#no one can go to HR about eating the boss' dreams if you ARE HR | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scuttling · 3 years ago

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Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

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#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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marveldcmistress · 3 years ago

Text

Alternative Healing Pt. 3

A/N: Here it is y’all!! Sorry for the wait, life has happened and I think the events in this chapter can sum it up better than I could. If you would like to be tagged, please let me know, and if I missed anyone in the tags PLEASE let me know, I don’t want to leave anyone out! Also, tags in bold are the people dumblr wouldn’t let me tag.

Warnings: Anxiety, cursing, talks of parenting and child bashing (because sometimes children are assholes) and jealous bitches

About two months goes by after that night. It's now the end of January, and the weather can't seem to make up it's mind. One day it's sunny and warm, highs in the 60's. The next it's cold and dry, bitter winds whipping in from the north. You don't really mind, just glad to be getting out of the house.

You had quit your job at the barbeque restaurant a few days after you had dinner with Sy. Shitty management and asshole customers had made you snap one night, causing you to walk out. It wasn't the best decision, as you didn't have a job to back it up, but you know your worth, and could find better. Unfortunately, you definitely weren't prepared for barely anything being available in the job market of your small town. A week later depression kicked in, and it took everything you had just to take a shower and feed the cats.

You chose to see the silver lining in it though. Being broke meant not being able to afford food, but that would only really be a problem if you had an appetite. But hey, a month of not eating regularly dropped you 15 pounds. Go you! Getting a start on that weight loss goal. A month of unemployment lead you to a cafe three blocks down the road to you though, looking for a server, and a guarenteed $9/hr plus tips. You're up at 5 every morning to be there at 6, but it's a five minute walk away, giving you a chance to get some exercise in, helping drop even more weight, but you're looking and feeling good.

Your manager was amazing too, very understanding and the perfect balance between boss and buddy. Your coworker, Tina, is so much fun. Funny and professional, she's slowly become your work-mom. You've also taken up tutoring her daughter, Charlie, after work a few nights a week. Things are looking up for you now, and you can't feel any better about it.

You haven't seen Sy, though you can hear him downstairs some nights, football games on the tv or classic rock playing on the speaker when he's outside working on his truck parked in the back. Part of you feels guilty for actively avoiding him during your depressive episode, but another part keeps telling you it was none of his business. You hardly knew the man, and you would rather die than let someone as perfect as him know just how fucked up you are. It just doesn't help that he's in your dreams almost every night, his bright blue eyes, scruffy beard, and deep voice leaving you waking up wet every morning.

It's a beautiful Monday morning, not too cold, a sure sign it's gonna be one of those nice, warm days. There's a slow breakfast rush that fades into a slow morning, picking up for lunch around 12:30. You spent most of the morning unloading the supply shipment that was dropped off that morning, before helping with prep work and stocking your area.

Country music plays overhead, because of course, it's Oklahoma. The lunch rush is just starting to wind down, everyone having been served their food and customers hardly walking in the door. You're busy putting together an online order when one of your regulars comes in.

“Hi, Wes!” you holler from behind the counter, still focused on getting utensils and condiments in the bag. After getting boxes labeled and the bag tied up and ready to go, you grab your order pad and a pen before walking around the conter and across the restaurant to the high top table that your customer sits at.

“Hi, Miss Taylor. How are you today?” Wes says. He's clearly in his older years, late fifties to early sixties if you were to guess, but still buff, looking like he works out on a daily. He wears jeans, boots, a black t-shirt, and black leather jacket. He has a deep voice, reminding you of the handsome devil living below you, with a similar southern twang, though a little watered down with an midwest drawl.

“I'm just fine, Mr. Wes. How are you?” you smile, setting down some silverware and flashing him your dimples. He's by far one of your favorite regulars, always so polite, and a great conversationalist.

“I'm doing just fine. My son is going to join me today.” he says with a small wink. The past month he's been trying to set you up with his son, who he describes as bull-headed and rough around the edges, but has a good heart. Each time you tell him you are perfectly fine being by yourself, that you don't need a man, even going so far as to make a joke about “taking on yet another disappointing burden”. And each time he just laughs and says “more men need a woman they love put them in their place, sometimes.”

“Well, I will go get another menu and set of silverware, then. What can I get you to drink while you wait?”

“I'll just have a water today, dear.” he says. You give him a wink.

“You got it. Be right back.”

You turn away, ready to go get his drink when one of the secretaries from the chiropractor's office next door walks in. Fuck, this bitch. Normally you wouldn't bother dealing with her shitty attitude, but you're in a good mood today, having puffed your dab pen when you went out with the cooks for a smoke.

You hear the bells of the other door behind you, and without even looking, you greet the customer while going around the counter to take Brittany's order. You hear Wes talking as you put the order in the system, but don't bother to look at who it's with. You see a shadow moving out of your periphial vision, and as you look up to hand the secretary her money, your heart stops dead in your chest.

“Sy?!” you almost yell. He's smiling, obviously amused at your surprise. Brittany looks up from her wallet and turns around, putting on a clearly fake smile, flipping her hair.

“Logan Syverson. I haven't seen you in a minute. Looking great.” Her voice is so sweet it would make anyone sick, and you have trouble hiding your facial expression. Sy's eyes never leave you, though, and his smile gets bigger at your reaction, before barely glancing at the brunette beside him, then immediately coming back to you.

“Been busy. What are you doing here?” he nods to you when he says the question, making it obvious to whom he's addressing.

“Working. What are YOU doing here?” you ask. You finally give him a good look up and down. He's wearing jeans, work boots, and a black t-shirt. His arms are covered in grease, but his hands and wrists are clean. His beard is just as scruffy as you remember, but it's clear he's shaved and kept it tamed. His hair had grown some, maybe two or three inches, not terribly long but enough it's starting to curl at the ends.

“Having lunch with my dad.” he points his thumb behind him at Wes, and that's when it finally hits you. Putting them side by side, you wonder why you didn't see it sooner. Sy looks like his father in so many ways, but the mannerisms are almost identical.

“I'm sorry, how do you know each other?” Brittany interrupts. You both look to her, and it's clear that Sy and yourself forgot she was even there. She's looking between you both, giving him heart eyes and you dirty looks. Sy glances back at you, before turning to her.

“We're neighbors. She lives above me.” Then turns back to you, giving the indidcation he's done with any conversation she might pull him into. She shoots you with one last glare before walking away and out the door. You just roll your eyes, not willing to waste your energy on her jealousy. You turn your attention back to Sy.

“Why don't you join your dad at the table and I will get your guys' drinks. What do you want?” you ask, reaching for two cups before moving to walk back around the counter to get their drinks.

“I'll just have a water.” he says, grabbing a menu from the stack by the register and walking back to the table while you fill both cups with ice and water. You trying to keep your hands from shaking as you walk over to their table, eyes on the floor as you prepare yourself for the whorlwind that Logan Syverson causes on your insides.

“I was just telling Logan here that the special today is fantastic.” Wes said, flashing you the same smile his son throws at you. You just smile.

“It's kinda hard to mess up nachos.” you say. Both men chuckle, and you look down, cheeks getting hot. You pull out your pen and notepad, before taking a deep breath and looking up.

“What can I get you guys?” you ask, deciding the best way to deal with your nerves is to distract yourself with work.

“I want the special, no jalapenos or avocado.” Wes orders. You write it down, before looking up at Sy. His blues pierce into yours, and you lose yourself for just a second, before paying attention to his order.

“I'll have the special too, extra jalapenos.” he says, before giving you his version of a wink, smirking when your face goes red.

“You got it guys. I'll bring that out when it's ready.” you say, before turning around quickly and nearly running away. Get ahold of yourself, woman. You're a grown adult of 23 years of age. You shouldn't be distracted by some guy you've met a couple times.

After putting in the order, you get started on making it, throwing chips onto the baking pan before the meat and beans and cheese. As those bake, you decide to clean off the counter and wipe it down. Pulling out the nachos and finishing the topings, you take out the orders for your crush (you hate to call him that, but essentially that is what he is to you) and his father (again holy shit) with your best service smile.

Sy watches you go, unaware of the stupid, dopey grin on his face. He wasn't really looking forward to lunch with his dad, not having had much sleep the night before and had already gotten into it with his brother. His truck was giving him a hard time during a tune up that morning and his day had really gone to shit when Aika tore up a stuffy toy and left cotton all over his living room. He couldn't be mad at the dog, she was going through an adjustment period to civilian life as well. But he thought fuck it, at least he doesn't have to cook.

When he walked in and saw you at the counter, though, he thought maybe his day hadn't completely gone to hell just yet. He felt a mild panic at seeing Brittany though. He'd had a drunken one night stand a month before his last deployment, and the entire time leading up to him leaving she had called and text so many times he changed his number.

Still, he couldn't be too scared when you were standing right there. The whole two months he hadn't seen you were disappointing for him. The first month he was busy adjusting his life and his schedule, while also starting a side business refurbishing old furniture. He would take Aika out every morning and evening and look up to your apartment, hoping to spot you somewhere. He had wanted to come see you, but didn't want to be a bother.

The second month he just couldn't seem to catch you. He would hear you coming down the stairs in the back early in the morning, but you're always gone by the time he gets to his back door. He hears you at night now, but the footsteps always go quiet around 10.

“Pretty little thing, isn't she?” Sy is snapped back into his reality when his father's voice finally registers in his brain. He turns so quickly his neck pops, audibly. Wes raises his brows, a small smirk coming across his face. Sy smirks right back.

“That's the neighbor I was telling you about.” Sy's smile gets even bigger at his father's falling face. He had mentioned on a few occassions the hippie living in the apartment above him. His father was the time of hippies and classic rock, so while he was still old fashioned, he was open minded.

“That's the neighbor?”

“Yep.”

“I'll be damned.” Wes mumbles, then changes the subject. “How's your day been, Sy?”

“Complete bullshit. Aika is going through some anxiety issues being back and my truck is giving me shit.” he mutters. The older man looks at the younger one beside him, knowing he's not telling the whole truth.

“And how's your brother?”

Sy groans and rolls his eyes. Leave it to his father to bring up his biggest pain in the ass lately.

“Still trying to pretend his wife hasn't stolen his balls.” Wes chuckles at this. Though he and his ex-wife weren't always on the best of terms when it came to being romantic partners, their co-parenting skills were top notch for their generation. So much so that Wes had taken care of Sy's half brother since he was a child and his father had left Sy's mother.

“You'll learn one day, son.” Wes comments, before leaning back in his seat and lets you sit down his lunch. Sy watches you set his food down as well, amused that you refuse to look him in the eye. You looked extra good today, in your blue and green tie-dye shirt and a green bandana around your head. Your make-up is what his niece would describe as “on point” and you were wearing teal and white beaded earrings. You had your hair pulled up in a bun and he had to stop himself from getting hard at the choker around your neck, a turquiose stone sitting in the hollow of your throat and two thin bands holding it in place.

“Thank you, darlin.” he says. You finally look up at him, eyes shining in the sunlight coming in through the windows.

“You're welcome, Sy. Enjoy your lunch, guys.” You give a smile and nod to Wes, before glancing at Sy once more and turning away to go back to work. He watches you walk into the back room, and only when he can't see you anymore does he dig into his lunch.

“So what has he been doing now?” his father asks, not letting this specific topic go. Sy finishes his bite of food, keeping in mind the manners his momma taught him.

“Just the nagging from his wife. I know I told him I'd rather go through him for work but with the way she runs it, it's killing us both. Nothing I do is ever good enough for her and he's tired of hearing it from both ends. Quite frankly I'm about to start looking for another job and place to live.”

Wes nods along as he listens to his son, munching quietly on a chip.

“You knew going into this it was only going to be temporary. Working for family is never easy, let alone family that is difficult to get along with. Have you thought about what you're going to do?” Sy sits quietly for a second.

“There's a few options. Work for the oil refinery here in town, breaking my back out there. There's the Sober Brother's construction, they pay good money but they hire a bunch of idiots. Or I can live off my retirement fund from my discharge, though that's really my worst case scenario option.”

“I'm sure you'll find something. What about your living situation?”

Sy smirks.

“Well you've met one of my neighbors, I can't really complain too much. Though the people that moved in across from me are starting to be a bother, letting their spawns of Satan run around at all hours of the night screaming and shaking the house.”

“You'll figure it out, son. You always do.” Wes winked at Sy, and after conversation turned to football and cars. Sy told his dad what he was doing with his truck, and Wes told his son about the motorcycle he was working on. Soon the baskets were empty and the men were full.

“You should go talk to her before you leave.” Wes's voice was so quiet Sy barely heard him. Barely.

“Right, dad. A girl that peaceful and bright would go great with a messed up jarhead like me.” he mumbles.

“She might just be right amount of light to balance out this darkness in your life, son.” Wes says. Sy looks up, his blue eyes the mirror of his father's, though lacking the wisdom that comes with the experiences of a long life.

“Maybe.” he says. His father claps his shoulder, before getting up and putting on his leather jacket. Sy stands as well, pulling out his wallet and leaving a $20 bill on the table. Wes gives him a look.

“What? I'm not gonna be that jackass that doesn't tip but expects to hit it.” His father just gives a proud smile in response. Both men walk to the counter, the elder of the two pulling out his billfold while you walk back out to the counter.

“Tabbing out?” you ask.

“Yes ma'am. Stuffed ourselves full. Those nachos never fail.” Wes says. You laugh lightly, pulling up his ticket and telling him his total.

“I'm glad you liked them. They're like the fiftieth order I've made today.” Sy perks up at this.

“You made those?” You look up from counting change, making brief eye contact before going back to the money in your hand.

“Yeah, they're pretty easy.” you mumble.

“You never told me you had any culinary skills.” He puts on a light, LIGHT, seductive tone, keeping aware of his father standing next to him. Though his father taught him everything he knows about flirting and pleasing women.

“You never asked.” you said, finally showing him that wit he knew you possessed. He smirked right back, determined to get rid of those nerves of yours. Wes takes this as his cue to leave, taking his change, wishing you a good day and a “see you later” to his son. With the departure of his father, Sy's full attention is now directed on you.

“Haven't seen you around here lately. How've you been?” he asks. It wasn't until then that he realized, for not really knowing you, he's missed your prescence. Just something about your energy soothes him. But then it's like watching a marianette doll being jerked by the strings, because your back goes ramrod straight, and your breath gets shorter, if the way your chest movements have gotten faster are any indidcation. You clear your throat.

“Yeah, I uh.... I've been going through some shit, here lately. Haven't been doing much of anything other than work.” you say.

“When did you start working here?” he asks. He wants to pry, wants to know what kind of shit you've been going through. It's gotta be something, if you're behaving this way. But he knows it's not his business. Yet.

“About a month ago.” you say, walking backwards to the sanitzer bucket, deciding to multitask by cleaning while talking to Sy.

“How's it treating you so far? What happened at the last place?” You raise your brows at his rapid fire questions.

“I quit the last place, got sick of the entire management team and overall shittiness of a corporate chain restaurant. Found this cute little place that actually cares about it's employees. The pay is decent and it's not that far of a walk to work.” you say, keeping your eyes on the counter. You see one of the cooks giving you and Sy the side eye but decide to ignore him.

“You walk to work?” Sy asks. When the weather decides it wants to be cold that day, sometimes it gets to single digits. You must freeze half the time you go to work.

“Yeah, it's only three blocks from here. Plus it's great exercise. I've already lost 10 pounds.” You stand up straight and put your hands on your hips, showing off a slightly slimmer waist than he remembers. Not that it would make you any more or any less beautiful to him. You're still curvy and vivacious, with thighs he would love to die burried in.

“Congrats to you.” he says with a small smirk.

“Why thank you!” you say in a dramatic flourish. He just chuckles lowly.

“What time are you out of here?” he asks. You look at the clock on the wall.

