s face would tinge pink every time didn’t melt your heart. He was absolutely terrible at taking compliments. He was deserving of all the praise, hell he deserved a promotion at this point with how much he led the team, but he would get so bashful whenever someone would tell him so.  Sometimes…you would compliment him on purpose just to see the color rise in his cheeks, and if you were lucky, a glimpse of the dimple on his left side.

You slid onto the bench that was bolted to the table, a fixture that hadn’t been updated since the nineties, you were sure. Normally you sat across from him, but today you just had the itch to be in his personal space. 

“Whatcha working on?” You asked as you popped open the container for your salad.

“I am working on…a PowerPoint…,” he quipped, giving you a playful sideways glance. 

You nodded, letting him type and fill up the current slide as you dumped your salad dressing into the container and mixed it with the greens and grilled chicken. After a few minutes of silence, you leaned over to him, brushing your shoulder against his, “you need a cool transition. No PowerPoint is complete without a cool transition.” 

At this he stopped typing and turned his face towards yours, seemingly unbothered with how close you were to him, “I can just see the look on Ted’s face when he hears the ‘whoosh’ between slides about projected first quarter profit margins.”

 

“That man needs a good laugh. Or to get laid. Maybe both,” you nudged his shoulder before going back to your lunch. 

“Don’t we all…,” Josh mumbled to himself. You almost asked him what he meant but he was quickly back at it, filling out bullet points and inserting graphs on the side. It wasn’t unusual to see him this engrossed in his work, but frankly, you were bored. This was the one hour you could truly hang out with him and not have to talk shop. Your friend needed to relax, and not let his work become his life. He always told you that the more he got done during the day meant the less he had to do when he got home, but you knew that was a lie. He always came in the next day with more work than when he left, and sometimes you wondered if that laptop bag of his was surgically attached to his shoulder. 

Your salad was long gone and Josh was still typing away, clicking back and forth from his data and his project. Knowing what would get his attention, you innocently poked at his side, and held back a laugh when he flinched and smiled. This spurred you on, and you poked his arm now, forcing him to make a typo. He was trying so hard to not give in, to not give you the satisfaction that he was amused, but he was failing. 

You upped your ante by reaching for his ear. Gently, you ran your fingertip down the shell of his ear, feeling every curve and contour before brushing the skin next to his earlobe. This caused Josh to visibly shudder, and he tried to cover it up by suddenly jerking his head to the side to pretend to bite your finger. You erupted in giggles before you were aware of how close his face was to your hand. Before you could stop yourself, you extended your fingers to lightly cup his jaw. Instead of backing away, he leaned into your touch, a move that neither of you were expecting. His fingers stilled on the keyboard, and slowly backed away and into his lap he turned his body to face yours. 

The logical side of you wanted to just laugh and lean back onto your end of the bench as if nothing happened, but the other side of you, the side that needed him, was telling that first side to shut the fuck up. Letting the intrusive thoughts win, you leaned closer to him, and you hitched a breath when you saw him do the same. There was no space between the two of you, your right thigh was firmly against his left, heat radiating through both of your respective slacks. 

Before either of you could think about it too much, Josh closed the gap between you and slotted his lips onto yours, lazily taking your bottom lip into his mouth. The action caused you to moan against him, and you seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss. The professional side of you was screeching in your head that you were literally at work and in a courtyard full of people, but the rest of you argued back that no one could see you given how tall the hedges were. 

One of Josh’s hands slid up to your face, mirroring what you were doing to him, and his other hand snaked around your waist, desperate to have you closer. Your tongue slipped into his mouth, and he opened up for you instantly. For several moments, you made out like teenagers on that bench. 

You weren’t close enough to him, and before you could protest he lifted you up and over his lap, allowing you to straddle him. He was thanking God that the greenery was so overgrown that you couldn’t be seen in the position you were in. 

As you settled down onto his lap, the rigid outline of his cock pressed up against you, and you instinctively grinded down on him. He bit your bottom lip to keep himself from moaning too loud, but it was futile as that only caused you to let out a breathy moan of your own.

He was kissing you like he was starving, and you couldn’t get over just how good he felt. You always stole glances at his lips, noting how perfect his cupid's bow was and they were the most enviable shade of pink. 

But just as you lowered yourself back down to grind on him even more, a very loud and obnoxious cackle was let out across the courtyard. Of course it was Vera’s obnoxious ass laughing at whatever the fuck. This caused Josh to break away from you, sobering him up to the situation. He was suddenly very aware of you straddling him, with bruised lips and tousled hair. He couldn’t…he couldn’t be here much longer or else he wouldn’t be able to stop. Without any preamble he guided you off his lap and slid out the other side of the bench and adjusted his belt buckle and smoothed down his shirt. He didn’t even glance at you when he shut his laptop and turned to leave, quickly mumbling about needing to run to the bank before his lunch hour was up. It was a clear lie, but he didn’t give you a chance to call him out on it before nearly running out of that courtyard, leaving you dazed and…very wet…on that bench. 

You leaned back in your office chair and rolled your eyes at the memory, not because you didn’t love it, or that it didn’t replay in your head every time you saw the man, but because you were afraid it completely fucked up your friendship with Josh. Before you on your screen was a reminder email about the company Christmas Party that was being held this weekend. You wanted to go, but the thought of mingling with coworkers while Josh continued to ignore you made you want to crawl under your desk and never come out. Because of his outstanding job performance, he was put on the planning committee and thus would have to be there. There was no avoiding him. 

With a resigned sigh you glanced over at his desk, hoping to see him, but finding it Josh-less. Instead you heard his voice chattering away at another desk, leaning against the entrance to a nearby cubicle. To everyone else, he was his normal talkative self, but for you, he was silent and cold. What the actual fuck was his problem? The more you thought about it, the more it pissed you off. Just who does he think he is by kissing you like that, touching you like that, fulfilling the fantasies you’ve had in your head for months, only to throw you away essentially and leave you high but not very dry? Fuck him, but not in the literal sense. He didn’t deserve that. A plan was forming in your head. You were going to show up to that party pushing every button you knew how to push with him. After working for him for nearly two years, you knew what made that man tick. You had picked up on several preferences of his via passing comments, jokes, or flat out remarks. 

And you were going to exploit every single one of them. 

When the day of the party arrived, you looked over at your outfit laid out on your bed. A beautiful long sleeved navy blue velvet dress. Why blue? Well that color had become an inside joke between the two of you, stemming from an exchange on your very first day in the office. 

You were settling into your new cubicle, arranging your things and figuring out just where you wanted everything to go. The size of your desk surprised you, as you were expecting a smaller space given you were a new hire, but the expanse of the desk gave you so much more room to work with. It was a blessing as you tended to spread out your paperwork around you throughout your day, a habit that your old boss noted every time she walked by your desk. 

As you reached into your box full of things you brought from home, your hand settled on the third Funko Pop you had picked out of your collection. Your Funko of Daphne from Scooby Doo had been one of the first you had bought when you started your collection, and she meant a lot to you. 

“You take them out of the box?” An unfamiliar yet pleasant voice interrupted your thoughts and you nearly dropped the box you were holding from being startled. 

Snapping your head up at the source, you were greeted by a rather…gorgeous man with curious big brown eyes. You had briefly seen him when your new boss was giving you a tour of the area you would be working in, and he had been getting something out of the supply closet. 

“Sorry?”

“Your Funkos…you take them out of the box?” 

Realizing what he was referring to, you chuckled slightly in embarrassment, “oh don’t start, my brother already gives me enough shit about ‘ruining their value’ whenever he comes over and sees my collection. They just look so sad sitting in them. They need to be free!”

This caused the stranger to smile as he extended his hand for you to shake, “I’m Josh, your new neighbor across the way.” He dramatically threw a glance over his shoulder at his own cubicle across from yours. You gladly shook his hand and told him your own name, which he repeated softly. 

You continued to pull more items out of your box as he stood there, not minding you had company. In the panic to get what you needed for your new job, you had inadvertently brought mostly blue office supplies. Blue post-its, blue binders, blue pens; it was as if your brain found one color it liked in the store and made you match everything to calm your nerves. 

“Your sweater matches your binders…,” Josh observed. 

This was your second time you looked up at him in embarrassment, “Oh! Yeah…purely unintentional. It’s my nicest one and I wanted to make a good-”

“It looks nice on you, that shade of blue,” he interrupted. 

Before you could stop yourself, you started rattling off a quote from one of your favorite films, “Oh this sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis, it's-"

"...actually cerulean?" 

The smile that spread across your face could light up the entire room, it wasn’t a niche reference, but you were so glad he picked up on it and you didn’t embarrass yourself a third time. After that, your friendship with Josh quickly blossomed, and the ‘blue’ joke got to a point where Josh was calling you Blue to your face, a nickname that stuck no matter how many times you told him to stop. 

Six months into your stay at your current job, you walked into work thinking nothing of the date, but when you got to your desk you saw a familiar small white box with a blue bow taped to the top. You dropped your bag onto your desk and picked it up. Turning it over in your hands you saw that it was a Miranda Priestly Funko, and while you instantly understood who gave it to you, you were confused at the occasion. 

“Happy Six Months, Blue,” Josh said warmly behind you, startling you. 

“Six months?”

“Since you started here! I saw it online and you’ve worked really hard these last six months so I just thought…you needed a token of appreciation.” He leaned towards you and whispered, “since you and I both know corporate doesn’t keep up with such things.” 

You smiled up at him, warmed by the gesture, “thanks Josh…” 

After a few seconds of awkwardly standing there, Josh piped up, “go on…free her from her plastic prison. She’s running out of air and it's getting dark! I’m frightened for her.” Giggles escaped your mouth as you ripped open the box and freed your new Funko. She was put next to your Daphne, as they both held strong sentimental value now. 

You shook your head from the memories, needing to focus on the task at hand. Slipping on the dress and securing your heels, you gave yourself one last look in the mirror before you left for the party. Your hair was perfect, your eyelids dusted with a champagne-colored shimmer, and your lips were adorned with a neutral matte red. There was no way he could ignore you with the way you looked. 

Or so you thought. 

After nearly an hour of mingling, your “friend” had yet to even walk passed you. In fact it was pretty obvious he was avoiding you. He was only on the stupid decorating committee but you’d think he was the host of the entire party with the way he was flitting about the employees, giving them warm greetings and thanking them for coming. You didn’t want to follow him around like a lost puppy, but you kept deliberately putting yourself in his line of vision and he acted like you weren’t there. What the fuck? 

At this point, you were standing with a bunch of your coworkers on your floor, trying to not make it obvious you were glaring at Josh while slowly sipping your cocktail. By the grace of God, one of the men from your floor walked over with Josh in tow, firmly planting him in the little group that had gathered. He still avoided your gaze, keeping his eyes on Brad who clapped him on the shoulder and praised him for a project he had recently finished and was going to present next week. 

Your friend Stacy waved her hand at them, “oh come on no work talk tonight, we get enough of that during the day.” 

“I know, I know but Josh ran his ideas by me the other week and was telling me how it all came together at the end, I’m happy for him,” Brad defended. 

What? Josh never ran ideas with anyone else but you. You were always his first choice whenever he had something cooking in his head. Hell, you didn’t even know he had a big project lined up. But there he was, cheeks flushing at the praise. Under any other circumstances, your heart would stutter at the sight, adoring how bashful he could be, but right now? Right now it pissed you off, and you were on your second cocktail of the night. Your filter was nonexistent. 

“You told Brad about your new project?” You blurted out, slightly slurring your speech. 

At last, Josh finally addressed you, “yes? I wanted to run some numbers by him just to double che-”

“But you always run your ideas by me?” Unfortunately, the alcohol also made it impossible for you to hide the hurt in your voice. “You always ask to pick my brain on things.”

You took a step forward, “yes you do, and I always run my ideas by you in return. They always note how well we work together in meetings.” The rest of your coworkers stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do as you verbally sparred. You didn’t care, you stared at Josh barely blinking. His jaw was clenched, lips set in a line. But you couldn’t stop the words tumbling from your mouth, “you don’t even like Brad! You told me his projections were always off and he talks too much during meetings which is rich coming from-”

At this, Josh handed his drink off to the closest person and quickly grabbed your hand to pull you away from the group. He guided you through the crowd, and you dropped off your empty glass on a random table, not caring where it was. The only thing you could focus on was the warmth from his hand, and how he effortlessly laced your fingers together as he walked. This was the first time he had even touched you since that lunchtime makeout session. 

He swung the outside door open, leading you out onto the side deck of the venue. No one else was out here due to the cold, and the cold wind sobered you up a little. You stood next to the deck rail, glaring at him. 

“What the fuck, Josh?!” 

“What the fuck Josh? How about what the fuck, Blue?!” He’s giving you the hardest look he’s ever given you, his eyes a darker shade of brown you weren’t used to seeing, and no cheek dimple in sight. He continued, “I am preventing you from getting fired for running your mouth in front of everyone.” 