“I get off in another hour or two. Why?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. But instead of answering your question, Sy just asks you another.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Now you're really eyeing him.

“Just doing laundry and dishes. Why???” You emphasize your last question heavily. He just gives you a shit eating grin back.

“Wanna have dinner again?” That really catches you off-guard.

“I don't know, Sy. I've got a lot of chores to do, and I gotta be in early tomorrow to cover for a cook.” you say.

“Come on, darlin. We literally live in the same building, I can come up there and cook and help you do your chores and you can still get to bed early enough to be here bright eyed a bushy tailed tomorrow morning.” He's putting on the full charm now, knowing you'll give in. You hesitate a little longer than he expects and just when he's about to say “forget it” you're nodding.

“Okay, but my house is a disaster.” you say, thinking if you gave fair warning he couldn't turn it back on you.

“It wasn't that bad when I fixed your stove.” he says with a wink. You give a light giggle, rolling your eyes.

“I'll see you later, darlin. Don't work too hard, now.” he says, backing away without taking his eyes off you. You wave bye, not being able to bring forth any words. You watch him walk out the door to his truck, and when he's finally out of sight do you turn, only to be scared half to death by Terri and Tina, both watching with stupid smiles on their faces.

“What?” you ask.

“That was Big Sy.” Tina says.

“Big Sy?” you ask.

“He's a small town hero around here, the Army Captain, Wes's boy. Everyone around town knows him. Good man, good lookin.” Terri says.

“I can't believe you were talking to him, Y/n. He's not really much for socializing.” Tina says.

“Tina, that's the hot neighbor I was telling you about.” you say. Soon your coworker is losing her mind.

“You guys would be so cute together!” she almost yells as you were putting up chairs to sweep and mop the floor.

“Yeah, what a great couple we would make. The decorated, hard-ass Army Captain and the pot-smoking, hippie psychologist. It sounds like a bad fan fiction on tumblr.” you say. Tina laughs, continuing to follow behind you with the broom as you lift the chairs onto the tables.

“Look, I know how you feel about men, and your feminist stand point, but Sy is one of those non-toxic masculine men your always raving about. He's strong and sturdy and gruff but he makes you feel safe.” Her sentence ends on a whimsical sigh, only ruined by the disgusted look on your face.

“Right.” the dry tone of your voice pulls her out of the dramatic scene she caused, and her face contorts into a look of stern, motherly determination.

“You'll figure it out, you'll see.” You just roll your eyes and get to finishing your side work.

It's 4:30 when you get home, and Sy thought he was going to lose his mind. You said you got off work at 3:30 but here it was an hour later and you're just now walking up your steps. As soon as he got home, he hit the shower to wash off all the oil and sawdust on his hands and body, before pulling out some freshly washed jeans and a decent shirt. It was no button up, but it wasn't covered in grease stains so it counted as appropriate for the current occasion. He combed out his hair and added extra deodorant and cologne.

He felt like a teenager again, trying his damndest to be respectful, like a gentlmen, but so horny and turned on by you that it was painful. For two months he hadn't seen you in person, but you plagued his dreams. Visions of your face, with pouty lips that spoke his name so sweetly. Eyes that lit up like the sky in the middle of summer, kisses that burned oh so sweetly into his skin. Words whispered between the sheets, sometimes in his truck, sometimes in his bed.

When he wakes it's to disappointment and pain, morning wood making his cock throb with each fast beat of his pulse. Cold showers became a daily routine, with lots of alone time on Pornhub at night. Sometimes he would hear you shift in bed above him and he'd stop, afraid he was being too loud and woke you up.

He waits breathlessly in his room for you to come downstairs to get him. He knows you're still in your apartment by the footsteps in your room above his head. They move around for about 15 minutes, before the smell of marijuana hits his nose and he hears the water for your bath tub fill up above him.

He watches football for another hour before he hears your footsteps again, moving around in your room. Another 15 minutes and finally he hears your back door shut before your heavy steps start coming down the stairs. He shuts off the tv and tries to act like he hasn't been having a heart attack for 3 hours.

He doesn't even give you the chance to knock, opening the door to see you with your fist raised, a shocked look on your face. Your hair is wet and combed around your face, and you're wearing a black tank top, tan cardigan, and black running shorts. You've taken off your make-up and your face is freshly cleaned. The setting sun makes you glow and it's like he's looking at an angel.

“Uh, hi.” You say, hand still in the air. You give him a strange look.

“Hi, sugar.” he says.

“What's with that dopey look on your face? Did you get a contact high? I know my shit is fire but damn, from upstairs?” you ask, taking your hand down and checking his pupils for dialation, and the whites of his eyes for any redness. He notices your eyes are squinted and you're obviously stoned.

“Nah, darlin. Just happy to see you.” he gives you a big, dopey smile. That's what you've turned him into now. A dopehead.

“Right. You ready to come help me fight this monster mess that is my apartment?” you ask, moving towards the stairs again. He follows without hesitation, making sure his door is really shut. He lets you go up first, allowing you to be four steps ahead, as the stairs are steep and he's trying to remain a man and not an animal. Though with your ass in his face the thought of just burrying his face in those cheeks burns into his memory.

“Alright, I've warned you in advance, so don't judge me.” you say before putting your hands on the door knob. He just rolls his eyes before following you in. The sink is full of dishes, just like last time, and the counter is covered in crumbs and seasoning. He looks into the hallway to the livingroom, and stops dead in his tracks.

“What's with all the boxes and totes?” he asks, pointing down the hall. Your body goes stiff again, but this time he's not gonna back down from getting his answer.

“Oh, I'm uh. I'm moving this upcoming weekend.” you mumble. He whips his head to you. His face is twisted in shock and what you could almost describe as pain. Why is he being more emotional about this than you are?

“You're moving?” it's like his world has stopped spinning. He finally finds a woman interesting and has gotten the encouragement from his father to do something about it and you're moving.

“Yeah, a friend of mine and I are getting a two bedroom.” you calmly explain.

“Why?”

“Because your sister-in-law is a cunt and your brother is a snitch.” you say quickly. He raises his brows.

“Sorry. Um, last month there was a plumbing problem with my kitchen sink. When the plumber showed up he was on the phone with your brother, and he said hi to the cats. Your brother overheard, and told Candace. She said I had three days to get rid of them or I was evicted, so I told her I was looking for a new place. Gave an official thirty day notice on New Year's day and I've been working and saving since. I'm trying to be out by Sunday.” you say. You watch Sy take this in. It slowly starts to process what you're saying. He knows exactly what kind of game she's playing.

“Let me guess, she told you it was disrespectful to the other tenants.” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, how'd you know?” you say.

“That's what she told me about my service dog barking at night to wake me out of a nightmare.”

“Oh shit, Sy. I'm so sorry. What a bitch.” you say.

“Right, where as your cats don't make a sound, and she only barks twice to wake me up, but the people across from me can let their little shit-heads run around all damn night screaming and shaking the house.”

“That's what I said! Those little crotch goblins kept me up all night the other day! I was running on like, two hours of sleep, Sy!” you exclaim, trying to lighten the mood some. You both chuckle at your term for the children in your building, before you move to start getting dishes washed. As you worked, you and Sy talked. You washed and he dried and put away. It was a great system, and even better was your small kitchen allowing him to be so close to you.

“You not like kids?” he asks.

“Actually, I love kids. But what I love more is kids that behave, that have a proper discipline in the household so they don't behave like the neighbors kids, terrorizing an entire building of people and animals because they refuse to listen to their parent.” Sy raises his brows even more.

“Proper discipline? Didn't take the hippie to be the one to spank their kids.”

“Oh god no! But there are ways to discipline a child without raising a hand to them, despite what past generations have to say on 'gentle parenting'. I was a daycare teacher for almost five years, and what they teach us and how it's used in the field is so different.” you say as you continue to scrub down plates.

“What do you mean?” he asks. His father never raised a hand to him, but he did have a problem with his temper and the tone of voice he used, especially after a few too many. It never really bothered him though, if anything it prepared him for the army. Seargents are not kind during bootcamp and any trainings after that.

“So, you can tell a child to stop jumping on the couch cushions all you want, they won't listen for long. All that is teaching him is what NOT to do, but also giving no other option. If you tell them to sit on their asses or they will fall off and hurt themselves, showing them what TO do, and reminding them that their safety is important. If they still don't listen after that, and they fall, then that's what's called a natural consequence, and for people like me, fully drives home the lesson of why we don't jump on the couch cushions.”

“But by allowing him to jump on the couch, aren't you showing him that you don't care about his safety?” he says. You smile, having asked the same question during your training sessions.

“If they're really in danger of being seriously hurt, that's when you can physically interfere. But if you know it's only going to be a small bump on the head or something that can be cured with a band-aid and kiss, then it's best to let them learn themselves. Like I said, some of us have to learn the hard, painful way.”

“So all it's really doing is taking out the negative.” He says.

“Kind of. It's more like guidance and direction rather than orders and tyrany.” you said. He pauses and just watches you work for a second. He had felt it earlier, but in this exact moment it really hits him how at peace he feels when he's near you. It's like the soothing warmth of hot coffee running through your body on a cold winter morning.

You can feel his eyes on you for a second longer than you were expecting, and when you turned to look at him, he had a dazed look on his face. You snap your fingers inches away from his face, giggling when some water droplets splatted him in the face from the snap.

“Are you good? You've been out of it all night.” You're starting to get a dopey look on your face. He's so cute when he's confused, and you love it. He looks like a lost puppy dog sometimes, even with the little head tilt they do.

“I'm fine! Just living in the moment with you.” His smile is soft, his whole face is soft. The creases around his eyes show his age, but that just makes him even more attractive to you. You've always had a thing for older men, but keeping it mostly appropriate. His baby blues are now darkening to a deep gray. You can feel the sudden electricity in the air, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. It gets hard to breathe again, and you have to force yourself to look away from him. 'FUCKING PULL IT TOGETHER!'

“Right, anyway, I was thinking about pulling out some meat and making burgers and mac and cheese, if that sounds alright with you.” you say, distracting yourself with washing the last of the dishes in the sink.

Sy pulls back, disappointed that yet another moment has gone by where he waited too long to kiss you. He could see when your brain had started overthinking. Your eyes moved quickly between his, before your breathing got heavier and your body tensed. He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice when he answered you.

“Sounds great.”

You work in silence for a few more moments before Sy finally can't stand it anymore. When he goes to start speaking again, he feels a pressure on his ankle and lower calf. He looks down to see Stella, your black cat, rubbing all over him. She's sleek and shiny, kept in good health if her slightly bigger tummy is any indidcation. She looks up at him, her bright green eyes looking right into his soul.

You feel Stella move between your leg and Sy's, and look down to see her giving Sy her big green eyes. You feel more than see Sy put the drying towel on his shoulder before bending down to pick her up.

“Careful with her. She doesn't much like being held.” you say, nervously hovering near your pet and the hulking man beside you. But to your surprise, she cuddles right into his neck, her purrs so strong you can hear them from just a foot away.

“That's so weird. She hardly lets me pick her up, let alone cuddle like that.” Sy smirks.

“I'm just good with pussy.” You throw your head back to laugh. It was a great pun, you'd admit, but the laughter was to also hide how flustered the inneundo made you.

“Shut the fuck up. She probably just thinks you're going to feed her.”

After a second, your feline decides she's had enough and tries to wriggle free. Sy, trying to ignore the claws in his shoulders, bends down to let her go. She sashays away, graceful elegance with attitude and ego rolled into one spoiled animal.

“I've never seen her behave that way with anyone.” Sy just smiles, glad he got the approval of one lady of this house. Animals have always flocked to him, and he to them. But there was always something with cats that intrigued him. The intelligence in their stare, the lethal grace they possessed as predators even while being as domesticated as they are. They're pushy when they want your attention, and make it very well known through pain when they don't. But yet each and every cat has always at least given him a loving rub.

“Where's the other two?” he asks. You start taking out the hamburger, putting it into a bowl before adding seasonings and mixing it all together.

“Probably hiding. Felix doesn't really care for men and Tivahli (tee-vah-lee) is just anti-human.” Sy furrows his brows.

“Tivahli?”

“Yeah. The little gray tabby I have. When I rescued her, she was still so small that the people I got her from thought she was a boy, and so I believed she was a boy. It wasn't until a month ago I picked her up because she was acting weird and felt her hard nipples. Turns out she was in heat, and going through a bit of a rough time.”

“Where did you get her name?” he asks. It sounded so exotic, but the way it flowed from his mouth just felt right.

“Well I had to rename her, and since Stella is named after the Goddess of Night, I kind of wanted to stick with a theme. Google gave me the name of Cleopatra's cat, and I loved it. So now there are two Goddesses and a queen living in this house.” you say, grabbing some of the meat and rolling it into a ball before slapping it back and forth between hands to flatten it into a patty.

The smacking sound from your ministrations reminds Sy of the slapping of hips during a good, back breaking pounding. He has turn to away from you to hide his growing bulge. 'Pull yourself together, jackass.'

The night goes on and you tell Sy about the house you found as you eat dinner. He loves how bright you shine when you get excited, like a those pretty fairy lights you have hanging in your bedroom. He tells you about his day at work and the hell his truck put him through. Once you finish your meal, drowsiness hits you and you're hiding a yawn behind your hand. The sun had long since gone down, and though it was only 7:30, you had been up over 14 hours and worked 10 of them.

“I should probably head out, let you get some sleep.” Sy says, slapping his knee before moving to stand.

“Yeah, I'm exhausted and I gotta be back at 6 tomorrow.” you mumble, moving to stand and follow him out. It's proper manners after all. You follow him to the front door, opening it and stepping out into the hall. Sy turns to face you, and if you weren't so tired, you think you might actually get the nerve to make some kind of move. But it's taking everything in you to keep your eyes open, and Sy isn't about to kiss a woman who is only half awake.

“I guess I will see you around, hopefully.”

“Yeah, I won't be going anywhere until I move.” you say.

“Well if you need any help with that, you just let me know. I got a perfectly good truck. Lots of space in the bed.” He gives his signature double wink.

“I will keep that in mind. Have a good night, Sy.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it, lingering for a second or two before gently lowering it and stepping down the stairs. You pull your hand to your chest, using your left hand to shut and lock the door and turn lights out as you walk through the house on auto-pilot, mind in a haze at how soft and plump his lips felt against your hand, the red mark from his beard a visual reminder that it wasn't some twisted dream.

*******************************************************************************************

@weallhavedestiny @identity2212 @m07belzen @bloodyinspiredfuck @queenmalhinewahine @rockandrollbuckaroooo @babypink224221 @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @corvusmorte

#captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson x reader #sy x reader #reader insert #henry cavill #fan fiction

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doubleleoenergy · 3 years ago

Text

ii. Serial Killer, Lolita Series

Sneak up on you really quiet. Whisper, "Am I what your heart desires?" I can be your ingenue.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of erection and male masturbation, lewd thoughts, drinking, mentions of domestic violence, murder, and divorce

Words: 2893

Summary: Andy spends an evening with y/n and learns about her hopes, dreams, and sexual relations

Andy Barber was straightening his tie against his grey button down when he walked into the hallway from his bedroom, the smell of bacon wafting through his nostrils as he followed the scent to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Andy.” Y/N’s voice held that sickening sweet seduction he had gotten used to over the past few days. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and the fact that she sounded so chipper had Andy amused. His son was not a morning person, neither were any of the other boys staying with them.

He turns the corner towards the kitchen counter and takes in the sight of her. She’s ready for her first day as an intern for him, though her outfit doesn’t seem to be the most conservative for an attorney’s office. Her tight black skirt with white lines is barely covering her ass, and there’s a small slit up the right side that is showing more skin, if that’s even possible. She’s paired it with a simple black tank top that is cropped to reveal just the tiniest bit of skin on her abdomen, his eyes trailing down her toned legs to her black strappy stilettos that finish off the look. Andy has to look away and busy himself with his briefcase in order to stop himself from coming in his trousers.