You sneer, “since when do you care what my mouth does?” 

He clenches his jaw again, and he swallows hard enough to see his Adam's apple bob beneath the gorgeous white turtleneck he was wearing. “You know what, I think you need to just stay out here for the rest of the night, and lay off the eggnog.” 

He started to walk off but you grabbed his arm before he could leave, “no, you don’t get to do this again. You have ignored me for nearly a month now.” You lowered your voice even though it was only the two of you outside, “we never even talked…about it…was I that bad?”

He spins to face you, and backs you up against the deck rail, placing both hands on either side of you, bracketing yourself between his arms. He stares at you for a few more seconds, before declaring in a gruff voice, “you were absolutely incredible, and that's the problem.” Your brows furrowed in confusion, and he continued, “I have done nothing but think of you since that day, hell I thought about you every single day before that. Ever since you walked into that office, in that fucking blue sweater, your perfectly coordinated desk supplies, your intelligence, the way you always have a comeback for everything…Blue, I could not get you out of my head even if I tried. But that day? When I finally got to taste you? Have you in my arms? It ruined me. Ruined me for everyone else. The mere thought of even talking to you afterwards sent all my blood south and I can’t walk around the office with a fucking boner, can I?”  You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off again, “and you show up here tonight, looking like this, knowing how much I love you in blue…you wicked little thing.” 

Just then, the door to the outside was swung open by someone that worked on a different floor, and you guessed they got the hint because they quickly went back inside. But as the door closed behind them, the two of you could hear Blue Christmas by Elvis being played loudly through the speakers inside. How appropriate. 

All of your worst case scenarios that had haunted your mind the last few weeks weren’t even true at all. Josh’s words had your heart hammering in your chest, and having him this close to you after a month-long cut off had you aching. His breath was hot as it fanned over your face, the rich chocolate of his irises that matched his brown suit were smoldering before you. Reaching up, you gently cupped his jaw the same way you did weeks ago on that bench, and just like before he leaned into your hand his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Blue…,” he whispered against your palm. 

“I missed you so fucking much. I don’t think you understand how empty I felt without you talking to me every day. Not hearing your daily complaints, not making me laugh, no eye contact during meetings when they got boring? I sat downstairs every single day, at our usual table, hoping to see you, but you never showed. I felt like I did something horribly wrong and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me otherwise,” he shook his head against your hand,  “You just shut me out with no explanation.”

“No..no I’m sorry for that…it was stupid, and cruel of me. I just didn’t know what to do. Every time I tried to talk myself into talking to you, it resulted in me thinking of scenarios that would’ve had us end up with multiple HR violations, and I just couldn’t do it.” He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Well, Kiszka, what are you going to do about it now?”

A low growl rumbled in his chest and he finally opened his eyes to look over your shoulder at the sprawling grounds of the country club. 

“What if I told you, that when we were looking for venues, I noticed that this particular one has an entire property just for a garden, that's currently out of season, and that there’s a greenhouse off to the side that they keep some of the plants indoors over the winter?” 

You were tempted to look over your shoulder to see what he was looking at, but you didn’t want your eyes to leave his face.

“Are you suggesting…?”

“I’m saying that I need to finish what I started four weeks ago.” 

Before you could respond he took your hand and led you down the steps of the deck and out onto the frost-covered lawn. The entrance to the garden wasn’t very far, but it was nestled in a brick fence. Once inside and out of sight, you got a glimpse at your surroundings. The garden was definitely winterized and dormant, but the hedges were evergreen and tall, successfully blocking anyone who might peer over to that side of the property from the main building. His fingers were still laced with yours as he took a sharp left and down a narrow path. As you traveled deeper into the garden, the party noise slowly fizzled out, and by the time you got to the greenhouse in question, you could barely hear anything other than the wind rustling branches. 

“It’s probably locked…,” you suggested, trying not to sound disappointed.

Josh briefly panicked, not quite thinking about that when he came up with this plan, but he quickly reached up to feel the top of the door frame. When his fingertips landed on cold metal, he nearly said a prayer out loud in gratitude. He held the key up to you, before spinning back around and trying it in the lock. As fate would have it, the lock clicked and the handle turned easily, granting you access. 

Inside, there were a few space heaters already running to keep the chilly night air outside. The temperature difference as you stepped inside was stark, and you shut the door behind you to keep any more winter air from coming in. One of the tables in the middle of the room had been cleaned off recently, with no pots or excess dirt littering the surface. When he was satisfied in his choice for this tryst, he turned around to face you again and backed you up into the door, colliding his lips to yours in a searing kiss. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling him even closer. His hands flexed and kneaded your hips through the velvet fabric of your dress; his fingertips slowly bunching the material higher and higher until they met the skin underneath. He ran his hands along your skin, stopping abruptly when he felt the lacy material of your thong. He mapped out the lace blindly, tracing the woven pattern while pulling away from your lips to pant harshly against your face. 

“You were really walking around that party wearing these?”

“...you should see my bra…”

The only light in the greenhouse was from the waxing gibbous moon in the sky, streaming its moonbeams through the glass windows. But even with the limited light, you could see Josh’s eyes darken even more at your words. He couldn’t take it anymore, and reached down to firmly grip the back of your thighs and lifted you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist and he backed up and carefully set you back down on the cleared off table. His lips moved to your neck now, sucking bruises onto your skin, not giving a shit about the marks he left behind. You were his, goddamnit. Now that you were on the surface of the table, he reached back under your dress to tug your thong down your legs. He backed up just enough to slip it off your ankles and past your heels, but he didn’t let it fall to the floor, he looped it around his fingers to hold in front of his face to get a better look at it in the moonlight. It was fucking…blue. You wore dark blue lingerie tonight? Your mission to torture him was succeeding, and another growl grumbled in his chest. Your words from earlier echoed in his head, and after shoving your thong in his pocket, he quickly started tugging your dress off of you. Lifting your dress over your head, his eyes raked down your body. The height of the table gave him a perfect, eye level view of your breasts. The lace that perfectly cupped your flesh matched the thong in his pocket, and he had to lean against his hands on the edge of the table to compose himself. The wood dug into his skin a thought occurred to him, and he immediately ripped his jacket off and swung it around, laying it down behind you, so you wouldn’t have to feel the cold table against your skin. He looked up at you, silently asking permission and when you nodded his hands landed on your breasts, squeezing them through the lace. 

Josh stood before you, wearing absolutely too much in his white turtleneck and slacks. It was incredibly unfair, and you needed to fix that. In your tangle of limbs you clawed at the back of his shirt to pull it off of him. He got the hint and flung it over his head, letting it land on top of your dress beside you. Now it was your turn to gawk at him. This was the most you had ever seen of Josh at this point, and the sight of his perfectly unmarred skin in the moonlight had you drooling. Your hands itched to squeeze his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin. In a flurry, your bra quickly came off, nipples hardening in the chilly air. His mouth immediately closed around one of them, causing you to throw your head back and a reedy sigh escaped your lips. 

As much as you loved the attention he was giving you, you needed more. You needed him. Now. 

“Josh…please…,” you whined. 

He nodded and moaned against your chest, before popping off and returning to your mouth. As his lips devoured yours he reached down to undo his belt and slacks, the metal clanking against the side of the table. He pushed his pants down to his knees and brought one hand to his cock, squeezing it and giving himself a few pumps. You pulled away from his mouth just enough to look down at it, and a shiver of anticipation ran through you. Reaching down, you pushed his hand away and wrapped your fingers around him. 

“Fuck, baby…” rattled out of his mouth. Spurred on, you started to pump him yourself, let your thumb catch the drop of precum resting at the tip, smearing it around the head. His hand shook as he closed it around yours, stopping your movements. “Keep doing that and this will be over embarrassingly fast.” You giggled and moved your arms to rest on his shoulders, giving him a minute to compose himself. 

Finally, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you. He took his cock in his hand once again, dragging it up and down through your slit. You were so fucking wet. He looked at you again, silently asking-

“Josh you don’t do something I’m going to be the one leaving this time and never forgiving you.” 

With that he surged forward, filling you in one fluid motion, causing the both of you to moan into each other's mouths. Your hearts hammering in your chests. He didn’t waste no time before he reared back and filled you again, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he bottomed out. As much as he wanted to, there wasn’t time to take this slow, and frankly after the last month there was too much tension built up between you to even fathom another pace. He leaned you back down onto his jacket, the satin lining felt cool and soft against your skin, and he hovered over you as best he could given the height of the table. 

Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist, locking your ankles right above his ass. As you promised yourself earlier, your nails dug into the soft flesh of his shoulders, and he hissed in your ear in response. Slowly you dragged your fingertips down his back as he pumped into you, the angle making his pelvis grind against your clit exactly the way you needed it. 

It was becoming apparent that the table wasn’t built for strenuous activities, and it started to creek and shift underneath you. Josh didn’t pay it any mind, he was too focused on peppering kisses all along your face and neck, not wanting to leave your skin for a second. He couldn’t get enough of you, and the fact that he was finally having you, was sinking in. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but that first time he saw you while you took your tour around the office while he was at the supply closet? It had to be as close as one could get. He nearly dropped an entire stack of printer paper when you walked by and your perfume invaded his senses, causing him to look up to see where it was coming from. The sheer luck that you got assigned to the cubicle next to his, and how he pretended to be busy while you started sorting your things. He observed you for several minutes before making his presence known, in the least creepy way possible. You were just…adorable…in how you were organizing your desk, and how you muttered to yourself as you picked things out of the box.

 The crush he developed that day was strong from the beginning, and now? Now he had you completely. His skin was slapping against yours. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, tugging at the roots. Your thighs were squeezing his hips as he hiked one of them higher on his side, allowing him to bury himself deeper inside you. 

“You’re so fucking perfect…god, Blue…fuck…,” he rambled against your mouth, unable to hold back his words. 

You whimpered up at him, “you feel so good.”

“Yeah? Who's making you feel this good?” He lifted his head just enough to look you in the eyes. 

“...you…”

Not satisfied with your answer, he reared back and slammed back into you, harder than before, “no, who is making you feel this good?”

Oh, you knew what he wanted, but you weren’t going to give it to him this easily. Instead you just stroked his cheeks with your thumbs, smiling up at him. 

You wanted to be a brat, he thought, two could play at that game. He instantly pulled out of you, fighting every instinct in his body to stay inside. You whimpered at the sudden loss, your brows furrowing. 

“I’m going to ask you again…” 

For a split second you hated him. You had been so fucking close, and he literally ripped it away from you. Too desperate to keep playing you nearly shouted, “JOSH, you, Josh…you’re making me feel this good…” 

A smirk appeared on his face before he slammed back into you, “mmm…good girl.” 

This side of Josh was surprising you, but you loved it. You had never really taken him for a dominating type, but you couldn’t wait to see more of it in the future. But before you could think about that, your high came hurtling back to you. He reached between you, going straight for your clit and started swirling his fingers around it. You were so wet that his fingertips glided easily in figure-8 motions against the hard nub, causing you to writhe beneath him. His name tumbled from your lips repeatedly as you felt yourself climbing higher and higher. The combination of his fingers and the ridges of his cock dragging against your walls was too much, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. With a shout, you shook underneath him as you came. He continued to pump into you, chasing his own high and prolonging yours with his nimble fingers. You were squeezing him so hard as you rode out your high, and he only had about three thrusts left in him before he emptied himself inside you. His vision nearly went white as he came, and your actual first name shuddered from his mouth. 

Neither of you moved for several moments, but the feeling of his release slowly leaking out and around his cock was undeniable. You started to panic at how you were going to clean up, until Josh reached next to your shoulder where the inside pocket of his jacket was. Silently he fished out a white handkerchief. You caught a glimpse of the initials, JMK, stitched in gold thread in the corner before it disappeared between you two and he pulled out, making quick work to clean you up. When he was satisfied, he stood up fully to pull his slacks back up around his waist, and reached over for your bra, handing it back to you. You slowly sat up, your muscles still feeling like jelly. The two of you were quiet as you redressed yourselves, and you remembered he had your thong in his pocket. 

Holding your hand out, you asked, “can I have them back now?” 

Josh smirked again as he put his jacket back on, “no…I’m keeping those.” 

Your eyes widened as you stared at him, “Josh!” 

He took your hand and started to lead you to the door, “you can have them back when we get to my place…” 

Stopping dead in your tracks you say, “a little presumptuous don’t you think?” Josh’s eyes widened and he realized how that sounded, and he opened his mouth to apologize before you continued, “who said we were going to your place instead of mine?” You laughed at how his shoulders visibly relaxed at your words, and caught up with him at the door. 

“You really are a wicked little thing…,” he mumbled as you ventured back out into the cold. 

As you made it to Josh’s car, you thought you had done a good job at not being seen by anyone, but unbeknownst to the two of you, Stacy and Brad were standing on that same deck from earlier. They watched your very freshly-fucked selves climb into the Jeep before taking off.

A week or so later, on Christmas Eve-Eve, you were greeted to a present sitting on your desk. It was a decent sized box covered in blue wrapping paper, matching blue bow on top. 

“Merry Christmas, Blue,” your boyfriends voice sounded behind you. You looked over your shoulder at him, dropping your bag on your chair. “Go on…it’ll fit on your desk.” 

Skeptically you turned and ripped the wrapping paper off the box, the first thing you saw was the red LEGO square in the corner. Confused, you peeled off the rest of the paper to reveal your present. It was the greenhouse LEGO set. 

“You little shit.” 

FIN

Tag List:  @dannyandthekiszkas , @gretasmokerising , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne , @twistedmelodies , @stardustvanfleet ,

[f0rlornmyths]

TITLE:  PICTURESQUE 

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: You always want far too much. Warnings: Problematic work relationships, age gap (Javi is in his 40s, reader is an entry level journalist do with that what you will.), slow burn I'm sorry guys, uhhh Javi is a little touchy for nooo reason in this. yeah! idk

Wordcount: 2.5k

AO3: Here

AN: This is my first fic in a very very very long time, and my first reader fic in general, this is just for fun really idk? but thank you my lovely and dear friend @netherfeildren​ for pushing me to write this!

CHAPTER ONE MONDAY

You should have left earlier, today of all days, you should have known better. Tucked in a mess of limbs and briefcases in the elevator, the morning rush at Spring Street was in full force. Since starting at the LA Times, you have done your best to avoid the stampede of worn-out reporters, slimy business executives, and overworked secretaries as they made their way up the Kaufmann Building, but it seemed as though your alarm clock had other plans for you.

But nonetheless, you must adapt despite the way your stomach twists in anxiety as your eyes drop to the sleek watch on your wrist, there was still time.  The elevator door dings and a shuffle of bodies reorganizes themselves as people begin to leave the compartment. You step back to allow a woman to make her way out when you’re pushed right onto the man standing behind you, a soft noise of surprise leaving your lips as the smell of cigarettes and a hint of ink waft into your nose.  

Your cheeks flush — already too embarrassed to take a look back, but you can feel the warmth of his chest pushing against your shoulders and a firm hand touching the back of your waist as if to settle you. He lets out what you assume to be an amused chuckle, the sound dragging a small burst of heat from within you. There’s a warm, underlying musk, an almost earthy scent to him that you’re sure will linger, just as the feeling of a firm chest will surely haunt you the rest of the day.

It felt nice — despite the mortification that threatened to seep out of you. 

“Careful now,” His voice is just as soothing as his laughter and your stomach continues to drop, your throat dry.  You allow yourself to lower your gaze down. His fingers are large —and his touch is almost anchoring, but despite the sense of stability and ease you feel at the moment, a slight annoyance begins to bubble up. It wasn’t the first time a man had used a clumsy misstep to touch you but before you could say anything, as quick as the hand appeared, he pulls away from you. There’s a heavy stare at the back of your exposed neck, and you wonder if he feels as unnerved by the encounter as you.

“Sorry.” You mutter, not bothering to turn back to meet his gaze before the elevator dings again, alerting your arrival to the third floor, you hastily step through the crowd, following the other reporters making their way into the newsroom. The man is of little importance to you, no not today you will not be distracted by the smell of cigarettes and the touch of a strong hand. 

You’re too preoccupied slipping out of the elevator even to acknowledge the man exiting soon after you. 

Despite what films and television shows the main newsroom tended to be rather quiet, only the rhythmic sounds of keyboard clicking filling the air and the tapping of kitten heels and dress shoes hitting the carpet floor as people hurried along to their next interview or to another department. 

You hurry along between the desks and cubicles, a set of directions scribbled on the small piece of paper given to you by the bored receptionist downstairs when you had received your new press badge, tucked into your palm. The newly minted investigation team was hidden in some small office space, near the back of the newsroom, nestled within the dark corner with several desks clustered within the space.

The room is empty beside a man leaning against one of the desks, fiddling with a camera. You perk up at the familiar face. Jared breaks into a grin as he spots you, pulling his attention away from the camera in his hand. “‘S not like you to be late.” He says, patting at the empty desk. “But our new editor isn’t here yet, so I guess you’re off the hook for now.”

You would never peg Jared as a friend, but you had both been in the same internship cohort — diversity hires some people had sneered. The lone girl in the program and Jared being the product of some G.I’s fling back in Korea didn’t make you two the most popular. A steady friendship had formed, sneaking each other granola bars and transcribing each other’s interviews if needed. But Jared had spent the last year in the Sports department — partying it up with Lakers and college football teams while you were stuck on the local education beat, sitting through endless board meetings, testy parents and the slow defunding of public schools.

Interesting enough, but not what you went into journalism for, the stary-eyed visions of backdoor meetings, government scandals, and secret code names still plagued your dreams. Oh, how All the President's Men seduced you into a life of all-nighters, stale coffee and the ever-moving rotation of condescending nicknames like sweetie, honey and baby from senior reporters. A thought passes your mind; you wonder how those pet names would sound coming from the man in the elevator, would it be said with a playful lift to it, would his voice deepen as he mouthed the syllabl—

An annoyed huff escapes your lips, as you plop down on the plastic chair, that irritating burst of heat furls tight in your chest. Heartburn surely. But the lingering trace of warmth remains, crawling up your spine, tells you differently. 

“Isn’t it our first meeting? How can our editor be late?” You question, eyes flickering to the large clock hung up on a nearby wall — you still held to your old college professors’ wisdom, a late journalist was a useless one, and there was no room for inefficiency.  And there was little room for failure for you, who already had to jump through more hoops, and navigate through thicker trees than the rest of the reporters. 

You always want far too much.

Jared shrugs, settling comfortably in his own seat, “From what I heard, Peña isn’t one to go by the books, but they created the investigation team under him for a reason.” And that’s true; you’ve heard whispered of your new editor, coming down from down south, he had quickly made a name for himself with exposing drug cartels, pissing off the higher ups and having little care of journalistic niceties. He rarely came into the newsroom, and all of your interviews for the investigation team went through the deputy editor, Steve Murphy.  

“It’s just not very professional.” You mumble as you begin to pull out your notebook from your bag.

—

There’s a shuffling of footsteps as the door opens, and a tall scarecrow of a man enters the room. “Mornin’ folks,” it only takes a moment for you to realize it’s Steve, who, despite looking like some all-American propaganda poster, was alright. For some hillbilly, at least that’s what your old editor used to whisper. “Seems like y’all made it in one piece, that’s good.”

The education and sports sections were settled on the same level, mind you, but any biting commentary is swallowed with a sweet smile instead. But your mind blanks as another set of footsteps follows Steve in. 

You let out a soft cough at the appearance, the folds of your collar feeling all too restricting, a ripple of nerves traveling up your spine. The smell of heady cologne and nicotine passes through and the memory of the firm hand and deep voice is vibrant enough that you quickly cross your ankles beneath your desk. 

It’s him, the man from the elevator. You chew the inside of your cheek, swallowing the burst of anxiety that threatens to escape your mouth.

A dark-haired man (older? early 40s maybe?), his wide shoulders covered in a white collared shirt (though, two buttons remain loose, showing far too much of his neck and chest) enters, his face emotionless but as his gaze catches yours, his lip twitches only for a moment from underneath his trimmed mustache. Before he turns, and you’re sure you’ll remember those eyes forever, seared in your mind like a scar. 

“You must be the new reporters.” He says with a wave of his hand, walking past your desk and towards the back of the room, leaning against his desk with an expression much more suited for some suave CIA agent than some overworked journalist. “Javier Peña, but just call me Javi, Javier, Peña, whatever, but none of that hierarchy stuff. That shit’s annoying.” 

And suddenly, the only thoughts filling your mind are if the cleaning crew would forgive you if you managed to throw up onto the tacky carpet beneath your heels.

——

One of the lapels of your collar was tucked underneath your blazer — Javier had noticed it in the elevator hours before, his fingers found themselves itching to pull it out was almost overwhelming. You hadn’t fixed it yet, too engrossed by whatever pitch you were cooking up on your computer, your lips pulled between your teeth as you worked. 

It wasn’t like him to be so distracted, well, during work hours, by a pretty face.

But the urge to pull the rumpled lapel from underneath your jacket was almost unbearable, and the empty state of the page in front of him was proof of it. 

You perk up, pushing your chair back abruptly you swiftly make your way out of their shared office space, and you turn your head back to the other new reporter, Josh? Jacob? Jared? You make a point not to make direct eye contact with him,  your eye line just shifting a bit above his head, and a part of him wants to grip your chin and force you to look into his eyes, a horrible and ridiculous side of him.

“I’m going down to records for a bit.” You sound almost excited, your foot bouncing as if you were some rabbit eager to run off before you became prey.  

Would you thrash in his hold? Would he have to keep a firm grasp on your waist just like in the el—

Stop it, is this what it’s come to? Leering over the reporters under his command, unable to look at a co-worker without thinking of how she would look buckling under his touch?  

Javier shuts his eyes in frustration — fingers rubbing the side of his temple, the room is silent outside of the clicking of typewriters and the faint sounds of your heels heading out the door. 

White heat rattles inside of Javier, and it almost burns like he is a hot air balloon, waiting to explode as he sinks further into his chair. The lingering scent of your presence is mostly a figment of his imagination — but even with his eyes closed, he can still see the nape of your neck, peeking out of your collar, the smooth skin beckoning him and the smell of your soap seeping from your skin. 

But Javier liked to think he had left these days behind him, too grizzled and experienced to be swayed by a random shot of attraction. That hadn’t come this far in his career by dumb luck, while some gossiped that he cared little for newsroom niceties and had inappropriate methods of retaining sources — but there was a reason why Crosby had chosen him of all people to lead the new investigation team. 

He knew who you were as soon as you stepped onto that elevator, the same coy smile and eager eyes that stared back at him in that photo in your file. He had read your articles, he knows you were dissatisfied with your former assignment, how you were practically the first one to run to transfer from your department. Your old editor, what was his name? King, Jameson, whatever it was had merely shrugged when Javier had mentioned wanting you on his team, “Don’t those young girls just come in to get married off anyways?” The memory alone causes Javier to feel a sharp pain of annoyance run up his temple, but was he any better?

No, not really — he’s always wanted too much.

“Gotta meet with Councilman Rodgers,” Javier mumbles — grabbing his notepad and shoving it into his back pocket, as he spared a glance at Murphy, who seemed all too interested in playing solitaire on his computer to pay him much mind. 

— 

The newsroom was almost empty when you returned back to the office; the records you were searching for earlier that day had been missing from the archives, leading you on a wild goose chase through city hall.

The moonlight shined through the office space, the little corner where your shared office was quiet, but the rippling smell of cigarette smoke signals that you are not alone. 

He’s there, sitting at his desk, surrounded by a haze of smoke and you breathe in careful streams of nicotine as you carefully shuffle into the room, eyes watching him. He’s unfairly pretty, with his brown curls and thick shoulders, long fingers cradling the cigarette as he reads through a manila folder.

“You could have gone straight home.” There’s something in his voice, reckless and unafraid. And that ball of heat returns in your stomach. 

Your eyes dart up — caught, and your tongue curls between your teeth, before your mind forces itself back to usefulness. “I had things to do still.”  Curt, professional, as it should be.

Javier is moving before you realize but you find yourself stepping back until your back hits the edge of your desk. You’re unsure of what you want to do, but the urge to quell this lull of desire is forefront in your mind, you want to yell — you want to stomp your feet to demand respect, to shed the embarrassment from your first meeting.

Want — you want — he’s so close, almost crowding you against your desk, his hand reaches out, covered with pen marks, nails cut neatly and as you watch him, his brown eyes shining with something you can’t place, desire? Annoyance? 

You shut your eyes, his large fingers moving towards your neck, his touch surprisingly gentle as he begins to trail down the side of your collarbone and leave a tingle of heat in its wake. “W-what are you doing?” You feel as though your heart is stuck in your ribcage, almost cringing at the timidness in your voice. 

He hums that same blasé tone again. He continued in his movements until his fingers reached the top of your collar, pulling out the lapel from underneath your blazer where it had hidden with a tenderness you did not expect.

Those brown eyes meet yours again; his lips twist into a satisfied grin as he smooths the piece of fabric underneath his touch. Your own fingers grip the wooden desk beneath you, and the breath you didn’t even know you were holding escapes your lips, confusion throbbing in your mind as you stare up at him.

“Be careful on your way out.” 

You can only watch as he walks away, the searing touch of his fingers still on your skin as you struggle to find your composure.

[mixtapedoh]

How about lonely boy, lee know, and forced proximity?