“Morning, y/n.” He chokes out, reorganizing the files in a folder he had pulled out. Y/N slides a plate beside him, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she walks directly to his side, holding out a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

He takes the cup in his hand appreciatively, eyeing the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast that she had slid over to him. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do any of this.” Andy takes a sip of coffee before setting his mug down beside the plate, picking up the fork and knife before diving into the meal.

“I know I didn’t have to, but we can’t let you go to the office on an empty stomach, right boss?” She teased, her manicured nails tapping gently on the counter next to him. God how he wished to feel those nails scratching against his scalp.

“Well thank you.” He responds, trying not to think about how she had just called him boss and how it made it incredibly wrong to be thinking about her like he had. The past few days had been rough, watching y/n saunter around the house in her sinful outfits, teasing the other boys and stealing glances in Andy’s direction. He had fucked into his fist every night since he saw her in that damn bikini.

As Andy finished eating y/n cleaned up the dishes, drying them and putting them away where they belonged in the appropriate cabinets and drawers. She was eager for her first day in the office, and honestly happy to be working somewhere where she was already familiar with the boss.

“That was great, y/n, thank you again.” He wiped his mouth off on a napkin before pulling his briefcase shut, y/n taking his plate and mug and cleaning them in the sink before drying her hands.

“Anytime, I appreciate the carpooling to work as well.” Her fingers reached for her purse on the edge of the counter, following Andy out into the garage and sliding into the passenger seat of his pristine Audi. It was much flashier than her ten-years-too-old Ford Focus. She could get used to this lifestyle for the rest of the summer.

Andy and y/n spent the entire drive to the office making small talk, while Andy tried his hardest not to glance at her supple thighs in her thin skirt. Soon enough they arrived at the office, Andy gesturing for y/n to follow him inside the large office building.

Passing through the doors, Andy says a quick hello to the colleagues he passed, waving them over to gather inside their large conference room.

“Alright everyone, I’ll make this quick. This is y/n, she’s our new intern for the summer so please, be kind and help her to get the most out of her time here.” Andy’s eyes scanned the crowd of people, noticing the way the men in the office all lusted over her, their eyes dark with attraction.

As Andy dismissed everyone, Neal fucking Loguidice strides forward with confidence, extending his hand out to y/n’s. “Neal Loguidice, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Y/N seems to be enjoying the attention, standing up straighter as she takes his hand in hers. “Thank you, Neal. The pleasure is all mine.”

“How about I show you around the office? You know, as an assistant district attorney I can answer any questions you have about this place.” Before Andy can protest, Neal puts a hand on the small of y/n’s back, guiding her out of the conference room and walking her down the hall. Andy hates the way he grits his teeth, the hand not holding his briefcase forming into a tight fist by his side. Why was he even jealous? He had no reason to be, didn’t he?

Andy spent the rest of the morning answering phone calls and meeting with clients, though he couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on y/n anytime he left his office. She had picked up lunch for the entire department, created copies for a staff meeting, and was unfortunately still being followed around by that slithering snake Neal. Who did he think he was?

He tried not to let it get to him, but as he walked past y/n’s makeshift desk after a coffee break, he watched as Neal leaned over her. He was teaching her how to scan documents to their respective folders, his eyes staring directly down y/n’s shirt to catch a glimpse of her perky tits. That was it, he had had enough.

“Neal.” Andy clenched his jaw as he spoke, watching as the man’s eyes lingered briefly still on y/n’s tits before meeting his gaze. “A word in my office. Now.” He barked.

Neil walked with confidence into Andy’s office, shutting the door behind him before slumping into the chair in front of Andy’s desk, a smug smile plastered on his face. “What can I do for you, Andrew?” Neal challenged, crossing his left leg over his right.

“You need to keep your eyes and your hands to yourself with y/n, it’s disgusting and she’s one of my son’s best friends. I’m not going to let you disrespect her like that, and neither would HR if they found out.” He growled, his eyes growing dark. Neal puts his hands up in protest before he stands, backing towards the door.

“Whoa, those are some big accusations without any evidence, Barber. I was just showing our intern around.” He’s still got that smug look on his face that Andy wishes to smack off him, though he knows he can’t. Neal opens the office door, walking out and heading back to his own office, leaving y/n to work by herself at her desk.

It was fucked up that he was lecturing Neal about the way he looked at y/n while knowing he’d jerked off into his hand every night fantasizing about her. But he wasn’t acting on anything, it was just some harmless fantasies, he was newly divorced after all. This was just lust, wasn’t it?

The rest of the day went by fast, Andy moving from meeting to meeting with clients and y/n working diligently on getting acquainted with their latest cases and filing the paperwork into the appropriate folders on their server.

Andy shut his office door a little after six o’clock, locking it behind him before strolling over to where y/n sat at her desk, texting on her phone.

“Are you ready to head out for the evening?” He asked, watching as she stood up beside him, only a couple of inches shorter than him in her heels.

“Yes, Jacob just texted me. Him and the guys are out bar hopping with some, as he put it, ‘absolute tens’ and won’t be home until late.” She follows him out of the office building, watching as he locks the front doors behind them before sauntering over to the passenger side of his car.

“That’s fine, why don’t I order us some takeout, I know a little place by the house that serves the best pad thai.” Andy and y/n get into the car as he starts it up, the vehicle roaring to life under them. “I would love that, thank you.”

It’s a quiet ride back to the office, y/n scrolling through Instagram as the radio plays softly, the car filled with the lyrics to a Lady Gaga song. Andy parks the car back in its usual spot in the garage before walking inside and dropping his briefcase on the counter.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll order the food when I get out and then we can relax, I’m sure today was a lot for you to take in.” Andy assured, loosening the tie around his neck.

“That sounds great, thank you Andy.” Y/N bounds up the stairs as well, letting her body muscles relax under the heat of the shower. Downstairs, Andy is doing the same, except he’s got a cold shower running to rid him of his thoughts from the day. How y/n’s skirt would ride up as she bent down to pull a copy from the copier, the way her lips pursed, and brows furrowed perfectly as she focused on her computer screen. How did her little actions send his brain into such a tizzy?

It wasn’t long before he had calmed his thoughts and pulled on a pair of grey sweats and a navy-blue t-shirt, calling the restaurant and placing a delivery order for two pad thai dinners. As Andy waited for the food to arrive he sat down on the couch, fumbling with his phone until he heard footsteps from the stairs, his eyes trailing over the silky baby blue short shorts and front-tied top that barely covered her breasts, her nipples hard through the fabric.

“Is the food here yet?” She asked, plopping down beside Andy on the couch, her leg just barely grazing him as she sat. Just as Andy went to reply the doorbell rang, immediately standing up and grabbing his wallet from the counter. He pulled the heavy front door open, greeting the gentleman and handing over the money, including a generous tip, in exchange for the bag of food.

As he walked back into the living room, he noticed y/n had gotten up and placed two bottles of beer on the coffee table, careful to include the thick grey coasters below them.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, emptying the contents of the bag onto the table before handing over one of the takeout boxes to her. She opened it delicately, her fork twisting into the container before pulling out some of the contents and chewing it thoughtfully.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the scraping of their silverware and the occasional movement of a beer bottle on and off the coasters. “So…” Andy started, swallowing a bite of his dish. “What made you want to be an attorney? S’not very often that I see someone interested in the profession.” Or someone like her, he meant, though he tried not to come off as if a woman like her couldn’t do the job.

There was an expression that flashed across y/n’s face, something he hadn’t seen yet, a twinge of sadness? “Life circumstances. I actually want to be a defense attorney, specifically.” Andy finished taking a swig from his beer, setting it back down.

“Interesting, are you from the area? Or, at least, close to Columbia?” He questioned.

“No, I’m from Ohio actually. It’s a shit place, only really good for driving through to get to your destination.” Y/N set her half-eaten container on the table, sitting back against the couch.

“Your family must miss you, with you all the way at Columbia.”

“My aunt and I talk every day, s’not much to miss.” Y/N responded; brows knitted into a frown.

“That’s not true, I’m sure she misses you. What about your parents? I’m sure they miss you when you’re gone too.”

That struck a nerve with y/n, she didn’t talk about her family to anyone, she hadn’t even told Jacob or the other guys about her family life. Something about Andy made her feel comfortable, though, her eyes focused on her lap while she picked at a loose hangnail.

“Well, that’s kinda why I wanted to become a defense attorney. My uh-my dad used to beat the shit out of my mom when I was younger.” Her face flashes a few different emotions, pain, anger, guilt, as she swallows a lump in her throat. “Don’t really know why he would’ve been with her in the first place, what’s the point of wanting to be with someone if you just want to pummel their face every day?” Andy listened intently; his food abandoned on the coffee table as well.

Y/N isn’t sure whether to continue with the story or not, deciding she’d already gotten through the first part, might as well finish. “I went to my aunt’s one day, I was nine at the time, and my aunt got a call and she was…beside herself.” She pauses, lips pressed in a grim line. “I guess my mom wanted to leave my dad and he went ballistic, loaded his pistol and emptied a few shots into her. She didn’t survive, of course, and my dad got life without parole.” Y/N cleared her throat.

“Anyhow, I went to live with my aunt, excelled in school, got nearly a full ride to Columbia and have dreamed of becoming a defense attorney for domestic violence and sexual assault victims ever since. I think I’d make a damn good attorney. I’d love to see the look on the guilty faces as I get justice for their victims.” Her voice regained its confidence, her body relaxing back as she finally took a sip from her beer, trying to look unphased.

“I…” Andy started, y/n waving her hand in dismissal. “It’s all good, I’ve moved past it, mostly. You don’t have to say the whole ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ shit. I’ve heard it all before.” Y/N took another long swig from her beer, swallowing it before pointing in his direction.

“What about you, what made you divorce Mrs. Barber? Jacob doesn’t mention her at all, only that you divorced last December.” Andy lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding during her entire story.

“Just wasn’t meant to be. We’d been together our whole lives practically and I woke up one day and realized I didn’t love her anymore. We were always fighting, and it wasn’t worth it to try and make it work.” Why he was explaining this to a twenty-two-year-old friend of his son, he didn’t know, but she had just shared something so intimate with him that he felt it was only fair.

“Well, it’s her loss.” The usual sensuality in her tone is back, her lips curling into a smile around her beer bottle. “You’re still young enough and fit, I’m sure you’ll find a pretty woman to meet your every need.” The words made his cock twitch, a chuckle leaving his lips to ease the sexual tension in the air.

“Well thank you. What about you? I see how my son and the other boys eye you.” And himself, but he’d leave that out. “They said your off limits and not the relationship type.” Andy didn’t know if it was appropriate to mention the conversation he had with Rashad and Collin the other day, but it seemed from y/n’s smile she was well aware of how they viewed her.

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of boys. Watching them fall one by one.” She teased, running a hand through her hair. “I’m kinda like a sweet serial killer on the warpath, I like to have boys wrapped around my finger, but I am fully in control of who gets to move past a few stolen kisses. And frankly, there aren’t many that do” Her tone is honest, Andy licking his lips. I bet a man like me could change that. Before Andy can open his mouth to respond the front door opens, Jacob, Collin, and Rashad bounding in.

“The party’s here!” Rashad cried out, clearly tipsy. The boys stopped in the living room when they saw y/n and Andy, Collin eyeing the takeout on the table.

“Dude can I have some? I’m starving.” Collin announced before picking up y/n’s takeout box, plowing into it with the fork.

“Help yourself, I was actually going to get to bed. Gotta get up early for the internship again.” Y/N slinked seductively off the couch, her eyes meeting Andy’s. “Goodnight, Andy. Thanks for the talk.” He manages to give her a quick goodnight before she’s walking up the stairs, tits bouncing with each step.

Was he slowly being wrapped around her finger like the other boys she mentioned? He didn’t think so, but what he did know is he had yet another outfit of hers to picture her in when he jerked off tonight.

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @midnightf @my-divine-death @saamwilsonn @fierylibraa @fuckandfluff @rattlemyb0nes @rootcrop @goldenboysteve @turtoix @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @ccmarvelxx

#doubleleoenergyseries: lolita #DLE Series: Lolita #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x reader #Andy Barber

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loooreleii · 4 years ago

Note

This is so Office AU where they are caught making out in the emergency staircase. Also if intern!Tian is not secretly the son of Phupha's boss then what's the point?!

Ahdldfghhjjkl Ok listen i might reconsider! This could turn a bit sexier than i originally thought... 🤔🤔🤔

Also yes Teerayut is absolutely the CEO of this company but Phupha doesn't know the guy and also doesn't care all that much bc he hates this job anyway and couldn't care less about that rich bastard so he has no idea who Tian is when he's introduced to him as his new intern and his responsibility and "make sure he has a good time or you'll be in trouble". But Phupha being Phupha he has no intention of making this easy for him bc frankly Tian is arrogant af and getting on Phupha’s nerves. So he basically sets him up for failure, teasing and challenging Tian at every corner but he kind of shot himself in the foot here bc Tian is resilient and resourceful and rises to every challenge Phupha throws his way and he's intrigued ok. Maybe he's a bit turned on by the arrogant glint in his eyes. Also Tian has a habit of wearing really sharp, form fitting suits and it's terribly distracting.

But the worst thing is that Tian is actually... sweet. Funny. Charming. He helps Phupha out by staying overtime with him to get several of the bigger projects done and his ideas are innovative and exciting and maybe that's the first time Phupha actually enjoyed his work bc him and Tian just click and work so well together and inspire each other so much they basically bring out the best in each other. And you can't really help but start talking when you spend the entire night crammed together in an office cube and over time Phupha finds out that Tian actually doesn't want to be here either and dreamed of being a teacher or at least actually do sth impactful with his engineering degree that was forced on him and Phupha opens up about how he wants nothing more than to quit this job and move back to the countryside and that's impossible, but maybe he can bring Tian to PPD one day and maybe he'd like it there.

And when one of these presentations they prepared all night leads to a huge deal for the company Tian throws himself into Phupha's arms and... oh fuck. This feels way too nice and makes his heart race way too fast and when Tian looks up at him with this huge gorgeous smile Phupha wants to kiss him so bad it hurts. But he's too young and Phupha is his superior and also he'll go back to university to finish his degree soon, so he tries to push him away, put some professional distance between them and it's only one more month until the internship ends so it's ok, he can manage four weeks of yearning for Tian to be closer, for his laugh and their quiet late night talks, he can deal, and then he'll be gone and Phupha can stop falling in love with a guy ten years his junior. But of course Tian won't have that and of course he keeps pushing and he keeps coming closer and he keeps looking at Phupha like that and how is he supposed to fight this? So he does the one thing he can think of and tells Tian that he can't wait 'til he's gone and he's got his hands free of him and the hurt look on his face breaks him but it's for the best. He only lays awake at night cursing himself for hurting him for about a week.

And then Tian is gone and Phupha's workdays go back to being dull and grey and how can you miss someone that much?

He gets a promotion a few weeks later for his dedication and that big contract he managed to secure with Tian and he has his own office now (which is at least a bit of an improvement) and his paycheck looks a lot better, too (which is a great improvement), so it's good but he can't help but wish he could tell Tian and thank him. And maybe celebrate with him and hold him in his arms again and maybe be brave enough to kiss him. But he hasn't heard of Tian in months and he can't just go to HR and ask for his contact details. So he'll never know and Phupha will keep missing him.

Until one day half a year later he hears that the boss' son is going to start working in their division and he'll immediately be fast-tracked into a team leader position and Phupha will have to coordinate his work with this guy and he hates him already. Until he arrives and it's Tian and Phupha is... a bit confused, really. And all his coworkers are like "wait you didn't realise your intern is the CEO's son for MONHTS?" and he feels really stupid bc he should've recognised the surname but like... eat the rich, he couldn't care less about the big wigs who hired him.

And for a while it's weird between them. Their dynamic is off, Tian now his colleague and now that he knows he's the boss' son he doesn't dare tease him anymore and they butt heads a few times but there's that tension again and he can't help but think about the fact that this whole issue of him being Phupha's intern is out of the world now and he could actually ask him out if he dared.

He doesn't, because it's still kind of awkward between them but at least they're slowly getting back into their old back and forth and they're working together again and it's good. Phupha likes this version of Tian, too. Less arrogant but self-assured instead, confident, he's grown since they last saw each other but he didn't lose any of his sweetness or the impish glimmer in his eyes and one night he sits down in front of Phupha and joins him in pulling yet another all-nighter and they're ok, he thinks. He still wants to kiss him and thinks about pulling him into an empty conference room several times a day but he can handle it. Mostly.

They get another project and it has sth to do with environmentalism and sustainability and they both get really into it bc they're both passionate about these issues, feel like their work can actually be useful for once, but it's difficult bc it needs a lot of funding and investors don't like to spend money on sth that doesn't offer the biggest profit. They work on this for weeks, even meeting in their free time to brainstorm and research (and Phupha wasn't prepared for Tian with his hair unstyled, wearing a soft sweater and jeans and looking ridiculously cute eating sticky rice from a cheap take-away stand down the road) and it eats up all his time but it's also the most fulfilling thing he ever did on this job and he gets to do it with Tian.

When they manage to convince the investor to fund their idea, Phupha feels more accomplished than he ever has in his entire life. He's proud of himself, proud of Tian, of what they managed to do together. He knows he could've never done it without him, knows there will never be anyone who can bring out the best in him like Tian can. So once everyone else is gone from the room, Phupha walks over to Tian, sure of himself now, takes him in his arms and kisses him. And when Tian wraps his arms around his neck and kisses back he thinks that this is really shaping up to be the best day of his life so far.

Later, after they celebrated with the others from their division, Tian pulls him into his office, tears his clothes off and kisses him stupid. It becomes a habit. He's really glad his door has blinds and can be locked from the inside.

#I got REALLY carried away with this #but also AU to this AU where they hate fuck pretty early on and it turns soft and fluffy when Tian is gone and Phupha realises that it was #a little less hate and a lot more love than he realised #atots #phutian #1000 stars #office au #phutian office au #my writing

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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Note

Maybe 60 and 46, Pepper / Natasha? (Based off our conversation from the other day :P )

“Dance with me.”/“You look like you could use a hug.” introducing: evil businesswoman pepper and her lovely assistant, natasha

Pepper didn’t like dealing with other businesses early in the morning. In fact, she usually didn’t. She did her worst in the mornings, and it was clear to see.

There was a man still lying in his chair when she comes out of the meeting room, and asks for a clean-up crew.

She hates tech start-ups.

Her assistant didn’t last. They never did, although this one had shown promise: he was with the company for five months.

She was sad to see him go, in shock at another mess she had made.

“Maybe you could stop killing other businesses,” Tony tells her while they’re eating lunch. It’s a nice place, where they’re at. They have a good balsamic vinaigrette.

“I could, but then where would the company be?” Pepper asks. “They need to know that I like to be impressed. I want success. That’s how you get what you want.”

Tony makes a face.

He wants to say something, but he can’t. Not when he signed the company over to her, and she’s improved it, been allowed to make her own choices, bring everything up to her standards. She’s put everyone at her heel, and by god has it been satisfying.

But she still needs a new assistant.

Natasha Romanoff is not liking the current assignment. Then again, she doesn’t like a lot of SHIELD’s assignments.

She likes the company, really. They’re altruistic as hell and like going through the proper channels to get the proper work done.

But she misses the feeling of getting yourself immersed, getting your hands stained beyond belief.

An assistant.

They want her to be a damned assistant for Stark Industries. Investigate the CEO, figure out what kind of dirt they can dig up and get out.

It’s insufferable. She should be doing high-speed car chases and seducing oil barons to make sure their finances get drained.

She shouldn’t be asking what kind of creamer goes in coffee and what kind of pens they want to be ordered.

But here she is for the interview process, and she’s wearing her best office dress, which is still a bit risky for what an office job is, but she pays everyone else no mind. She taps her heel on the floor.

Pepper hates interviewing candidates. But she has to observe who is going to be working with her, who can handle what they’re going to throw at her.

There’s a woman in the middle of it: Natalie Rushman.

She’s been abroad with various companies, used to do some amateur modeling, and is wearing a dress that would probably get her in trouble with HR if Pepper didn’t appreciate it so damn much.

She’s interesting.

Her eyes flash when Pepper asks her how comfortable she is in slightly dangerous situations.

“What, like copy paper being out?” she asks. Pepper laughs.

“Something a touch more dangerous than that, Miss Rushman.”

The interview ends.

Pepper thinks about her through the whole thing.

Natasha is excited.

Finally a job where she can use her skills. Where she can do what she needs to do, and it will be wonderful.

Natasha shouldn’t be excited.

But she can’t help herself as she buys four new pairs of shoes and debates on a skirt that she should bring.

After all, she will be getting the job if Ms. Potts’ posture gave any indication.

Miss Rushman starts officially on a Wednesday after two days of training. Usually it would take anywhere from one to two weeks. But she’s scarily efficient and has apparently worked with the same kind of things.

Pepper finds that she’s the best assistant she’s ever had. She’s already taken notes on what Pepper does throughout the day, knows when she needs to take a break for a headache, and also knows the extremely specific coffee creamer that she uses.

It would almost terrify her, if she could still get terrified at the mundane details that people could know about you.

But Miss Rushman makes it seem easy, and so she lets it slide. After all, it’s not like Natalie can just leave. She’s signed four different sets of paperwork that basically say if she so much as breathes wrong, Stark Industries gets her soul for eternity.

She’ll be trapped.

Natasha finds that aspect exciting.

She shouldn’t find the act of Pepper Potts holding a letter-opener to a business associate’s neck hot.

It shouldn’t be.

But Pepper got a lovely crimson-red manicure, and she’s smiling so sweetly as she discusses what they agreed upon versus what’s happening.

It takes Natalie Rushman a moment to process.

“Miss Potts?” she interrupts.

Pepper’s head slowly turns. Her strawberry-blonde hair moves smoothly over the letter-opener, over the hand clutched, trying to hold onto a way to live.

“Yes, Miss Rushman?”

“I have some paperwork for you to sign. Regarding the new hospital tech installment.”

“Set them on my right. I’m finishing up some...loose ends.”

Natalie doesn’t react to the loud noise other than a displeased hum and asking the other members in the room if they want lemon-water.

It’s refreshing in the afternoon, and she needs to clean the cabinet behind them anyways.

Pepper gets adjusted to her assistant. And Natalie gets adjusted to her life.

She’s comfortable with it. It’s easy, to lean on who she had to be.

It’s a rude wake-up call when she gets lunch with Clint, and he asks how the mission is going.

“You any closer to taking her down?”

She blinks for a moment. Pokes at her cake.

“Nat, come on. You know she can’t keep getting away with this, right?”

“Why does the world need more businessmen?” Natasha murmurs.

Clint stares at her.

“Come on. You told me when I brought you over here that you didn’t want to turn into who they made you into again. Just because it’s easier doesn’t mean it’s worth it.”

He’s right.

Of course he is. Clint usually is about this type of thing.

Pepper Potts is...well. Natasha can admire the dedication she takes with her success.

But usual bosses don’t really kill the competition.

Literally.

Pepper’s noticed a change in Natalie Rushman.

She doesn’t like it.

She doesn’t watch for as long, doesn’t talk as easily with her anymore.

Tony says maybe all of this terrible shit is catching up with her, her conscience finally clueing her in on the situation.

No, that’s not it. That can’t be it. Not after how she stared at Pepper, not after her smile, not after those nights where they stayed late and both gazed but never said anything.

Natalie is in the breakroom, staring into a coffee mug that has nothing in it.

“You look like you could use a hug,” Pepper says dryly, sidling up to her. She takes a step away.

Hm.

“I’m fine, just a busy day,” Natalie says.

God, she’s not even trying to lie. That’s infuriating.

“Your days are about to get a little bit busier,” she starts in. “I’ve decided to host a little celebration for all of the companies we’ve worked with over this past year. We’re going to have a real ball of a time, and I want you to help plan it. And attend.”

Natasha looks at her. Really looks at her.

Shit.

Pepper’s onto her. She knows something is different, something is off.

And if Natasha’s to get away, she’s still going to have fun toying with her. She’s going to make life hell.

The saying goes that if you can’t handle the heat, get the hell out of the kitchen.

Natasha’s been cooking for a much longer time than Pepper, and she’s known her way around more kitchens than most.

Bring it.

Putting together an honest-to-god ball for an eccentric, threatening CEO is fun. It shouldn’t be fun, but it is.

The caterers are scared into arriving early, the invitations are embossed with actual gold, and the music costs way more than it should.

Natasha is having so much fun with it that she completely forgets about her dress.

She’s cursing as she’s tearing through her closet, looking for something that would be remotely appropriate for a ball for a sadistic CEO that she kind of has a crush on.)

There’s a knock at the door.

She rips it open, expecting it to be Clint or Maria to make fun of her, but it’s not.

“Um. Delivery for Miss Rushman?”

Oh.

It’s a midnight blue ballgown, long-sleeved. She never would have chosen it for herself.

The notecard attached said:

Wear this one. I know you best. -Potts

A shiver runs up her spine.

She’s not sure for what reason she’ll assign it to.

But she puts it on, and it fits perfectly. She doesn’t want to think about how much it will cost.

Pepper, of course, looks like a dream. Or a nightmare. A terrifyingly beautiful nightmare.

Her dress is burgundy, her lipstick matches. Her hair is loose, not kept in the high ponytail that is customary.

Her eyes are a brilliant blue. They see right through her.

“You look gorgeous, Miss Rushman,” she says, looking her up and down. “As to be expected, of course.”

“Of course,” Natasha murmurs.

The night will be long.

They mingle. Natasha dutifully informs Pepper of who the lesser players on the field are, and fetches drinks.

It’s...odd.

It feels like something big is going to happen. And maybe it will, maybe it won’t.

“Dance with me,” Pepper asks her. “Please.”

She’s adding the last part in so that it sounds nice. But it’s a demand all the same.

Natasha takes her hand, and maybe she should be more reserved about it, but she can’t help it.

It’s captivating. It’s dangerous. But she accepts all the same.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Pepper murmurs. “You far outshine every other woman here.”

“Even you?” Natasha asks.

Pepper rolls her eyes, but smiles.

“Obviously, Natasha. Who else would?”

She doesn’t notice that slip-up. Maybe it’s because she’s blown away at their close proximity, maybe it’s because Miss Potts’ perfume is absolutely intoxicating. But she doesn’t notice.

They dance and they talk.

“I’m happy you wore the dress.”

“It’s not like I had anything like it in my closet,” Natasha says as Pepper smiles.

“I figured. Not many host balls anymore.”

“You’re a different sort.”

“I am, aren’t I? But I think you and I are one and the same.”

They’re isolated.

And Natasha realizes it too late. She was a fool.

“You haven’t quit after a year, after everything we’ve been through. Everything that I put you through. A regular person couldn’t do that, could they?”

“You’d be surprised at what people can handle,” Natasha says.

Pepper smiles.

“You and I both know you’re far from an average person...Romanoff.”

She tenses.

“You knew?”

“It’s a relativity new tidbit of knowledge, but having a tech genius as a colleague is...nice.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Reveal you,” Pepper says. “You’re a spy. You make your bread and butter off the fact that no one knows you for very long. And me? Well, you can’t kill me. The only thing that could possibly have an effect on me is if you killed the business. Which you don’t have the infrastructure for.”

“And if I don’t want that? What do I have to do?” Natasha asks.

Secrecy is her safe spot. It’s the only place where she’s ever been secure.

“Stay. Leave that Strategic-Homeland-Whatever, and come with me. Stay with me.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Natasha says. “Your life and mine are too similar for that.”

“But think of all we could do together,” she says. She brushes a hair back from Natasha’s cheek.

It’s unbearable, that feeling. It’s a feeling that Natasha will spend all her life denying that she’ll chase.

“I can’t.”

Pepper looks at her. It’s a look that’s chilling.

“Very well, Miss Romanoff. Then that will be all.”

Pepper won’t fight her physically. She would lose that way, especially with how well-tailored the dress is on her body.

But she has other ways of fighting.

And god help Natasha, she knows she’s doomed.

The worst part?

She doesn’t exactly mind.

#lovelyirony writes #blackpepper #natpepper #peppernat #black widow #natasha romanoff #pepper potts #alternate universe: villain #villain au

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holykillercake · 4 years ago

Text

Hazy Justice - 02

01 03

pairing: Cop!Smoker x MilitaryDoctor!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: After eight years serving your country in a war, you returned to your hometown as the new head of Trauma Surgery in one of the best hospitals in the country. You were expecting a calmer life now, but suddenly you see yourself choosing between your brain and your heart, light and dark, justice and evil.

notes: I guess you saw the gif already! We have the introduction of a new character!

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

Stiff neck and a headache. This is what you get for sleeping on your living room floor.

You took a quick shower and some painkillers before heading for another day of work. On your silent drive towards the hospital, your mind ran through various things.

The first being the list of your patients, the ones you had to check upon first, their conditions, and find out the attending who took care of them during the night, ask them about possible complications and current situation.

The second subject hovered your head as more of a question, though. Had you finally met your neighbor, or was it just a dream, the result of your exhausted state?

You spotted a cute restaurant when you stopped at the red light, perhaps you´d have lunch there today, it was near the hospital, and the place gave you a ¨good food¨ vibe.

The image of the man you dreamed about wandered its way back into your thoughts, despite your difficulty of seeing a perfect picture. His hair was actually the only thing you were sure about. White, a single lock was falling on his forehead, but it didn´t look like it was meant to be there. Maybe it was just ¨end of the day¨ hairstyle.

You parked your car on your designated spot and looked around the parking lot. It was the first time you´ve seen it so crowded. It made sense, though.

A yellow Jaguar drove in a couple of minutes after you did, and since that was the only yellow car you had seen so far, and you spot the small white stuffed bear hanging on the mirror, you knew it was Law.

He left his car and walked over to you with a strange expression.

¨Y/N-ya, what are you doing here?¨ always so straight to the point.

¨Well, good morning, Law. How are you?¨ the man rolled his eyes, but you refused to answer until he learned how to talk to people properly.

¨Morning, Y/N-ya. I´m good. What are you doing here?¨

¨What do you mean? I work here.¨ you gave him a duh face.

¨Yeah, but not today.¨ your head tilted to the side ¨Today is your day off.¨

¨My day off?¨ you were so used to not having days off that it didn´t even cross your mind. You asked the HR person everything but days off. ¨What am I supposed to do on my day off?¨

¨I don´t know, Y/N-ya. Go explore the city or have some rest. Today you only get inside this hospital wounded or dead.¨ he said bitterly, patted your shoulder, and entered the building.

The only thing besides work you had planned for the day was paying a visit to that cute restaurant, so it took you some good thinking to come up with a plan. Maybe Tashigi was free, and you two could do something together.

<Mornin´ Tashigi! U free today?>

<Morning, Y/N-san! I just need to take somethings to the office then I´m free!>

Tashigi´s station was inside the Justice District, so it didn´t take long for you to reach it. The journey was peaceful, and the view was something to take note of. Beautiful leafy trees were strategically planted on the sidewalks, offering shadows for those who preferred to walk, no scratched paint in any house, store, or building. They all looked recently finished. The asphalt was shiny and without bumps or holes, making every car trip smooth.