@eclliipsed — i am thinking of you, specifically while writing this <3

;༊ — lonely boy

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre: fluff, office setting word count: ~3.6k warnings: language, situational stress, han is here stirring the pot, a startling amount of homicide jokes

olive’s notes: a unique challenge of writing lino fic that i did not before account for or even conceptualize is that when i think of said silly little stray kids cat boy, i think of him almost 99% of the time as 'lino' and like 0.9999999999% of the time as 'lee know'. lee minho? you mean the actor? it's not clicking up here, asdfghj. all that's to say, if i make a mistake and call him lino instead of minho, i'm so sorry, feel free to stone me in the square on whatever day is most convenient for you <3.

☄. *. ⋆ lee minho x forced proximity...

— society, as a collective, just loves their 9 to 5, right?

i mean, if it were actually a 9 to fucking 5, maybe you wouldn't be screaming, crying, throwing up, gnawing on the iron bars of your enclosure.

— but haha, as a general rule (collectively agreed upon at some point, or perhaps no one agreed so much as they were browbeaten into submission), more than society loves their 9 to 5, they love their workplace grindset culture.

gotta get those financial gains, amirite?

— which is all to say, you were simply enamoured, quite totally besotted with, completely captivated by and hopelessly devoted to your demanding, grueling, parasitic life-force of an office job.

and people had the gall to say you didn't have romance in your life.

clearly, they hadn't seen the zeal and devotion with which you dedicated yourself to your company issued computer, stacks of files, and white-walled cubicle.

after all, regular hours simply weren't enough for all the worship you had within you — you simply had to have both your mandatory overtime and your Implicitly Dictated and Oh-So-Reasonably Expected overtime hours as well <3 you did want to keep your job after all, and job security is such a silly little thing <3 corporate culture really is just soooo romantic in that regard <3 complete and utter devotion <3 commitment almost pious <3

until you managed to break away from the curse of Living in a Society and could live without bills, debt, responsibilities, more bills, more debt, and the desire for silly little (but financially substantial) hobbies to make this existence of yours worthwhile, your love affair with your job would simply have to stick.

— which made for the perfect little soup you were currently mired in. a thick broth of learned helplessness seasoned with intense loathing, a dash of interest in low stakes coworker drama, a sprinkling of compulsory people pleasing, a garnish of yes man energy, and an optional mix-in of untapped, constantly simmering rage.

so, of course you were best friends with han jisung.

— the universe really did do you a solid when they placed han jisung in the cubicle next to you.

perhaps the only employee that hadn't succumbed to the incessant humanity-sucking leech affectionately called a company, jisung was the only one who kept you sane when you were 56 hours deep in your work week and considering moving to a homestead on alaska where you would likely not even last a whole 72 hours — but, hey, you would at least get some sleep at the end of it when succumbing to the effects of hypothermia, so it didn't seem that bad of a gig, really (jisung always offered to cover half of the down payment cost, but at the end of the conversation, he'd just buy you a coffee and the two of you would call it even).

— and being friends with jisung was, all at once, both a blessing and a curse.

(because this is corporate living and existence is a fucking nightmare ~°~♫⭒~꘎ )

— poor excuses for jokes in your company chat box, sticky note battles during days when the mundane tasks you were assigned were mind-numbing enough to fell the strongest of corporate warriors, the constant "i owe you" back and forth when one of you went on a coffee or vending machine run and grabbed something for the other, and, of course, juicy gossip during your lunch break — all of these were the positives of being jisung's partner in captalist crime.

— but on the other hand, should either of your work be wanting in any regard... well... accountability is a word long enough to stretch between two.

— which led you to your current state of affairs.

"the next time you forget to delete your 'tongue-in-cheek' speaker notes on the powerpoint we're submitting for review from higher ups, i'm breaking your fingers so you can't type them in the first place."

but of course jisung just turns it into a joke about a hand kink.

— your punishment for 'distasteful' jokes left in the margins of official company output wasn't anything too severe — bless whatever cosmic force made it so that the generally easy going mr. ok taecyeon was the one to see jisung's fuck up, and not someone less forgiving — but it meant the next few weeks would be hell in the form of grunt work.

see, your company was expanding in the industry, and it meant that the building you were currently working in wasn't big enough to house all the ✨aspirational goals✨ it was just starting to believe in. thus, the majority of higher ups were going to move into a new office building... and for some ass-backward reason, so, too were all of the archives.

and someone had to go down there and box it all up, making sure it was properly labeled and in order.

sure, the company was just head-empty enough to have the desire to move physical archives to a new office building. but at least they wanted it all in order before they stuck it in a different dusty basement.

— the very first day you went to the basement and saw the sheer level of work the two of you had in store, you locked eyes with jisung and just knew that fucker was going to find some way to get out of it.

— on your lunch break you tried to beat him to the punch and defend your honor against the soul crushing weight of undue punishment. but alas! you had already taken vacation days in the last month (damn that kpop concert - did you really have to be that devoted to your ult group??) and han hadn't had a day off for the last 6 months.

how the hell did you end up doing the punishment work for actions that weren't even (mostly) yours?

han jisung better move to that alaskan homestead after all, nowhere else would ever be safe from your wrath... once you got out of this basement, of course.

— the most you were given was help in the form of lee minho — who would have thought that he of all people would be your saving grace?

maybe he'd help you plan jisung's murder. they were friends, true, but anyone who was around han long enough would not be opposed to plitting his demise. it was part of his elusive charm, after all. everything wonderful about him also lent itself to fodder for plotting his demise.

convenient, really, given the circumstances you were in.

— but back to lee minho. perfect performance lee minho. always last to leave the office lee minho. infuriatingly not suffering from looking chronically fatigued or daunted, overwhelmed, or simply fazed by the overzealous work culture you found yourselves in, lee minho. curt and focused but lacking of an edge that would make him unapproachable lee minho. impossible to pin down, the vitruvian man of corporate dreams, somehow the bosses favorite despite failing to do any of the sucking up some of your other coworkers engaged in almost religiously lee minho.

he didn't frustrate you; he didn't even really baffle you, but he didn't exactly occupy your brainspace in a way that could be described as indifference, y'know?

maybe this was something you could blame of jisung, too. he always talked about minho an ungodly amount, waxed poetic about how it was a shame that minho worked in a different department — how the two of you really would get along famously, but damn, if he couldn't convince either of you to spend any of your (perhaps two (2)) hours of off-duty life in the same place at the same time.

social lives, after all, were laughable, where the both of you were concerned.

— the day you walked down there and saw minho already elbow deep in a filing cabinet seemingly older than your parents (which, lamentably, was the worst organized filing cabinet you'd ever seen, and was regrettably representative of 95% of the work ahead of you), you laughed out loud and took the moment to convince minho to take a picture for you, so you could tell jisung that he was missing the Historic and Long Anticipated Meet Up, and that was the moment you realized that you were so deep in the basement, phone service was a pipe dream.

it wasn't a concern, really — you were both benefiting from the random employee benefit of free spotify premium, so your downloaded content was enough to get you through the long hours of organizing and packing, and hey! being in the basement meant no one really expected any more out of you than your required hours and whatever mandatory overtime you had left to complete.

— so really, jisung had been stupid as hell to avoid this punishment. it was effectively less work than you were used to (though tedious) and you were far enough away from your desk that the thought of the work piling up in the world above wasn't eating at you that much (at least not any more than usual; workplace anxiety and you were well acquainted, at that point <3)

— and minho! — god forbid you say anything complementary about that bastard han jisung while he left you (more than) 6 feet under, doing work that was, by many rights, his punishment — but he had been right when he said you and minho would gel.

he didn't disturb you, for the most part, but working in the same space for full work days with nothing to do but listen to podcasts and check the dates on dusty files meant that Annoying The Only Other Person In Your Vicinity became a welcome distraction from wallowing in the fact you were moving at a pace slower than desired. and he responded quite well to any question you threw his way - no matter how brain-dead, invasive, or embarrassing. in fact, he'd hit something back - put the ball in your court in a question almost more ridiculous, leaving you to question how jisung hadn't forced the two of you together sooner (but fuck jisung; all my homies are blaming this comedy of errors on jisung and are in this basement actively plotting his demise).

— and it didn't take you long to realize charming minho is almost exactly like getting a neighborhood cat to endear itself to you.

pspspsps at random (bat a stupid ass joke his way);

give him space but respond to his random bids for attention;

have a snack drawer (one of the first emptied out file cabinets furthest to the back of the archival area) and occasionally offer something sweet as a reminder that the snack drawer exists and is for joint indulging;

entertain him with logic puzzles and psychological warfare;

and, of course, shit talk your coworkers and company.

indulge the cats desire for destruction and mayhem; tell minho that whenever he was ready to put in his two-weeks, you'd be right there beside him and would run the paper shredder all night while he corrupted the files.

exist calmly and comfortable in the cat's space; work so well in tandem that you began anticipating the movements of the other.

spend quality time with the cat; both of you begining to wordlessly take your lunches at the table in the archival basement, instead of going all the way back up to the cafeteria, choosing instead to chat with each other and indulge in the other's niche interests and stupidly staunch opinions on poor pieces of media.

slow blink at the cat; catch yourself staring for a bit too long when he doesn't notice you looking, your thoughts getting all muffled and sappy as you become wholly fascinated by the slope of his nose and the softness of his big, dark eyes that look perpetually half-bored at work but sparkle with intelligence and mischief when you call out his name — lighting up with interest and disguised delight as that lazy, gummy smile makes it's way onto his features, eyebrows quirking upward, already expecting a challenge and...

— wait... what was that?

— is there absestos in the company walls, and that's why they decided to randomly move buildings? is there lead lining these filing cabinets? black mold in the ceiling? were you perhaps inhaling narcotics in this dusty ass air and hallucinating something vivid?

you were not developing a crush on someone just because you were stuck in the basement with this fool for going on two weeks now and hadn't seen another good looking coworker in quite some time. this wasn't some kind of drama where the ceo has a strange delight in forcing company employees into situations laced with ✨sexual tension✨. you weren't a main lead suffering from romantic withdrawals. remember your leech of a company. you have no time for shit like that.

— but, i mean, if you're never out of the office, perhaps finding romance in office is a solution...

shut the fuck up, you and minho weren't even in the same department. that point was moot.

— because damn, maybe asbestosis really was getting to you, and that's what was knocking the wind out of you any time minho smiled. yes, certainly the absestos in the walls was what was informing the way your heart constricted whenever the two of you brushed hands passing a file between you. maybe you should sue your company and have some hospital use you as a case study. maybe all the distracted daydreams was a new symptom of your newly contracted deadly disease.

see, that would make sense. you weren't catching a mean case of crushing on your forced proximity coworker, you were simply dying. because of the absestos.

— but even still, the day both of you piled all the boxes of (appropriately lableled) filing into a work car, and minho drove you over to the new building, the fresh air didn't seem to be a cure all. you were still a little more than distracted by his messy hair and black sunglasses... his concentration on the road... his pushed up sleeves... not to mention his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

(but of course you'd snap out of your thoughts when you remember that joke jisung made about your supposed hand kink at the beginning of all this nonsense. shut the fuck up, memory ghost jisung. you don't know shit. you and minho had already talked about it and were coming for his broke ass the day he had the courage to step foot in the office again.)

— yeah, haha, you weren't crushing on lee minho because of a comedy of errors you had never dreamed would befall you in the first place. working alongside him hadn't woken anything in you. certainly not.

— and yeah, haha, you'd definitely be able to hide this from jisung when he came back. not a problem at all when he asks you about how sorting archives went (he had the gall to bring it up every five minutes — taunting you with the fact that he got to have 4 days off and was then reassigned to do answer all the emails that had piled up during his time out of office. yes, he had picked up some of the work originally meant to go to you, but still. a veritable traitor who deserved your absence from your usual lunch dates. and yes, it was hard to be slick when he'd bring up your casual absence from lunch — were you finding minho's company to be more than enough? — but you'd manage. like hell were you going to give the smug bastard satisfaction after he made you atone for his and also your crimes.).

— and yeah, haha, you'd would definitely be able to explain to a suspicious and put out jisung why you were canceling anime re-run night with him to instead go with minho to this hybrid cat-and-comic-book-cafe he had mentioned never being able to get a reservation for, despite living two blocks away from it. silly little things like that would be easy to wave away, right.

it's like, totally platonic for you and minho to meet up on your only day off to spend hours lounging at a cafe retreat together where you cooed at semi-sociable cats and joked about adopting and co-parenting the one who enjoyed wearing cute hats, and read comic books for hours and order food to share and have low-stakes debates about the best tropes and characters of shared beloved media.

it's not like that whole set up is incredibly date coded.

and it's not like it would become a recurring habit for minho to invite you to do things with him that would have jisung waggling his eyebrows even as you pleaded innocence and smacked him with whatever quasi-weapon you just so happened to have on your desk (mostly file folders and your favorite cat themed mini calendar).

— haha... it wasn't like you were down bad and incredibly bad at hiding your crush.

...right?

— you fool. you absolute buffoon. han jisung could smell your lies and poorly contained crush from thousands of leagues away. even if you weren't shit at hiding it, he would have known. he could have actually been on that remote homestead in alaska and still picked up on just how brain dead you were over your crush. you thought you were slick? when han jisung has a doctorate in anxious suspicion and twelve master's degrees in the art of bullshitting?

hell, he knew you were going to fall in love with minho before the two of you even met. why do you think he'd wanted to connect the two of you in the first place? because he thought you two needed a social life? please — he knew going in that putting the two of you in the same room was horrible for his self preservation; he knew it was practically undermining company goals because your joint productivity would fall 2000% and the amount of cat memes you two would send on company time would increase so exponentially, you'd both resort to making your own memes using your company paid subscription to adobe creative cloud; he knew that the two of you were almost scarily well matched and equally devoted to drinking your refusal-to-believe-i-can-be-loved-romantically juice.

he knew that you and minho would develop glaring crushes on each other and wouldn't do a damn thing about it beyond smoothly flirting for an afternoon, inviting the other out on dates-that-aren't-dates and promptly fake-gagging and denying in a manner almost theatric that you might *gasp* enjoy the other's company in a way not-so-platonic, only to do it all over again. a vicious cycle of 'stop feeding the rest of us lies and just kiss with tongue already, damnit.' and he knew all of your coworkers would be caught in the middle of it.

— which they were. for, like, a solid five months.

— now, it wasn't too bad, considering the fact that you and minho worked in different departments, but anytime there was cause for collaboration, suddenly you were clambering to be considered, no matter the intense workload or the way the task was slightly out of your wheelhouse. suddenly, it seemed you were incredibly eager to learn and prove yourself.

at first, your team leader was overjoyed. initiative? drive? a seeming zest and fire for more commitment? say less and do more! marry yourself to the dumbass collaboration with the other department! perhaps this could mean freedom for their long suffering servitude under the corporate thumb!

but then they saw you flirting with minho and making plans to spend an afternoon together at a book signing while still on the clock. and while they're not opposed to a bit of misuse of company time (vive la révolution contre les régimes capitalistes, and all that), it was a bitter and sobering pill to watch that shit happen daily while not getting any yourself, and then stomaching the fact that these clearlly love-struck fuckers won't admit their own transparency-set-to-0% feelings and put their chronically-single corporately-suffering coworkers to rest. either say you're in love and just be done with it or take the rest of us out with a shot gun. goddamn.

it's like a sitcom's mind-numbingly over-the-top valentine's day special. someone make it stop.

— and it didn't take a genius to connect the dots and realize that the employee responsible for all of this was han jisung.

after all, he's the mutual friend between them. no doubt he talked about the other constantly in glowing terms. no doubt he planted the seed they'd be a match made in heaven. no doubt he was the one to blame.

and! wasn't it his fuck up that forced you and minho to work together in the archives to begin with?

maybe killing han jisung wasn't going to make you and minho confess to each other, but it would be some kind of catharsis for the people who were stuck in this hell of Watching You Two Take Your Sweet Time With It.

— so jisung had to understandably think of some kind of plot. after all, the two of you were his best friends, but to hope that you would admit your feelings for someone to save his livelihood? don't be ridiculous. the both of you were quite happy with the flirting stage, as it currently stood.

— how to get your stubborn friends to admit their (very real and very reciprocated) feelings for each other... when there's no external or even internal pressure (on them, at least) to do so... jisung would have to think outside of the box.

or perhaps inside of it.

— which i'm sure is reason enough to explain how the both of you managed to get stuck in a closet during your company's holiday party.

and, through it all, is minho's mischievous eyes and your flair for the dramatic.

"do you think we should tell our coworkers we've been dating?"

☄. *. ⋆

blog home

[scoops-aboy86]

what about a little office au? no upside down, maybe still in hawkins, steve in his parents abandoned house or maybe he’s just outside a city, with robin. and steve’s been at the job a few years, he’s a little stuck maybe. he’s definitely bored, but it’s fine, he’s just bored.

and then eddie joins his floor and steve can’t take his eyes off of him, he’s so interesting. and pretty. even if his top button is never done and his tie is always a little loose.

and then they do talk a little and eddie’s nice, he’s funny and goofy and steve knows he said a couple embarrassing replies to the guy due to his nerves but eddie has just laughed and gone along with it. it was so nice.

so steve decides he needs to talk to him more and needs an excuse to. so he bakes cupcakes, knowing his recipe is good and knowing he could work out a way to get eddie to take a break with him to have one.

the day he brings them in he leaves them in the kitchenette with a little note reading ‘help yourself!’ and steve just tries to get some work done without thinking about eddie too much, planning on talking to him later. but at around 11 eddie himself appears at his desk with a cupcake on a napkin, offering it to steve with such a sweet smile that steve just doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they’re his cupcakes. instead he says thanks and starts eating it, says ‘it’s good!’ even though he knows they’re good because steve ate three last night because they wouldn’t fit in the tupperware. but maybe it’s not so bad, because eddie lingers until he finishes it, says he’s planning on grabbing one at lunch, asks steve about his weekend plans and it seems so genuine and lovely that steve forgets all about the original cupcake plan.

instead, steve tries again the next week, this time with cookies. but the same thing happens, eddie beats him to it, walking over at around 11 with three stacked neatly in a napkin, offering them to steve and saying the same thing about getting one later. steve again saying nothing about spending all sunday making them. (the first batch came out so wonky however that he was too embarrassed to take them in, instead making a brand new lot and maybe making his way through the dud ones that night, half a gallon of whole milk to dunk them in). but eddie stays and they talk again, steve finishing all three large chocolate filled cookies without even realising it. his plan failing again but he manages a much better one, asking if he can sit with eddie at lunch and getting another smile (this one with dimples) and a ‘i’d like that’. he gets to see eddie try and seem to really like his cookies, so steve brings a small stack over for them to share. steve not realising till he back at his desk that he was the one who ended up eating them, eddie only had like one and a half.

and maybe steve keeps spending his sundays baking, spending mondays with eddie, eventually finding out eddie doesn’t really have a sweet tooth at all. but by that point steve definitely does…

(This got a little long, so buckle up.)

Oooh, yes. I’m thinking the suburbs somewhere, and he has a little bit of a commute into the office. It’s a job that a monkey could do but, well, he’s being paid to be that monkey. By the end of the day he just wants to get home and do anything that he actually wants to do, which tends to be prioritized by the path of least resistance. He’s generally gotten more sedentary on weeknights, watching movies and ordering takeout with Robin so neither of them have to cook. 

And then here’s this guy that was just assigned to the cubicle across from Steve’s who is just captivating, all wild hair and quirky grins and an apparently poor grasp of how to tie a tie, and Steve is just… losing his mind a little bit. He starts waking up actually wanting to go to work, kind of? But at the same time his concentration on anything while he’s there is totally shot. Every time he hears Eddie’s voice he’s immediately distracted, wishing the words were directed at him even though it’s usually boring work shit. 

At first, Eddie isn’t too talkative around the office. But maybe that’s just the distraction of settling into a new place, new job, new routine—because after a couple of weeks, Steve starts hearing him all the time. And, of course, Eddie comes over to introduce himself, a little sheepish that it’s taken him this long when they’re basically within each other’s line of sight for eight hours straight, nine of they both stay at their desks during lunch. Steve, who has had to restrain himself from openly staring ever since a few hours into Eddie’s first day, manages to answer Eddie’s nice to meet you with a mortifying “I’m nice to meet,” but Eddie just laughs like he’s told a funny joke and they move on. Which is great! And also, Steve wants to wrap himself up in Eddie’s laugh and live there forever. 

Very quickly, Steve decides he needs to talk to him more. Maybe impress him with something. Which… He doesn’t really know Eddie, or what might impress him. Most of Steve’s strengths in the past have tended towards athletics, but there aren’t many opportunities to showcase that in an office. After racking his brain for a few days, he ends up cracking the single cookbook his kitchen has to offer, because people bring donuts for the break room all the time. Why not do something like that? Maybe he can get Eddie to take a break with him to have one, and if he likes them maybe Steve can let slip that he made them…

So Steve blows off his usual jogging routine and spends his entire weekend in the kitchen. For most of Saturday he does test batches on the cupcake recipe in the back of the book because he wants to make sure he does this right. (And his first try coming out of the oven weirdly flat might be a factor, just maybe.) Sunday is reserved for decorating, after a morning of hitting the local cooking store for some things. He practices on the duds (read: did not meet his own probably high standards for impressing Eddie) first, and finds he kind of likes it. By the end of the day he has them looking just like in the picture beside the recipe, neatly swirled piping and sprinkles and all. 

On Monday, when Eddie comes by and offers Steve one of his own cupcakes “before they’re all snatched up” and a wink, oh my god… Steve’s brain flatlines and for some reason he eats the cupcake frosting first, just licking it right off the top like it’s some sort of ice cream cone, like an idiot. But Eddie is nice enough not to comment. In fact, he wheels his desk chair over and eats the sandwich he brought from home in the middle of Steve’s “doorway,” making his way through a sandwich while Steve finishes the cupcake, his own lunch, and…

Okay, so, meanwhile, Eddie is absolutely beside himself over how hot this guy is. This job was a last resort, an it’s-this-or-eviction choice after trying to make it with his band didn’t quite pan out, but he’s starting to appreciate it for the perks. And Steve keeps wanting to talk! To him! So when he’d seen those cupcakes in the break room, he knew that bringing Steve one would be a great excuse to drop by right around the lunching hour. The whole… frosting thing kind of makes his brain short out from excessive horniness, that tongue and those lips should be illegal probably. Sometimes Steve gets really into the conversation and is excited enough to talk with his mouth full, which is endearing as hell—and who knew such a clean-cut guy would know anything about d&d, let alone be interested in hearing about some of his old campaigns? (Apparently there were these kids Steve used to babysit and still keeps in touch with, and they’ve been playing forever.) Eddie is enjoying himself so much that he bounces back into the break room for one more cupcake. “It was the last one, you have it,” he says, presenting it to Steve. It is totally not a ploy to watch him eat more. (Yes it is. And it works.)

Next week, it’s cookies. Eddie figures that three cookies are an equivalent offering to one cupcake, and he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth so he lets Steve eat most of them. Again they have lunch together in Steve’s cubicle, and again Eddie fetches more baked goods for dessert, because, “It’s a Monday, man. Gotta brighten it up somehow.” And then shows Steve his tattoo of Garfield smoking a blunt. 

If Steve hadn’t already been sitting down, the revelation that Eddie has tattoos would’ve taken him out at the knees. And they’re not all that cartoony—the wyvern and the puppetmaster are both cool designs, and he thinks the simple bat silhouettes are cute. Not as cute as Eddie’s dimples, which are another thing that make Steve grateful for his trusty desk chair.

This goes on for a while. Steve gets another cookbook, this one devoted entirely to desserts, and makes his way through it page by page. He finds that he really likes baking, actually, and it’s nice to have a hobby again. It’s just… they’re getting more elaborate, and increasingly impractical to bring for sharing around the office. He knows the cheesecake is pushing it, and it’s over a slice that they’re nominally sharing but he’s absently made his way through most of that he finally gets up the nerve to ask Eddie if he’d like to hang out after work sometime. 

And this leads to the first time Steve sees Eddie outside of his work clothes. Hair even wilder than usual, metal band tee and a leather jacket over tight black jeans and boots. Meanwhile, Steve has… maybe miscalculated a bit, because all that baking (or, really, the eating of it) is starting to show. And he doesn’t go out all that much, not since his wild party days during high school, so his selection of non-work clothes isn’t exactly robust. But he thinks he did okay with his yellow sweater and jeans, even if the latter are a little tight at his thighs and middle. No one’s going to notice, right?

Eddie notices. He barely keeps from stammering as he joins Steve at the bar, covering it up with a hasty suggestion that they buy each other a drink they think they’d like. Steve orders Eddie some sort of beer, but Eddie, who used to take the odd bartending gig here and there, orders Steve a creamy looking drink that tastes exactly like a boozy, melted vanilla milkshake. “It’s called a Screaming Orgasm,” he explains with a smirk. “Kahlua, amaretto, vodka, Bailey’s, and heavy cream.” He leans in close and murmurs in Steve’s ear while he’s taking his next sip, “The vodka makes it scream.” They end up closing down the bar, not overdoing it on the drinks (thanks in part to the snacks Eddie keeps ordering and Steve keeps absentmindedly powering through throughout their nonstop conversation) but staying out pretty late for a work day, and one thing leads to another, and… they both end up calling out sick the next morning, cozied up together in Steve’s apartment. 

When they eventually roll out of bed, Eddie sees and starts flipping thorough the cookbooks in the kitchen while Steve makes coffee. A lot of the pictures look familiar and he starts to grin. Turning and seeing what he’s looking at, Steve blushes because oops, busted.

But Eddie turns to the next page past the cheesecake and taps the recipe for molten chocolate cakes. “Can you make this?”