You entered the Police Department and couldn´t help but feel a bit lost.

¨The new Commissioner made quite a few changes in the place.¨ you mumbled to yourself.

Back in the day when Sengoku was the Chief of the Police Headquarters, the halls were lighter and brighter, the furniture was softer, and it smelled like spring - if that is possible. After he retired, a man named Sakazuki took his place, and to be honest, he seemed pretty decent, but he deals with justice differently, and the place shows.

First, it was damn cold; the AC was making his money worth it; the smell was the second thing that hit you. The strong odor of bleach, the freezing temperature, and the morbid LEDs on the bleak grey ceiling made you feel like you were in a morgue. Everything else was made out of either leather or metal.

This Sakazuki guy was definitely on the list of the people you didn´t want to meet.

¨Hi, can you help me? I´m looking for-¨

¨Y/N-san!¨ Tashigi yelled, almost losing balance and falling on her face.

¨Hey, careful there!¨ you hugged her. ¨You´re good to go?¨

¨Yeah, I just...¨ she turned her head around a couple of times, looking for something. She smiled and waved at someone ¨Smoker-san! Here!¨

The man was getting out of a room, sunglasses on and a cigar on his mouth. He was tall and seemed muscular under the leather jacket, but what caught your attention was his hair, the same white hair you remembered from last night. Only this time it was completely put back, no loose locks.

The change in his expression made you think he had recognized you as well, and the thought of Tashigi´s boss being your front-door neighbor made you chuckle.

¨That´s what I call a coincidence.¨ he said and took off the shades. You struggled not to gasp when his light-brown eyes met yours.

¨Right? I was so tired last night that I thought you were a dream.¨ you giggled, and he broke a smile.

¨You know each other?¨ Tashigi asked.

¨We´re neighbors! It took a while for us to meet, though.¨

¨Tough week.¨ he touched the nape of his neck.

¨Yeah, it was. We even saw you yesterday, Y/N-san!¨ the young officer said, confusing you ¨The Sora park, we were there too! But since you looked so busy, I didn´t want to interrupt.¨

So much happened, but you couldn´t recall anything.

You just focused on starting the triage process. Determining the severity of the patient´s condition, assign a priority level, taking care of those who could be assisted in the local, and having the severely injured ones being sent to the hospital where you knew Marco would take good care of them.

You were immensely wrong when you guessed that the triage process would be easier, thinking that the majority of the victims were fatalities.

Apparently, the park was celebrating its 5th anniversary, so people from not only the different districts but other cities were all gathered in the park.

¨Sorry, I didn´t... see you guys.¨ you said a little apologetic and lost.

¨No apologies needed.¨ Smoker said ¨It was pretty intense. Although we were not supposed to spread knowledge of our presence in the scene.¨ he gave her a disguised rebuke, and you watched your friend get redder than a bell pepper, apologizing.

You stared at each other for two seconds before you burst into laughter.

¨You´re still as clumsy as I remember, Tashigi.¨ you wiped a few tears ¨But don´t worry, this information dies with me.¨ you turned to Smoker, and he nodded, trusting you as a military.

¨S-Should we go, Y/N-san?¨

¨Yes, of course! Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Smoker.¨

¨Pleasure is all mine, Y/N.¨ you shook hands again, staring each other in the eyes.

His eyes slowly traveled to your lips, and you noticed that you were biting it, blushing more than Tashigi.

¨Well, see you, then!¨ you let go of his hand and rushed to the door.

¨Y/N,¨ you turned with an audible hm? and raised brows ¨knock if you need anything.¨ you nodded and smiled.

¨Will do.¨

¨I´ll have the Kenafa, please.¨ Tashigi told the waiter with so much of a look in the menu.

The cute restaurant you drove by earlier was called Terracota, and it was specialized in foreign cuisine. Even with the names and ingredients, you couldn´t figure out something you´d like, so you decided to order the same thing as the officer.

¨That´s what eight years of ration do to you.¨ you joked.

¨What have you been eating these days?¨

¨Whatever they have on the menu at the hospital. Sandwiches, pasta, sandwiches, sandwiches, chocolate bars, sandwiches...¨ you laughed ¨Haven´t had time to think about cooking yet.¨

¨Take outs are simpler, right?¨ you nodded ¨So, what do you think about Smoker-san?¨

¨Looks decent, polite, hard worker-¨

¨Aw, come on, Y/N-san! That´s not what I asked!¨ she gave you a suggestive look ¨He´s not taken, you know.¨

You open and closed your mouth a couple of times, words refusing to come out.

¨What? Tashigi!¨

¨I´m just saying!¨ she held her hands up, defending herself in the middle of giggles ¨But seriously, Y/N-san, I think he liked you too.¨

¨Ok, first, I never said I liked him, and second, I just got here. Can´t really think about this stuff.¨

¨Well, you should consider, at least. He doesn´t go out a lot, so...¨ she prolonged the last word ¨...maybe it was fate that put you two as neighbors.¨ you scoffed.

¨You believe in this stuff?¨

¨I do. Sometimes we see some crazy things...¨ her expression frowned ¨...it helps if I believe in fate. And the reason behind things... you know?¨ you nodded when she looked at you, even though you didn´t.

For your salvation, the waiter came back with the amuse-bouche, breaking the uncomfortable moment.

You didn´t want to tell her that you stopped believing that everything happens for a reason a long time ago.

¨But you said you have a brother here, right? Have you seen him already?¨

¨Unfortunately, no. He´s out of town now, so I´ll have to wait. God, I miss him so much!¨ a smile grew on your lips with the idea of seeing him again.

¨Oh yeah, you told me he runs businesses. Do you know the names? Maybe I know or visited before, or even know him!¨

¨Of course! There´s the Casino Verde, the Hotel Verde and a restaurant called Suna. I´ve never be-¨

The girl in front of you turned purple as she choked on her food, a raucous cough called everyone´s attention while one hand covered her mouth and the other smacked her chest.

¨Y-Your brother is C-Crocodile?¨ she asked with a hushed voice, still trying to fight her food from coming out.

You were expecting her to know him, but the explosive noodle reaction caught you a little off guard.

¨Yeah... are you ok?¨ you offered her a napkin which she gladly accepted.

¨I´m sorry about this, it´s just...¨ she paused a bit, brows furrowing while her fingers tore the napkin you gave her. Then she took a deep breath and recomposed herself ¨... he´s very famous, you know? He basically runs the Light District!¨

You knew he was rich and powerful, but to say that he ran the most extravagant district was a surprise. A good one, though. You couldn't help but feel proud of him.

You remember all the sacrifices he made when you were two just kids lost in this world. All the humiliating jobs he´d work at to buy you food. The pain of having his childhood taken from him at such young age.

He became a man to protect you. He never let anything or anyone hurt you, he never let you starve even if that meant he´d be going to sleep with nothing but a glass of tap water in his stomach.

You felt a burning sensation on your nose, and your eyes started to water, bringing a genuine smile to rise on your lips and tears roll down your cheeks. You didn´t mind it, though. You were too happy.

¨Yeah... he is my brother.¨

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sorenmarie87 · 4 years ago

Text

Be my date to this wedding?

Summary: After a long day of work, you go out to eat with a few of your employees.

Square Filled: CEO AU (Mixed Bingo)

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Dean/Reader, Sam/Ruby

Word Count: 1,223

Warning(s)/Rating: Teen+ | Reader wears glasses, Dean has a major crush on his boss. Ruby is an author (it’s how her and the reader bond), Talking about having sex on your bosses desk.

A/N: This was created for @spnmixedbingo and my aesthetic pictures were found and Pinterest. Beta’d by the lovely @iflostreturntosteverogers

—

“Boss?” Your entire body jolted awake as you raised your head from your desk. You glanced around your office in confusion as you readjusted your glasses, and realized that it was later than what you expected. “I know you’re still in there, c’mon open up!”

“It’s unlocked.” You muttered as you stepped out of your office chair and stretched out your sore muscles. A satisfying crack echoed throughout your office as your door opened and Dean stepped through, with Sam trailing behind him.

“Thought you’d be home by now Ms. President.”

“Dean it is after hours, please call me Y/N.” You chuckled and knew that he’d call you anything but your given name.

“You know better than that,” Sam chuckled and made a beeline for the empty corner by the window. You watched as he stretched out on the sectional and pulled his laptop out. “He gets all flustered when you pay any form of attention to him.”

You smiled and watched as pink dusted his face. “Oh yeah?”

“He really likes it when you yell at him.” Dean glared at him but didn’t say a word to deny it.

“Okay, I know this isn’t a social visit boys. What can I do for you?”

“We talked to HR earlier but we’re going to be taking a few weeks off. Sammy here, he’s gonna be tying the knot soon.”

You frowned at the thought of not seeing them for a few weeks. It confused you though. It made sense why Sam was taking time off, but not Dean. What was he planning on doing? “I was hoping that you’d come to the wedding Y/N.”

“You actually want your boss to come to your wedding?”

“You’re more than a boss to me Y/N, I don’t know how to explain it honestly.” The look on Sam’s face said it all. You were family to him and that made your heart flutter.

“This is very last minute Samuel.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Promise me you’ll text me all the details so I can arrange something, I don’t want to show up empty handed.”

“You don’t have to get us anything - “ You glanced over your glasses at him, and Sam held up his hands in surrender. He knew how you were about gifts.

“Now that that’s settled, you guys wanna get a late dinner?” Sam asked and right on cue, your stomach growled loudly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

"You'd be starving too if you had to work through your lunch." You grumble quietly.

"You could've texted one of us, and we would've gotten you something…"

"Could have but I didn't." You sighed as your stomach growled again.

"Sammy, call in an order from that pizza place we like." Dean smiled and the two of you watched as he pulled out his phone. You started to reach for your purse, to give them your card but Dean stopped you in time. "This is on us."

"If you're not letting me pay, can I make a suggestion? Can we go there and eat? I'm tired of being in this office." Dean grinned and the two of them nodded in agreement.

"That's perfect actually. You'll get to meet Ruby, that's Sam's fiancé, she'll be joining us."

"That's fantastic."

—

Sam opted to wait outside on Ruby, and you repeatedly asked if he was okay by himself. You heard Dean chuckle as he grabbed a hold of your wrist and tugged you inside the restaurant. As you slid into the booth it hit you. Sam was still kind of shy about PDA even though his older brother thrived on it.

"You know how I can tell you're thinking too hard? I've been standing here for a couple minutes, asking if you wanted your drink and I got bupkis."

"Sorry." Your face heated and you tried your best to avoid looking at Dean.

"Now boss, what were you thinking so hard about?" Dean asked as he placed the plastic cup in front of you and handed you a straw.

"What if Ruby doesn't like me?"

"She'll like you, I promise."

"Not many people do…."

"Give me names." You take a small sip from your cup.

"Tracy from Accounting, Ryuji from 2F and my assistant Emma." You put a finger down for each one you named off.

"Emma likes everyone!" Dean chuckled as you quietly muttered to yourself.

"Maybe a little too much. I mean, I get the appeal of boning in your bosses office. God knows I’ve read enough stories about it.” You know you’re blushing heavily at this point and by the look on Dean’s face, you caught his attention. “It's a power play for sure, but shouldn't you wait until your boss is gone to try?"

"If you wanted to try something like that, sure. Not that I've ever considered it." That's a bold face lie and you know it Dean. He had a dream about that exact scenario a couple weeks ago with you in it. He couldn't look you in the eye for a full day after it.

“Well this conversation seems like one I wanna be a part of.” You could hear the smile in her voice without seeing her face.

Dean peered over his shoulder as his brother and fiancé approached the booth. "So Ruby, what's your take on boning in your bosses office?"

"I'll try anything once."

"You would." Dean muttered into his drink as you looked between the two.

"I just think it seems uncomfy." Ruby nodded and smiled at you.

"People love reading about it though."

"Ruby, if you can't tell, is an author. She's published a few books under the name R. Winchester." There was no way, you dug through your bag and pulled out the latest book you bought. Ruby's face lit up when she saw the title.

"With that book alone, this is telling me more than I could ever need to know about you. If it's okay, would you wanna be friends?" Ruby smiled and there was no way you could say no.

"I'd love that."

"To celebrate our newly budding friendship, what would you say about being my maid of honor?" She watched you carefully as you took a sip from the cup in front of you.

"That's a lot for someone you just met Rubes."

"If I had any friends, I would've asked them by now."

"I'll do it."

Your ears were assaulted by different responses ranging from really? to a high pitch squeal from Ruby as she took the seat next to you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders.

"Thank you so much!"

"If I would've known the two of you were gonna hit it off, I would've introduced you sooner." Sam grinned. "Will you be able to find a dress that fast?"

"I don't -"

"I'll help you." Dean interjected and you looked at him in confusion.

"Oh really?" He knew Ruby was teasing him but Dean shrugged it off.

"Yes really, I've been present for a majority of the wedding planning so I can help her pick out something nice." Your face flushed again.

"Thank you Dean." Your face was still warm but you had to ask. "Wanna help me out with one more thing?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Be my date to this wedding?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Forever Tags - @lovetusk @coffee-obsessed-writer@artemisthebadger @littlehotmess26 @mirajanefairytailmage @kazosa @wings-of-a-raven @docharleythegeekqueen @clockworkmorningglory @lefthologramdeer @ellen-reincarnated1967 @holyfuckloueh @buckyscrystalqueen @ilovetaquitosmmmm @n3rdybird @super-fan-of-all-things @disneymarina @sandlee44 @babykalika2001 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mariekoukie6661

Dean Winchester - @idreamofplaid @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @akshi8278 @deans-baby-momma @onethirstyunicorn @jensengirl83 @anaelsbrunette @lyarr24

#spnmixedbingo #ceo au #Dean/Reader #Dean Winchester & Reader #Sam Winchester/Ruby

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buckthegrump · 4 years ago

Text

IBTHNTTTY - 7

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Y/n hates Bucky Barnes. Absolutely loathes him what makes it worse is that she has to share her office with him. Now with a promotion on the horizon she has to find a way to work with him and not against him.

Word Count: 1237

Warnings: Angst (kind of), fluff, wizard swears, a mild anxiety attack

A/n: y’all i got it and let’s just the next 3/4 parts are wild

The knowledge that the week was going to be a stressful one hit her bright and early Monday morning when she first walked in.

Natasha had called Y/n’s office phone with gossip. Typically Y/n was a sucker for gossip, but this particular piece gave Y/n anxiety.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard this or what’s happening, but,” Natasha said in place of a greeting, “I heard a rumor. And I want you to remember that this is just a rumor and could be false. But I heard that they’re going to post a job posting for a new proofreader.”

About three seconds after that reveal, Y/n hastily hung up the phone. If they were looking for a new proofreader, that meant one of two things. Number one, they were going to expand, and Y/n’s job was safe. Or, number two (the one that was the cause of the anxiety) there was going to be an opening for either her or Bucky’s jobs.

Then on Tuesday, she got an email signed by both Coulson and Maria saying they wanted a meeting on Friday. So all week she was stressed. The only part of the week that wasn’t bad was the date. Brock was surprisingly sweet for a guy that looked like he would’ve 100% bullied her in high school.

Friday came at an alarming rate. And as it turned out, Bucky had the same meeting with Y/n. This should’ve alleviated her nerves, but it only added to them.

“You need to breathe, they’re not going to fire you,” Bucky told her as they sat outside the conference room.

“I am breathing,” she lied. Her breathing was erratic, and she sounded a little like a dying car. “And you don’t know that, what if I did something so horrible that they’re just gonna boot me.”

“Have you done anything recently that would warrant termination?” Bucky asked calmly.

She glared at him. “If I knew I wouldn’t be freaking out, would I?”

“Y/n, Bucky,” Coulson called from the doorway. “Come on in.”