“For… breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Eddie, who isn’t much of a breakfast person any more than he has a sweet tooth, eyes Steve and licks his lips. “We’re already playing hooky, let’s break all the rules.”

Steve ends up making the lava cakes with little protest. And maybe he ends up eating most of them, but he’s proud of how they turned out! Perfect on the first try, fluffy on the outside and gooey on the inside, and he separated the eggs without breaking any yokes, which is always worth celebrating. 

Besides, Eddie enjoys them greatly all the same, scooting two kitchen chairs so close together that he’s practically on Steve’s lap while chocolate-flavored stealing kisses between bites. The serious sweet tooth that Steve has developed lately is in heaven. 

Cut to another few months later, and Steve has already developed a much healthier work-life balance. Sometimes he still clocks out and has a movies and takeout night with Robin; sometimes Eddie joins them, getting along with Robin so well that they sometimes gang up on Steve (affectionately); sometimes it’s a date night, which about half the time means a baking night, too. It’s nice to have a partner in the kitchen, and they work well together. 

At their day job, sweet treats still show up in their floor’s break room every Monday like clockwork. Some of their coworkers have caught on to who brings them, and a few have gone out of their way to assure Steve (particularly after he started experimenting with flakey pastries) that if he ever quits to open his own bakery they’ll be his first and most loyal customers. It’s… a thought. Steve has secretly been looking into what all he’d have to do to pull that off, though he hasn’t made any decisions yet. Maybe when the arms of his trusty desk chair start cutting into his sides, the way they’re starting to threaten to, he’ll get serious about it. 

So yeah, treats in the break room every Monday. And there are treats packed in Steve’s lunches every other day of the weekday too, just for him and Eddie to enjoy at one or the other of their desks. Steve still eats most of them, but he’s also been experimenting with savory hand pies and Eddie puts up more of a fight for those. 

One weekend, Eddie coaxes Steve to dress up in the clothes he wore for their sort-of-accidental first date, and they barely fit anymore. 

Steve would be embarrassed by how many tries it takes and how much he has to suck in to get the jeans buttoned, let alone all the jumping and shimmying he’d had to do to get them up his thighs, except Eddie is on him immediately. Feeling around the waistband, his hands sliding into his back pockets with a squeeze, rings pressing into Steve’s ass through the straining denim, then slipping back out to tug the sweater down and tight over Steve’s belly, (which as per usual is stuffed with Steve’s own sweet cooking). 

“It suits you,” Eddie all but purrs, and it’s hard not to preen when being groped and spoken to like that. “Is any of that peach cobbler still left?”

Lunchtime is close enough that Steve’s stomach gives an eager little grumble at the thought, and yeah, he could go for some of that right now. 

With a chuckle, Eddie goes to grab a familiar Tupperware out of the fridge and a fork from the silverware drawer. He doesn’t bother with a plate, and follows Steve to the couch only to settle himself on his lap, first bite already ready to go and teasing at Steve’s lips. 

“Still can’t believe you let me seduce you with your own cooking, sweetheart,” he says, watching the other man’s mouth close around the forkful with wide, dark eyes. Their next kiss is fruity, buttery, sweet. “Mmm. Can’t believe you learned to bake because of me.”

“Yeah, because I got nothing out of that,” Steve replies with a chuckle, patting and then rubbing a hand in slow circles over his belly, coyly letting it ride up a little to see if Eddie reacts. 

He does; he always does. Eddie is transfixed by the crescent moon of skin this reveals, distracted for once from Steve’s lips as he feeds him the next bite. (This also works when Steve really wants to make a case for rewatching The Breakfast Club for the millionth time.) 

So yeah, Steve is pretty happy with his life these days. He’s also pretty sure he’s in love with this man who still for the life of him cannot tie a tie properly. He’ll probably tell Eddie soon, even. 

For now, he enjoys his mouthful of cobbler and lapful of boyfriend, and spreads his legs a little with a contented sigh as his ill-fitting jeans grow ever tighter. 

[whisk3ysugar]

Okay, so I was holding off on posting this because it's wrecking my nerves. And it's driving me insane at the same time. I'm a perfectionist so that's cute. (No it's not.) But here's my first series/chapter/prologue/thing... <3

Prologue Summary: An Alchemax lab worker was successful on her own. Normal. Same routine every day. No straying from the usual path. Not until her own fear became apart of her. Not until she met him. The liberator. Protector. The leader. Miguel O’Hara.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence (Soon), Mentions of Blood, No NSFW (Yet?), Terrible grammar errors (Probably), First post.

A/N: Like I stated before, this is my first writing piece on Tumblr. I also haven’t written in general for a WHILE.. So pls excuse the cute little imperfections <3 (I hope I can write chapters for this soon too!!!)

What exactly made you deserve landing in such a foreign.. and dangerous.. overall mysterious place?

It’s not like you remembered what even happened.

All you could remember now, was waking up on the cold floor below you. Head aching. What? Something was leaking from your head. Warm liquid made its way down your forehead as you tried to piece together your fuzzy thoughts. Where were you? Back at home? Surely this wasn’t your apartment in Brooklyn. But you couldn’t figure it out. Especially when you were fighting the feeling of unconsciousness. You had to piece together what was happening before you might inevitably black out.

…Recall the events. Remember.

You were at home. Long day of work put you in a vulnerable state. Alchemax scientists weren’t the easiest to work with especially when all you seemed to do was mess up. In their eyes. You had been designing a new function for the machine your boss had scrapped. It was a perfect base for your new project. But you’re getting off track. Finished up work. Left your keyboard in your lab coat pocket so you had to return. Enter the office room. Silence. Dark. Go in, grab the card, get out. Easy. Except it wasn’t.

You went in quickly. Taking your usual route to your cubicle helped you arrive faster. You grabbed your card. You made it home? Wait. No, that’s not right. Why couldn’t you remember? Why was your brain so damn hazy right now??

Backtrack. You went into the office and grabbed your keycard. Then you locked up the room. Habit. You went down the hall and.. And?

That’s right.

You went through the shortcut.

The incredibly dangerous shortcut that your boss happened to mention a couple HUNDRED times not to take. But it was just a door and a lab.. No big deal. It was such a huge space anyways. There was a big machine in the middle. Branded with your company’s logo. You took a look at it. It was huge. Just a few more steps closer and you were able to see every intricate detail. The only detail you missed was a white spider making its way up the web it must’ve spent hours threading and making.

You could make out every wire in the machine. But you couldn’t make out the spider crawling up your sleeve. That is.. until it sunk its fangs into you.

A loud shriek echoed through the lab walls as you failed your hand around in the air. It stung. And it didn’t help your already raging fear of spiders. You flung the light colored spider off and rubbed the harsh bite mark before making your way the hell out of that lab.

♡♥︎

After closing up the rest of the office, you made your way out of the facility and into the noisy streets.

Except.. it wasn’t noisy.

What? At this time of day, the streets were booming with noise.. Well, normally they were. So you excused the fact that it was quiet and made your way back to your apartment.

The moment you opened your door you got hit with a wave of drowsiness. How? You kept asking yourself these questions but you couldn’t even answer them. And within the next 10 seconds.. you couldn’t seem to comprehend what was happening.

It started with a loud ringing which contrasted the quiet you were experiencing a few moments before. Then came the nausea. Lastly.. your graceful fall straight to the floor.

That was it.

That’s all you remembered.

So how did you get here? On this rough concrete floor.. Head throbbing. Body shaking. Unable to remember any moments after your fall.

Well as if the world was just listening to your thoughts.. everything was answered with a flick of your wrist and a terrible thrust forward.

Web.

No. No, no, no, no.. NO. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This was just in those comics you spent too much time reading. Only in the action movies. It was all fake. Couldn’t be real. No.. You were hallucinating. That had to be it. Would explain the headache you were enduring currently. But..

How could you possibly explain the blinding lights and colors of such an ethereal realm? How could you explain all those different costumes.. all with that same stupid emblem you saw on TV when the news reporters tried to degrade the so-called heroes that protected your city. How could you even begin to try to process those specific dark colors that seemed to contrast all others.. It was a blur. Messy shades that put together a stranger right in front of you. None of your thoughts or questions could be answered.

Not when your head was throbbing and you could barely think.

Not when you were summoned to a new land.. Or rather, a new world?

Not when beast in the form of man had made its way toward you.. and all you could do was stare.

Not when your life had stopped and you were being pulled into your new one.

Not when you were met with the devil himself.

Miguel O’Hara.

♡♥︎

[adrienneleclerc]

We’re Just Friends

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: In this, we will see the friendship between Walter and Y/N and Walter’s first act of protectiveness; let’s face it, it wasn’t his first time punching a man because of Y/N

A/N: If y’all have seen Gilmore Girls, Walter and Y/N will be like Luke and Lorelai in the way that they hang out outside of work. If y’all haven’t, Luke/Walter is known for being grumpy in his place of work and in general. BUT he lets Lorelai/YN who is basically a ray of sunshine on caffeine get away with EVERYTHING. Lorelai/YN call Luke/Walter if they need to rant or need something fixed, they have a good friendship, very “you came, you called”

Ever since Walter gave Y/N apology cookies, they were closer, they got to know each other. They even started hanging out at friends outside of work which was rare for Walter.

Walter and Y/N could be seen at the mall, shopping for Faye because Walter is clueless about what to get her. They were walking down the aisles at Barnes and Noble.

“How do you not know what to get your daughter, Don Refri?” Y/N asked him.

“I thought that name was for the district.” Walter said.

“That name is for everywhere, Don Refri. Seriously, how do you not know?” Y/N stopped walking and stood in front of him.

“I know what my daughter likes, the only problem is that I don’t know if Angie and her new husband have already bought it for her.” Walter said, looking down at Y/N (I'm 5'3 and a half, yes, my doctor counts the half inch, but Henry is 6'1 so he's pretty tall, whatever height you are, he will still be looking down at you)

“Yeah, divorce makes it harder. I’m Just guessing, my parents are still together.” Y/N said with a smile. (If they are divorced, ignore that last sentence) “How about a funko pop, does she like Marvel?" Y/N said, holding up a Captain America funko pop that was on the shelf.

"I think she is more of a DC fan." Walter said, poking the Superman funko pop on the shelf.

They could even be seen at Y/N's apartment drinking coffee.

"Thanks again for fixing my lock, it was driving me crazy.” Y/N said, giving Walter a pan dulce to drink with his coffee.

“Yeah of course, wouldn’t want you to feel unsafe in the neighborhood.” Walter said.

“Still, you could have come tomorrow but you came tonight, so I appreciate it.” Y/N said.

“It’s a 5 minute drive, you’re close by. What is this, by the way?” Walter asked

“It’s pan dulce, there’s a little Mexican bakery that i like to go to, really good, I gave you a concha.” Y/N said, also taking a bite out of her concha. Walter have it a taste.

“You’re right, it’s really good.” Walter said. They kept talking until Walter finished his coffee and they said goodbye.

The next day, Walter came into the police department with a thermos in hand and an paper bag in the other. He walked over to Y/N’s cubicle and knocked on her desk.

“Good morning, Don Refri, how are you today?” Y/N asked.

“Good morning to you too, Y/N, I’m good, and you?” Walter replied.

“Im good, what’s in the bag?” Y/N asked, she was curious to know what’s inside.

“I went to the coffee shop this morning and got you something. It might not be as good as the pan Dulce from your Mexican bakery, but this coffee shop is Latina owned.” Walter said and Y/N opened the paper bag and saw manteconchas and polvorones.

“Oh my gosh, they look so good, they smell good too, gracias Don Refri, ya te estás calentando.” Y/N said, giving him a hug. Walter hugged back and went to his office while Rachel turned to Y/N with a smirk on her face.

“Walter brought you Mexican pastries? How nice of him, looks like you might be his favorite.” Rachel said.

“Maybe it’s because I’m new, I’m sure the novelty will wear off.” Y/N said.

“Maybe, maybe not. Who knows.” Rachel said, going downstairs.

A week later, Y/N entered the department and it was all chaos, she walked over to Glasgow to see if he could tell her what’s going on.

“Why is everyone acting like my mom when Luis Miguel announced his tour?” Y/N asked.

“Detective Marshall finally found a lead to the guy who’s been trafficking teenaged girls. We got his license plate and planted a tracking device on his van so Walter asked me to see where the van stops and that’ll be this guy’s hide out,” Glasgow explained. A few minutes later, “I found him! He’s in an All Inc Warehouse!”

“Let’s get a move on, we’re finally gonna get this son of a bitch.” Walter said as he grabbed his gun and out on his vest to leave with the other officers.

“What does he mean by ‘finally’? Has this been a tough case?” Y/N said, finally being able to sit at her desk.

“Detective grumpy has been working on this case for a month. It’s been driving him crazy knowing that the guy was still out there.” Rachel said, walking in, sipping her coffee.

“Then I’m glad he’s finally catching him.” Y/N said.

An hour later, Walter walked into the district with the guy in handcuffs. Walter takes him downstairs to put him in a holding cell. He walked back upstairs.

“Y/N, i need to fill out a report, come with me please.” Walter said and Y/N followed him.

“Congratulations on the arrest, Don Refri. How does it feel?” Y/N asked.

“It feels good. How was the Mexican bread?” Walter asked.

“The polvorones we’re really good and the manteconcha was delicious. I saved you a polvorón because you have to try it. Where did you get them?” Y/N asked.

“I got it at Abogados Café.” Walter said. “What does that mean, by the way?”

“Lawyers coffee. Do they have Cuban coffee?” Y/N asked.

“I Don’t know, we can check it some other day.” Walter said.

Hours later, Walter and Y/N were finishing their paper work.

“Hey Don Refri, how do you feel about going to a bar tonight? You don’t have to drink, but I think it’ll be fun. We could celebrate that you finally solved that case! Rachel told me you’ve been working on that shit for a month.” Y/N said as she put on her jacket.

“I Don’t know about that, Y/N.” Walter said.

“Oh come on, it’s not like I’m asking you to get drunk. Let’s just go to a bar, you can play pool with the guys, I can eat some fries. We could go to Brunson’s Pub! Or Skinner’s or Iron Ranger, I don’t care, I just want a night out and I really don’t feel like cooking.” Y/N practically begged Walter as she was holding onto his biceps.

“Fine, fine, we’ll go to Brunson’s, they have more food there, I’ll tell the guys, you can tell Rachel. Group celebration.” Walter said and Y/N was happy. She texted Rachel about going to the pub and Rachel was down.

“Rachel said she’ll be there, what about Matthew and Glasgow?” Y/N said.

“Yeah, they’re coming too. You want me to drive you?” Walter said.

“And leave my car here?” Y/N asked.

“I’ll drive you to work tomorrow, it’ll be fine. This way you can drink as much as you want.” Walter said.

“Jaja, mira que funny eres.” Y/N said. They walked out of the department and got into Walter’s car. Walter put on a random playlist on Spotify. Y/N was looking out the window when she heard a familiar song, “Oh my gosh, I haven’t heard this song in forever. I love ‘colgando en tus manos’, my mom would play it in the house all the time.”

“Yeah, I found a playlist with Spanish songs, thought it would be good, maybe help with my Spanish with us being friends and all.” Walter said.

“You Don’t even know what Carlos Baute is singing right now.” Y/N commented.

“It doesn’t matter, you like this kind of music, right?” Walter asked.

“It reminds me of my life in Miami, before Latin music went mainstream.” Y/N said. They kept talking and listening to music until Walter parked in the parking lot at Brunson’s. They walked in together.

“Hey, look who made it! Detective Grumpy and his sunshine partner.” Matthew said.

“Hey, we’re not at work right now but I’m still your boss, watch it. How much have you had to drink?” Walter asked.

“He had 3 tequila shots.” Glasgow said.

“How did he get here?” Walter asked.

“I took an Uber.” Matthew said.

“Same.” Rachel and Glasgow said.

“Great, well I gotta stay sober because I have to take Y/N home. What do you want to drink?” Walter asked, turning to Y/N.

“I want a ‘bad hombre’ and you should get yourself a beer, we’re celebrating you, you should be able to let loose.” Y/N said.

“All right, I’ll go to the bar.” Walter said and Y/N slid into the booth. Walter came back with a beer, a “bad hombre” which has reposado and mezcal, and an Italian sandwich for Y/N. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Don refri.” Y/N said. They were all talking and laughing, having a good time but Walter stepped away. “Damn, I’m running low, I’m gonna see of i Can get a beer, be right back.” Y/N said and walked to the bar when bumped into a tall man. “Oh I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, you’re good. Wait a minute, Y/N?” The man said and Y/N looked up to see a familiar face.

“No way, Mitch, how are you? What are you doing here in Minnesota?” Y/N asked as she hugged Mitch (Dylan O’Brien) a friend she made back in Virginia.

“My brother Steven wanted to go skiing. You want me to order you a beer?” Mitch asked.

“Yeah, get me a modelo.” Y/N said and Mitch told the bartender to get him two modelo beers. “Well, how’s the CIA treating you?”

“The CIA is fine. Listen, I’m sorry to hear that the FBI didn’t work out for you but maybe you can come back to Virginia and become part of the CIA.” Mitch said.

“I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can cut out as a CIA agent.” Y/N said. They kept talking and Walter got out of the bathroom to see Y/N talking to Mitch. He went back to his booth.

“Who’s that guy?” Walter asked.

“I Don’t know but he’s cute.” Rachel said. Walter went closer to hear their conversation.

“You’d do great. I swear, I would love to work with you.” Mitch said.

“Mitch, honestly, stop insisting, I’m not doing it.” Y/N said. All Walter heard was Y/N telling Mitch “no” so Walter got closer and..

“Didn’t you hear her? She said no.” And Walter decked Mitch, Mitch landing in the floor. Y/N got out of her stool.

“Walter! What did you do?” Y/N asked, facing Walter.

“Wasn’t he bothering you?” Walter asked.

“No! Walter this is Mitch, my friend who’s in the CIA. Mitch, this is Walter.” Y/N said as she helped Mitch off the floor.

“He’s your boyfriend or something?” Mitch asked.

“No, we’re just friends.” Y/N said and Walter walked outside the bar, he needed fresh air. “And he’s technically my boss at the police department. He’s a detective.”

“Well He’s quite protective of you. I should give you my number so we could hang out next time I’m in Minnesota.” Mitch said,

“That would be great.” Y/N said and they exchanged numbers. “It was great seeing you, I gotta talk to Walter.” Y/N walked outside and saw Walter leaning against his car. “What the hell was that in there?”

“Sorry, Y/N, I thought he was just a random drunk harassing you. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours.” Walter admitted.

“You could have asked. Just don’t do it again, okay.” Y/N said,

“I won’t. Are you sure you’re all right? He didn’t try anything?” Walter asked,

“Nah, Mitch is a good guy, he wanted me to ‘try out’ for the CIA but I told him no. Thanks for being protective though, I appreciate it.” Y/N said and she hugged him. “Can we go back inside? I’m kinda cold and this skirt isn’t helping.” Y/N said and Walter chuckled.

“Yeah, we can go back inside.” Walter said, leading her into the pub with his hand on the small of her back.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! i just guessed about the Latina owned coffee shop but then I was looking up coffee shops in Saint Paul and that’s when I found Abogados Café! I looked up the bars and the warehouses because I like my fanfics to be accurate when I’m writing about a state I don’t know anything about. Also, super sorry about the late “update”, I’m finishing up the fall semester and i have so much work to do but I’m procrastinating so…that’s gonna bite me in the ass when the time comes. Comment if you want to be added to the tag list

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @warriormirkwood @secretdream2

[corruptedcaps]

Mirrored Goals

This story for was written for @lsat (discord: thedivergence, Twitter: LSAT1886) as a thank you for generating the images used here and in other stories. Enjoy!

Within the sleek confines of the executive suite at Sterling Dynamics, Cherie Randall, the benevolent and beloved CEO, was searching for a pen stood when she found a previously hidden button in the drawer of her desk.

Despite being promoted over a month ago, Cherie was still getting her bearings around her opulent new office and hadn’t explored it much. In fact she had been considering getting a construction crew in to split her office, to make more room for the staff. Her office was far too big for just her, she couldn’t fathom why her predecessor needed such an ostentatious space.

Then again knowledge of her predecessor seemed to be in short supply around the building. Her staff seemed almost afraid to say much so it was with great trepidation that Cherie pushed the hidden button. She feared that it may reveal a filing cabinet full of embezzlements or a bank of monitors showing hidden cameras around the office.

To her surprise and relief it simply slid open a panel on a wall, revealing an ornate mirror. Standing up she walked over to her t, curious as to why something as simple as a mirror would be hidden. However as she gazed longer and longer at the mirror it became clear why it was secret and why she alone could use it.

The next day in walked a woman that few recognized instantly but none would soon forget. The ebony beauty walked with confident strides through the sea of cubicles as head after head popped out to see her.

She walked in 6 inch heels leopard print boots and wore a sleek open breasted leather jacket to show off her impressive cleavage and to match the practically painted on leather pants. Her hair was in thick black braids that looked more like weapons than like hair. What struck people the most was her old confident demeanour as she walked to the CEO’s office and turned around.

By now she had amassed a large group of the workers and they were in no doubt that this woman, somehow was their boss, Cherie Randall. The room turned silent as they waited for her to address them.

“Starting today, all employees are expected to do overtime. Vacation time will be approved once quotas are met and lunch has been reduced to 10 minutes down from one hour. Understand?” Cherie said matter of factly with a smirk on her perfect lips. Her voice, once warm and reassuring, had transformed into a seductive purr that could charm anyone within earshot. It had become deeper, bolder, and undeniably sexier.

When she spoke, it was as if every word was wrapped in velvet, a soft hum that reverberated with a magnetic allure. The resonance of her voice carried a commanding authority that demanded attention and obedience. Employees who had once seen Cherie as a kind-hearted leader now found themselves spellbound by her words. She watched as a sea of heads nodded along, entranced by her words.

“Good. And finally you will refer to me as Mistress Cheetah going forward.” She said and felt an overwhelming sense of pleasure as her workers replied back to with “Yes Mistress Cheetah.”

Within a week Cheetah had boosted productivity ten fold. Cheetah watched from her grand office as her employees filed in and out each day exhausted but docile, they would do anything she said. It was practically orgasmic for Cheetah to see.

The board of executives couldn’t have been happier with the progress and Cheetah hadn’t even entranced them. She suspected that she wouldn’t be able to either. They were much more confident and strong willed than her lowly employees, their spirits would be harder to break so Cheetah had to play ball with them but it was an easy task to do so.

One thing they did want was a higher output and so gave her authorization to hire more staff. Of course they didn’t have the space in the office for more people but Cheetah was only too happy to cram 3 to a cubicle or make them work out of a janitors closet. Anything to increase profits and the staff were happy to obey her. Everyone except Lena.

Lena was a new addition to the company, a bookish redhead who was unassuming and plain but what she lacked in looks she made up in having a keen intellect and a strong-willed nature. But what really set her apart was her immunity to Cheetah's charms.

Lena couldn't fathom why her coworkers were so fervently dedicated to the nasty and demanding Cheetah, who seemed to be a slave driver disguised as a CEO. She observed the way Cheetah's voice held others in thrall and how they blindly followed her every command.

Cheetah, usually accustomed to effortlessly ensnaring the loyalty of her employees, found herself unable to bend Lena to her will. The redhead's resilience was a stark contrast to the rest of the staff, and it piqued Cheetah's interest and frustration.

Lena began to break the spell that Cheetah held over some of her colleagues, and gradually, they began to question the unrelenting pursuit of Cheetah's desires. This didn't go unnoticed by the CEO, who grew increasingly furious as her control over the corporate landscape began to slip.

Lena's influence within the company continued to grow as she skillfully began to unionize the workers, uniting them against the harsh demands of Cheetah. Employees who had once been under Cheetah's spell were now rallying behind Lena, seeking fair treatment, better working conditions, and an end to the CEO's heartless ways.

The executive board, noticing the unrest and dip in profits grew furious with the CEO. They feared that the Cheetah may have lost her edge and warned her she was on thin ice.

Desperate to regain control, Cheetah extended an unexpected invitation to Lena to discuss the ongoing matters. Lena, wanting to fight for better conditions for her fellow employees, accepted the invitation and entered Cheetah's luxurious office, where an air of tension hung heavy in the opulent surroundings.

Cheetah extended a cordial greeting, a practiced smile gracing her features as Lena entered her office. "Lena, it's wonderful to finally meet you. I've heard so much about your talents."

Lena's response was frosty, her emerald eyes locked onto Cheetah. "Cut the pleasantries, Cheetah. I know why you've brought me here. You’re going to fire me, well if you do I-"

Cheetah chuckled, the sound like honey over gravel. "You have quite the imagination, Lena. I wouldn't dream of letting go of an employee with such potential."

Lena arched an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. "Potential for what, exactly?"

Cheetah leaned in, her voice a sultry whisper. "The potential to lead, to be my right-hand woman. I see something special in you, Lena. I see myself."

Lena scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Join you? You're evil, Cheetah. I'll never become like you."

Cheetah's response was a chilling silence, her gaze locked onto Lena's with a sinister smile that sent shivers down the redhead's spine. It was a look that spoke of an underlying darkness, a willingness to do whatever it took to maintain her power.

"I want to show you something." Cheetah purred, her voice dripping with intrigue as she pressed the hidden button on her desk. The nearby wall panel slid open revealing the orange mirror and Lena looked at it with confusion. With an enigmatic smile, Cheetah gestured for Lena to follow her to the mirror.