Y/n pulled herself together in record time and walked through the door. She and Bucky sat across from their bosses. Y/n could see Bucky flexing his left hand as if he were in pain, but this wasn’t the place to ask about it.

“Y/n, you can stop freaking out,” Maria told her, “you’re not losing your job.”

She could’ve let out a sob right then and there, she settled for sigh instead.

“We have a project for the two of you -” Coulson continued. The way that those two were in sync was a little creepy at times.

“We want you two to work together and do a mock-up for this manuscript,” Maria spoke. While Coulson put two manila envelopes on the table.

“You will have to work together, and should we like the finished product -”

“The both of you will be promoted to editors,” after Maria spoke those words, Y/n was only half paying attention through the rest of the meeting.

Editor, that’s only what she’s been wanting for forever. And now she had to work with Bucky. Again. It’s almost like last weekend was a test for this, another test. How many tests were these two going to put her through?

Quit complaining, Y/n. You’re gonna be an editor.

“You have until December 20th to complete this task, and you are welcome to use whatever resources you need from the company,” Maria said.

* * *

After the meeting, they walked back to their office.

“So,” Bucky said once the door was closed behind them, “I think we should take this weekend to read the book and brainstorm our own ideas and then figure out which ones we like best on Monday.”

Y/n nodded. “Try not to only come up with dumb ideas.”

It was meant to come off as a joke, but she was still coming down from her anxiety high. So it was much harsher than she meant it to be. Or maybe it was the fact that they both had a job riding on this that forced them back into old habits.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you when you’re the one who suggested a title for a book that was already being used by another author with us,” Bucky said.

“That was years ago, and it was the middle of the night!” Y/n yelled.

“Doesn’t matter. It was still a dumb idea!”

“Oh, and how is that any worse than your idea to send a prospective author things that she was allergic to. Every gift you suggested could’ve killed her or made her sick,” she sneered.

“Oh forgive me, for not realizing that she was allergic to everything under the sun and then some,” Bucky waved his arms dramatically.

Y/n recognized that it was a dumb fight. But falling into a familiar feeling of arguing with Bucky was welcome after the week she’d had.

“I am not missing out on this promotion because you can’t pull your head out of your ass for three minutes,” Y/n said.

“I can’t pull my head out of my ass? How would you know where my head is when you’re is stuck so far up your ass you could eat your own stomach?”

“Oh ho, he’s got jokes! Too bad your editorial ideas aren’t as original as them!”

They were standing toe to toe, chests heaving, unwilling to break eye contact with one another. If this had been a normal day, that would’ve been the moment when Peter politely knocked on the door to ask one of them a question. And Y/n kept waiting for that to happen before she remembered that Peter had the day off.

Meaning one of them was going to have to break first. And it wasn’t going to be her. As the minutes passed, she lost some of the fire in her chest, and her body relaxed.

“Awe, sunflower, are you getting lost in my eyes?” Bucky had a smug grin on his face, and Y/n wanted nothing more than to smack it off. “I wonder how long you’ve had this burning desire for me.”

“In your dreams, Barnes.”

“But then you wouldn’t get the full Bucky Barnes experience,” his grin widened.

“Careful, you’re toeing a very dangerous HR line.”

The good ol’ HR threat. A threat that they had both used countless times after an argument had possibly gotten out of hand. Neither of them had actually written a complaint, though. It hadn’t been used in a while, though, once again because Peter usually interrupted before it’d gotten that far.

Y/n hoped that they could convince him to stay, or at least she could. She would have to look into having him as her assistant when she became an editor. Hopefully, Bucky wouldn’t also ask him, but she wouldn’t let Bucky win that fight. And if they couldn’t get the kid to stay, she wasn’t sure how they would replace him.

Just as Y/n opened her mouth to say something else, a knock came at the door.

“Hey, Y/n? Are we still going for drinks?” Natasha’s voice was muffled by the door.

“Yeah,” Y/n called back, still not looking away from Bucky. “Just let me grab my coat.”

There was a brief pause before Y/n turned away and grabbed her things.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au

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higuchimon · 3 years ago

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[fanfic] An Afternoon In The Snow

Manjoume didn't look outside. He knew what he'd see out there if he did and he'd seen it once already that morning and he felt no need to look again. It would have only gotten worse in the past four or five hours. Besides, it was just snow. He knew what snow looked like. Everyone did. It was white and thick and messy and got over everything and in the way and sometimes it got dirty and he would be very, very glad if he never saw it again as long as he lived.

Especially when he had something far better to look at - his deck. He had all of the cards set out neatly and carefully, sorted into spells, traps, and monsters. He'd tucked all of the Ojama cards out of the way. They would always be a part of his deck, whether he liked it or not - and he absolutely didn't and if anyone had ever suggested he take them out, then he would take them out, as noisily and quickly as he possibly could. But he wanted to revise the rest of his deck and make sure it was up to his standards.

"Hey, boss!" Ojama Yellow caroled from wherever it was. "Your boyfriend's coming!"

Manjoume's shoulders stiffened at once. If someone had been looking at him, they might well have noticed a faint dusting of a blush over his cheeks for a few seconds before he jerked up. "He's not my boyfriend!" He and Fubuki weren't dating! They just - went out together a lot, to eat and to go to movies and concerts and sometimes really awesome duels, and sure, they'd kissed about thirty or forty times, and done quite a bit more than kissing, but that didn't mean they were dating!

Sure, he growled to himself. And if he told himself that often enough, then maybe he'd actually believe it one of these days. Somehow or other, he'd ended up dating the brother of the girl he had a crush on in high school. Someone somewhere was probably getting a really good laugh out of this. Well, if they were, at least they weren't laughing where he could hear them. He'd settle for that.

The door swung open and he could feel the faintest hint of a cold breeze touch the back of his neck. He packed up his cards and slid the deck back into place. He'd never get anything done with Fubuki there. At least not anything card related. He might end up doing other things, of course. Fubuki had a way of persuading him. Even if he hadn't, Manjoume knew himself well enough to know he might very well bring the subject up himself.

"There you are!" Fubuki didn't quite pounce on him but he didn't not pounce on him either, wrapping his arms around Manjoume without fear of being bitten by his coat, and snuggling into his neck before he dropped a quick kiss on the tip of Manjoume's nose. "Are you busy?"

That was an improvement. Normally Fubuki just wandered in and pulled him off on whatever madcap adventure he had in mind. Sometimes he'd ask what Manjoume was doing before pulling him away from it. So perhaps Fubuki was actually maturing?

Probably not. Manjoume would rather believe Fubuki just wanted to know how much of a fight he'd put up before being pulled away. He shrugged for the moment.

"Nothing I can't stop for right now. What do you want to do?" They hadn't had any particular plans for tonight. Manjoume had even thought Fubuki wouldn't come over, given the weather. But now his boyfriend cheerfully brushed snow off of his shoulders and shot Manjoume a very mischievous look.

"Let's go out."

Oh, that look didn't bode well. At least not in the sense of having a peaceful evening at home preparing for when the next season of the Pro Leagues got started. But sometimes Manjoume did like a little time away. It often seemed to clear his mind and he fought better, especially when he could hear Fubuki's clear and bright voice singing his praises from the audience.

He eyed Fubuki carefully. "What do you have in mind?" He wanted to know before he made up his mind on if he would be stubborn or not today.

"Let's go for a walk!" Fubuki wrapped his gloved hands around Manjoume's wrists and started to tug him to his feet. Manjoume wriggled back; he wasn't ready to haul stakes just yet.

"It's snowing. It's cold out there," Manjoume pointed out. He'd set up his office in here so he didn't have to look outside and see the snow packed practically to his knee if he didn't have to. Why on Earth would he want to go out in it? Let it all melt and he'd be thrilled to step outside. Not until then.

Fubuki blinked at him, shaggy head tilted to one side. "I know! I've been out in it all morning. It's beautiful out there! The clouds are clearing up." He tapped a finger on the side of his face. "You might want some sunglasses, though. Don't want you to go snow-blind!"

Manjoume shook his head. "Not going anywhere. Talk to me when the snow's not there. Want some hot chocolate?" Surely that would distract Fubuki from this insistence on going out in the snow.

Fubuki's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth for a second before shutting it and shaking his head. "I'll make you a deal," he said, his eyes sharpening. "First we go out for a long walk. Then when we get back, we'll have hot chocolate and cuddle in front of your fire." He nodded at the electric fireplace, before he smiled at Manjoume. That sweet, sweet smile that struck right into Manjoume's heart, teasing him to do whatever it was Fubuki had in mind.

Walking in the snow would be cold and annoying. The Ojamas would be a pain, insisting on following them everywhere. He'd probably slip and fall. But - Fubuki would catch him if he did. Fubuki always did. Fubuki would be there for him, and Fubuki would hold him afterwards.

It might be worth the trouble, now that he thought about it.

"All right," he relented. "One long walk. Then right back here." He wasn't going to let Fubuki get away with turning this into some kind of wild adventure that would end up with his hair soaked in snow and dirt and rocks and who knew what else.

Not that Fubuki wouldn't figure a way to do that if that was what he wanted, but Manjoume just wouldn't let him get away with it. Or so he rather fondly told himself.

"All right!" Fubuki tugged on him again and this time Manjoume got to his feet. "Get your coat on! And earmuffs! And something for your eyes! And your boots!"

Manjoume rolled his eyes, leaned over for a brief touch of his lips to Fubuki's, and stepped away. "I know how to dress for the cold. And I don't need all of that." His time in North School had been brief, all things considered, but some things stayed with you no matter what. A coat and boots would do nicely - and maybe something for his eyes. Other than that, he'd be fine.

As soon he stepped into the bedroom, the Ojamas popped up around him, chattering happily to one another. He hated to admit it, but they liked Fubuki, and tended to be even happier when the two of them went out together. Manjoume had expected this.

"All right, runts," he snapped as he searched in his closet. "Keep quiet while we're out. This is supposed to be just me and him."

"But-" Ojama Yellow waved tiny gremlin hands around. "You-"

Manjoume cut whatever the spirit had in mind off with a snap of his head. "You can chatter later. If you're going to come along," and they would, he couldn't get away from them, "at least be quiet and don't interrupt."

The three of them nodded, though he didn't believe for a second they'd listen to him. He knew them too well by now. He settled his coat around himself and made sure his boots were tightly fastened before he headed back. He wouldn't have been surprised to find the idea of walking out had already vanished out of Fubuki's head. While Fubuki could be flighty, when he really wanted something, he stuck with it. It seemed he really wanted this walk, since he fidgeted not too far from the door, waiting eagerly for Manjoume to get back.

"Let's go!" Fubuki chirped the moment Manjoume stepped out of the bedroom. He didn't wait until they were out before he slid his hand around Manjoume's and squeezed it lightly. Manjoume returned it with a small smile. Sometimes Fubuki could get on his nerves, but more often than not, he found it all worth it.

Hand in hand, they stepped outside, and Manjoume wondered if just a quick walk around the block would work. Not when it was Fubuki, he knew. He would want a full walk, and probably would sneak a snowball fight or some ice skating in there too. As far as Manjoume knew there weren't any places to ice skate in his neighborhood but that didn't mean Fubuki wouldn't figure out something if that was what he wanted to do.

He kept his attention on where he set his feet as they walked along, not wanting to take the chance on slipping and falling, even if that might mean ending up in Fubuki's arms. He could do that perfectly well without making an idiot of himself. The snow piled thick everywhere, shimmering mounds of white that came up sometimes to his ankles or mid-thigh and in one or two rare spots a bit higher. He could see streaks of blue sky as the clouds cleared away slowly, and shafts of golden sunlight slid down to send crystalline sparkles racing over the snow.

Fubuki sighed one of his most melodramatic sighs, admiring all of the beauty all around him. Manjoume had seen that expression many times before, usually when they went to the beach or when he'd pulled off an especially impressive play in a duel. He smiled one of his most brilliant smiles, dropping Manjoume's hand so he could spin around gracefully.

"This is gorgeous! We should have done this long ago!" A light laugh trilled from his lips. "Too bad we had to wait for it to snow!"

Manjoume wanted to point out they could go for a walk anytime - just being with Fubuki would make it special enough for him. Before the words could shape themselves, Fubuki sent a smoldering glance his way and stepped back, arms spread wide, and looked about ready to say something, when his foot caught on a tuft of dead grass hidden underneath the snow. He stumbled and Manjoume moved without thinking, darting forward to wrap one arm around Fubuki's waist, catching him before he could hit the snow.

For a few moments they stayed like that, blinking at one another. Then Manjoume quickly got Fubuki back on his feet and brushed him off. "You all right?"

"I'm fine." Fubuki regarded him, a light smile playing about his lips before he darted in to press them against Manjoume's. Manjoume knew very well what being kissed by Fubuki was like - sweet and soft and strong and amazing all at once. He leaned into the embrace and returned the kiss, not caring what brought this on. When they finally stepped apart, though only to arm's length, Fubuki grinned at him. "My hero! I hope that was a good enough reward for saving me."

Manjoume's cheeks burnt bright red. He'd known Fubuki properly since he was fifteen and he still had no idea of how just a few easy words could turn him into a blushing mess.

Fubuki's grin deepened. "I don't think it's enough." One finger stroked along Manjoume's chin. "I might have to thank you even better later."

Manjoume drew in a chilled, stuttering breath. "I think - I think we should keep going?" He wasn't sure of what else he could say or do right now. Clearing his head sounded like such a good idea. If he could have plunged his head into one of the nearest snowdrifts to cool his blood right now, then he would have gladly done so. As it was, he thought about finding somewhere to get a good drink. Hot chocolate might be the most traditional right now, or some green or ginger tea. He'd also developed a taste for amazake. There was a particular sweet shop this way that sold some of the best malted rice that he had ever drunk.

I have my card, he mused as they moved along, Fubuki's arm tucked comfortably around him, and he returned the embrace. He knew that Fubuki liked the drink as well.

"Hey," he nudged his boyfriend lightly, getting his attention. "I'm thirsty." Which was and wasn't true. He was, but he wanted the drink for other reasons than that.

"I think there's a vending machine around here somewhere," Fubuki mused, glancing ahead of them to a more populated region of the street. Manjoume shook his head at once.

"I want some amazake."

Fubuki's eyes lit up at the word. "Oh, that does sound great!" He looked around, orienting himself, and then started tugging on Manjoume's arm. "This way!"

Manjoume might have argued, but that was the way that he wanted to go regardless. So he hurried his steps along, if a trifle carefully. They'd have to find somewhere to drink it; in times like this it wasn't likely there would be seats available anywhere near the shop itself. But perhaps he could persuade Fubuki to head back home so they could enjoy themselves in front of an open fire or under a good warm blanket.

Just the thought of either of those set his temperature rising a little more. He strove very hard not to let Fubuki see it. Sometimes he didn't mind, but today was turning out to be different in many ways.

Before they got into sight of the shop, Manjoume could hear the unmistakable sounds of a crowd - shuffling feet, people muttering among themselves, one or two who sounded very annoyed about having to wait, and a great many more. He'd heard that sort of sound several times before. The difference in those sounds and these were that before, those people were lining up to see him. Right now, they were lining up to get hot drinks, and were very annoyed that they weren't getting them fast enough.

He eyed the length of the line and decided that he didn't like it. "Let's try somewhere else," he suggested, trying not to show how annoyed this made him. But Fubuki only grinned.

"We're already here and anywhere else is going to be just as crowded," he pointed out, before he rolled his shoulders and did something that in Manjoume's mind translated to being more noticeable.

This was going to be interesting.

Fubuki strolled forward. Even in a warm jacket and boots concealing his normally flamboyant dress style, he drew every eye just by the way he walked and the cheerful warmth of his smile. He picked out the last person in line who looked likely and smiled at her. By all rights, the smile should have melted a good finger's worth of snow. The young lady blushed just at the sight of him.