Cheetah stood behind Lena, her presence imposing, as Lena peered at her own reflection in the mirror. She met her own eyes in the glass, uncertainty evident in her expression. "Tell me, Lena," Cheetah whispered in Lena's ear, "what do you see?"

Lena looked at her reflection and, in a plain and matter-of-fact tone, described herself, “I see a plain, bookish redhead with glasses and freckles.”

Cheetah, standing behind Lena, leaned in and whispered, “And tell me, what would you like to see?”

As Lena gazed into her own reflection, she started to feel slightly lightheaded. It was as if the mirror had a subtle, hypnotic effect on her. She found herself drawn into a trance, and her voice took on a dreamy quality.

"I... I would like to see someone confident and poised," Lena began, her voice distant yet filled with longing. "A woman who commands respect and isn't afraid to speak her mind. She would have a strength that empowers others, and people would look up to her with admiration."

Cheetah, still standing behind Lena, could see the subtle change in her posture and expression. The mirror's enchantment was taking hold, guiding Lena's desires and aspirations towards a new, captivating vision of herself.

Cheetah, her voice dripping with intrigue, leaned in closer to Lena, her breath warm against Lena's ear. "Empowers others? Or empower yourself?"

Lena hesitated for just a moment, as the mirror’s enchantment worked its magic on her. A selfish desire began to take hold. “Empower… just myself,” she whispered, her voice growing bolder and more confident.

As she made her choice, Lena’s reflection in the mirror began to change. Her plain, bookish appearance transformed into something entirely different. Her hair became a fiery shade of red, her glasses vanished to reveal sparkling, confident eyes, and her freckles seemed to fade away. Her posture straightened, and she appeared poised, exuding an air of self-assuredness.

And yet something felt off to Lena, this wasn’t right. She cared about people, she wanted to help them and stop people like Cheetah exploiting them. Didn’t she?

Cheetah, sensing Lena's rising doubt, leaned in closer and asked, "And what would you do to get this power?"

Lena continued to gaze at her own reflection, her eyes locked onto the more attractive image she had become. A wicked smile played on her lips, and she spoke with a seductive confidence, "Anything."

The mirror's magic, having heard Lena's unequivocal response, intensified its transformation. Lena's body and appearance underwent a final change, her beauty now rivaling Cheetah's, but with a unique appeal of its own. She radiated a captivating charm that was impossible to resist, and the air around her seemed to shimmer with a newfound presence.

Her lips, once plain and unremarkable, transformed into a sensual, deep crimson, appearing plump and inviting. They had a subtle gleam that caught the light just right, giving her a mysterious allure. Her makeup, previously minimal, became bold and seductive, emphasizing her eyes and lips with a dark, smoky glamour that highlighted her newfound confidence.

Lena's figure underwent a remarkable change. Her once-bookish frame now featured the inviting curves and contours of a model, with a slim waist and sculpted hips that made her silhouette captivating. Her clothing shifted from plain office attire to sleek, form-fitting ensembles that accentuated her newfound beauty. She wore sharp, tailored suits that exuded power and authority, yet also embraced the appeal of her sensuality.

Her tits became fuller and more inviting, her cleavage commanding attention and admiration. The previously demure redhead now radiated a seductive charm that was impossible to ignore. The transformation had made her the embodiment of both dominance and allure, qualities that had once been solely associated with Cheetah herself.

The transformation was not merely cosmetic; it ran deep, infusing Lena with newfound charisma and a commanding presence. She felt a surge of self-empowerment coursing through her, and it was exhilarating. The mirror’s magic had granted her a profound transformation, and Lena could hardly believe the change she was witnessing.

Cheetah watched with a triumphant smile as Lena’s new persona emerged, fully embracing the desire of power and self-empowerment. She knew that Lena was now a formidable force in the corporate world, and their partnership would reshape the destiny of Sterling Dynamics.

Cheetah, her sinister smile widening, continued to watch Lena's transformation with satisfaction. "Now, my dear," she purred, "what are your thoughts on the other workers?"

Lena's gaze remained fixated on her own beautiful figure, her new aura of power almost intoxicating. With a cold smirk, she responded, her voice dripping with contempt, "Pathetic worker bees. They'll soon learn their place, and I'll whip them back into obedience."

Cheetah's approval was evident as she observed Lena's newfound ruthlessness. Her influence had taken hold of Lena's very essence, turning her into a mirror image of the CEO herself. Together, they now embodied the essence of dominance and beauty.

Cheetah’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she heard Lena’s cold assessment of the other workers. She nodded approvingly and then leaned in closer to Lena, her voice a sultry whisper. “Excellent, my dear. But now that you are here, we can combine our skills on more formidable targets. Like the executive board.”

Lena, her voice now laced with the newfound confidence and depth she had embraced, responded with a wicked smile, “Together, we can bring them to their knees.”

[comicarc]

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Part 1

wc: 1833

365 Days After That Night

Jason Todd was the Red Hood. Jason Todd was a criminal. Most of all, Jason Todd was a murderer, for he murdered the only remnant of love I had left in my soul. He was my breaking point. 

It’s been a year since the night he left and though I tried my hardest to bury his memory in my mind, his recent headlines made for incessantly annoying reminders. Though the ghost of Jason’s lacking presence haunted me every day, I was able to suppress those thoughts. Luckily, my job at the Gotham Gazette came with a considerably generous salary, often encouraging me to forget all the undesirable aspects of the job, including him. 

Tonight, I was staying late at the police station, waiting for my interviewee, Dick Grayson, to arrive from Bludhaven. He had been working a case on a notorious serial killer who had recently broadened his horizons and began to kill in Gotham. He was the only one overseeing it, thus, taking note of his busy schedule, I had set up an appointment weeks prior. Though he was already an hour late, I decided to wait, for an opportunity like this may not come as easily again.

I sat at his desk, resting my head in the palm of my hand and darting my eyes across the room to cure myself of my boredom. One particular photo caught my eye as my gaze trailed to the framed pictures on the desk. Dick was with a younger, lively boy, posing for their photo in front of Wayne Manor. Curious, I inspected the photo closer to notice that the other boy had azure eyes and curly black hair, just like–

“–Ah, I see you’ve taken an interest in my brother, eh? It’s my favorite photo from when I was still living in Gotham.” Dick had finally made his entrance.

“Detective Grayson,” I said, surprised by his voice. 

Sitting down he asked, “You must be y/n? I’m sorry for arriving so late, the route from Bludhaven to Gotham is always littered with traffic.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” With that, I began my questioning. It eased into a conversation the deeper we dove into the topic until eventually a few hours had passed and Dick had to head off to another crime scene.

“Before you leave, may I ask…which of your brothers is that? I’ve only heard of two others and they seem to be too young to have been in that photo when it was taken.”

“Jason Todd. He kinda of fell off the face of the Earth on his enlightening retreat, so almost everyone forgot about him. Now that he’s back, he's done well to stay out of the spotlight.” 

To ask more questions would be to intrude on his personal life, and so, tempering my desires, I quickly left.

Jason Todd was Red Hood, a criminal, a murderer. And a liar. 

4 Days Later

Days passed, giving me barely enough time to digest the information that Dick had given me. After some of my own research, I found that Jason was alive and well. The night he left me was the night he reunited with his family. The very family he claimed to hate…he left me for them. 

Now sitting in my cubicle at the Gazette, my thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, for my feelings for Jason had begun to resurface. I longed to see him, to hear him to be with him. But I couldn’t blame him anymore, for my fantasies led me to break my own heart. I wanted something that was never there, and I had to accept that. I shook my stupid ideas away as I looked at the whiteboard across the room to see my next assignment. My stoic expression turned into one of horror as I read: “Y/n → Wayne Gala”.

I rushed to the chief editor’s office and begged to be reassigned, but all my pleas were in vain because no one else was available to cover for me. Begrudgingly, I went back to my desk and looked down at the invitation that was put on it. The bold letters embedded at the top of the card were as searing as a blade, for they sliced my heart into a million pieces. I went home immediately, for I had very little time and a lot to do to prepare. 

Jason would be there as well and I wanted to catch his eye to make him feel jealous and regretful for leaving me, but for that, I needed a statement dress. Thus, I decided to head to a nearby shopping plaza, to spend as much money as I could on a dress that I would never wear again, all for a man that may not even remember me. 

After a successful trip, I roamed around the plaza in search of a light snack before getting ready for the night's festivities. Wandering my eyes, I caught sight of a familiar man on the other side of the nearly empty area. Walking closer to clear my suspicions, I recognized him to be the one and only Jason Todd. 

He was with another woman who seemed to be a thousand times prettier than her. Her gorgeous red hair was tied in a high ponytail and fell down to her hips, her lean figure resembled that of a model, and her face seemed too proportional to be true. She was perfect. And she was kissing him on the cheek. The sight made me want to cry out right then and there. He had moved on. 

Later that Day, in the Evening

As I made my way through the entrance doors entranced by the beauty of the domain, I was welcomed by a breathtaking display of opulence and extravagance, transforming the Manor into a realm of sheer elegance. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, casting a cascade of shimmering light across the grand ballroom. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries depicting scenes of Gotham's history, each thread telling a story of wealth and power. Exquisite floral arrangements of velvety red roses and ivory lilies graced every corner, their intoxicating fragrance mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet that filled the air.

Guests, dressed in their finest attire, moved gracefully through the lavishly decorated rooms, their laughter and whispered conversations creating an enchanting symphony that resonated through the space. A grand staircase, adorned with a crimson carpet, beckoned guests to ascend toward the upper levels, adding an air of regal grandeur to the soirée.

In the heart of the ballroom, stood Jason Todd. He was a magnetic presence, a striking figure that effortlessly drew the eye. Dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his lean and muscular frame, he appeared both rugged and refined. The dimmed lighting highlighted the chiseled lines of his jaw, the shadow of stubble giving him an air of mysterious allure. His dark, tousled hair framed his face, adding to his rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes were like sapphires in the night. He moved with a confident grace, his every step commanding attention and admiration from those around him.

He was so captivating that I continued to stare until his gaze locked onto mine. For an instant, the world around us seemed to fade into obscurity. It was as if time itself had stopped. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, a hint of regret, and a trace of something deeper, something that mirrored the tumultuous history we shared. It was a gaze that carried the weight of our past, and in that moment, I knew that the night held more secrets and emotions than I had ever imagined.

Stop. I’m imagining things.

I focused my mind on the task at hand, to distract myself from him. My every move was meticulous, like a well-rehearsed dance. My professional demeanor was unwavering as I discreetly took notes on the evening's proceedings, capturing every detail and nuance of the event. I engaged in discussions about Gotham's elite, current events, and the philanthropic endeavors the gala aimed to support. All the while, my smile remained fixed and my words carefully chosen, masking the emotional turmoil that raged beneath the surface.

Suddenly, in the midst of conversation, Jason's warm and inviting hand gently wrapped around my wrist, guiding me away from the bustling gala and into a secluded garden nestled within the sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor. 

The garden seemed to come alive under the moon's tender caress. The moon was like a radiant pearl in the inky sky, spilling its ethereal light through the dense canopy of trees, creating an enchanting interplay of shadows and soft, silvery beams. As we stood, the night's gentle breeze carried the fragrance of blooming flowers, adding a layer of sensuousness to the charged atmosphere. 

Before Jason could utter a single word, my pent-up emotions, like a dam bursting, spilled forth with a hiss of anger and hurt. “What the hell? Who the hell do you think you are?” The words tumbled from my lips, carrying the weight of a year's worth of unanswered questions and unresolved feelings. 

Jason stood before me, his expression a complex interplay of emotions. His eyes, once piercing and intense, now held a hint of regret and remorse. In the stillness of that moonlit garden, the unspoken words hung heavy in the air, waiting for the right moment to find their voice and bridge the chasm that had grown between us.

“It’s Jason…remember.”

“No.” All I do is remember.

“You’re my best friend.” 

“I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t know anyone named Jason.” 

“What the hell is going on with you? Why can’t you remember me?”

“You’re the one that needs to remember.”

“What?”

“Remember that night? It’s been a year and you’ve clearly moved on. I’m glad you got your happy ending with a girl even prettier than me. That begs the question…why even talk to me with the intention of leaving again?”

“Y/n, I–”

“–Save it. I can’t do this anymore.”

My rapid footsteps echoed on the cobblestone path, and the sound of my heels clicking with every step rang in my ears. I paid no heed to the gasps and whispers that trailed behind me like a ghostly chorus of judgment. 

In my haste, I collided with a solid figure, and the impact sent a shiver through my frame. I looked up, and it was none other than Dick Grayson, his eyes a curious blend of mockery and amusement. In my agitated state, I only heard his attempt at humor as a blade deepening the wound that had been freshly reopened.

This gala was a set-up, a trap and I fell face-first into it. But, it did allow me to realize something. 

Jason Todd was Red Hood, a criminal, a murderer, a liar. And a fool for thinking that I may ever love him again.