"Hi there," he greeted cheerfully. Almost anyone else would have been told to get to the back of the line. That kind of thing never happened to Fubuki. "I was wondering, could my friend and I go ahead of you?"

"I- of course!" The lady moved to one side. "I'm not in any hurry."

Fubuki beckoned to Manjoume, who hurried over to join him. They hadn't stood there for very long before more people stepped aside, apparently just by the sweet way that Fubuki smiled, and one or two of them even were dueling fans, who gladly let Manjoume Thunder get closer to the head of the line. Soon enough they stood there ordering the amazake. He folded his hands around the cup, enjoying the heat, as the two of them stepped away. Manjoume savored the taste of it slowly, taking care not to slip on the ice anywhere, and hoping that Fubuki did the same thing.

"I'm getting hungry," Fubuki declared somewhere in he middle of his drink. "Let's hit up somewhere with some nikujaga."

Manjoume hadn't thought about it before, but now that Fubuki mentioned it, the idea of a hot beef stew appealed to him. But he wasn't sure of where they could get any. He didn't eat out a great deal in this area, preferring to either have his meals made at home or to go out to a slightly larger city when he was in the mood for rarer fare. But Fubuki looked around, sniffed the air a moment or two, then grabbed onto his hand.

"This way! There's a restaurant." He charged forward, ignoring the way the snow and slush crunched under their feet, equally ignoring Manjoume's startled yelp as he had to hurry along. If he weren't used to this, then he might well have lost his footing and gone down hard.

As it was, he just managed to keep himself balanced, until Fubuki whirled around the end of a street and gestured ahead of them. He beamed as if he'd invented the restaurant himself and was responsible for its entire existence.

"The Duelist's Table! I get a discount there."

Manjoume blinked as they moved towards it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to ask why. He thought if he did, Fubuki might tell him. He trusted in Fubuki's faithfulness, but there were things that he just didn't want to know. Maybe he'd find out at some point in the future.

"Come here a lot?" That was all that he asked. He didn't get out here that much. He knew that he probably should, but he'd picked this town to set up his home in because it was far away from where his brothers would want to come and visit. They got along better now than they had when he was a teenager, but that didn't mean he wanted to see them on a regular basis. E-mail and video calls sufficed for him.

"Sure do! They've got some great food." Fubuki tugged him inside and waved a greeting to one of the servers. Enough of the tables inside had people at them that Manjoume could guess the food was good, but there wasn't much of a line at the moment. They'd clearly arrived at a very good time. He found a trashcan for his cup and disposed of it before following Fubuki to where they were seated.

Menus were brought over and he and Fubuki started perusing them. Fubuki didn't for long; he knew what he wanted. Manjoume decided that was a good idea too. While waiting for their order, Manjoume took a look around the restaurant. There were several small tables, seating no more than four for the most part, though he could also see larger tables in other areas. He would guess the restaurant was about half-full at the moment, probably with people seeking warmth or just hungry or both. He thought they qualified for both.

I like it here, he decided, before turning his attention to Fubuki, wanting to ask something about how he'd located this place. The words never quite made it out of his mouth, not when Ojama Yellow, Black, and Green popped into existence right above his head and started exploring the area themselves.

"Oh, wow, this place is nice! Do you think they have anything that we could eat?" That was Yellow, peering over Manjoume's shoulder at the menu.

"We can find out! I smell some good stuff here!" Black. Who hovered almost right away over the food on someone else's table, and Manjoume found himself quite grateful that the spirit couldn't be seen.

"Is that a fireplace?" And of course, Green, who prodded at the fireplace and jerked back, saying a few words that no one else should hear.

Manjoume leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He did not need this, not now. Of course, they wouldn't be Ojamas if they didn't poke themselves in right when he didn't want or need them to. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard over the years to get them to just pop up when he was alone, or at most just with someone like Juudai or Johan, who could see them as well and wouldn't be giving him side-eyes whenever he started muttering to the empty air. Part of him wondered if that was why things had been doomed to failure with Asuka. She'd never been fond of supernatural events, and those happened around him almost as much as they did with Juudai.

Fubuki's hand flicked onto his wrist and Manjoume glanced at him. That cheerful smile warmed him down to his toes. "The Ojamas again?"

Fubuki never gave him strange looks, no matter what happened. Manjoume didn't think he could see spirits - or if he could, he'd never indicated that he could. But he also never seemed to worry whenever the inevitable spirit activity stirred around Manjoume. Sometimes he'd even thought he'd seen a spirit around Fubuki. Never very clear, never certain, but just a vague hint. He had a feeling he knew which one it was, too. But unless he actually saw it, he wasn't going to say anything. He might not even then. Not unless Fubuki mentioned that he'd seen the spirit too.

"Always," he muttered softly. He tried to look around some more. They were spirits; they couldn't do too much except yell. Sometimes they could move small things but he hoped no one would notice around here. The place itself seemed very duel oriented. There were framed articles on the walls about important dueling events, a few of them even signed by relevant duelists. He wondered if he'd sign one of them one day. The tables themselves had duel disk designs on them. It definitely was a place for duelists.

Fubuki's eyes cut to the side. Manjoume followed with his own, wondering if the Ojamas were up to something, then blinked when he saw a spill of black scales. He blinked and shook his head, not certain if he'd actually seen what he thought he did. Then Fubuki murmured, and he just caught the words.

"Reign them in, would you?"

For a heartbeat, Manjoume wondered if he meant him. But before he could shape a single thought, let alone words, the black scales turned out to be Red Eyes Black Chick, who unfurled gleaming wings and shot over to where the Ojamas were poking into someone's dinner. With a swipe of claws and snapping of teeth, all three were herded back over to Manjoume, flying right up against him, and all three babbled incoherently.

"Quiet down," he ordered, pitching his voice low. He knew that most people knew that on occasion he 'talked to the air' - you couldn't be the kind of famous duelist that he was and not get caught on camera conversing with spirits a few times - but he'd rather not do it in public if he could avoid it. "He's not going to hurt you."

At least he didn't think the Chick would. The dragon perched on Fubuki's shoulder, glowering at the Ojamas, who popped off into their cards with undignified squeaks. Manjoume thought they might just stay there all night.

"I didn't know you had one too," Manjoume asked a few minutes later, after their food had arrived and they'd satisfied their first hunger. He approved of coming here; he hadn't had a good beef stew like this in a while. He'd have to come here again if he waned another one.

Red Eyes Black Chick stayed on Fubuki's shoulder the whole time, looking all around but keeping silent and watchful. Manjoume hadn't thought that was what it would be like. But he'd never seen it out of the egg for long before.

"He only just started showing up a few days ago." Fubuki told him. "I wasn't really expecting him." He raised one hand, and the dragon chick tucked his head there so Fubuki could rub behind the ears. Manjoume found himself a little envious; almost everyone else seemed to have such a different relationship with their spirits. Johan considered his family. Juudai - well, Manjoume wasn't even certain of what to call what he had going with Yubel. He heard from Hayato now and then about something his partner had said or done. He didn't hear often from Edo or Fujiwara but on those rare occasions, he did get the impression they were good friends with Bloo-D and Honest respectively. He'd even heard a rumor that Hell Kaiser and one of his Cyber monsters had formed a special bond.

And here was Fubuki, casually scratching a dragon's ears as if that happened every day of the week. And he had - Ojamas. Who were, of course, the aces of his deck, and he'd not trade them for anything no matter what. But they were still Ojamas.

It didn't matter in the end. If any other duelist insulted them, he'd use his Ojamas to pound them into the ground. That was all there was to it.

He started to reach to pay the bill but Fubuki shook his head. "This was my idea," he reminded Manjoume. "So it's all on me."

That was fine; they generally took turns paying whenever they went out anyway. Sometimes Manjoume wondered what Fubuki did to get money. Probably random street duels, since he wasn't a professional duelist and didn't seem to have any other line of work. But he always helped whenever he needed to.

Paid up, the two of them headed out into the cold again. Manjoume handled it better than before, given that he'd had the chance to warm up while they were inside. He glanced around a little, wondering if they should head home, when noise caught his attention. He peered a little farther that way, then started to tug on Fubuki's arm.

"Let's go check that out." It had been a long time since he'd seen a full on winter festival. He'd heard this town had a pretty good one, but he'd never bothered to check it out before. Now that they were out and about, he figured they might as well go see what was going on.

The closer they got to the actual festival, the more he could hear very pleasant music, and scented even more delicious scents that hung in the air. If he hadn't already eaten, then he would have started getting a lot hungrier just from that. He did pick up a small bag of sweets they could share once they were home, tucking it into his pocket after buying it. Another street after that revealed something even more incredible.

Fubuki, ever the artist in so many forms, caught his breath at the sight of a long street of ice sculptures. Perhaps they weren't as large or detailed as some of those that could be seen in larger cities, but as far as he or Manjoume were concerned, these were incredible. He hurried down to stare at each of them in turn, cooing over each ice and snow sculpture. Birds and blossoms, characters from movies or plays, there were many different views to look at here.

"Over here," Manjoume called, peering down another pathway. When Fubuki joined him, his smile shone brighter than ever when he saw what his boyfriend indicated.

Duel Monsters. All of them carved from ice or packed from snow, in loving detail. The two of them walked down that way, naming off some of them as they did. It didn't take much effort to identify each one; some were unmistakable, such as Black Magician, while another required careful examination to be certain if it were meant to be Wolf or Silver Fang. Manjoume still wasn't certain even after they agreed it was probably Silver Fang.

At least the Ojamas didn't pop out to give their opinion. If Red-Eyes Black Chick had a thought on the matter, the dragon said nothing at all.

Manjoume stopped at another sculpture, glanced at it and then at Fubuki, whose smile shone with a warmth equal to that of summer itself. Red-Eyes Black Chick leaned over to sniff at the sculpture, before flicking its tail and dismissing it altogether.

"I'll take a picture," Manjoume offered. "Go stand in front of it." He gestured to Fubuki, who quickly did so, posing with his arms spread wide, as if to embrace the enormous sculpture of Red-Eyes Black Dragon itself. Each scale had been carved with absolute precision, and somehow the artist had managed to involve color as well so it looked like it should, instead of a faded Blue Eyes White Dragon. Manjoume made sure he had the best shot, centered on both Fubuki and the dragon, clicked his phone, and glanced at the time before he put it away. "It's going to be dark soon."

He meant to say that they should head on home and spend the rest of the night cuddled up in front of the fire. Fubuki had other ideas - as he so often did. His boyfriend latched onto him, grinning mischievously.

"We are not going to miss the fireworks! They've got a great show here!"

Manjoume tilted his head. "Fireworks?" He'd seen fireworks plenty of times. But here?

"Fireworks! It's going to be awesome. You don't want to miss them, do you?" Fubuki pouted at him, and if Manjoume had ever had any thoughts of doing so, those thoughts faded away without a trace. Fubuki had that effect on him.

"I guess not." He had a pretty good idea that Fubuki had arranged this just so they'd have a snow-filled date. Starting off with something small and not very time consuming, and now - now... Well, now he didn't think they'd get back any time soon. But if it made Fubuki happy, he was always up for it.

"I didn't think so!" Fubuki dropped a quick kiss on his cheek, ignoring the way a few older people glanced at them, and then hurried Manjoume along until they were out of town and on a small rise that wasn't quite big enough to qualify as a hill. It still gave them a fine view of the evening sky as it slowly darkened, and Manjoume's backside grew damp from siting on the snow-covered grass.

"We could have gotten a blanket or something," he muttered, fidgeting. "This isn't comfortable."

"It'll be fine." Fubuki assured him, wrapping one arm around him without fear of Manjoume's coat. That would always surprise him. Fubuki wasn't nearly as fastidious as some people he could think of, but he always seemed so much more put together than Manjoume himself would ever be. And yet he still happily hugged Manjoume whenever the opportunity presented itself and often when he just thought Manjoume needed a hug. There were people who murmured that Manjoume's coat was either sentient or could bite them and Fubuki would probably just pet it on the sleeve if it did, and go on hugging Manjoume.

For now, though, Manjoume leaned against him, and watched as the first fireworks started to blossom against the sky and the stars. Pop went the fireworks, rising up in columns of shining light to hang there for a few far too brief seconds before they faded away. Every color of the rainbow glowed up there, shaping intricate designs and waterfalls of beauty that Manjoume hadn't seen in person like this in a very long time. There were even a few images of famous Duel Monsters, mirroring the ice sculptures. He wondered if that had been deliberate or accidental.

Throughout it all, Fubuki drank in every moment, eyes wide and mouth open, pointing out particular shapes that caught his attention, and squealing when he saw others, grasping Manjoume's arm and pointing as if Manjoume couldn't see it all perfectly well for himself.

Manjoume wasn't the squealing type, nor was he all that fascinated by fireworks, not the way Fubuki was. But he enjoyed how Fubuki enjoyed everything more than anything else. It didn't feel as cold as it had, even with the sun having gone down. The longer he held onto Fubuki's hand, the warmer he felt. Occasional flicks of those deep brown eyes told him Fubuki felt the same warmth.

By the time the fireworks ended, Manjoume had to hold back his yawning. He wasn't doing a very good job of it either. But he tried, especially as Fubuki wrapped a firm steadying arm around him and helped him get home. The entire afternoon and early evening had melted away like snow in the sun. He almost wished that they could do it all over again, just so he could enjoy it for the first time.

But he couldn't, so he settled for enjoying settling on the couch near the fire, removing his jacket and getting into more comfortable nightwear, and curling up next to Fubuki, who provided a steaming cup of hot chocolate for the two of them to share. It took all of his energy to keep his eyes open. It didn't feel as if he should be that tired, but he was.

When he dragged his eyes open again, not wanting to miss a moment of cuddling, he could see the Ojamas perched over the fireplace, staring at a table across the room. He carefully swung his head around that way and wasn't surprised to see Red-Eyes Black Chick curled up there, tail over nose. The Ojamas weren't going to do anything to disturb the other spirit, he knew. They would just have to get used to him. He'd be sticking around a while.

"Let's go to bed," Fubuki murmured, and Manjoume nodded. They'd had an excellent afternoon and the night bid fair to be just as fine, no matter what they did or didn't do. Fubuki helped him to his feet and they headed for the bedroom. Manjoume so looked forward to what the next day would bring. Fubuki brought a breath of fresh air wherever he turned up – no matter how chilly the weather.

And if he were going to be completely honest with himself, he definitely looked forward to what the night would bring.

The End

Notes: I've been working on this for a while and finally got it to a point I was happy with it. Hope you like it!

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #stormshipping #manjoume x fubuki #fubuki x manjoume #manjoume jun #tenjoin fubuki

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honiboyyoon · 5 years ago

Text

The CEO’s Son (M)

Your relationship with your boss’ son was never one HR would approve of...

Pairings: Jungkook x reader

Word Count: almost 4k

Warnings: smut, dont let someone talk to you like this at your work, jungkook having a size kink

A/N: LITHEN rayan wrote a jungkook size kink blurb and lotte kook came for my fucking throat and im not sorry!!!! reni get the four loko,,, bete.., i inked

When you first landed this internship, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. The internship was actually well paying, incredibly insightful to your field once you graduated university, and you would even go as far as to say-although incredibly nerdy of you- it was very fun. Overall this internship at Jeon Enterprises was a dream come true. It was almost too good to be true, and that’s because it was. The bane of your existence as of late was your boss’ overly flirtatious, pompous, and ridiculously attractive son. Jeon Jungkook. With his stupid shaggy hair, God you simutanilousy wanted to run your hands through it to sniff it but also shave it off his stupid head. Then there was his stupid face, and his stupid body. You didn’t think a guy in a suit could affect you as much as it did, but here you are, ogling him from your desk as he’s stopped at the water cooler. As if sensing your stare, Jungkook turns his head and you two briefly make eye contact before you redirected your gaze to your computer screen. Yes, pretend like you’re doing work, he definitely didn’t catch you staring at him. As if he could hear your thoughts, Jungkook saunters over to you with a shit eating smirk plastered onto his face. I would give up my employee discount to slap that right off you think to yourself.

“How do you get any work done when your staring at me all day, baby?” Jungkook coos, he’s leaning against your cubicle divider, and his crossed arms are pulling his already tight fitting shirt more taught against his muscles.

“How do you have so much money, yet still can’t find a shirt that’s actually your size?” Your tone is falsely sweet but it has Jungkook grinning wider.

“Y’been staring at my bod that much to notice huh, Y/N?” This is your relationship with your CEO’s shit head son. He flirts, you sass and flirt back, you go home insanely sexually frustrated, rinse and repeat.

Your thoughts are interrupted by one of your supervisors reminding everyone of a meeting in five minutes. Everyone around you slowly shuffles to the meeting room down the hall, and you get up from your chair and begin your way towards the boardroom when you hear a low whistle, “damn, have I ever told you that that’s my favourite skirt on you? Your ass looks amazing, babe” Jungkook is still resting against your cubicle, chin poised on the palm of his hand. Of course he didn’t have to go to the meeting, he was the CEO’s son.

“In your dreams” you’d be lying if you said your heart did beat a little faster when these exchanges occurred.

“Oh but we do!” he mockingly groans and grips harder onto your cubicle wall, “at least four or five times a night!”

You only answer back with a scoff and a shake of your head as you make your way down the hall.

Once the meeting has begun, your supervisor informs the interns that those that are the most promising and likely to be hired on once graduated, will be given more work, to better prepare them for what life is really like and Jeon Enterprises. After a few grumbles your supervisor assigns days to each one of you, stating that you will work a sort of “over-time”, to get you used to times of the year where the typical 9-5 just simply isn’t enough hours in the day. You’re assigned Tuesday nights, and will begin tonight. Forcing a smile on your face as you accept your that your plans tonight are now ruined, you thank your supervisor for the opportunity. It’s not until you’re walking back to your desk do you realize that you in fact, did not actually have plans anyways, you never really do, but the option to make plans is always nice to have.

As you near your desk you notice Jungkook is poised against your cubicle wall again, as if he never left.

“Are you stalking me now, Jeon?” You tut, a smirk finding itself on your lips without you even realizing it.

“Just wanted to make sure your seat was clean,” he pulls your chair back for you as if he’s an actual gentleman, as you sit down in it he comes around to the front of you and sits on the edge of your desk, “and this one of course.” He circles his face with his hand.

“Well, it’s good to know you at least recognize the importance of giving good oral when you have the world’s smallest dick.” You turn to your computer before you can see the dark look that flashes through Jungkook’s eyes. He leans down closer to your ear and quietly says, “oh, you have no idea.” And with that Jeon Jungkook leaves you with a tingling ear and damp panties.

It’s about ten minutes later when you hear a ping and see a message bar show up on the corner of your screen. Clicking the flashing bar, your heart does a little flip as once you see who the message is from.

Jeon Jungkook

8=========D

“What the fuck?” you chuckle under your breath, hands already typing a reply on their own accord.

Y/N L/N

Did you just send me a dick pic??

Y/N L/N

As an emoticon?

Jeon Jungkook

Big isn’t? ;)

He’s lost his fucking mind, you think to yourself. This is hilarious, but Jungkook has actually lost his mind.

Y/N L/N

I had to increase my screen zoom to see it, but its cute ig

After hitting send, you hear a dramatic “Ha!” from the direction of Jungkook’s desk before you hear another ping.

Jeon Jungkook

Remember that im the supervisor thats overseeing you on your overtime nights ;)

You didn’t, infact, remember that. But now you’re rubbing your thighs against each other trying to relieve some strain as your imagination begins to run wild of what it’d be like to be the only two people in the office.

Y/N L/N

fuck you

Jeon Jungkook

thats the plan baby

Oh my God.

Your relationship at the office has always been one HR wouldn’t approve of, you two always took things most would consider “too far” but it never lead to anything. You said shit like this to each other all the time, but this afternoon felt different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it but something told you tonight may finally be the night you don’t have to go home and touch yourself thinking of your boss’ shit head son.

Two hours later, it was finally the end of the day and everyone was packing up to head home for the evening. Some of the other interns give you looks of pity before they leave, but you don’t feel an ounce of dread about having to stay late. Your mind keeps wandering to that stupid conversation with stupid Jungkook. You guys were always talking to each other like this, but now it felt different, and you couldn’t help the butterflies that started abusing your stomach.

It’s now half an hour since everyone’s gone home and you’ve continued to work through the extra load given to you for tonight, when suddenly a familiar ping sounds again. You subconsciously squeeze your thighs together when you read the message from none other than Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook

Come to the board room

You didn’t know what was louder, the squeak escaping your lips or your desk chair being pushed back as you abruptly stand up. You don’t dwell on that too much as you quickly make your way to the board room. You try to calm yourself down, you and Jungkook heavily flirted all the time, his dumbass probably broke the screen in the meeting room or something, yea, yea that’s it. Just because your last conversation was a bit more heated than usual and ended with him saying he wanted to fuck you, didn’t mean he was about to plow you in the board room. You slow your walk as you get a few steps before the closed door. Quickly running your fingers through your hair to tame any stray hairs, you glance over your clothes before taking a deep breath, hand clutching the door handle. After a brief pep talk, you’re pushing through the door to find Jungkook sitting at the board table seemingly working on something on his laptop. As soon as you enter, he stops typing and leans back in his chair as that devilish smirk appears on his face again.

“Close the door behind you,” holy shit this was really happening, you were really about to fuck Jeon Jungkook, and in the office of all places. “Lock the door behind you” he’s racking his eyes up and down your figure, when they finally reach your eyes he says barely above a whisper, “only if you want to, that is.” Oh, holy shit. This was him giving you a way out, to get a sense of whether this was more than just back and forth flirting and banter, to see if you really wanted him.

With a speed you didn’t know you possessed, you locked the door behind you without breaking eye contact. Jungkook stands up from his chair and gestures for you to come closer, as you do you can feel a blush already heating up your cheeks.

“I’m surprised you wanted to have sex with me,” his voice is still a quiet whisper, and his hands are now at your waist, pulling you closer until you can feel the beginnings of his arousal through his pants, “y’know, with me having such a small dick and all.”

“Well…” lord, girl get it together, you’ve been dreaming about this since you started your internship, “that may be true, so I thought I should see how your much your oral makes up for it.”

He crushes his lips to yours before you have a chance to say anything else. The kiss is rough and hurried, clearly the several months long sexual frustration was mutual. He spins you around and grinds his hard on against your ass. You can’t help the few whimpers that escape you as he starts to suck at your neck, “gotta mark you up nice, huh baby? Can’t have anyone in the office trying to take what’s mine.” You shake your head in agreement as Jungkook pushes you forward so your hands are against the table and your ass is bent up, the sight has him groaning. No one’s ever really manhandled you like this, and it’s gotten you more worked up than you thought it would’ve.

“Fuck, I really do love this skirt on you, but I really want to see what’s underneath more.” Jungkook stops his aggressive groping to push your skirt up around your waist and you quickly dispose of your blouse and bra. Bending down, he places open mouth kisses along your ass cheek, as his hand continues to roughly grope the other one. The unoccupied hand is now rubbing you through your panties, and you feel like your about to loose it from all this pent up frustration.

“Please, Jungkook.” You beg, your voice already sounding strained and whiney.

“Please what baby? You need to tell me what you want,” you gasp as he applies even more pressure, “use your words.”

“I want your f-fingers, and your mouth. I want you to eat me out.” Your practically panting, and Jungkook’s erection is now painfully pushing against the fabric of his pants after hearing and seeing you so submissive, so different from your normally sassy attitude, and it make Jungkook want to wreck you. You only hear a low chuckle from Jungkook before one of his fingers is pushing past your underwear and straight into your wet heat. He doesn’t start off slow, he immediately starts to quickly finger you, your arousal already starts to drip down his hand as he harshly sucks on your clit.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” Jungkook coos, licking up your folds, “I guess since my dick is so small you only need one finger, huh?”

Before you can protest, Jungkook removes his finger from your pussy and begins to pull you back up so you’re now chest to chest. He runs his thumb along your bottom lip, and without having to be told you open your mouth and begin to suck on the digit. Jungkook chuckles at your submissiveness and switches his thumb out for the finger he used to finger you. He stares with such intensity at his finger disappearing behind your lips, that it only make you suck faster, harder.

“I really want to fuck your stupid little bratty mouth,” he’s almost mumbling to himself, but you continue sucking on his finger, this time he speaks louder, more controlled, “but I really just want to fuck your bratty little pussy already.” You’re furiously nodding your head, as he retracts his finger form your mouth. He’s roughly kissing you again, as he grabs underneath your thighs and sits you on the table. Your hands are roaming over each other, although his are much more dominating. He’s grabbing your hand and placing it over his clothed erection, and your mouth waters from the sheer size of his bulge. Jungkook, of course, notices this immediately and with great pleasure.

“What, not big enough for you, baby?” He’s taunting you because he knows he’s big, he’s fucking huge, and you can’t move your hands fast enough to unzip his pants. Jungkook’s hands are turning your hair into a makeshift ponytail when you pull his underwear down and his hard on practically smacks you in the face. Oh, holy shit. You never would have thought you would use this word to describe a dick, but Jeon Jungkook has a monster cock. You don’t have much time to dwell on this thought before Jungkook is tapping the tip of his dick against your cheek, and you’re now just realizing that your mouth had been agape since you first had your hand over his crotch.

“On second thought,” Jungkook tightens your hair in his hand, “I really do want to fuck this pretty mouth.” You manage out a whimper before he’s guiding his cock into your open mouth. You’re swallowing around his cock, trying to take him all in, but you’re only about half way down and there’s an obscene amount of spit seeping out of your mouth, and you’re about to run out of air. You pull away from his cock, desperately trying to fill your lungs, and you notice a trail of saliva connecting your mouth to the angry red head of his cock. Jungkook catches the trail as well, and he’s darkly huffs out a laugh as he grabs his dick to tap against your face again, “what? Can’t take it you stupid little brat?”

The degrading catches you a bit off guard and has you pouting back, “‘m not stupid.”

“Huh?” He taps his cock a bit harder against your cheek, “What was that baby I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“I’m not stupid!” You huff, your lips are spit slicked and pouting and your eyes are almost adorable when they look up at him. God he can’t wait to wreck you.

“Of course you’re not stupid baby,” Jungkook probably should’ve asked you want your kinks were beforehand, but he takes note that degradtion probably isn’t on that list for you, at least not yet. “You’re not stupid, no. You just can’t take my cock.” If you didn’t want him to fuck you so badly you would’ve smacked the shit eating grin right off his face, but you’re shaking your head furiously at him. “No, please fuck me Jungkook, please. I promise I can take it, I promise.” Jungkook could’ve blew his load just from finally hearing you be so submissive towards him after months of attitude. He kisses you again and he guides you to lay back on the table, hand guiding the tip of his dick to your heat. He doesn’t enter, just simply rubs the tip against your clit and you feel like you could explode.

“Think you can handle it, baby?” he whispers in your ear, and a quiet uh huh is his green light to enter you. All the dominating behaviour aside, Jungkook, much to your happiness, actually enters you slowly. He enters inch by inch, allowing your aching pussy time to adjust to his massive size. When he’s fully inside you, you both let out a pant and Jungkook waits for you to give him a signal to move. Although you teased him about having a small dick, you never really thought Jungkook did, but you never would’ve dreamed he was hiding a fucking python under his designer dress pants.

After a few moments, you feel relatively adjusted to his size. If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think you could ever fully adjust. But, nonetheless, you breathe out a soft move and bite Jungkook’s ear lobe. You both groan as he slowly pulls out, nearly all the way. He sets a moderate pace at first, and although your grateful due to his size, you’re honestly a bit surprised he isn’t rougher with you. As if sensing this, Jungkook smirks down at you, “need to get you a bit more adjusted, baby, can’t have me accidentally ripping you in half huh?” and that has you moaning out as he hoists your legs up higher and he plows into you. Honestly, you really do think he could rip you in half.

Your moans are pornographic as he fucks into you with such speed and power your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. His chiseled muscular body is glistening so beautifully under the fluorescent office lights that you don’t even wonder when his shirt came off, but fuck you’re happy that it did. Your transfixed watching his ab muscles move as he fucks you. You don’t really know where to look, he’s just so hot. His shaggy sweaty hair dangling in front of his eyes, his half lidded eyes watching your tits bounce every time he fucks into you, his slightly parted mouth that occasional lets out a guttural moan. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and he’s just so hot and you just need more. When you voice this, Jungkook just smirks and wraps his arms around your legs to keep them parallel to his chest, and he’s fucking into you even harder.

“Fuuuck, your pussy’s so tight and wet for me baby, shit you’re hot.” Jungkook pants, and when his eyes drift down from watching your tits bouncing, that’s when he notices it. With every thrust, Jungkook can see a little bump come from the inside of your lower abdomen, and something inside him snaps. He’s fucking into you even harder now, and you’re nearly crying at how animalistic he’s being.

“Fuck baby, look at you. Your little pussy can barely take my cock, look at it sticking up inside of you.” He thrusts a little extra hard to really make his dick protrude and you’re nearly seeing stars. You couldn’t believe it. Jungkook was actually so big that his cock would poke up your belly. You’re nearly gushing around him at the revelation, and Jungkook just keeps fucking you nice and hard, his hips a rough stactoo against yours. He’s groaning and panting while he watches the bump come up with every thrust. “Shit baby, look at you, your bratty little pussy can barely handle my cock, it has no room for it. I bet you love my fat cock don’t you, baby? Huh?” His hand reaches forward to slap your bouncing tit, “You fucking love my huge dick don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I love your fat cock Jungkookie, please fuck me with your fat cock, I love it so much!” Your screaming, and you honestly don’t care if the late night office cleaners can hear you.

“Tell me how much you love it baby, c’mon, tell me how much you need my huge dick, tell me how big it is”

You don’t know if he’s being this rough because of your earlier comments about him having a small dick, or if it’s because he can visibly see that your pussy can barely handle the size of him but you don’t care either way. “It’s so fucking big Jungkook, you’re stretching me out so fucking good, baby oh my gosh.” You feel like you’re about to cum any minute now, and when you voice this Jungkook pulls out of you and flips you so your hands are on the table once again. You nearly scream when he enters you again, the pace just as brutal. His hands are now roughly gripping your ass cheeks, the occasional blow being delivered to them. He’s panting into your ear telling you how much a good girl you are for taking his cock so well, how he bets you won’t ever say his dick is small again, how he’s going to ruin your tight little pussy every Tuesday night in this board room. “You’re not going to be able to listen to a single thing they say during these meetings, your just going to be thinking about my huge cocking stretching you open.” You slip a hand down to play with your clit as Jungkook continues his assault on your pussy. You’re so close to almost hurts. “C’mon baby, show me what you look like when you cum, I wanna hear you” He delivers another smack to your now cherry red ass, “cum all over my huge cock, baby, c’mon.” A few more powerful thrusts and you’re coming harder than you ever had in your life. Jungkook follows quickly behind you, unloading onto your ass, moaning at the erotic sight.

You think you might’ve black out in all honesty, but the next thing you know, Jungkook is wiping his cum off your ass with a tissue and gathers you in your arms. Looking down at his now soft dick, you nearly laugh at the fact that, even when soft, Jungkook is above average size. Apparently you said that out loud, because now Jungkook is laughing as he hands you your clothes. You see him tuck your panties into his pocket and when you question it, he casually replies with, “you’ll just have to get them back next Tuesday.”

You definitely love this internship.

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